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BattleMaster => Roleplaying => Topic started by: Renodin on June 05, 2019, 09:13:44 PM
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Hey there!
In this thread I'll be collecting as best as I can the various Roleplays that are written by, for and involve Nemean JeVondair Renodin. The Son of Asher Renodin and Ayden JeVondair. Grandson of Aldrakar Renodin.
Green eyes, Dark Blond hair, Average height, Athletic build.
Nemean was borne under questionable circumstances. Ayden and Asher had their own long and complex stories. One of its results is this Character. Originally imagined and fleshed out by the player of the JeVondair Family but given onto me to play as a character.
For all those pieces that I will gather here that aren't written by me I express gratitude. Without them Nemean would never be nor become I imagine, the character he is and might be. Please consider them as you read these stories. Only some are mine but most likely most are the stories that other people created and all credit goes to them.
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Character description - First rendition
Aged 17
The Son of Asher, former King of Perdan and Ayden JeVondair, Duchess of Blades.
A blend of the Brunette known as the Sable Jaguar and the Radiant blue eyes of a Monarch. His body has the shape of a well formed athlete. Resplendent with well proportioned muscles, chiseled by countless hours of training and in possession of a fair complexion only mildly touched by the sun.
The crown of hair that inhabits his head is of a warm, dark-blond hue. The orbs that constitute his eyes have taken a shade off of the gemstone known as Emerald.
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Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
THE SON OF BLADES
Selenia quietly, calmly folder the Redwing banner, placing it in an oak chest in her quarters in the Palace of Oligarch. The former Xerarch was still covered in the dirt of the road, armor splashed with patterns of mud and darker substances that could only be guessed at. She hadn’t even had time to enjoy one of the cities’ famous baths. There were bandits all the way from old Alara roaming in Commonyr and beyond, within site of Oligarch’s very walls.
The very nearness of the enemy, to say nothing of the loss of her crown and the reasons that had to be so, moved her to action. Strife always moved Selenia to action.
“Summon my sons†She said aloud and to no one in particular. The sudden, frantic pattering of booted feet informed her that she was being obeyed. She waited, staring out the window towards Commonyr wear raiders were no doubt looting tax offices only to find that she’d had them all emptied scant hours before, having foreseen their move. Their audacity irritated her ferociously, and she lost herself in her brooding until a polite knock at the door sounded and her sons entered the Room.
HOGNI OF HOUE JEVONDAIR. NEMEAN OF HOUSE JEVONDAIR. A liveried footman announced as the two young men were ushered into the room. Selenia did her best not to role her eyes. It wasn’t as if everyone in Redhaven didn’t know these two, much less her of all people. Despite years of practice, she failed, prompting a low snicker from one of the boys as the door closed behind their advance.
The offender was her eldest, Hogni, the older and larger of the two. His smile was broad, despite appearing just as tired and dirty as she. It had been a hard ride getting the Fearless to Oligarch so quickly. The entire Sygardian ARMY had appeared in Greatbridge as if to ambush them, but thankfully Selenia had the foresight to scout ahead, allowing them all to circumvent the trap by adding a LOT of miles to the trip. She stuck out her tongue at him, brushing his apologetic hug aside in mock pique as she focused on the youngest member of her family.
Nemean JeVondair, or more properly Nemean JeVondair Renodin, was her son in name only. He was technically her ward, as his mother Ayden had been. In actuality, he would be closer in stature to a grandson of the once-Xerarch, but the magic infusing the Phoenix Queen’s body had kept her appearing as though locked in her thirties. He couldn’t very well go around calling her Grandmother, but Aunt? Aunt Selenia could stomach.
As Hogni protested in a tone that mocked his mother’s mockery of him, she planted a calloused hand in his face and pushed, rocking him back on his heels and deftly avoiding the obvious bite he snapped her way. It was an old dance between the two, and Nemean had taken a period to get used to the fact the Selenia was nothing at all like he’d expected as a boy listening to stories at his mother’s knee. Selenia’s face grew sad as she thought about the Duchess of Blades, the child of war she’d adopted and raised as her own, only to bury her after she fell in battle years before. When Selenia looked at Nemean’s face, she saw the features of both his parents, and she grew sadder still, the burden of loss and re direct responsibility for it weighing heavily upon her.
“Come here, lad.†She ordered. He did so. Like his brother, he was dirty from the road. He wrinkled his nose at her, finally comfortable enough to poke a little fun of his own, and she pushed the heel of her hand on the top of his head in gentle reproach. “Your no bed of roses yourself, you know. Teenage boys are the direct product of the gods below who seek to frought the goodly peoples with your stench alone.†That got a smile from both of them. She allowed hers to grow before it faded again as she considered her next words.
“Ever since you could cry, you’ve been your mother’s child. But ever since you could walk, you’ve been mine.†Selenia said as her voice took on the tone of Edict, the tone of a Queen. “I have cared for you, instructed you in the ways of war craft and state craft alike. You have been my squire through several major battles, victories and defeats both. You have seen what it is I expect of the nobles sworn to me, sworn to Xavax and the ideals, traditions, and aye memories that bind us to this war. You have seen it. You have lived it. And now, my boy, I believe it is time for you to join it.
Nemean’s pupils grew wide and his mouth gaped with understanding as he shot an accusing glance at Hogni, who simply shrugged his own ignorance and smiled as if to say this was none of MY doing. Nemean’s eyes snapped back to Selenia at the hiss of drawing steel. Selenia’s kukris, her weapons of choice winked sunlight at him as she moved to lay one on either shoulder. He knelt.
“I am sorry, my lad. You are young, perhaps too young. But I need you. We need you. And before you ask, no, Hogni is not being knighted today. He must remain close to me, to take up my sword and banner should I fall. His destiny is not yet come. Yours, however, is. So I want you to hear me now, and remember my words well:
“For the blood of my countrymen, I will give of my own and take of our enemies.
By the strength of my hands will greatness be wrought.
For the honor of my family, I will not break faith
By the blades of my forebears, I will fight.â€
She spoke. He repeated, and the boy seemed now more man than ever as she used her blades to nick light cuts on either of his cheekbones. Cuts that bled, but would heel well and hardly scar. Selenia had never done this before, not for anyone, and the import thereof was not lossed on either of them.
“I stand and do bare witness†Hogni said solemnly into the silence after Nemean had finished repeating the Oath.
“I stand and do bare witness†Selenia replied to him, though her eyes never left Nemean. “Rise now, Knight of Redhaven. Rise and learn, Rise and fight. Never stop rising, and never ever forget the Xavax blood spilled to bring you to this moment.â€
And with that, the newest knight of the combined realm of Eponllyn and Redhaven was made his entry into the greater world.
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Two Cuts
“For the blood of my countrymen, I will give of my own and take of our enemies.
By the strength of my hands will greatness be wrought.
For the honor of my family, I will not break faith
By the blades of my forebears, I will fight.â€
The words scantly had left his lips as the blades of the Xerarch, drenched in the full rays of the sun, swiped across his face in rapid succession. One crimson line on his left cheek and another on the right. The dual kiss of steel bit. Akin to a viper's poisonous touch. Where the sensation of ice turned to fire in an instance.
He tried not to show it, but it hurt. his face a mask of cast bronze. But it bled.
“I stand and do bare witness†Hogni said solemnly into the silence after Nemean had finished repeating the Oath.
The words he heard and they sank deep into his being. Far did they cascade down the flows and falls that pooled in a depth known as resolve. The mask of his face moved, turning slowly to his childhood brother. Hogni. The elder of the two, taught by the Xerarch herself. Eyes met and Nemean winked. Waiting of course until Selenia couldn't see that half of his face anymore.
“I stand and do bare witness†Selenia replied to him, though her eyes never left Nemean. “Rise now, Knight of Redhaven. Rise and learn, Rise and fight. Never stop rising, and never ever forget the Xavax blood spilled to bring you to this moment.â€
The mask's gaze returned to Selenia. A fat droplet of blood having ran half the course of his face and now dangled precipitously from his chin. ''Wings unfurled, the banner crimson now my standard to rally.'' His face turned towards the ground and beheld it solemnly like he was reading sacred texts. After some time had passed, Nemean rose to his feet. Made a careful bow and left the Xerarch of his childhood and stepped out into the world of his Xerach, an Adult.
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Roleplay from Andross Blint
The Torn Blade
The Duke of Blades leaned against a pillar in the palace of Oligarch, watching as Hogni and Nemean exited from Selenia's chambers. The boys were alight with fire and passion. Pride swelled in their chests as they tried to contain their excitement. The twin cuts on Nemean's cheeks was an indication for what had transpired behind closed doors. Hogni turned at the last moment and waved to Andross, Andross grinned and winked at the boy. He'd always been fond of the young lad, though he hadn't had the chance to interact with him nearly as much as he'd have liked, but such were the tribulations of war. He watched the boys disappear around a corner. Skia, his direwolf, lay at his feet, lounging in the sun that poured through the window.
He caught the scent of horses, leather, oil, and the faintest iron of blood as much as heard the Xerarch approach, he waited a moment, just long enough for the thought that he might not kneel to flicker, before he turned knelt, and said "My Queen." He looked up at Selenia and suppressed a smile as he watched the thoughts flicker across her face. She considered reminding the Duke she was no longer Queen - not since they had both moved their duchies to Eponllyn - but the realization that Andross hadn't made a mistake replaced her first instinct - which was replaced by the final realization that she was dealing with a Blint, and she knew first-hand, and all to well, how stubborn and head-ache inducing Blint's could be. Skia, had likewise, dipped her head to the floor in a show of respect for the Xerarch. Andross rolled his eyes at her and muttered "Show-off." Skia was then, predictably, rewarded with ample head rubs and scratches behind the ear.
Selenia bade Andross rise and they stood together, as friends, not as liege and vassal. A moment passed before Selenia said "You're not as guarded as you think, speak, my Duke of Blades." Her voice commanded authority and something about it made Andross want to want to respond, but her voice wasn't all command, it was gentle and coaxing. He leaned against the pillar again, Skia returning to him and he dropped a hand and rubbed the top of her head.
"He is her son, and I love him for it. I always will. I - I would have - " Andross struggled with the words. It was one of the things he missed the most about Ayden - the lack of a need for words. The two of them were never as in sync, never as in touch with one another, as they were when fighting side-by-side. Selenia waited, patiently for Andross to find the words and the courage to say them. Andross sighed, and said "Everyday he looks less and less like her, and more and more like.. his father." Andross practically spit the final word as if it was comprised entirely of venom. He looked at Selenia, tears brimming in his eyes, and she took his arm, and the two walked together. It was one of the most tender things Andross had ever witnessed her doing.
"Love him for her, not for who his father is. I know you love her, and she loved you, Andross, in her own way, and that boy is going to have one hell of a time as a knight of the Redwing, he'll need your guidance, as much as you can give to him.." Andross's face hardened, he stood a little straighter and a little taller. Selenia smiled - the man she had chosen as her Duke of Blades was back.
He nodded, and said "Thank you." She smiled at him and he bowed his head and started to leave. He turned back to her and said "She hasn't been avenged yet, and they are going to wish they never touched a hair on her head." Selenia nodded to him and said "Good."
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Roleplay from Mara Aurelius
As the Aurelius Dragons were marching to Meuse, a female rider with worn leather armor rode ahead of the archers to the one that was leading them. Mara could be seen wearing her normal black travel cloak. If someone can see past her scowl and eyepatch, they can see her beauty. Even now only two people really knows what happened to her eye; Mara, and the one that's not here today.
Captain Margarita read Mara the letter as she has done for thousands of letters before.
"Dame Mara," Margarita gritted her teeth. Anyone within a mile could feel the flames burning in her eyes.
" 'That bit about slaying lions, was that a threat at me? Or even the Xerarch?
If it is, know that I stand ready to defend my honor!' "
Margarita couldn't help but chuckle as she read that line.
" 'Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Oligarch' "
Margarita took a deep breath. Mara shook her head knowing what her loyal subject was feeling but couldn't wait to hear what crazy thoughts were building up. Her loyal subject was only able to speak freely when no one else was around and for good reason. Humor of this nature is not appropriate almost anywhere. Calm and collected, the captain spoke the words that were on her mind.
"My queen, he is only young and probably doesn't know what love is yet. Please take your sword and break it for him. I want to lick the tears from his eyes when the blood spouts from his chest."
Mara had quite the smile on her face and found it hard not to laugh. Margarita's father was a master smith and Mara is convinced that not only did he sell his soul to produce the highest quality weapons, he also sold his daughter to the daimon that gave him his gift. How else could she say something so brutal unashamed?
Margarita smiled. It was not often her queen felt joy and she was glad to give it to her. But disappointment soon took over.
"You're not going to kill him, are you?"
"No."
"Aww. You always say that. It's been too long since you properly killed someone. You do it so elegantly. The best part is when your victims cry and beg you for mercy. Setting the helmsman on fire and burning up the ship was fun but that was almost a year ago. Today most people just get their head chopped off which looks quick and painless. Too boring. But you can't let him get away with it. Soon everyone else will be doing the same."
"The half wit is not worth my time. Write to him if you must."
"And how about a warning to the others?" Margarita insisted.
Mara gave in. The captain would keep pestering her about it if she didn't.
"Fine. Just don't write my--."
"You're honest opinion, I know." Margarita has been writing almost all the letters for her queen over the years. She would have preferred a gruesome killing but at least writing some letters aren't as dull as most.
"My lady." Margarita excused herself and rode off to find a suitable spot to write.
Mara rode on. She wasn't too sure what Margarita would write but trusted her enough to let her go.
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The parchment is fresh. Newly bought yet crumpled and smoothed over again.
Arbiter,
Godric,
My mother was a Huntress. All needed saving from her. A Lady of Blades, all around her death crept into the shadows she cast. Why would any gods feel the need to save her? She prayed to no gods other than the steel in her hands. I know I am borne from a slayer of man. That and a father who wore crowns as easily as he wore masks.
I've heard the stories of my parents. The Xerarch herself shared them with me. She would not leave anything out. She prepared me for this life when my mother died and my father abandoned me. Why would you want to meet me? The lives and deaths of my parents not enough for you? Your gods require more ''Great Blood''?
Explain yourself! Why peddle divination and mysteries at me. If you know anything Scholar, tell me! Tell me or go back to your dusty books!
There is a fat line scratched into the parchment. A rash and sudden addition to the writing if you'd label it such. Strangely enough, the letter was not finished yet it was send still.
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A carefully bound package arrives. Inside the wrappings of leather you discover a small casket. Not larger than a medium sized hare. Inside you find a neatly folded parchment laying on a bed of straw.
Esteemed Arbiter Godric,
The angry letter from Nemean was send by me and not by the young Lion himself.
I'd like to call him that for his paternal blood is of Lions while his mothers blood is that of the JeVondairs now. Both lions you see. My name is of little import I am sure but I shall offer it nonetheless. It is Berenger de Moustiers. I take on the literary tasks for the young master. Arrange his staff and more such matters but I digress.
When I learned of your interest in the young Master I decided that -that- would be a good thing. As such I've subtly offer praise and kind gesture in whichever way I might've been able. He has much to learn from men such as yourself. Your knowledge of custom, law, history. To name but a few aspects I greatly admire, are invaluable in my estimation.
As I filed away his correspondence with you, a task I loath to hand off to lesser qualified personnel, I noticed how you mentioned the young master's parentage. A touchy subject I assure you. The Xerarch has been teaching him since his mother died and he scant remembers her. Not to mention he knows barely anything intimate about his father. Hasn't ever even seen the man.
Should you wish to offer instruction or otherwise be a positive influence on the young master know that you have a staunch ally in me.
Rest assured that his latest letter to you nor your response are known to the young master.
Sincerely,
Berenger de Moustiers
Major-domo
The text is written in an elegant manner that belies years of practice and confidence. The casket is otherwise entirely unremarkable and nondescript.
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Riding out
Having settled his affairs and taking up his banner as his own man for the very first time. Nemean nodded at the handful of riders that comprised his guard. They didn't respond. Hadn't they seen his gesture? The thought assailed the young man. Straightening his back he raised up his right hand and dropped it sharply.
This time the riders responded and set out at a steady pace. The lack of a captain sorely felt by the young Noble. At least they were now on their way to Troyes and after, Bescanon where perhaps he'd catch sight of his first enemy.
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After a long journey
Reaching around the horizon the sky had adopted that hue of fine claret. Gaining an ever deeper shade of cherry as time wore on and causing doubt in a young Noble's mind. The day that precede had beaten down its rays upon the world and proved a deft adversary. For Nemean had not brought a hat and his cheeks hurt from squinting all day long.
Where worry had beset him at least a couple dozen times. Sighting yet another trail of smoke rising from behind a hill or having to decide which direction to take as yet another fork presented itself on the road. He had been certain he'd never make it to the front. At least, not by nightfall he assured himself now. With the war-camp clearly in view.
The standard of the company of men he led was simple. It was black and bore a golden Lion at its center. A far cry from the quality of troops that served under it. Poor form, poor formation and listening poorly to their teenage leader. Yet, despite all this, the young Noble had managed to traverse the rogue lands by himself, leading a tiny band of riders and arrived before dark as his orders had stipulated.
So Nemean rode into the war-camp. Not just a little bit unsure of where to house his men.
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Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
Guldor had decided to take a walk before the arrival of the night. His Black Whistlers, 125 well-trained and equipped archers that had served in numerous battles and composed in no small part of volunteers he had recruited over the passage of weeks in allied lands, were already settled down and dug in following the orders he had given Captain Ines, the middle-aged woman that he had recruited in Krimml. The war camp was still busy at this time of the night, so he decided against demanding an escort and simply allowed himself the pleasure of walking a few hundred meters away from its external perimeter all on his own.
He was enjoying the cleaner air and quieter surroundings outside when he saw the small retinue of a noblemen he had not met yet. Intrigued, since he was bearing the colors of Eponllyn, he walked back to the camp, wishing to inquire on the identity of this newcomer to the realm.
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Not so very Noble work
The war camp was still busy at this time of the night, so he decided against demanding an escort and simply allowed himself the pleasure of walking a few hundred meters away from its external perimeter all on his own.
He was enjoying the cleaner air and quieter surroundings outside when he saw the small retinue of a noblemen he had not met yet. Intrigued, since he was bearing the colors of Eponllyn, he walked back to the camp, wishing to inquire on the identity of this newcomer to the realm.
~Guldor D'Espana
The illuminating light of the great ball fire in the sky, known as the sun, had already sunk beyond the horizon. In it's place a hundreds of torches and cooking fires had taken over the job of lighting the war-camp. Nemean stood with his hands on his hips as he observed the disorganized mess that was his little slice of it. Brushing away some sweat from his brow he heard someone approach. The soft crunch of straw that served to supplement the fodder for the horses gave the newcomer away.
Turning to confront the newcomer Nemean stood a bit more erect. ''Who goes there?'' The dark offered shadows and the flames battled to offer identity to eyes that could not see very clearly. Around them stood several hastily pitched tents, a wash-bucket and a small pile of horse tack. The young man looked healthy, sweaty and as if he just did a fair bit of manual labor.
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Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
In response to the voice that demanded him to identify himself, Guldor snorted quietly and took a last step into the light of the torches. A tall man in his youth, well over the six feet mark in his golden days, Guldor was now barely over the six feet barrier, though he still retained some of the imposing physical presence and broad frame that had made him a fearsome warrior in his prime. Time had not been particularly kind to him, and his face, once well proportioned and quite handsome, was now covered in wrinkles and scars, witnesses to the passage of time and the many disappointments and challenges he had experienced throughout his life.
His hair was perhaps one of the most clear evidences of his past in the Far East Island. Already covered in the grey snow of the elderly, it was cut in the traditional chonmage haircut he had been keeping since his many decades in the remote and now sunken continent. He sported a well-trimmed medium length beard, the same color of his hair. But amongst it all, it was his eyes that probably stood out the most. Dark brown eyes, that looked with the gravity and fatigue of senescence. Eyes that had seen the rise and demise of countless realms. The birth and death of many.
Eyes like an empty void, devoid of most feelings but tiredness outside of the battlefield, where the wrath and impotence of more than sixty winters rose up and carried him throughout the fight... until it all came to an end and, yet another night, death avoided his longing hand and made him wait for the next clash.
But he had been asked a question, and it was impolite to not answer it, particularly in the camp of another nobleman. Nodding in acknowledgement with a neutral expression, he answered in a deep, raspy voice.
- "Guldor D'Espana, knight of Greater Eponllyn. I have not seen your face before, and you are far too young to be one of the old warriors of this realm previous to Redhaven arrival. May I know your name?"
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A Choice of Name
But he had been asked a question, and it was impolite to not answer it, particularly in the camp of another nobleman. Nodding in acknowledgement with a neutral expression, he answered in a deep, raspy voice.
- "Guldor D'Espana, knight of Greater Eponllyn. I have not seen your face before, and you are far too young to be one of the old warriors of this realm previous to Redhaven arrival. May I know your name?''
Standing in among the tents and general disorder of his camp, Nemean was visibly taken aback by the specter from another time and place. One of the cooking pots currently unattended began to grumble. Its bubbly surface quickly frothing at the edges. Its mass rising and then a sudden ''Plop!'' saw the whole of it sag in on itself again. Save from a few errant splatters being launched from the pot. Which landed wherever they may, wasted.
The noise pulled the young man out of his reverie. He cleared his throat and glanced about quickly as he collected his thoughts. Verdant was the sheen that the torchlight summoned from his eyes. Despite looking disheveled and out of place the young man's hair looked afire in the setting. A beaten gold color that had willingly adopted streaks of fire it seemed. Strands falling haphazardly where otherwise they where previously bound back in a ponytail.
''Of course.'' He took a step towards the living memory of a man. ''I bear the name of Nemean.'' The motion only participially complete as he had begun to extend his hand. Not even the shadows could hide the doubt on his features. ''Of House JeVondair.'' As if to imbue confidence in the shaky statement Nemean turned his emerald gaze to meet the oaken orbs of the elderly warrior. ''I am my mother's son. Taught by the Xerarch, blood of her blood.''
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Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
Guldor stared silently as the younger man composed himself and finally managed to let out an acceptable answer. When he heard the name Nemean he lifted an eyebrow, which he could only lift even more when he was offered a hesitant handshake. However, when he was reminded that the boy was a JeVondair, he relaxed appreciably, accepting the hand of Nemean and corresponding with a brief and firm shake, pleasantly surprised that he had the stones to look at him straight in the eye. And what eyes he had, bright emerald and intense as few he had seen before.
He put on an unenthusiastic grin after they finished their mutual greeting, and held the eye contact as he spoke a single sentence:
"So you are the hound lad, mhm?"
He kept staring right at Nemean, midly amused at the situation and moderately interested in his reaction.
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The Young Fox and the Grey Wolf
He put on an unenthusiastic grin after they finished their mutual greeting, and held the eye contact as he spoke a single sentence:
"So you are the hound lad, mhm?"
He kept staring right at Nemean, midly amused at the situation and moderately interested in his reaction.
~Guldor D'Espana
Being the focal point of attention wasn't a new thing. During his training by the Xerarch there had been plenty of eyes on him. From tutors, from servants and all manner of people that frequented the Selenia. Yet, this felt different. There was no easy atmosphere in which he could withdraw. Guidelines didn't exist out here where the enemy could strike at any moment. This old man, nearing a century old looked at him and there was no set etiquette he could defer to. He was compelled to answer and to maintain eye contact.
''Hound..'' Nemean blinked. ''Yes, I.. I am.'' The urge to look down was strong and his head inched in that direction as his eyes remained fixed. ''It was foolish of me to call you that. It escaped my mouth without considering who you were.''A rogue squirrel darted among the provisions that lay next to one of the tents. ''But I wasn't all foolish there, I also asked for stories of old. You have seen all that has happened to Xavax and I would hear it from someone who's actually been there rather than read about it. Letters don't hold the same power as spoken words I feel.'' He allowed his eyes to look away.
''She's on her way you know.'' The youth looked at elder. ''Selenia has send Hogni on ahead and she follows in his wake.'' He searched the wrinkled face for reaction.
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Roleplay from Mara Aurelius
Margarita and the dragons had been back to camp for a while now after the destruction of the Aix fortifications. New orders were to loot and destroy food, something Mara is uninterested in. Other troops can do that and even find joy in it. The Aurelius Dragons are a resource to be used for something more. The troops wait patiently for orders worth following and kept the peasant resistance in check, all except for one.
"I'm bored. Killing peasants is too easy." Margarita was lazing around in her queen's tent. Unique was one of many words to describe her. As some already knows, her intellect is above average but her mind had a sinister edge to it. Mara gets few visitors not because she is unlikable but in most cases must speak to Margarita first. It isn't uncommon that commoners and lesser nobles alike will get their fingers crushed, stabbed in the palm or foot, or hair set on fire just because Margarita didn't like the smell of them or the way they looked. Most notable nobles don't have to worry about such things but know enough to be wary.
She had already cleaned and maintained Mara's equipment, something she's done countless times. Even she still isn't tired of her father's hard work put into the weapons. All of which were similar in design, a gold dragon at the handle and hilt breathing the fire that was etched across the length of the blade, but each a tool for different circumstance. It was her duty to keep track of all her queens weapons on the battlefield. Ever since Mara's first battle against Perdan in her second war, the routine was the same should her queen be bothered enough to fight in the fray.
Mara kept her throwing daggers concealed under her cloak or strapped to the front of her leather armor. Twin blades rested crossed on her back used in close quarters. Finally, a crescent blade for mounted combat which Margarita carries until Mara calls for it. Margarita also carries her queen's short bow which isn't anything too special. The only weapon that she could call her own was a finely crafted long sword. The only thing her father gave her besides life. It was nice but wasn't elaborate. She doesn't need any other weapons because she is free to use Mara's weapons at her discretion and is proficient enough to wield them. She excels at protecting her queen's weapons in battle should they get misplaced. It became an obsession that she must feed the dragon with the blood of her queen's enemies when they are in her hands. Aren't dragons always thirsty for blood?
"A letter came in. Read it to me." Mara spoke of the letter from the young knight Nemean JeVondair Renodin.
Margarita read the letter aloud and gave a sigh of disappointment at the end.
Mara spoke.
"I know what you are thinking. He didn't give me a reason to kill him."
"Can't you kill him anyway?"
"No."
"Aww. I'm so bored. When will something exciting happen?" Margarita was now whining annoyingly.
"Maybe soon. I haven't made up my mind yet."
Margarita's interest peaked.
"Oooh, a secret! Pray tell please!"
Mara could tell Margarita anything. Being sworn to keep all private discussions confidential is quite unnecessary, she doesn't have any friends even among the troops. After the incident where she seduced a soldier and decided to scalp him while in the act, people go out of their way to avoid her as much as possible. That, and she's a pathological liar to practically everyone. Mara proceeded to explain to her what was on her mind.
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Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
Guldor lifted an eyebrow again. Not the response he was expecting to get, that for sure. He was expecting Nemean to either double down or suffer great embarrassment as he was forced to withdraw his words in fear for punishment, but the young man had done neither of those. He could see regret in his eyes, yes, but no fear, only respect and a desire to prove he was up to the high standards set for him throughout his entire life by both tutors and Selenia alike.
His eyes softened a little and he relaxed his pressure on Nemean somewhat, unexpectedly pleased by his answer. Memories of his own youth years came to him, of the many stupidities he had said and done in pursuit of the same that Nemean was seeking now. Honor. Glory. Fame.
A name for himself.
Guldor nodded slightly before answering.
"Yes, it was foolish of you, but I would be the fool here if I did not let it go with your recent change of attitude. You are very young, and still learning. Do you want stories of old, Sir Nemean? I will make you earn them. Ride with me to the battle at the earliest chance we have and, if you make it through, I will honor you with a story. Do it again, and you shall receive a second one, and the same goes for the third. Prove to me that you live up to your family name, and together with my respect you will earn the right of asking me for tales of old."
At the mention of Selenia, he nodded again.
"Have you ever seen her charge into battle, Duke Blint at her right and Arbiter ka Habb at her left? Of course you have not. She is a magnificent sight to behold, Sir Nemean, and you shall soon find yourself understanding why we the Xavax would follow her to the gates of Hell at back at her mere command. About Hogni, I know much less, I must confess. I rarely partake in the court environment."
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The Long Wait
"Yes, it was foolish of you, but I would be the fool here if I did not let it go with your recent change of attitude. You are very young, and still learning. Do you want stories of old, Sir Nemean? I will make you earn them. Ride with me to the battle at the earliest chance we have and, if you make it through, I will honor you with a story. Do it again, and you shall receive a second one, and the same goes for the third. Prove to me that you live up to your family name, and together with my respect you will earn the right of asking me for tales of old."
And with that, the young man nodded solemnly. The task ahead was set. Blood would be the price for experience. As it so often was. With the Talon ordering the army from one front-line to the next, seemingly in circles aiming to avoid any battle, Nemean wondered how it would took before he heard his first story from the fabled old man.
While his spurs were yet to be replaced with gold and his belt was likewise unadorned, these things would change as the blades of the enemies would carve a new man out of the soft wood he was now.
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Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
Sounds of peasants being repressed followed Hogni from Dimwood's "battlefield."
Hogni was in a sour mood, and he had done all he could not to direct any of that at the youthful Sir Daeron. When Selenia had attached him to Vurkow Guards, he'd only meant to stay for as long as it took to find his brother before returning to the side of the Phoenix Queen, who had gone on to hunt the Perdanite stragglers near the Caligan border. As he'd told Daeron, Selenia was aging, and he did not like to leave her alone without himself or Nemean. Alas, orders are orders.
For the third time that hour, he cursed the day that had been wasted in cleaning up a small group of ornery peasants who themselves appeared to have scantly two brain cells to rub together.
As he wandered about the camps, searching for one banner among many, his eyes alit on the seahorse banner of Epponlyn. His new home. He'd never expressed his thoughts on it, but he understood why his mother disliked it so. It didn't exactly inspire courage, nor speak at all to the warrior spirit. Indeed, most people he asked didn't even know its history, making instead some vague references to land and see they'd heard secondhand from others who themselves had little idea. That seemed sad to him, dying for a flag that held so little of the public's imagination. Yes, he could see why his mother wanted it changed to the Redwing. Even to him, it had everything the seahorse lacked...then again, it also represented nothing of the Eponnlyn from before, so he could understand if his new countrymen were less than thrilled. But then again...
His thoughts went on for some time in this way and Hogni was grateful that matters of crowns, flags, and politics were not his responsibility. Today, his only responsibility was finding his brother. It was another unique moment in his life, for they'd both been Selenia's squires for so long that looking for Nemean instead seemed a wholly different sort of exercise. The Xerarch had always been easy to find...just head for the thickest of whaterver happened to be going on at the moment and there she'd be. Nemean was not the same, and for a variety of reasons hogni simply did not expect to find him in the center of the xavax warhost. And so he wandered, walking beside his horse, an even-tempered roan gelding, as he sought his brother out.
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Roleplay from Daeron Vurkow
Seeing Hogni wandering to and throw between the different camps had began to make Daeron nervous. Him being his responsibility and making sure that he finds his brother gave the gaze of Selenia an omnipresent manifestation, for he knew everything will be told to her by Hogni if he made any misstep.
So to calm this anxiety he went looking for The Capitan to find and bring Neman back to the Vurkow camp. When he found The Capitan eyeing two groups either side of a trench, two members in particular. One was a rather stocky bald man nursing a broken nose, the other was a man with a black eye who was diverting his attention between playing with a deck of cards and the other group.
"Capitan! I need you to find a Sir Neman Jevondair, should have a gold lion on a black shield. When you do bring him back here it is an important matter for the realm." As he was giving this order The Capitan was still watching the two groups before slowly turning his head towards Daeron. His distinct peppiness was unusually absent from his voice in his response.
"Aye Sir. Any request for what I should say when I find him?" Daeron was already walking away to plan the troops march; shouting over his shoulder.
"Just say I sent you on Hogni's behalf, bring him back kicking and screaming if you have to!"
As Daeron passed from view The Capitan hesitantly moved away from the gathering before turning towards the mass of tents for the rest of the army.
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A Peppy Captain
"Aye Sir. Any request for what I should say when I find him?" Daeron was already walking away to plan the troops march; shouting over his shoulder.
"Just say I sent you on Hogni's behalf, bring him back kicking and screaming if you have to!"
~Daeron Vurkow
Woodsmoke rose from beneath the pots of tar and lard. The war camp was in full swing as the Talon had given out his orders for the day. Everyone was to set out and face the enemy. However, ''not just yet'' was a proverbial addition to those orders and as such, everyone seemed to spend time making last minute adjustments to their gear. Most prominent and also noticeable to anyone with even half a nose, were the rows of strategically positioned tar refining workshops. The men that worked there were burly, soot stained and covered their face as best they could. Often with a length of cloth or some other rag, tied behind their head.
Their labor was in high demand. Not because there were ships to waterproof but for an entirely different reason. The birch bark they were using as their main ingredient was worked and worked until all that remained was a fine yet very dark substance. Some of the batches would be darker than the feathers on a raven while the more premium batches bore a fine amber tint. Every soldier hated rain and it was this product that ensured that their gear remained repellent to the stuff. The added benefit was of course the ease with which they could mend small gashes or otherwise damages to their leather-wares. Ranging from armor to just about anything if the need was pressing enough. And it certainly was that after weeks in the field and after several sieges. Not to mention the near oily substance that could be used to prevent rust. The burly men made a killing well before there ever was a battle.
Having realized the very same issue as every other warrior, Nemean was negotiating the price for two pots of medium quality tar. The wind coughing puffs of smoke occasionally from the fire into his face and his nose continuously assaulted by the ever pervasive stench of the entire tar operation. ''What?!'' The young Noble's eyes popped open wide. ''20 Silver pieces a pot?! Are you mad!'' Nemean licked his lips and instantly regretted it as the scent previously borne on the wind was now transferred into his mouth.
''Well, supply's low.. Demand's high..'' The bare-chested, chubby man offered as he pulled his stained white scarf down his chin. His eyes full of sympathy but his lips moved with naked joy. ''So, what will it be Lordling?'' A sweaty and pork fingered hand rubbed the stubble on the chubby man's face. A throng of seasoned warriors milled about, most of which had the presence of mind to pretend not to notice the exchange but they all watched it like Magpies spotting stray silverware.
It was at this time that one man emerged from the throng. Moving quite succinctly like he didn't want to be noticed yet neither wanted to take away from his outward confidence. As Nemean readied his response to the Tar peddling, fatslob of a man, for he has gained such status in the young noble's mind, the approaching man spoke. ''Sir Nemean? Of House Jevondair, Former Ward of the Xerarch Selenia, Knight of Oligarch?'' Each title a hammer-blow to the common born soldiers. Each mention forcing them to slink away a little more. Oblivious to the effect, Nemean turned around. ''Yes, I am he. Who sent you?''
''I am the Captain to Sir Daeron of House Vurkov.'' Not waiting for the youthful Noble to respond he pressed on. ''Hogni awaits your presence, for some time now.'' As if to add further weight to the statement the Captain slightly raised his chin. In the background the fatslob had retreated back to his workshop. At the mention of his brother Nemean feel a new sense of urgency. He glanced to where the fatslob had been but discovered the man gone. A deep furrow marred his featured for a moment. ''Very well, lead the way Captain.''
And so the captain led the young man to his master's camp. Seemingly out of the blue however a question came ''Where did Sir Daeron hire you? I've found captains to be quite elusive.'' At which the captain offered nothing but a smirk and a select choice of words. ''We are a rare breed indeed young master.''
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Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
Guldor observed the solemn nod from the much younger man, and wondered what was he thinking when confronted with the perspective to fight in order to earn his reward. Such was the way of the Xavax, it had always been, it would always be. Nothing is gifted to the warrior elite of the East Continent. everything must be gained through dedicated service and, usually, oceans of sweat, tears and blood.
Still, the matter seemed settled, and Nemean had passed his first test, the first of the countless ones awaiting for him in his near future. His family name foretold the early days of a legend in the making, with the potential to change the entire course of politics and warfare on a continental scale. If Nemean would rise to that bar, it still remained to be seen. Most likely not, of course, but he would keep an eye on the lad regardless. He had promised him tales, after all, and a young enthusiastic high noble sounded like a more interesting audience than a bunch of commoner soldiers, let alone a faceless mass of minor nobility and wealthy traders.
Guldor looked around the campsite, obviously rushedly organized by a very inexperienced batch of fresh recruits. The thought of helping Nemean to organize it died before even being born, and he simply surveilled the area with a slightly displeased look on his face. He then looked at Nemean again, and with a simple gesture of the head signalled the camp around them.
"It would seem I have caught you busy unpacking, Sir Nemean. A pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I look forward to seeing your first battle. Come to me once you have earned your first tale. I will make sure to deliver then."
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Roleplay from Andross Blint
Andross and his captain had been moving through the tents and shops of merchants when he heard the exchange between the tar merchant and Nemean. He picked up an apple and leaned against a tent pole a good distance away and watched with curiosity as the merchant blundered his way through the exchange, and Nemean did a rather decent job of not stabbing the man in the throat.
At the challenge of calling Nemean a "lordling" Friedrich, Andross's captain stepped forward. Ever the one to demand respect be shown where it was due, he was ready to charge the merchant. Andross grabbed his captain's arm and muttered "Let it play.."
Friedrich stepped back, but Andross could feel him seething. After Nemean left with a captain, Andross entered the man's shop. Friedrich stood outside, to ensure the conversation would not be interrupted.
The merchant turned as Andross entered and bowed his head, "Greetings, mi' lord, how may I be of service?" Andross looked around the shop before stepping forward, towards the man and saying "You know who I am?" The man nodded and said "Aye, you're the Duke of Blades." Andross nodded and said "Your last customer, you know him?" The merchant started getting a bit nervous and shook his head "Not at first, mi'lord, but after hearing his name I know of his family." Andross stepped closer, he was nearly nose to nose with the merchant and said "The boy's mother was very dear to me, that makes the boy dear to me. Disrespect him again, and I promise you, you'll learn why I hold the throne of Blades." The man began sputtering a bit "of...Of...C...c...c....course.. my'l.. mi'lord."
Andross slapped gold on the counter and said "Tend to his unit and mine." The merchant bowed his head and said "At once mi'lord." Andross left the shop and disappeared among the throng of people.
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The following bit of information is purely OOC even for IC purposes. That's because I asked the player who helped created Ayden (Nemean's biological mother who dead when the boy was young, damn peasants) what Nemean might recall of his mother. Here's his reply. Which was much appreciated.
Out-of-Character from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb
Ayden was intense. She was not affectionate, instead possessive. She saw her family murdered and her father became an undead: she had to be saved from being killed by him. Her mother figure was Selenia and theoretically father figure was Godric. She did not know parental love with them, rather admiration.
She was a mother only for the very early years of Nemean's life, even less than the short time with her biological family (I think she was 10-12 when they were killed?). I don't think she softened or truly learned what it was to be a mother. If he has memories they would be scant and fragmented. Perhaps a song or a memory of some rare kindness. Maybe her absence and distance, as enthralled as she was with her goals of service or revenge.
Ayden was considered a full-blooded Toren and was taught the ways by Godric, I think if she intended Nemean to be Toren she would have had Godric teach him but that is no longer a possibility. Godric considered Asher to have fallen to one of the grave sins of Torenism and never attained its teachings.
I think, especially compared to an aged and motherly Selenia, Ayden was lackluster. The lack of consistent memories definitely allows Nemean to paint a self-serving image of his mother, perhaps to emulate Selenia or supercede Selenia.
Just my unorganized thoughts. I hope they're helpful.
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A little Rp to fill the intermezzo I felt was sneaking in.
Seasonal Fair
Walking among the battle worn rock that is the fortress hold of Westmoor, a young man with eyes resembling the deepest of shades of eau de Nil strolls about as the great walls envelop him in shadow. Locals from all around the small city were piling into the place. Nemean couldn't help himself gawking. Westmoor certainly wasn't Oligarch but these people. They packed themselves into ever nook and cranny. Peddling their wares and clogging up the already cramped, winding roads.
Apparently there was a fair of sorts. Making sure he didn't bump into anyone the young noble darted between the stalls both permanent and makeshift. Fleece everywhere. Seasonal goods and a ton of vegetables. It must've been a good harvest. He thought to himself.
So Nemean took in the sights of Westmoor. A lonesome, tiny city on the great plains now called Greater Eponllyn.
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Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
Guldor sat down for a little while in the middle of his supervision of the preparations for the march of his Black Whistlers, which he intended to take to Troyes to follow his Talon's example. In his hand was a letter from the young knight Nemean, which he had been looking at and rereading every once in a while for the past day.
Letter from Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Message sent to all nobles of Eponllyn (28 recipients) - 1 day, 6 hours, 25 minutes ago
Venerable Guldor,
Old men take interest in that which they have lost but wish.
He wouldn't be the first to look at me and dream of days long gone. When they could still run and jump and swing a sword for hours without tiring. I also very much doubt any woman would still give him a pleasing look.
Don't worry about me, I know how to take care of myself.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Oligarch
The letter didn't mention him specifically, but he felt its sting nonetheless. Did he dream of days long gone when looking at the young knight himself? Did he take interest in that which he had lost but wished?
He knew the answer to that question perfectly well, and it was not one he liked remembering. Putting the letter back in an inside pouch under his robes, he stood up and aggressively hoarded his men to Troyes.
Because, in the middle of the road back to the frontlines, it was easy to distract oneself from the painful truth.
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Below is not a Role play but rather a letter from another player. Why did I save it? Because it is a very subtle yet sublime reference to an RP we wrote together. If you look back at the RP exchanges between Godric and Nemean you might catch it. I'll not spoil it yet.
Report from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb
Sir JeVondair,
The proper court of the Xerarch are the special positions of governance as well as any advisors duly appointed. We will be alongside the Xerarch and the high peerage will assemble duly before us. There is no custom as to the organization of the high peerage, although orders have existed and been used as informal houses: the Old Guard and the Order of the Black Swan come to mind. The court of the Xerarch and the court of the High Peerage together is referred to as the Phoenix Court.
Nobility and merit are the determiners of status among the Xavax. You are a high peer of the realm but have not the merit to afford greater status: worry less about where you stand or how you appear and instead endeavour to be useful.
You may have noticed some of the younger nobles are prone to fits of emotion and irrationality. Avoiding this at least publicly will be a boon to your career.
Hail,
Godric Tórrarin ka Habb
Chief of Justice of Eponllyn
Knight of Oligarch
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Below a small RP meant to illustrate a reaction.
Words from Sel
Awaiting near the Temple of the Triumverate in Bescanon, the young Noble was surprised by an unexpected letter. It was from Selenia. The Sun had beaten the earth below like the armies of the North had the South. Relentless and without pause. As its glare lessened so Nemean hastily broke the seal that kept the words upon the parchment hidden.
Word from Sel always made him happy. Wind gently nudged the branches overhead. Making lush green leafs dance a slow rhythm. A visage marked by the hallmarks of health and unblemished by the passing of time took on an uncharacteristic mask, if indeed it was pretend. Long became the furrow upon his forehead. The brows above each eye turned down towards the nose. His gaze grew hard.
The words having past from parchment to his mind, his head dipped and he exhaled heavily. There was no joy in his demeanor as Nemean tucked the letter away. A single hand he placed upon the bark of the tree that had been proving him with shade. That too, he wouldn't long need anymore.
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Info post
Following I'll be recording a slew of RP's. They are mainly not my own but written by a cast of Battlemaster players. I am exceptionally grateful for them for their contributions to the event I will try to capture as best I can here on this thread. The Third Phoenix Court.
It is an event that is held among the Redwing, a culture group created by the Players originally from the Realm of Greater Xavax. During this Phoenix court matters of great import are discussed and decided upon. I, will be writing Nemean's take and role in it, as the story and events unfold. I don't know what will happen or how it will go. All I know is that it will be memorable. Collaborative writing usually is.
I'll label the RP's with: -PHOENIX COURT 3-
Again, all due credit to those incredible players who wrote the pieces.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Daeron Vurkow
Standing outside of the magnificent temple of The Triumvirate Daeron arrived early to compose himself and get in the right state of mind, as this was his first time in being apart of a meeting such as this and seeing his peers in person. As he was pacing up and down in the courtyard he heard a "hiss" from the nearby shrubbery. Assuming this was a snake he continued his pace but when the snake whispered "Daeron" he knew something was afoot. When he approached the source took on the shape of a hunched and dirty creature, who happened to be The Capitan.
"Sir! What a coincidence to find you here!" His eyes shone with happiness that if physically manifested would bounce off Daeron's sheer wall of confusion, for they had not seen each other since The Capitan was given the order to find Nemean.
"As you would know I have not brought Sir Nemean back yet, got lost as the camp was moving while trying to find Hogni who was doing the same thing you see." Affording himself a small chuckle.
"Anyway I found out he was going to be attending this meeting so I brought this truncheon you see and was hoping to get him into a position where I could deliver him to you, yet he does not seem to have arrived." Poking his head outside of the shrubbery to scan the courtyard for further signs of life. Daeron was could only be dumbstruck that his second, his main representative, was about to bludgeon a prince of the realm so he could send his unconscious body to his brother and possibly their liege in his name. Despite how this reunion was going he managed to keep his composure, for no real damage had actually been done.
"Right... so how did you know this meeting was taking place, only a select few were made aware and you were away."
"Well Sir, you see. I needed to blend in with the common folk if I was going to surprise the prince." Showing off his filth ridden self
"and thus I needed a job and it just so happened they needed a courier to deliver a message to the Duke of Blades and I was not aware of the contents but let me tell you Sir, he was not happy, began ranting about the meeting and throwing all sorts of threats though luckily once I had gotten this location I made a quick exit before he could do anything rash." A pit had formed in Daeron's stomach. Not only had he made a blunder of finding Nemean, now he was going to be associated with the Duke of Blades removal of his title. His representative had delivered the message to remove his title.
"He does not know who you are does he?"
"Course not Sir, but if he found me with you that would be hard to explain I must admit." Daeron took a few steps away from the temple and stared at the surroundings before squatting with his face in his hands screaming.
"ARGHHHHHHH GODS!" After a long silence Daeron turned to The Capitan, who had an awkward smile by this point and spoke in a very calm and mellow voice.
"Go to camp, take a bath and wait until I return. If I do not return, it means Selenia has flayed me alive and my skull belongs to her as a drinking receptacle." Understanding the message he offered a bow to his master before speed walking away, leaving Daeron with the wind and the pigeons.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Andross Blint
Andross thundered into Bescanon at the head of 70 battle ready cavalry. His men had adopted the demeanor of their lord, as had Skia, his fully-grown pet direwolf. They were all furious. None more so than Andross. There was talk that he would be robbed of his ducal seat, of Ayden's ducal seat. He would rather die than let that happen. He was willing to duel any who challenged his right to Krimml, to the death. He had nothing to lose. Either he won and retained his seat or he lost, and he'd spend eternity with Ayden. Plus if he lost, he had no doubt that whomever defeated him would be mercilessly hunted by his father, and that thought gave him some small satisfaction.
He rode up in front of the Temple and dismounted, his boots hitting the stone with a thud. He handed the reins off to Friedrich, his captain, and said "See to the men and camp, then you will attend to me in the Temple."
Friedrich nodded and said "Aye, your grace. Reports suggest the Xerarch isn't here yet." Andross gave a curt nod. "I'll wait." He said. Friedrich and his men rode off to setup camp and prepare for the Court. Andross lingered outside the Temple for a moment and then decided to inspect the inside, it could very well be where he had to fight for his duchy, and it would pay to know the terrain. He thought about seeing Selenia and normally such a prospect would excite him, he loved spending time with her, she was mentor and mother to him, liege and friend. Today, however, there was no room for joy or excitement in his heart, there was room only for rage, and death. Skia padded alongside him as he walked through the temple. The fur on the back of her neck stood straight up, it did that when she was scared and hunting. He knew she could sense his rage, and his willingness to throw himself at death, and that scared her. Man and wolf had formed an inseparable bond over the years and she didn't want to lose a part of herself as much as he didn't want to lose her.
But this wasn't a matter up for debate. His mind was made up and his decision set. He rubbed her head to reassure her and she nuzzled against his leg. It was preemptive, but in a way it was also goodbye.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Ryndhal Nabarl
Ryndhal walks up to the doors of the magnificent temple of the Triumvirate, remembering fondly the time and investment he had put into having it created.
It felt good to be back.
Some of the minor priests of the temple were surprised to see the High Priest, and rushed to see to his needs.
“Prepare the Hall of Elysia for a great meeting, ensure there is ample food and mead available to all. I am uncertain as to the exact nature of the court we shall host here, but Elysia would seem to be the choice of god to watch over it, with truth and honesty as her leading valuesâ€
The priests nodded, and spoke with various servants of the temple to ensure everything was in place for what was to come.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Kanchelsis Abjur
All this recent talk of home hit close to the young knight Kanchelsis. He didn't really have one, being born from a pairing of an Elf and a Tilogian. The son of both a mistrusted race and a breed of evil madmen, he couldn't really blame those who wouldn't accept him. He had been surprised when he had received the invitation to the "Phoenix Court" from his liege, the legendary Selenia JeVondair, the so-called "Phoenix Queen", especially after not answering her offer of adoption. If he could have been honest with himself, he would have known that had been because he didn't believe himself worthy of the honor. When he looked at his reflection, he didn't see the son of the heroic Xerarch who fought and died for what he believed in, nor the noble merchant Elf who gave up everything to be with his father and to raise him. He saw a deceitful coward, one who was willing to live in the shadows until his mothers death drove him to seek out his father.
The young knight straightened his shoulder length red hair to hide the points of his ears, and checked the short straight sword with it's Damascus blade on his belt. It had been a gift from his father to his mother when he had been Shadow Tyrant of the artist convocation known as the "Assassins" in the Colonies. it was a fine blade for a woman more interested in the business of the merchantry rather than the soldiery, but the young knight had discovered it rather limiting from his recent days in the field. Still, it was what he had available, and the jeweled hilt and patterned blade in its sheath designed more to show off the weapon than protect it from the elements would fit in nicely among the great and the good that would no doubt be at this gathering. He glanced at his reflection in the shield hanging from the wall of the room, and the handsome face that looked back would have doubtlessly been familiar to those who had known Aramon Abjur, if they could imagine it marred with the same tattoos and scars he had borne. He shifted the coat of scales on his broad shoulders, he was no where as massive as his father once was, but he was far from a small man, and the near spitting image of his father (not that Kanchelsis could have known, he had never met him while he was alive, and was in the field fighting when his father was buried). Deciding that he was as prepared as he could hope to be, he took the shield from the wall and slung it over his back, the spear with the crossbar bearing the banner of his father's heraldry with it's unusual party per pall division of the field from the corner of the room, and walked through the inn and out he door, setting his course for the temple of The Triumvirate in the distance.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Right - these are some to watch people. These are the RP's written that illustrate the entire Phoenix Court. JeVondair is the main driver.
Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
THE PHOENIX COURT: Part I - The Gathering Storm
June, 1019
The warm winds of high summer swept over the province of Bescannon. Here on the Eastern Continent, that meant storms. It had never been a particularly warm place, this land of rising suns and dynasties. It was not so very long ago now that the great cities of its southernmost regions were locked behind an impenetrable expanse of ice and winter. It was the melting of that ice, that thawing of winter, that had heralded her coming. With the warmth of wind and current, Selenia had sailed from the western Ivory Empire she'd built at the head of half a dozen coteries of her bannermen who together joined with many others: migrants and thrill seekers, fortune hunters, refugees from fabled sunken Atamara, and still more storied noble houses. Selenia, though, had come in hopes of finding a peaceful life and family with which to retire while other, more active members of the JeVondair family made their mark.
To this day, the boldest of her confidants still laughed at that last twist of Fate. Today, though, it reminded Selenia just how far she and her people had been made to come, and just how many homes that they’d built and lost and rebuilt. One might even say the fate of the Xavax was caught in Time. Catching a reflection of herself, that particular thought caused her to grimace
Selenia was somewhere in her 30’s, or so an uninformed onlooker might have guessed. However, astride her roan warhorse in the midst of three dozen of her Fearless, there was no mistaking her for who and what she was. She was of tallish height for a woman, though her head might come up to an average man’s nose. Of her flesh, only her head was visible. Blonde hair rippled in tight warbraids against her skalp in intricate patterns that kept stray strands before falling in a restrained mane to her shoulders and whipped about by increasing gusts of wind. Ageless-blue eyes framed by even features and a pert nose that, upon close inspection, would show that it had been very well set. And on more than one occasion. Measured lips set in a thin line and the flush of summer colored her cheeks. A sharp appraiser would note the silvered Sirionite armor beneath crimson cloak she and her men favored, though theirs were trimmed in black while hers was gold, the color of royalty. About her shoulders was a mantle of lionhide and fur. The top half of the great beast’s tanned skull, complete with glass eyes, glared over her right shoulder, its fangs pinning her scarlet cloak in place as a clasp would. At once a symbol of the great House she now ruled, a reminder to her Xavax tribesmen, and a threat to her most hated enemies. Other than these, she wore no symbol of rank or office, and even these, in her opinion, were overkill.
Today, however, the image was necessary. Especially in this place. The latest addition to the realm of Greater Epponlyn, Bescannon was once a province of war machinery and tall towers. Many would admire the wheat fields matched only by the brilliance of shining blue waterways that ran with brilliantly colored fish. With a population greater even than Krimmel. The region had apparently once boasted vast arrays of buildings full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engines worked monotonously up and down, which was a controlled tempest in a state of constant order building siege engines, or so local guides had once informed her. Selenia had no idea what that meant, but the locals seemed insufferably proud of themselves. Though, credit where due, they had other reason to be. Bescannon was one of, if not the most, heavily defended regions of its like in all the world. Alone, the militia here stands vigilant and ready to combat armies of the vast size and aggression as even the Perleone ‘Empire’ might raise. Though much of ‘the original’ industry was nowhere in evidence, more traditional signs of civilization greeted passerby at every corner. Selenia thought it was certainly much nicer to come as a defender, rather than as a conqueror.
Word of her arrival, and destination, had apparently strayed ahead of her as she arrived at the grand Temple of the Triumvirate. A crowd of onlookers had already gathered to watch the many important high nobles make their way within while their men found somewhere to stand guard. Selenia nodded in approval at the discipline on display. Her people’s soldiers stood vigilant, wary, and as ever-ready for battle as their aristocratic patrons were. Her expression warmed by degrees when one figure, a squire in the gilded lion livery of her house, made his way through the Fearless’ ranks to take hold of her roan’s reigns while she dismounted.
Högni Peredhel JeVondair was already a good deal taller than his mother. By most standards, he was a man grown, but he still bowed his head affably so she could reach up and run a hand through his hair. She had not seen her son since sending him to look after his younger brother on his first campaign. As was her way, she eschewed words in favor of action, drawing him into a tight hug and bending him so far forwards that he very nearly lost balance. He recovered with grace however, as he returned his mother’s embrace before breaking away and holding her a arms length, smiling. Not for the first time, she marveled at him. He looked so much like her, she thought, but the influence of his father was definitely apparent, far more strongly in some ways than others. Delicate, like her own, for which he surely would have been teased were it not for all the muscle and skill being raised by her had bequeathed him.
Högni was well on his way to becoming a good man, while she looked forward to his knighting one day, she was grateful for his value in being able to move about without all the ceremony, and more importantly without the notice, that her movements incurred. In hushed tones, he told her of the nobles that had arrived and those that had yet to. Out of habit so ingrained she did not even notice, her fingers flitted to the twin kukris she’d carried as an adventurer herself a lifetime ago, loosening them in their scabbards as her Fearless dismounted in a cordon of muscle and steel about the pair before they began their ascent. Högni He guided her up the steps to the Temple and towards the Hall of Elysian just as the first fat drops of rain began to fall.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Andross Blint
Andross waited for Selenia and the others to arrive. Her retinue was hard to miss. He couldn't help but marvel at Selenia, she exuded power, authority, dignity, and nobility. His icy pale blue eyes flickered over her person, noticing her Sirionite armor trimmed in gold, her cloak with the lions head on her shoulders, her eyes, her face. He watched her interact with Hogni, a small flicker of joy sparked in his heart, he loved that boy like his own son. That flicker of joy was quickly and readily extinguished. He stood to the side of the entryway to the Temple.
Andross was above average height, but not tall, he had the sandy blonde hair of his father's youth and beard to match. This sides of his head were shaved, and the hair on the top of his head was trimmed very short. He'd let his beard grow out a bit more in the past year or so. Today he wore the armor he wore when he personally escorted Selenia from the gates of Xavax city. Obsidian black armor with a wolf head emblazoned on the chest piece. The eyes of the wolf were small ruby's that, when they caught light from the sun, or flame, appeared to be alive and awake. His cloak crimson red, similar to the color of the Xerarch's, but his wasn't nearly as fine nor adorned as hers.
He wore his traditional sword on his hip, the pommel held a wolf's head and he had at least four other daggers and blades strewn about his body. Selenia caught sight of him immediately, Hogni walked with her as she ascended the steps of the Temple and her glance at Andross told him everything he needed to know. Andross bowed low to her and he said "Your Grace." She couldn't miss the absence of a jovial tone or any lightheartedness in his voice. He waited for her to pass into the inner Temple before following her and her guards.
-
This one is supposed to be in there somehwere. Lemme check.. right before the RP JeVondair wrote. I kinda messed up but I'm sure you can work around it. Capable as you are. Yes, I wrote this one.
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Sometimes, life just passes you by, fast
In the eternal rhythm the sun always gives way to both darkness and to rain. It seemed today was no different in that the rustling of the leafs became more pronounced at first and slowly grew into a clattering chorus. Nemean's attention was first drawn to the arrival of the Duke of Blades. His banner unmistakable. The black background bearing a red Cross upon which a white canine lay.
Turning around to face the oncoming horde of horsemen the boy-man had little time to make his presence known as the Duke was clearly upset and he paid little heed to anything but the temple itself in which he promptly vanished. Deciding to follow him Nemean halted after only a handful of steps. ''What is that?'' He squinted his eyes as he couldn't believe his eyes. A walking raisin of a man in a magnificent cloak gingerly walked up the blessedly few steps into the temple proper. Was that the insignia of House Nabarl he spotted? The White and Blue with a Black chicken foot atop of it.
Rubbing his face in disbelieve Nemean resumed his way. As he was about to cross the cobbled road another contingent of heavily armed horsemen rode past. His eyes instantly informed him that this was the Fearless. Selenia's personal guard. He called out but the hooves droned out his voice. As nature would prove once again, horses were that much faster than men. No matter how determined. Nemean tried to catch up but it was in vain.
All he could do was look on as Hogni, his brother, embraced Selenia and how they made their way inside as well. ''Why does everyone have to arrive at once!'' He huffed under his breath. Finally reaching the temple entrance himself he was red in the face from exertion. That of course wouldn't do and some of the Fearless grinned at him. ''How's life as a Knight young master?'' One asked in friendly jest. Catching his breath Nemean grinned back. ''You still have to do the running yourself! Bet I can still outrun you as well Kefren.'' Calling the warrior by his first name. Growing up among these men had created an easy relation. One Nemean was grateful for as he felt comfortable enough to check his attire. A sturdy leather armor under which he wore quality linnen. The cuirass of which was embossed with the rampant lion of his House. Over his right shoulder he wore a fighting, half-cloak made of fine fur the color of dark chestnut. Some of his dark-blond hair spilled over it now after his short run but he bound it back in the ponytail in which it had originally been.
High hunting boots had prevented mud or dirt from staining his leather trousers and circling his waist there sat snugly a belt made of bovine leather. Rather wide and carefully tooled as to allow the attachment of small plates of armor. A thing that was currently lacking. The only things attached to the belt at this time were two pouches a dagger and a sword.
Kefren stepped out towards the young man and helped him straighten out his clothes and ruffled his hair to tease. A thing which inflamed Nemean but for as long as it took for the men around to start laughing and he joined in as he realized what had happened. His confidence boosted and having recovered from his little run, Nemean too entered the Temple. Keenly keeping a lookout for anyone of note.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb
The rains has begun to fall heavily as the temple of the Triumvirate comes into view. Section commanders of the Mounted Toren accept orders to break off leaving Godric, his Captain Honana, and a careful selection to accompany him. Their horses are muscular and powerful, not necessarily swift, but they move like a landslide. Godric's gaze surveils the surroundings with exacting accuracy as the rest of the troops ensure they are moving towards their destination. Breaking forward, Godric halts them and dismounts a short walk from the temple steps. Wordlessly they provide him with his weapons while taking away the heavier pieces of his armour. He remains in gambeson and greaves, a 6 foot spear taller than he and a large round shield of steel on oak.
Godric's most discerning feature is a sharp nose followed closely by his intense gaze. Were his eyes not attached to such a fierce countenance they would be bright and cheerful. Instead they shine wickedly at those who have drawn his attention. He is aged now, hair receding and grey, but his forearms remain approximately the size of oaks. He walks not with a confidence but with a detachment, unperturbed by anything around him. He looks around wisely, as if nothing ever surprises him. Before stepping on the temple grounds he produces a pendant of Tor, murmurs a prayer to it, and replaces it inside his gambeson. He climbs the steps and proceeds to the Hall of Elysia.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
THE PHOENIX COURT: Part II – Gods and Men
June 1019
The Hall of Elysia was the primary feature about which the entire temple edifice had been planned and built. After ascending the stairs and passing through the great oak doors, she expected to find a foyer or a series of rooms and passageways. Instead, she found herself in an immense cathedral. The Hall was more akin to an amphitheater shaped like an X with its points aligned in the cardinal directions. From where she stood in the entrance, stairs lead down to a central pulpit with a raised dais for speakers to walk and preach and be both seen and heard no matter where one stood. From this central point, seating radiated in concentric circles stepping all the way up to where she now stood. At the top of these circles and even to her current level were four great statues, all with female traits and each set into their own alcoves, with altars at their feet. Selenia thought it strange number for a faith called the Triumverate, and wondered which of these gods had either died or been cast down. The interest was fleeting, however, as the business of the realm weighed heavily on her mind. To her right and left were the northern and eastern alcoves, respectively. The northern alcove featured a statue of a goddess bent with age, while the eastern on seemed the opposite. Across the Hall were the southern and western Alcoves, the former carrying a spear and shield, the latter carrying a sickle. Upon the altars of each goddess, rather than offerings, a feast had been laid out for the guests of the temple. To Selenia’s eye, all seemed equal, and she was about to select where she was going to sit when laughter from behind where she’d left her riders caused her to turn.
Nemean JeVondair Renodin was bounding up the steps after her. Followed by waves and hoot or two from her Fearless. Her features softened into a smile as he drew close. Rather than wait for him to bow or kneel, she went to him and embraced him just as tightly as she had Hogni. “My son†she said after breaking the embrace, “I have missed you lad.†She looked him up and down with a note of appraisal. It had not been so very long ago that she had knighted him, but already he seemed so different! He was growing up before her very eyes. Darkly, she mentally cursed the circumstances that caused it. Hogni placed a firm hand on her shoulder, pushing her a bit, a reminder that he hadn’t seen his brother in nearly as long. Selenia stepped back, and Hogni almost lifted Nemean off his feat, armor and all, in a great bear hug. “Come†she said aloud simply, and turned to enter deeper into the hall with her sons to either shoulder.
It was no surprise to find that Andross Blint had already arrived. He’d watched her as she entered. He looked as if he had been pacing. His face was that dangerous calm death mask that she’d seen on his father’s face on more than one occasion.
“Low, Duke of Blades,†she called in greeting as she extended her arm and crooked a gauntleted finger at him in a “come-hither†gesture. Selenia had chosen to sit with her back to the southern alcove so she could see all who entered. She turned left, passing the eastern goddess on her way. She noted the runes that named this statue as Elysia before moving on to her destination, where she promptly poured herself a flagon of something the local priests had provided. It was a sort of beer, dark amber in color. Then she tore off a baby-wyvern drumstick and sat down to face the pulpit and the entrance. No sooner had she done so did Arbiter Godric arrive. The massive, hawk-nosed old Toren appeared just as fearsome as ever with his huge spear and grave demeanor. She waved him over, hooking a thumb over her shoulder to indicate the food. Selenia had long held that nothing of import should be started on an empty stomach. She contemplated the duke and the judge as they approached. Both men were tied to her family by love and tragedy, for both had loved the same woman, albeit in very different ways, and Selenia felt a deep kinship with them both. Since they were among the first to arrive, they would sit with her.
Selenia rested her elbows on her knees as she alternately at off the dripping drumbstick and drank appreciably from the flagon as she waited.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb
Godric enters swiftly, eyes narrow.
"A rat."
His continues at speed until he stops just within the doorway.
"There is a rat, my queen. I must kill it." His voice is steady and sure. A retainer rushes forward to present two letters to Lady Selenia before rushing to the side of the room. Godric points his spear at Duke Andross, advancing slowly. "This man is a traitor to the Xavax. He insults me and all of us by trying to destroy all we have worked for. He is a rat. Die."
Godric lifts his shield, ready to attack.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Andross Blint
Andross drew his blade and readied himself. He suddenly looked at peace. He looked from Selenia to Nemean to Hogni, and said "You know me, my queen. Everything I've ever done as been for you, your family, and this realm. I will fight this man now, the best of us, because honor dictates I do so. If I die, you know my wishes."
He looked at Nemean and said "You look so much like your mother." A sad smile on his face. "I loved her, from the moment I met her, I loved her and I've never stopped. I never will." He turned to Hogni and said "You are of the Redwing, stand strong and do not look away. Oh and take care of her." He said as he nodded to Skia who was sitting next to Hogni.
Andross turned to Godric and raised his weapon. "Let us finish this, Lord Arbiter."
-
Duel
Andross Blint, Duke of Blades, Baron of Tabost meets his challenger Godric Tórrarin ka Habb, Chief of Justice of Eponllyn, Knight of Oligarch for the agreed duel till death.
Godric Tórrarin has decided to use the 'overrun' strategy while Andross has chosen the 'defensive' strategy, giving Andross the advantage.
The duel runs its course, until Andross delivers a fatal blow. The healers carry Godric Tórrarin away, seriously wounded but still breathing.Since there was a bounty out on him, Andross gladly collects.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Kanchelsis Abjur
"Perhaps it is good that my father is dead. To imagine we would see a day when two of the greatest of Xavax would turn their blades on one another for the "honor" of a foreign Queen!" Kanchelsis had left the blood stained banner standing outside the temple and had made his way, mostly unnoticed, through the crowd of retainers in time to witness the confrontation, his left hand on the hilt of the short sword on his belt. "What, do we not have enough enemies to kill that we have to start killing one another?" As the spear fell from Godric's nerveless fingers, the young knight shot out of the crowd, blade drawn, and stepped over the Arbiter's prone form. Once he was sure the Duke of Blades was not going to strike, he knelt, checking the old warriors wounds and, finding a pulse, pulled some gauze from a pouch and saw to the wounds as best he could before motioning for some of the Fearless to take the stricken man to the Priest's quarters.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Aggammenonn Atredies
While I congratulate the Duke on his victory, I wonder what the point of all this martial might is. This duel solved nothing either way, and the important issues remain unresolved.
So Lady Selenia, where do we go from here?
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Ryndhal Nabarl
Ryndhal watched as the nobility arrived at the magnificent temple of the Triumvirate. It pleased him, as he hoped it pleased the Goddesses, that such a wealth of important people were to hold discussions of significant matters within these blessed stones.
He stood in the entranceway, greeting all as they arrived. He was short, stocky, scarred of face and in deep flowing robes. Most who looked at him would just see an ancient priest, and perhaps think of him as wise due to his age and status. He doubted there were any alive who knew how his life had started out and most of his years had been lived. He smiled and lost himself briefly in reminiscence. Those young nobles would probably struggle to believe he had lead 1000 cavalry alone and marched from Itorunt to Sirion to battle the ruler there... It seems like lifetimes ago...
His mind back to the present, he acknowledged the serving persons that had readied the feasting was requested and gave thanks to the goddesses for their work. Once more he returned to welcoming all who came, watching them all, noting who came, who didn’t, how people interacted.
There was excitement and hostility in the air, the latter of which was not so pleasing to have in the temple and he gave a glance at the Crone.
“Welcome one, welcome all. You may sit where you wish, you can be shown around the temple whilst you wait if desired, though I expect we shan’t wait long before we are underway properlyâ€
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Ryndhal Nabarl
...and then, in the entrance lobby of the temple, two of the nobles decide that is the honourably place to hold a duel to the death. Ryndhal shakes his head sadly and looks to the Crone once more “are you trying to tell me something?â€
Although he had been asked whether the nobles would need to hand across their weapons before entering the temple, Ryndhal had said no. The goddesses choose what fates become of men and, it seems, this spectacle was something they had chosen.
What purpose it served, who could say. Superficially it just seemed like hot headed over reaction that could have been sorted out with conversation over a tankard of mead or two, deeper down, there may have been more to it.
Ryndhal clapped quickly to get the attendants to clear away the mess and continue proceedings with no more mention of the matter now.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Andross Blint
(OOC: I hope this RP doesn't go against, or hijack Godric's character. If it does my sincere apologies.)
Godric launched himself at Andross with equal parts ferocity, and strength. His spear was akin to a deadly stinger on a giant hornet and he wielded it with brutal efficiency and strength. He was a master of the weapon, and of combat. He outclassed Andross. Andross knew any attempts at an aggressive strategy would likely be met with a quick and swift death.
Godric swung his spear at Andross and it took every ounce of training and strength Andross had to fend him off. He countered and parried the strikes he had the strength to block and dodged and evaded those that would surely have broken his guard, punched through his obsidian black armor, and killed him. Andross fell into a battle rhythm, not by choice, it was instinct. He was reacting to the duel instead of controlling it. But Leatho's teachings were saving his life right now and he let them.
Steel clashed against steel, the sound of armored boots scraping the stone floor echoed throughout the chamber. Godric had entered and readied himself so quickly that nobody really had the time to react or say much of anything to prevent the duel. Andross and Godric danced death around the temple, Andross far more nimble and agile than the large Torrarin but Godric exceeded him in strength and skill. Andross was sweating, his arms starting to tingle and threatening to go numb if he sustained much more of the vicious onslaught of Godric. This duel needed to end. Soon. Andross gritted his teeth and fought on, counter, parry, riposte, strike. One after the other, flowing and weaving among each other. If the shock of two sons of Xavax fighting hadn't been the mood in the temple, if the near sureness of death wasn't as pervasive as it was, this duel might've been an example the tutors would go to for years to come.
Andross shook his head and returned to the moment. He could afford no distractions, not when death was clawing it's way towards him, ripping down every attempt at a barrier he could muster. He needed to end this duel, or death would surely trap him in it's permanent clutches. He saw an opening. It was a small chance, but it was all he had. He feinted with his body, telegraphing the strike as subtly as he could. Godric moved his spear to block, and as he realized it was a feint threw two lighting fast strikes towards Andross. Counter, riposte, strike. Andross stepped into Godric, a dangerous place to be, and one he didn't intend to remain in for long. He smashed the pommel of his blade into Godric's cheek with all his might, causing the Arbiter to spit blood. Andross side stepped and spun his sword and slashed down with all the strength his faitgued muscles could summon. He chewed threw Godric's gambeson and felt steel bite into flesh. Pulling his sword out, ready to fend off the strike he was sure was coming. Godric grunted, and Andross feared that he wouldn't stop, that he'd made a fatal error. But Godric slumped to one knee, blood pooling . He looked up at Andross with hate in his eyes and with the half-strength he could muster and struck at Andross in an attempt to catch him in a moment of carelessness. Andross batted away the spear and raised his sword, preparing to sever the head and herald the end of this legend of Xavax. His eyes flashed over Selenia, who either hid her emotions behind a mask of stone or hadn't decided what she felt yet. Selenia. The thought was profound, it infested his mind with rapid abandon.
The sound of Godric's shield rattling to the stone floor as he lost his grip on it. Andross's eyes refocused on the Arbiter, Godric Torarrin, lying on the stone floor, his blood pooling beneath him. Andross saw his chest rise and fall, Godric's eye fluttered before they shut. Torrarin. Ayden. Thoughts of Ayden flooded his mind. She would be ashamed. A tear fought its way to his eye and streaked down his cheek. Andross lowered his blade, breathing heavily, and whispered, more to himself, than to Godric. "Rest now, brother. The Maelstrom isn't ready for you yet."
Andross stood over his mortally wounded opponent as the Abjur boy checked the downed' judge's vitals. Andross was already sure the Judge would live. Before anything else could happen though, the Duke of Blades heard the distinct sound of metal leaving leather behind him.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Aviendha DarkWing
Trudging through the muddy streets of Bescanon, the rain now pelting down, Aviendha eagerly reached the steps of the Temple of the Triumvirate. With all of the travelling her and her men and done over the last few weeks, some well-deserved rest and warmth was at hand. Aviendha’s newly found but fiercly loyal Captain, Flavilla gave the order for the men to be at ease, as the two women made their way up the steps.
Aviendha felt her chest tighten as she quickly ran up the steps of the mighty Temple and passed through the bustling entrance. Although she was not naturally an imposing figure, as she pulled back the hood of her cloak to reveal a waste length tight braid of fire red hair, it was hard not to catch some attention. And her golden flecked green eyes flashed at Flavilla with excitement as she stepped towards the Hall of Elysian.
But all of that thrill drained from her slight face before she reached the hall, and her hand reflexively reached for the pommel of her sword. The sounds of steel clashing and boots scraping the stone floor emanated out of the hall. Aviendha pushed through the crowd that had formed, but just as she reached the front, silence echoed…
The Chief Justice and Knight Godric Torrarin could be seen lying on the floor of the hall in a pool of blood, with the Duke of Blades, Andross Blint, breathless and standing above him. Swiftly Godric was being attended to.
Aviendha held her hand on her blade, sheathed presently, but prepared to follow the Lady Selenia’s next move. Her eyes were locked on Selenia who remained standing across the hall, her face unreadable.
Aviendha’s head spun at the sudden conflict that had taken place in what was meant to be an opportunity for peace and unity….
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
THE PHOENIX COURT: Part II – Gods and Men [Cont'd]
June 1019
Naked steel, those infamous twin kukris, glinted in the hands of the Phoenix Queen as she advanced on the Duke of Blades.
At first, Selenia could not believe what she was seeing. She was so shocked as to be literally stunned, and that lapse had very nearly caused Godric his life. She watched, seeing the fight’s end as though the two combatants were moving through water. By the time the old Torran fell, her wits had returned to her and she was already moving before either of her sons could react.Then Selenia was standing before the Duke of Blades, naked steel in both hands. Her face was a masque of outrage, her cloak and mantle made a puddle of fabric on the floor. Behind her, the statue of the warrior goddess framed her. Since words had clearly failed, Selenia embraced the only thing the Duke was likely to understand.
She attacked before he had even completed turning to face her. Twin kukri’s scythed through the air, cutting across his chest from shoulder to opposite thigh and just barely missing him barely as he reacted. Surprise registered on his face and Selenia put it to her advantage as she stepped in, closing the distance before he could bring his own weapon up to defend himself. Selenia’s reach was shorter than his, as was her stature, but she used her lower center of gravity to her advantage. Lowering her shoulder, she took advantage of the added weight and sturdiness afforded her by her armor, using the momentum from her missed swing, but the full force of it to ram her pauldron right into his midriff. He gasped, caught more off-guard than truly hurt, as she forced the air out of him, causing him to retreat a few steps. Selenia pressed the brief advantage, interposing herself between Andross and the fallen Judge. She raised one blade to Andross, taking her eyes off him briefly to glance down at Godric. The utter rage contorting her expression did not abate in the slightest as it switched from one man to another.
She flicked her other blade and Kanchelsis who, taking the hint, carefully struggled to move the injured Godric from the pulpit until others joined in to lend a hand. When both were clear, Selenia returned her eyes to Andross, moving both blades back to a ready stance. Her cheeks were flushed with anger and her posture promised imminent malice, and then Andross understood: By taking action, rather than using their heads, both men had behaved just as poorly as Eriatarka herself had, giving neither thought nor regard to the consequences of choices made entirely without thought to what others might have counseled had the chance for even that been given. By actually fighting Godric, and at the Phoenix Court no less, both had dishonored their host. In so doing, they had undermined Selenia, made her look weak before the entire realm and in the face of their enemies. In a very real sense, both he and Godric had challenged her, and she’d responded in the only manner they’d left her.
Still, this was a temple. Despite her anger, she, at least, would not dishonor this hallowed place. She rose out of her fighting crouch and after a moment’s thought, sheathed her weapons. Then she was walking towards him, speaking only as she passed him on her way towards the exit.
“Outside. Now.†The Phoenix Queen growled.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Andross Blint
The Phoenix Court: Blood and Honor [Pt. 1]
Once the surprise of Selenia's fury and challenge abated, Andross recovered. Adrenaline pumped through his body and he readied himself. Before him stood his mentor and friend. His queen. Should she wish him dead, he would not deny her that. He would accept that fate with open arms.
"Outside. Now." She growled at him. Something in her eyes told him she would fight him, but she wouldn't kill him. Not today. Perhaps only because Godric still yet lived. Andross grabbed a goblet of water from one of the ledges near him as he walked out into the rain. The crowd parted for him as if he himself was made of poison and any contact with him would result in the spreading of an infection that could not be stopped. He walked out and all 70 of his Forged were there, waiting. Skia ran out alongside him and turned to guard his back as he made his way down the steps. Selenia followed him out and at the look in her face plus the faces of the other assembled nobles. Andross's men shifted, gripping their weapons tightly.
"NO!" He bellowed. Looking at them and sweeping his blade through the air slowly, leveled at their chests. "Nobody interferes. No matter what. No. Matter. What."
He ripped his cloak from his shoulders and tossed it aside. The wind and rain caught it and buried it in the mud of the street. He drank a deep gulp from the goblet of water and spat it out to the side, he looked up to the heavens and let the rain wash down on his face. He took another small sip and swallowed it before tossing aside the goblet. He looked at Skia and muttered something to her, inaudible to the rest of the crowd. His direwolf trotted off to the side, and waited. Her fangs bared, but unmoved from her spot.
He looked at Selenia as she walked down the steps, flanked by all those who'd assembled for the Phoenix Court. Her face was twisted in fury and rage. Her kukris drawn. He readied his sword, and drew a dagger of his own and readied himself. His face determined. This was for honor.
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Here's Nemean doing as he is asked to do.
Hands to the Task
Bulbous to the point where fat would become a better name for the droplets that fell from the clouds above. Nemean wordlessly served Selenia. His hands moving with practiced ease. He averted his eyes and allowed his mind to be blank. As blank as he could manage it. Repetition, describing the motions and actions he took in his mind. Loosening straps, pulling cords, tugging at the right angle. The pieces of armor came loose.
Selenia tried to make eye-contact but there he also refrained. A battle was a lonesome endeavor. One that should not be clouded with memories or connections. He would not offer her such a connection. A reason to hesitate, to doubt. In his solemn stance he could not resist but follow her gaze as it went from him to the blood on the floor of the temple right beside them. His eyes moved in their sockets but his head remained unmoved.
With the task complete, the Xerarch stood unadorned of her battle armor. Nemean backed off to stand with the crowd. The crowd didn't let him blend in with them. So he just stood there. Trying to remain as calm as he could. His left hand found his right,as they both sheltered under the fighting half-cloak, resting on the buckle of his belt. Rain had created small currents streaming off of the steep slope that was the half-cloak.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
THE PHOENIX COURT: Part III – Blood and Honor
June 1019
Outside the Hall of Elysia, the sky had darkened with the weight of stormclouds. Rain now fell in earnest as many of those that had just entered the temple retraced their steps in exodus. The Duke of Blades, was the first to step out into the rain, but the Phoenix Queen remained in the pulpit a while longer. The first peals of thunder rippled over the temple with such force it could be felt as much as heard. “Hogini, Nemean.†She summoned her sons, both of whom had long served as her squires. When they approach, she gestured with a hand to indicate the plates of her armor. “Help me with these, would you?†With their help, what would have taken her a while on her own was accomplished in short order. As they worked, Hogni spoke.
"Mother,†he said, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. “Is this really necessary? I mean, this is Andross we are talking about here.
Another plate fell away. Selenia looked over her shoulder, not at him but at Nemean, then down at the floor where Godric’s blood had yet to be cleaned away. Rather than answer, she simply shrugged. If she’d learned anything in her years, it was that civility was not always the right way to address a problem. Sometimes, it took a certain measure of brutality. Especially with the shortsighted. “Come,†she commanded simply when the work was done and began to proceed up and out of the temple. Without her armor, she was more vulnerable, but also far faster. Trading battlefield protection for dueling speed was a tactical choice, and more than a little risky, given her opponent. But this was not a battlefield. And, angry as she was, it would barely constitute a duel of nobility. This was going to be a streetfight, and Selenia was not at all interested in loosing.
Resolute, she stepped form the temple and into the downpour where the Duke of Blades awaited her.
-
Duel
Andross Blint, Duke of Blades, Baron of Tabost meets his challenger Lady Selenia JeVondair, Chief of Commerce of Eponllyn, Royal of Eponllyn, Duchess of Redhaven, Margravine of Oligarch for the agreed duel till surrender.
Selenia has decided to use the 'trick moves' strategy while Andross has chosen the 'defensive' strategy, giving Selenia the advantage.
The duel rages for quite some time and superficial wounds are suffered on both sides. Finally, a deep blow strikes Andross down and his second declares it a surrender.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
THE PHOENIX COURT: Blood and Honor [pt II by Blint]
June 1019
The tension was palpable.
Andross waited in the rain as Selenia descended the steps to the temple. There was a calm fury in her eyes. It sent a shiver down Andross's spine. She'd removed her armor plates, leaving only the elven chainmail beneath. He was aware of the onlookers, he was aware of Nemean and Hogni watching. He paid them all no mind. He knew what was at stake, he knew that this was a matter of honor. Andross understood how Selenia felt, he understand why she'd drawn her blades in the way she had. But she didn't understand, she didn't feel what he felt. His pain, his anger, his regret, his guilt, his furious, venomous rage. She didn't know. Couldn't know. He wouldn't kill her, he wouldn't even try. He doubted he could. The truth was he was exhausted. His muscles burned with furious rebellion at each movement he made, but he knew there would be no talking, not after what he'd done to Godric.
He loved Selenia, she was his oldest friend, his mentor. Andross had no desire for the throne, he didn't want to be king. But he wouldn't back down, he wouldn't apologize. His actions were justified. Godric had challenged him. Godric had called him traitor. Godric had gone as far as to compare Andross to Asher. That thought alone was like tasting bile. It made Andross furious all over again. It made him wish he had killed Godric. He was nothing like Asher.
Selenia reached the street, and faced him. There were no words between either of them. Nothing would have mattered, nothing would have made a difference. Andross breathed. He remembered Leatho's teachings. He knew Selenia was faster, moreso now she'd shed the heavy, restrictive armored plates. He knew she was more experienced and better with a blade. He knew aggressive tactics were stupid against her. He resolved himself to defend. Tire her out as much as he could. Andross readied himself, raised his weapons and rolled his shoulders, loosening the muscles that threatened to stiffen in the rain. He knew her first attack would come, stopping it would be like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands, but he would try as much as he could.. Now all he could do was wait.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Gilth II Gildre
Gilth had left his Knights of the Rose at a base camp on the outskirts of town, and made his way towards the Temple of the Triumvirate unceremoniously. Guards had set up an outer cordon from the Temple, verifying identities. Gilth presented his Xavax sigil, given to him by Selenia herself. It was no Epponlyn token, but the guards had seen it before and granted him passage up the street.
Rain poured straight down. Gilth looked to the dark grey skies and wondered.
"Windless rain..." he murmured to himself, holding his hand out, "A bad omen."
He pulled back the light grey hood of his cloak and allowed rain to run through his slicked back hair, and he smoothed down his horseshoe mustache. Under his cloak he wore his usual brilliant white tunic with the emblazoned red rose, a gift from Gia Dragonfyre, gods rest her. Brown trousers ran into knee high dark brown leather boots. He wore only his hand-and-a-half at his hip. Surely an arsenal of weaponry was not required for a secure event such as the Phoenix Court.
As he imagined, a crowd was formed at the Temple as he approached. Selenia always had a flare for drawing people to her. However, the crowd was not centered on the entrance of the temple. Instead, it was focused on something outside the temple...
Curiously, Gilth reached the crowd and forced himself through to the front. In the center of the crowd Selenia JeVondair was faced off against a man he did not know. There was a bustle of guards inside the temple, and there were soldiers everywhere outside.
"What in the name of the gods is going on?" Gilth asked a man standing next to him.
"You just get here?" the man asked, and Gilth nodded, "It is madness! The Lord Arbiter Godric accused the Duke of Blades of treason, and Duke Andross felled him, right inside the temple!"
"Godric Tórrarin was felled? Surely you jest," Gilth raised his eyebrows.
"Nay, saw it with me own eyes," the man argued, "Now the Phoenix Queen stands against the Duke of Blades."
Gilth turned from the man and folded his hands across his chest. He gazed at the two combatants, ready to fight. If Selenia was still the Phoenix Queen he had known in days of old, he just hoped she wouldn't kill the man before her before truth was ascertained.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
The rain poured down heavily when Guldor finally rode in his approach to Bescanon, his Black Whistlers jogging at a brisk pace after him. Following the indications he had been given, he saw in the distance the temple of the Triumvirate, where the Phoenix Court was going to be taking place. Looking forward to the warm embrace of a roof over his head and the meal he would no doubt be able to find inside, he rapidly closed the distance until he was able to see a crowd gathering at the entrance of the temple. Curious at first, then confused and worried as he saw two people fighting, he began galloping to get there as soon as possible, signalling his captain to catch up at once.
He finally arrived as Selenia struck Andross to the ground, then immediately dismounted and began searching for familiar faces to ask what the hell was happening and why was the Xerarch dueling the Duke of Blades at a Phoenix Court. He soon learnt what had happened inside, and heavily cursed as he started to think on the possible ramifications of it all.
One thing was certain for sure: this did not bode well for the unity and harmony of the freshly merged realm of Greater Eponllyn.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb
The duel, from Godric's perspective
Godric launched himself towards Andross. His heart true, he would resort to no trickery this day. Instead he vowed to pummel the traitor into dust. They did not trade blows, instead Andross weathered the strikes like a willow in a storm.
"Home."
Godric shakes the thought. He sees the clustered, frantic energy of the room. Selenia is unmoved. The elder priest has restricted his vita. The crowd is boiling like the straits at Valkyrja.
"Home."
Godric maintains focus. Parried, dodged, Godric is relentless in his assault. He must protect Xavax from Andross. He will see their reputation destroyed. The war will be lost. They will be cast to the winds. He wants to go home.
"Home."
How the Shrine must look, warm Sun, cool wind, the labyrinth of passes and alleys leading up to the keep. Godric must fight for his home. How his bones would ache climbing up and down those streets. His bones ache. Godric is old. Andross is very quick. He snarls as he renews the assault. He is trying to overwhelm the room. Trying very, very hard.
The Nourishing Tree, the vital spark, the connection between all. He is spreading his rot. Elysia frowns on him, for such anger to belie such hope. Godric ignores the lesser gods, Tor booms in the distance, growing closer and closer. Great heavy footsteps on the temple floors. Ancient bindings undone by the Dead God. They are all speaking to him now in turn, but his heart pounds louder and louder.
"Home."
The voice of an old lady pushes through the mayhem. "Home? Oh, I can send you home. The fire is warm, mother has put soup on again. Fresh bread from the tall, dark man. Eat up! I will send you home, look!" Godric sees Andross err, exposing his liver. "Go home, boy. Don't you want to?"
It was a feint. Godric tries to recover. Riposte. A pommel in the cheek to reward his fault. He hears the old woman cackle gently as the blade cuts deep into his flesh.
"Home."
Godric grunts, slumping to a knee. He looks up at Andross, who is shocked by his own success. He tries all he can to drive the spear into his gut but it is whipped out of his hand. The blade is lifted high and Godric can feel the bloodlust drooling from Andross.
"Boy."
Tor is here now. Godric trembles. He is unworthy. He always has been and he knows it. He dies today. The horror washes over him. He sees the wolf-friend, who snickers, "done yourself in good this time, haven't you? Toren do not die. We endure. Put the shield down and accept Him." The shield clatters to the ground as Godric collapses. "Rest now. Tor says you are not going home today. He rewards His faithful."
Godric's eyes flutter as he drifts from this world.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Ryndhal Nabarl
Standing in the temple, waiting for the Phoenix Court to actually get underway, watching with disappointment at the events that happened before it gets underway and offering a scowl to the Crone, Ryndhal makes his way to the raise platform, his deep voice, with many, many years of use preaching, silences the room as he speaks.
“Greetings one and all. Our queen, who caused our realm to become divided and divisive with secrets and promises with whomever she felt and regarding whatever she liked, has now gone and hidden under a rock somewhere. We can all hope that is where she stays...
“This has made the crown vacant, and I put myself forward for this to try to mend our broken realm and unite us as never before.
“My first action would be the banner. Although I do not agree with what our former queen promised, promise it she did, and we will not be a realm that goes against its word. After it is changed, to the former RedHaven banner, I shall attempt to find a new one that recognised our new realm, though this would need to be approved by the majority of the realm, it would not just be changed at my whim.
“Perdan... that is what brought our realms together in the first place... I have wanted to see the end of that realm for longer than most, if not all, of you have even been alive. I have seen them lie, betray, destroy, beg... twice previously I have been in a realm that showed them mercy and did not finish them off, and each time we were later betrayed as well. They are nothing but a wart that needs removal permanently.
“I will be open about any discussions I have, though am also aware that I may, as I have in the past, make some decisions some in the realm won’t approve of, I will always explain my reasoning and be open to constructive comments.
“When Eponllyn was created, part of the terms that allowed it were that I be made the judge. That was the level of trust and respect that I had with friends and enemies alike to be fair and honest.
“Our realm will unite, Perdan will fall, and I will then return to my preachings...
“If any have any questions, do please ask.
“As the Four Winds blow...â€
Ryndhal lowers his arms softly and surveys the vast Hall, glad to have made that speech in front of Elysia, knowing how important truth and honesty are to her.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
The Phoenix Court: Part IV - Lightning & Thunder
June 1019
Rain pelted down, ringing off of rooftop, canvas, and armor. Horses whined, uncomfortable. Whispers rippled through a growing throng, adding its own din to the natural melody. Alley dogs yipped out of sight, whining in terror as thunder growled across the sky, a bass percussion punctuated by the crackle-snarl of lighting.
Selenia focused on the Duke of Blades, making no effort to hide her emotions as she stopped a couple horselength’s away. Hers was a world of order, and that order had broken down. Her authority had been undermined, her hospitality trespassed upon, and the image of unity among the Xavax cracked. To repair what had been tarnished, Honor demanded that she assert her authority once more. A small part of her wondered if this was the best action to take, but words lacked worth when there was blood on the ground. Though Godric had been wrong in the first place to challenge Andross as he had, all Selenia could see was the image of her friend and vassal bleeding out onto the stones of the pulpit. All she could feel was her heart in her throat as she realized she’d been too slow to react.before a valued member of her court had fallen before her eyes. Blood needed to be answered for.
In truth, had it been Godric that won instead of Andross, Selenia would have been just as prepared to fight him as well. Warriors neither earned nor awarded respect on the merit of experience only or the expectation of tradition alone. Warrior’s respected, first and foremost, one’s ability to fight. She would take this opportunity to remind her court as to why she was never to be disrespected.
“You came here spoiling for a fight, Androsss. Now you have one.†Her alto voice carried with the din of the storm, made notable not by any commanding tone, but by how the whispers and murmurings of the crowd scattered before it as those assembled strained to hear.
“Selenia, I don’t think-†he began, but she cut him off.
“No, you DIDN’T think. Be silent,†she all but hissed, fury lacing every syllable. “Both of you have are at fault, but since Godric cannot answer for his transgression against me, I will focus on you now and deal with him later.†Lightning crackled over the rooftops close enough to shake windows.
“Would YOU, Selenia, have done any less in my position?†The Duke responded, his voice rigid with control as deep thunder rocked the square..
“I SAID BE SILENT†Selenia roared over him, drawing her kukris as she did so. “It seems to me,†she said as she flexed her grip along the hilts. She began to circle him, and he readied his grip on his sword. He noticed that she was projecting her voice, pitching it for the entire square to hear over the storm on purpose. Here in my own court, you spilled the blood of one of my own, and that must be answered in kind for honor to be satisfied. Had either of you given an ounce of forethought into the consequences your action might provoke, we would not be here, But now that we are, I will answer this myself, with my own steel, for who could do less and call herself a leader of Xavax?†She shook her head before dropping into a fighting crouch.
“Godric will live.†Andross went on, intent on having his say before more blood was spilled. “He lives because I allowed it. Were our positions reversed that's as much forethought as you would have given. But for people like us, words have never meant as much as actions.†Suiting action to word, the Duke of Blades resolutely drew his sword.
“Prepare yourself†she finished, and that was the only warning Andross had before she sprang at him.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Andross Blint
The Phoenix Court: Part IV - Lightning & Thunder
June 1019
Andross's muscles screamed in rebellion and he ignored them. Selenia was fast, lightning fast. They'd trained together before, but never like this. His eyes could barely track her, he could barely register what was happening. He was reacting, instinct guided his movements. He fought as defensively as he could. Pain lanced through his left shoulder, one of her Kukris had found it's way between his armor plates. He moved his left arm, there was an opening he was going to take an advantage of, she'd lowered her guard. He swung with all his might and nothing happened. His arm wasn't responding the way it should. His grip on his dagger loosened. He could feel the blood streaming from his shoulder into his hand. He dropped the dagger in the mud. They both were filthy. Their duel had raged on for a while. It was, in a way, rather impressive. Andross was fighting on sheer force of will, he was pretty sure Selenia was doing the same
He clenched his teeth and fought through the pain, grabbed his sword with both hands and fought on. He was the Duke of Blades, and he’d already proven that was more than some weightless title. She would strike, he would block, and before he could act again she’d either feint or kick or roll or whirl or any number of damn trick she seemed to have in that endless bag of hers. He grimaced, rolling his eyes in belabored irritation as she slid in and out of his reach again, her kuckris drumming uselessly on his armored forearms. But then, as he reset his stance to hold his ground, Selenia moved forward in a manner that evoked a memory in him, a practice bout long ago. She’d always preferred to fight aggressively so as to finish a fight as quickly as possible. She’d always fought directly, eschewing tricks. But the way she came at him now made him think that perhaps her bag of tricks had a limit after all. On she came, the same way she had before, Andross reacted. Leatho would have been proud. He dodged her strike and planted a boot firmly in the center of her unarmored torso, driving the air from her lungs and putting distance between them. He slashed down with all his might, the tip of his blade nicked her just above the eye, the cut was mostly superficial, but it bled. Andross knew firsthand that blood streaming into your eye was annoying. Selenia gasped for air and wiped her face on her sleeve, it came away crimson from the blood. She gritted her teeth and surged forward. Andross hated this. He knew that if she got in too close and stayed too long, he could wrap his arms around her and squeeze. He was stronger than she, he figured he could hold on until he either passed out or she yielded. But he had to grab her first. Which was far easier said than done.
The murmurs of the crowd had died down long ago. It was silent in the courtyard save for the clang of steel, the grunts of pain, and the heavy breathing of both fighters. Selenia moved in and sideways, she was always moving, it was like trying to track a lioness on a prairie. Andross swung his blade, and felt the reverberation ripple through his arms as he struck Selenia's steel. He swung again, trying to push her back, to give himself room to breathe. She blocked again and he swept her legs, or tried to. She rolled into it and out of it as if it had been her plan all along. Andross lunged forward and swung, he felt his blade catch air, Selenia was next to him and stabbed him in the thigh, he grunted in pain, but threw an elbow strike at Selenia, catching her in the jaw. She spat blood as she spun out of his reach and finally giving him a bit of space.
Skia started howling. "HOLD." He shouted and several of his Forged grabbed her, and were able to attach a chain to her collar. She rebelled against them. Howling and baring her fangs. Andross wouldn't risk her safety, and this was his fight. He started it, and he would finish it. Andross lunged forward, with a roar, he needed this to end. Selenia danced away, mud flew through the air as the two greats of Xavax clashed against one another. He whipped a strike out as fast as he could, he'd not fall without a fight. At first he thought he'd missed, a moment later he saw a thin line of crimson spread across her tunic. Had she been a step closer, he'd have disemboweled her. He soon found, however, that the Phoenix Queen had one last, particularly nasty surprise to play as whipped around, curved kukris deflecting his guard high and to his weak side as she planted a kick squarely in his thigh. In pain and off balance, Andross dropped to a knee... Andross, weary from two fights, bleeding from a variety of wounds, and covered in mud, had a moment to realize how tired he felt.
His vision was blurred. He heard, more than saw, Selenia call out to him "Yield." Her voice uneven, but dripping with molten iron. Andross just looked at her, blood and mud mixing on his face and clothes. He didn't have the words or the energy for a witty comeback. But she was going to have to kill him before he yielded. He swung his sword, mustering whatever strength he had left. She caught it between her blades and ripped it from his grip, then smashed the mailed gauntlet of her fist down. He saw his blood mix with the rain as she again demanded "Yield." Andross spit blood to the side and grinned at her, blood covered his teeth. Andross could see the fury in her eyes as clearly as Selenia could see the defiance in his. He wasn’t sorry. And it was as well for both of them that she knew better than to seek an apology for this. His hand reached toward where he knew his sword had fallen. She hit him again, harder. "Yield." Louder this time. Andross dropped into the mud. Selenia turned and started to move away from him, back towards where the Phoenix Court was to gather. Skia howled in anger and fear, straining against the men who held her at bay. Selenia's back was to Andross. He grabbed a fistful of mud, allowing the feeling of its texture between his fingers to steady himself and manifest the strength to try and push himself up, to continue his defiance in Krimmels name, in Ayden’s name. He struggled, one arm at a time until he could get his knee under him. Selenia had turned around and Andross could have sworn he heard her swear and say "Damn Blint's." Before she struck him like a coiled viper, cracking him in the temple with the hilt of her infamous kukri. Andross met the grace of unconsciousness with open arms, still smiling.
-
This one is mine again, figured I should help the Phoenix Court move along after the Duel concluded.
Dark is the sky Overcast
As a mindful herd, compelled by curiosity and restrained by custom combined with a twisted sense of duty, Nobles and their servants stood. Their eyes transfixed on the moving shapes of their mistress, their leader and another whom she pursued relentlessly. Fine droplets of rain tried to cloak both combatants in a shroud of minuscule mirrors. Falling both on body and into eyes. Washing the crimson, warm guilt of slaughter to the soil below. Exhaustion was given no voice, sputters of watery mist in their place as mouths soundlessly burst forth their pleas borne from a body that no longer wished to move. That felt the pain, the searing heat of freshly rend flesh.
Cold was the touch that greeted them. Not only of steel but that of enveloping rain. Nemean stood rooted. Like a wet yet breathing palisade he and the other Nobles looked on as Selenia struck down the Duke of Blades, Andross. As the soil could hold no more, water pooled in the road. Turning to mud the earth and embracing the Duke as he released command over his body. His slack hair vanishing under its filthy, brown surface. His ivory teeth a stark contrast serving as ultimate resistance. Even in defeat and beyond movement, in oblivion as his wakeful presence, he did not yield.
Seeing how Selenia left the circle in which she had dueled the Duke, Nemean came back from his horrified reverie with a start. He involuntarily stepped forwards. The nose of his boot vanished in another small puddle of mud. Moving through with his stride he forced himself to complete it and turn it into a semblance of intent. Moving through the rain, he flicked his head sharply to the right and saw the wet strands of his now dark, gleaming hair whip to the back of his skull.
He stepped lightly and positioned himself at the entrance of the Temple of the Triumvirate. Glancing into the entrance of the great temple he felt a chill run down his back. He didn't dwell on it, didn't want to know. Was it caused by the wind or by that most dreaded of emotions, fear. There was no place for either now. He clenched onto that resolution and tried to push all other considerations from his mind. Forcing himself stand erect, he braved the wind and rain. Raising his chin he ignored the discomfort. Smooth skin a slide for raindrops.
Waiting for a moment he finally looked at Selenia. She had moved in the same direction as he had, towards the Temple. As their eyes met Nemean inclined his head near imperceptibly. Resembling a statue, unmoved by the discomforts of the flesh he deliberately and in a flowing motion offered her the full breath of the Temple entrance. As her body moved through the arch that was the doorway, Nemean looked back at the other Nobles gathered outside.
His hand did not drop to his side, only his eyes moved, from person to person.
-
-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
The Phoenix Court: Part V - Binding Arbitration
June 1019
“Damn Blints,†Selenia muttered, wincing as she knelt to check the unconscious Andross’s breathing, turning his head so his lungs would not fill with rain and muck. No one moved as she rose to stand over him, none save those holding his howling direwolf at bay. Skia’s Howls added a chilling note to the music of the storm.
Selenia was soaked and chilled, but the exhilaration of the fight yet lent her its warmth, and she used it to address the assembled onlookers.
“When I summoned you all here,†she said, pitching her voice above the din of the rain and mournful howls, “It was to come together and correct a problem. This...spectacle-†she spat the word “- was a direct result of sabotage by incompetence by Queen Eriatarka. Her faults now are a known quantity to us all, and it would be irresponsible not to come together to lawfully discuss a new and immediate heir. I had invited Lord Ryndhal amongst we Xavax so that he may convince of his worth and aptitude face to face in a manner befitting one who would think to rule us. My intent was for him to be questioned, challenged, and evaluated fairly in open forum. I intend to do just that still. However…â€
She looked down at the limp form of the Duke of Blades.
“However,†she repeated “this has only taught me that to relax in my vigilance is to court disaster. It has shown that there is work yet for me to do…†Her eyes snapped up to where Skia was still pulling strongly against her restraints, fangs bared. Her eyes sought the Captain of the Forged. “You there,†she summoned him even as she turned and beckoned likewise to Godric’s Captain of the Mounted Torren. She pointed up into the Temple. “Arbiter Godric lies within the healing ward. Bring the Duke there as well. Inform the healers that whichever man is the first to awaken will care for the wounds of the other until he, too, is well enough to leave. Their duel is fought, honor is satisfied, and healing will be had. I command this by their oaths to me. In the meantime, both Forged and Toren will defend this Sacred Place as though it were the Eyrie itself, with the joint authority of my own royal guard. Am I understood?â€
The two men nodded their understanding and, together, carried Andross up the steps and into the temple. Selenia herself followed up a few steps before turning to address the crowd. As, grimfaced and drenched, Hogni met her and the former handed her her cloak. She was already soaked, and the storm was easing perceptibly, but she accepted it anyway and put it about herself as she spoke. “The Phoenix Court will still be held. Now, however, there will be more than one candidate to question. When the time comes for the realm to determine who bear the crown of Greater Eponllyn, I will cast my name forward, and I will do so in the name of unity. If crowned, I will leave the title of Xerarch to take on the name of Phoenix Queen.But I will also form a unified government. I will ask that Duchess Maura or Lord Ryndhal take an active role by applying their local knowledge as my Chief of Commerce. For his lapse in judgement here today, I will ask Arbiter Godric to step down as Chief of Justice, and appoint instead Lord Gray Von Carstein to resume his former duties. Henceforth, under my reign, both positions will be open to regular elections to ensure the thorough mixing of ideas and values. And while stripping Lord Godric of his position in government will have to suffice, the Duke of Blades Andross Blint will instead be stripped of Kimmel. This is equal parts confirmation as it is punishment, for it simply must be."
Her gaze panned over the assembly, alighting here and there as though daring someone to gainsay her. At that moment, none chose to. She continued. "This It is not the first city we have had to give up in the name of this war, and we should have learned on the Path of Ashes that home is not a place, it is where our people stand. Now, this realm is where all our people stand. Whether we like it or not, the realm needs Bescannon, the realigning of the Northern Alliance requires that it be so, if we are to pursue our war against Perdan; the entire point behind the merger in the bloody first place and those knights that value Krimmel as their home of Greater Epponlyn as their nation our myself as their monarch are welcome to stay home and take up arms for Shadowdale instead. Finally, I will change the banner to the Redwing as promised.However, every year on my birthday a vote will be held whereby those of art and knowledge may submit new designs that may better represent the unified monarchy and its noble houses. This will give our people time to better learn of one another,and in so doing, perhaps a more all-encompassing banner may be devised and adopted. One vote, on package, one realm and one people.â€
It was a longer speech than she’d wanted to make, but she’d had much to address. The words had flowed into her, inspired by all the recent conflagrations, and she’d allowed them to move her, feeling the truth in them as she breathed them into being. She ascended the steps, meeting the eyes of Nemean, her son, Ayden’s son. He nodded to her so subtly as to be imperceptible as he moved aside and offered her the entryway. She did not speak, but place a hand upon his shoulder, squeezing it as she re-entered the Hall of Elysia and shortly made her way to the seat she’d selected beneath the southern goddess. Armed, soaked, and dangerous-looking, blemished with mud and blood, Selenia seemed almost a living disciple of the warrior statue’s aspect.
“So,†she said into the silence after the hall had filled, elbows resting on her knees as she leaned towards the pulpit with a note of challenge in her voice. “Who else wants to be Queen?â€
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb
Godric awakens slowly. His wounds are healing remarkably but he still has stitches in his flesh and it pains him to move quickly. From nearly eviscerated to all but healed - truly the glory of Tor.
More letters pass his desk. His retainers had not informed him before, so as to not distress him, but he has been stripped of his position as Chief of Justice via his oaths. These letters, however, vindicate him in his heart. He snorts, "shown mercy? More like someone could not finish the job." He ponders a moment. Perhaps ink shall suffice where his sword arm did not. After all, to Tor everything is a battlefield.
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-PHOENIX COURT 3-
Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
Guldor saw the end of the duel, listening to the later speech of Selenia with a neutral expression. When she entered the temple at Nemean's suggestion, he followed her, stepping on the entrance for a moment to cross his eyes with the young lad's. Nodding to express his conformity to what they had previously agreed to, he broke visual contact and finally entered the inner hall.
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Aaaand a little intermezzo RP. The army was assembled and Nemean was present yet since the order to move out hasn't been giving, camp, for a young Noble is proving to be rather boring.
The Joys of Camp
Sitting on a tree-stump a young, green eyed Noble stifled a yawn. The bustle of camplife had lost its initial grandeur. Now it just looked like camping in the mud and there was plenty of the brown goo about. Just ahead and slightly below of his position a couple of his men were practicing at sword. Wooden training weapons thumped and clonked against one another. Often followed by approving or mocking tones.
Kicking at a tuft of grass Nemean struggled to pay attention to the boring spectacle. The men clearly had little skill beyond the basics and that was no surprise. They were horsemen after all and the blade a secondary weapon by far. That didn't stop them from self improvement though, something that had been on Nemean's mind also. Yet opportunity, unlike for his men, wasn't so readily available to himself.
Casting another glance about, in a vain attempt to spot something useful or at least mildly entertaining, came up empty. More mud, more tents and more terrible cooking. His gaze full of disinterest and his chest rising with a heavy sigh.
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90 Nobles and some 90k combat strength (CS). It's shaping up to be a battle to remember. As an introductory piece I felt the urge to write something. This is that, a small Rp that I hope might inspire other people to send out Rp's of their own.
Proving Grounds
Riding out from the forests of Meuse and onto the foothills that marked Winkamus, a noble only gently touched by the passage of time, rode at the head of a very modest contingent of horsemen. The banner they flew was sabel and upon it, a rampart lion depicted in gold.
With the winds picking up and cresting the latest hill in a score, Nemean's dark blond hair rippled behind him. His eyes resembled the slits of a greathelm as he peered over into the distance. Somewhere out there, in one of those fields or shallow valleys there would be a great battle. A test of arms and courage. His young heart fluttered. A chance to prove himself and to show the world he was worthy of the name JeVondair.
The fierce smile on his lips started to fade as he thought about it. A strand of errant hair whipped about his face before being trapped beneath his jawline. Worthy of the name JeVondair and Renodin. His lips hardened into a resolute line as he dug his heels into the sides of his mount. Ever pushing closer to carnage and a scene for which his young mind surely was not prepared.
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Roleplay from Godric Tórrarin ka Habb
The Mounted Toren ride at a steady pace. Trains of men stretch back along the winding forest roads, scouts riding up and down with directions. The Xavax had become known for a grand cavalry charge: Selenia's Fearless, Andross's Forged, and Godric's Mounted Toren. But this coming morning, there will be a new member of the charge. Godric remembers the banner of House Renodin, he shakes his head of thoughts. He still fights for a purpose. He joins the chants of his men.
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Roleplay from Guldor D'Espana
An unusually deep frown decorated Guldor's forehead when he rode the last few miles towards the gathering point for the Northern Alliance. The entire handling of the latest internal crisis disgusted him profoundly, and an intense feeling of unrest stinged him from the deepest parts of his heart. It had been a truly long time since he had felt with such intensity, and he was not sure about the reason that had made his long-held apathy for everything that was not battle and war to be pushed away.
Before him, thousands upong thousands of torches lit the camps at night, both theirs and their enemies'. At dawn, one of the greatest battles of modern times would take place in the woodlands of Winkamus, where either side would take a significant blow that could very well change the balance of power. The unrest started fading away, replaced by the eagerness for the sun to rise. Yes, that battle would be a good for one for sure. Good enough, perhaps, to...
There he stood for a long while, watching the trembling fires and deeply submerged in his own thoughts.
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Roleplay from Mary Anne de la Fere Bluelake
With scout reports arriving from every corner, the princess left Elena in charge of the maneuver, mounted her steed and headed to meet the Emperor. It was a short ride, and she barely needed to guide the horse. It gave her time to see the incoming army with her own eyes. A double-take on the rendorian banner, one just like the gift she had offered her godchild years earlier, and she sighed. Word had gotten to her that a son of Asher was now fighting the south. The redwings also had two children she'd have raised as her own if she could. Looking towards the southern army, she couldn't even distinguish anymore who were the goldwings and who were perdanese.
Dismounting, she headed to meet Stanmore. His guards didn't even ask, just obeyed her wave and opened the path to her and the ever faithful wolfhound.
The Emperor was drowning in letters, maps and reports as usual, and Mary Anne couldn't help but smile. Walking lightly, she approached and sat on his desk, right on top of the Empire's map. She didn't look anything like the Ice Princess now.
- We really should get married, Stan. Look at the battles ahead...
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This is the actual great battle, expected 90 nobles (players) from at least 8 different realms. Nemean's perspective of course as that's the character I play there. Enjoy!
The First Great Battle
Filed in neat rows and all squared up the banners of four realms presided over a grand army of the north. The crests of over fifty Noble houses proudly displayed. All eager for the glory that was sure to come. Across the field was the camp of the South. Rows upon rows stood nearly motionless. He didn't know their banners, only those of the most prestigious Nobles and even then, only vaguely.
It felt strange to him as the archers marched first. Well ahead of his own horsemen and even the infantry. In crisp order they all advanced. Those that were fastest came last, as such, he had a great view of the unfolding battle. Every muscle in his body was tense and his mouth refused to remain hydrated no matter how often he drank from his waterskin.
At the trudge of his horse Nemean had plenty of time to look left and right of him. There he saw the magnificent warriors of House Blint, Ka Habb and Castillo but also one of Caligus, by lead of the great Rand of House Gardarr. Each of them had over eighty riders, every single one more impressive than even his own best. Nemean looked down at the dirt in front of him. More pressure to achieve. Resolutely he lifted his head as the horn sounded. The signal to ride.
The sky ahead was darkened with shafts. They rained like an autumn storm upon the Southern ranks. He could hear their screams. Did his eyes deceive him? He squinted. Dozens if not hundreds of Southern soldiers stood stoically as wave after wave of arrows slammed into them. One particular ''soldier'' stood out to him. At least two dozen arrows had struck the figure but yet, it remained standing.
Now he was riding past the friendly infantry. They cheered them on. Raised their weapons in salute and were happy to see the horsemen race along. It fueled Nemean's desire to do well. It reinforced his beliefs that he, as a Noble had to set a good example. It were the Nobles that gave great displays of bravery for the common born to draw strength from. The archers ceased their barrage for a moment. Creating a window.
His eyes informed him of the enemy moving. There were so few moving. Why were there so few moving? ''Visors!'' came the call from the captain and without giving it more thought, he lowered his. As lances lowered, he braced himself for the inevitable impact. Reminded himself where his sword hung and to drop the shaft of the lance once it broke or didn't come loose.
The riders all around him, mostly those of other Nobles began to howl their war-cry. Not nemean, he tried to focus. The landscape around him like a dark dream with flashes of light as they sped past the slit of his visor. The horses fell into a great gallop, his heart thumbed in his chest. The war-cry of the men around rose and morphed into a bestial roar. Then, there was the crash of metal, grunting and horses screaming. Like a great mailed fist the armoured riders charges into and through the Southern ranks. Bunching his shoulders together and searching for a target Nemean couldn't find any. Where were they?! The hedgehogs of men didn't bleed. They simply stood there with arrows sticking out of them. Not a single one moved.
''Wheel! Double back!'' The order came and Nemean did as ordered. ''Enemy in the rear!'' The tone informed him that the captain started to panic. With good reason, no enemy should ever get behind the cavalry. How was it possible?
Getting frustrated Nemean ripped off his helmet with his shield arm, letting it bob against his backplate. The world was rich and beautiful at once again. The bright sunlight bathed the world in color and the wind liberated him of the stuffy feeling he'd been trapped with inside the cocoon of his helmet. All about he saw scarecrows. Straw men with only the barest of equipment. ''Curses!'' He uttered in sheer frustration. Robbed of Glory and more importantly, a chance to prove himself.
''Damn them!'' His lips pulled back and his white teeth glittered in the morning sun. ''Bastards!'' In his youthful rage he gave his mount his spurs. A thing not benign to the creature and a sign of a lesser horseman but Nemean didn't care. There were still a handful of Southern Lambs on the field of battle and he wanted them.
As so often happens though, youthful desire was denied. He rode back and forth from the battlefield and his lance didn't touch a single enemy. In frustration and fully drenched in sweat Nemean exited the battlefield. He didn't even consider the fortunate fact that this also meant that none of his men had died. Yet, that didn't even cross his mind.
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Welcome back. Today I bring you what I hope will be at least a small chain of rps. Guldor promised Nemean stories of old for every battle the young Noble participated in. Having done just that, Nemean's eager to claim his prize.
Collecting Tales
His very own tent. A round pavilion, the walls made of thick linnen and on the inside even lined with furs. Circled with shaped stones at the center sat a fire-pit. The evening before he had used the metal poker to carve a small horse on one of the stones. It didn't look as good as he'd wanted to but it felt good. A sturdy fieldbed decked with even more furs stood at the opposite side of the entrance. Next to it there was a proper weapon-stand. Gleaming daggers, two lances and again two swords nestled in its embrace.
Looking around the tent from his seated position behind his desk, a satisfied feeling settled over him. This was his now. His own. The smile that had formed upon his lips lessened a bit as he looked down at the letters that inhabited his desk. The latest of his replies only just being taken to the former Arbiter. Confidence surging, Nemean got up and finished off the last of the watered wine that remained in his cup.
Exiting the pavilion he was greeted with a curt ''Sir'' as the single guard acknowledged the young Noble. Nemean didn't regard the man, he was on a mission. The sun was out today its rays making everyone a little bit brighter. He still felt odd having the Nivemusians around. Something about them, their accent maybe. He wrinkled his nose as he caught sight of a group of their tribesmen but didn't linger. After a bit of a walk Nemean found what he had been looking for. Sir Guldor's standard.
The fabled warriors camp was situated just in front of a small brook. Allowing his bannermen prime access to fresh water, easy bathing and short trips for cooking water. Nemean envied the camp site but tried not to show it as one of Guldor's archers challenged him. ''Halt, who are you sir?'' The words polite but still firm. Standing a little taller Nemean indicated his embossed leather cuirass. ''I am Nemean of Houses JeVondair and Renodin. You don't recognize the Crest of the Xerarch?''
Regret would be an accurate description, relief another when Nemean simply passed the man by. The young man's stride brought him to Guldor's tent where he again was stopped. This time by two guards. Explaining his intend Nemean declared that he had come to visit the old warrior. To visit and to claim a reward.
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One of the great things about Battlemaster is that stories hardly ever go the way you imagined or predicted. This Rp illustrates that in a way.
Sudden Summons
Standing in the camp of Guldor waiting for the man to either summon him into the tent or to refuse the young man, Nemean heard a small commotion behind him at the entrance of the camp. The usual challenge but there was more going on. The challenge was crushed with a Royal Seal. The messenger went straight for Guldor's tent.
Only to halt right next to Nemean and addressed him. ''Sir Nemean?'' Dark verdant eyes beheld him. ''I am him.'' As soon as those words came from Nemean's mouth the messenger bowed and presented a scroll. ''The Phoenix Queen summons you.'' Another bow and the messenger departed.
Standing there, waiting on a response Nemean considered tucking the scroll away but the messenger already hinted as to what it was. With a sigh he broke the waxen seal and read the contents. A frown formed on his forehead. Just a simple summons, no further explanation. It did make it clear that he was expected first. He looked up from the scroll to the entrance to Guldor's tent and wondered for a moment. Then resolution hardened in him. ''Tell the Lord Guldor that I have been summoned by the Queen. I wish him good health and shall find him some other time.''
With that Nemean turned about briskly and headed for his own camp. Once there he informed his captain, the quite lovely Jacinta to assume command and to follow the Talon's orders. Also sharing with her that he was summoned by Selenia and didn't know when he'd be back.
Bringing only the essentials Nemean rode off. Headed for Westmoor and riding through the landscape that is Troyes. The otherwise beautiful of the land left baren of his attention, the road his only focus. A day later the young Noble arrived at the capital. A strange place still in his mind. Its people were so very different but he tried to ignore it. He went straight for the Palace where he learned that Selenia had not yet arrived. As such, he resigned himself to waiting. Washing, eating and writing a couple letters in the meantime. Can't let good time go to waste after all.
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Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair
Selenia did not ignore Andross or his Forged when they suddenly appeared around her own Fearless and fell in to join her escort. She ordered the carriage to come to a halt and asked the driver to send word to the Duke of Blades to join her. A few moments later, he cantered up, resplendent in his proud arms and armor and a look of grim determination on his face.
"Don't worry, Your Grace, I'm not on my deathsbed just yet." Anymore she thought to herself as she opened the carriage door and beckoned for him to join her. Despite their rather public altercation, her smile was genuine, even though opening the door caused her to grimace with the pain of her wounds. Shadows haunted her eyes, she looked exhausted. Even so, she smiled still.
"Since you're here, we should talk."
-=-=-
Some time later...
When Selenia had returned to Westmore, a flurry of messages baring her royal seal departed for foreign destinations. Among these were missives that also bore her ducal seal, that of Redhaven, and was addressed to the knights thereof. It came as no surprise to the Phoenix Queen that the first among those to answer had been her adopted son, Nemean JeVondair.
Selenia had not taken up a permanent residence in Westmore, but the Royal apartments of the previous monarchy were maintained and made available for her use. When Andross and their combined soldiers had escorted her their, they'd made quick work of settling her in and taking over the local guard detail during her stay. It was thence that Nemean was escorted.
What he found when he was finally ushered into her presence was...new. Throughout his life, he had never seen Selenia as anything other than the picture of vigor. She trained often for most of her life, and it showed. Looking at her now was like night and day. Her robes could not hide all the bruises, all the new scars, from her near-death experience in Bescannon. They could not hide the weight she'd lost wasting away as her body and the healers fought off Death. He'd never seen her look so...weak.
Selenia, however, seemed unaware of her condition, or at best determined not to let effect her. Smiling broadly, she rose and opened her arms to him. He did not miss the wincing as she did so, nor how she favored her right side over her left.
"My son" She greeted warmly, hugging him. "Is it just you then? That's just as well, I suppose. Better, even. We have not had time together lately anyway and there is much to discuss."
-=-=--=-
Nemean was just about to speak when a knock sounded at the door behind him.
"Dame Aria to see Her Majesty" came the gruff voice of the door guard.
"Have her come in," Selenia called over Nemean's shoulder. To him she said "Abide a while, son. I will want to speak with you individually as well"
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Roleplay from Aria Lucchesi Attano
Aria made her way to the royal apartments of Westmoor as soon as the royal procession entered the city. Her stomach twisted in a knot of excitement and dread.
She was admitted through the door and found herself in a room with the Phoenix Queen and a man she had never met, though she knew his name.
“My Queen.†Aria said, dropping to one knee.
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Welcome, glad you're here. Today I've got what might be a small chain of Rp's. Little bit of background info. Alyssa Kingsley and Nemean have been exchanging some letters. She is a young knight much like Nemean is but she's on the other side of the great war as him and has been quite vocal about her idea's on warfare. Especially about how she think he does things the wrong way.
So here they meet, on a battlefield where both their sides were supposed to fight one another but instead both fought side by side, that's a stretch, against a third enemy. Enjoy!
Facing Grave Danger, Together
Today was a good day. The wind tugged gently on the cornucopia of banners ranging from the northern most realms all the way to those that hugged the southern coast. For the very first time in his life and probably for all the other nobles present likewise, they all fought on the same side. Nudging his steed on with his knees Nemean drank in the scene. While it wasn't quite as idyllic as he described it to himself in his mind, it would nevertheless be a sight to remember.
A lush field in Moyale, that most fertile of the midlands hosted a very unequal trio. On one side there was the nothern host. Comprising of bannermen and warriors from far flung realms such as Sirion, Caligus, Eponllyn Nivemus and even Shadowdale. Not a little bit suspicious and laden with bucked-loads of paranoia they eyed the southern host, which had deployed right next to them. Like a very impressive flank. It made him grin to see the two armies so uneasy yet so close.
The swordbrethren, marksmen and riders of the realms of Perdan, Perleone, Vix Tiramora and the brusque Sydgard were right there. Not an apple's throw away. And they weren't attacking one another. No, the reason they didn't was because of an even greater threat. War or no war, there was a matter so important it would even transcend such petty conflicts as total annihilation between entire realms. ''What could it be?'' Nemean mockingly mused to himself as he turned his gaze to this gravest of threats.
Lo and behold, just down the field of the two giant armies there stood a rabble of peasants. Brandishing pitchforks, scythes and even wooden mallets. A stray black cat hisses most ferociously as it alternates between rubbing its supple body along the raggedly clothed legs of working men and casting death-glares at the pompous nobles its human servants face.
At some unspoken signal both armies began to come alive. Finding his place among the cavalry Nemean looked over at the southern host as he tried to spy out a particular and specific banner. ''Funny how she wanted me to stand under a white banner.'' The words formed and came from him as his eyes caught sight of the Wolf banner of House Kingsley. There was little time to ponder the matter as the order to advance was given. Comical. Four hundred peasants opposed them, The Lord of Lorient, Lord Samuel II of Perdan alone could handle that bunch. His men wouldn't even remotely venture into danger. Nemean shrugged and signaled his captain, a quite beguiling woman that went by the name of Jacinta, to advance as well.
The infantry moved like a wall, the cavalry trotted behind them occasionally laughing at their situation and before anything could really happen, the peasants experienced a hail not quite of ice but of steel. A morbid spectacle where flailing arms and masks of terror was all the peasants really offered before they were slammed against the ground with arrows made for war.
As the affair was over rather swiftly, Nemean turned his mount towards the Southern Host. A marshal called out to him, to not break formation. At which Nemean called out that the dangerous foe had already been beaten. ''Piss off''. He left behind him a rather baffled Marshal.
As he approached he felt rather conscious of his vulnerability. The spears gleamed a little brighter in the light of the early morning sun. The shields puffed up like a strongman's chest inhaling a great gulp of air and the eyes. So many eyes followed his every movement. Not wanting to tempt fate he remained in the saddle and simply called out when he felt close enough to the White banner of House Kingsley. Said distance became precariously diminished as he caught sight of her. A fierce and resolute expressed made soft by finely chiseled lines that made up the contours of her exquisite face. Topped with a pragmatic yet labyrinthine crown of golden white braids which barely hid small and round ears.
''Lady in pink!'' The words instantly made him grin. ''Now I know why you wanted me to come to you under a white banner! To match your own!'' The jest invigorated him with bravado. A thought about the recently slain peasants snuck into his mind but he decided against it. ''As you said! People dance and laugh and pray. They have things they love and cherish and today, you make me smile!''
As his steed pawed the ground displaying thick bands of muscle under a dark coat of fur, Nemean wondered how much longer his welcome would stretch. Venturing a few more moments he wanted to see if the beauty would respond and if she did, with what.
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Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
Aly immediately recognized her own words parroted back at her. /This is him in the flesh/ she thought as he approached her. His hair was a mess of blond and his eyes shone like two green gems. He smiled like he had just told some brilliant jape. She frowned when their eyes met and threw her helm to the ground in frustration. She turned to one of her men who was standing around looking confused. "Go find Jan and Cal Reed.". The man wandered off as Sir Nemean trotted beside her on his horse.
"What is there to smile about Sir?" She asked him, her brow furrowed. "500 men are dead. Stirred up by your realm's plundering. And here you are grinning like a fool."
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Here's the response. Not sure what will happen but I realize this could go horribly wrong. Perhaps playful, perhaps down creep lane.
The Braided Crown
She frowned when their eyes met and threw her helm to the ground in frustration. She turned to one of her men who was standing around looking confused. "Go find Jan and Cal Reed.". The man wandered off as Sir Nemean trotted beside her on his horse.
"What is there to smile about Sir?" She asked him, her brow furrowed. "500 men are dead. Stirred up by your realm's plundering. And here you are grinning like a fool." ~Alyssa Kingsley
Like the rider, the dark coated steed sniffed the air curiously. His great black eyes observing the young woman beside him. Before he responded to her Nemean made a bit of a show of looking at her helmet which now sat among the blades of grass. ''You don't really lighten up do you?'' He allowed the tiniest of pauses before continuing. ''It's not my choice and they are Lawless. Nor do I relish death or the dealing of it.'' The words hung in the air as his demeanor remained serious.
Being in such close proximity and having a superb view of her golden, braided crown his eyes wandered and his smile returned. A bastard of a smile, a rogue in the night that slid from alley to alley. A grin it was indeed. ''Who's that?'' He asked her as he looked beyond her. Hoping she would fall for the bait. Irrespective of her personal space a gloved hand reached out to her. Mischief was too soft to describe it but neither was it compulsion. He simply wanted to grab one of those braids. Tease her perhaps. The thoughts and reasons appeared and went again. He just acted. Trying to touch her head.
''I smiled because I did and I've told you why. Can't really help it.'' The words came out playful and he shrugged. ''However if you persist in being so serious..'' He gently bit down on his lip. ''It just looks ridiculously funny.'' A snort already escaping his strained and feeble reserve.
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Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
She didn't look, instead Alyssa stared into Nemean's emerald gems, as she swatted his hand away.
"You are not familiar, Sir." She challenged. "I am a knight of Perdan not some tavern wench you can grope and giggle with. Do not presume to touch me again."
She crossed her arms. "And you can laugh as you wish, but I take my responsibilities seriously. If you don't wish to deal death then don't. But Eponllyn's actions speak louder to me than your words Sir Nemean."
She could hear foot steps approaching from behind, and the familiar tune of "Lady in White" being whistled.
"We must teach them. Violence will teach them violence as we saw today. We must be better."
Two men approached her from behind. One was short, stocky, with a great bushy beard. He held a spear in his hand. The other tall and lithe with messy black hair, hand on the sword on his hip. The tall one finished his whistle ending with the tune's final line, singing dramatically:
/"No maid is as fair as my Lady in White!"/
Alyssa glared at him and he shot her a roguish smile. The other just shook his head.
"Captain," she said to the dark haired man as sternly as she could, "Please escort Sir Nemean back to his own camp. He seems to have wandered to the wrong side of the battle lines."
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Welcome back, today I have perhaps the last piece in this particular and small Rp chain. Nemean departs on Alyssa's suggestion. Hope you like it.
Parting Words
/"No maid is as fair as my Lady in White!"/
Alyssa glared at him and he shot her a roguish smile.
"Captain," she said to the dark haired man as sternly as she could, "Please escort Sir Nemean back to his own camp. He seems to have wandered to the wrong side of the battle lines." ~Alyssa Kingsley
Watching the exchange from horseback Nemean couldn't help but feel a strange mix of wonder and perplexity. Alyssa had batted his hand away like it was nothing. The letters she had written him took on a new tone as he heard her voice rich with scolding. Lazily his rebuffed hand rested on the horn of his saddle as he tried to make sense of it all. Fierce like Selenia but with even more sense of purpose. The thought made him smirk.
Her every pose struck him as unique and tantalizing. Crossed arms a challenge. Her frown an invitation to convince her, the lackluster discipline of her captain a call to defend her. Defend her? His nose wrinkled at the thought. As Alyssa's captain deigned to direct him back and away Nemean shook his head to clear it of his daydreaming or musing, he wasn't sure what it was he just did. The dismissive gesture provoked the raven haired captain who thought it was directed at him. Ready to reinforce his intend with words the captain was about to speak as the young Lion of Eponllyn raised a hand to proverbially smother him. There a small spark of Nobility shone through. A certain poise and grace that caused pause in the captain and of which Nemean likely realized little of his own display.
Turning his attention to the fair Alyssa he left her with a choice few words before he departed. ''Apologies if I caused offence. That was not my intend. Merely to lay eyes upon her that gave me valued insight.'' Considering for a moment to say more, he decided against it and tugged on the reins, guiding his steed away from the Southron camp. A few strides into the departure he looked over his shoulder. Not so much to see if she was looking but rather to say. ''I hope I'll see you again.''
With those words having existed his mouth, he gave his mount his head and the mighty beast responded.Powerful legs propelled rider and horse ahead. Surging through the field, a black tail held aloft. The tall grass parting and rippling like a calm ocean disturbed. All the while darting out of the way of thundering hooves, a clutch of hare appeared. Panicked by their exposure but versed in evasion and soon vanishing in kind, behind the screens of vegetation.
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After a 50K ish CS battle. A little Rp to illustrate bad unit line settings.
Returning after Battle
After a rather impetus charge led by his captain, Nemean rode away from the battlefield. Bodies littered the ground and the earth was saturated with blood and piss and vomit. Quietly he thanked whatever gods would listen for the fact he rode a horse and didn't have to wade through it. To a man his warriors were either wounded or slain. His eyes looked around for his captain, Jacinta. The woman had given the order to charge way before the appointed time. Charging headlong into the enemy lines.
It wouldn't have done to stay back and let his riders charge without their leader so Nemean followed, knowing it was a doomed action from the start. It just didn't register, not a single enemy lance or sword or arrow had found him. A hand ran over his torso. Slick with blood but none of it his own. He passed by the healers tent. Stuffed with groaning and whimpering men. The wounded lay in the grass all around the tent. A particularly grim looking priest offering last rites as life fled from the bodies of so many waiting for medical attention but never receiving it on time.
As he pushed his mount on, he thought long and hard about sacking his captain. She had caused so much needless death.
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A little RP I did to illustrate a potentially important bit of news that reached Nemean. Time will tell and I'm sure that if all works out well, you'll get to read about it here sometime in the future. For now though, enjoy the intermezzo.
History in the Making
Sat upon a small bluff overlooking the army that sat camped in Bescanon, Nemean enjoyed the riverside breeze that gently tugged dark golden hair. His hands busy working a small piece of wood with a knife. A crude creation that was supposed to look like a horse but its legs were stumpy. Some way too thin while others were far to thick. Not to mention the actual head. An absolute abomination.
Hearing rather than seeing, Nemean noticed a messenger come up. ''Sir, a message from the Phoenix Queen.'' While such news would perhaps cause others to stir with hesitation and respect, it was family business for the young noble. ''You could just call it a message from Selenia you know.'' Nemean looked up at the messenger. ''She's the Phoenix Queen though.'' The cautious reply came. ''And I am a Prince but you call me Sir, not that I mind.''
Not wanting to delve deeper into the matter the messenger handed Nemean the letter and saluted before promptly departing. Opening the letter was accompanied by a gust of wind that blew counter to the all the rest. Causing tendrils of hair, the color of a late day sun to spill all over his face. Nothing his hand couldn't remedy. As his eyes roamed over the rather brief message he felt his pulse quicken.
''History is in the making.'' He read softly to himself. A fierce smile riding across his face like a conquering horde. He put the letter away after reading it again and resumed working on the wooden horse. But before setting his knife to work, he changed his mind and hurled it away. ''Not good enough.'' Fighting words and he felt like it. Standing up he called out to Jacinta, his captain. ''Sparring match, ready yourself!''
So the young Noble awaited the fate that was now coming to him. Exhanging blows with a far more experienced fighter than himself. A curious if fitting comparison to his life.
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Following this post I'll have for you several letters. While they don't count as the traditional RP's there can be RP in them. The lore we create does not only reside in our piece bits of writing but also in the correspondence we have with other players. At least, I like to think so.
So what exactly are these letters about? They are Nemean and his letters to and with the Realm of Greater Eponllyn. Selenia JeVondair, Phoenix Queen stepped down from the Throne and elections are upon us. Young Nemean tried to step up to the plate and did his best to convey his thoughts, feelings and first steps into real politics. In a way.
Hope you enjoy it.
Fellow Nobles of the Realm, Lord Lint, Sir Daeron,
Words carried with favor must always be appreciated.
The Lord of Troyes, of House Son offered them to me during his exchange with the King of Perdan, Kay. He spoke no untruth either, the Blood of Jevondair is the better of my heritages. She who is now gone from the Phoenix Throne. A subject that our Realm needs to speak about and speak plainly at that.
Knight Daeron, likewise of Troyes, broaches the subject and keenly levels the question at me. Selenia, she took me as her own. Hogni and I grew up together. Family. Among her last acts she returned the Duchy of Blades to his Grace, Duke Andross of House Blint. Her own seat, the Great City of Oligarch she bestowed onto the former Arbiter, Lord Godric Tórrarin of House ka Habb. Pillars of our history. Living memories.
When I look at Eponllyn, there is little to look at. Its institutions are outdated and the wisdom contained within with scant merit. Look for yourself for example at the Ruler bulletin. You'd sooner believe the realm still hugs the great Lake in the south rather than stand with its nose pressed against the Evorian mountains of the midlands. It isn't only that, a poor blending of cultures. It has been ignored since I and the Xavax from Redhaven joined with the handful of Nobles from Eponllyn. What new culture has emerged? What blending has occurred other than government offices.
A sad state we are in as an entity. Our last Phoenix Court ended with bloodshed. Friend upon friend. No court was held. That, is a fair statement.
As if that was not enough, the bureaucracy demands of us to elect a new Ruler. In no less than three, sparing days. Our first day is nearly over. None have stepped forwards. We are a Monarchy and Selenia named me her Son. Her blood is my blood. Yet I recognize also that I am very young.
Our realm, in the wider picture is eminently important to the Northern Alliance, block, whichever name you wish to give it. That is entirely due to Talon Lionel of House Kinsey. His dogged leadership, continued grasp on the greater logistics and respectful handling of a multitude of Nobles from as many realms. Right beside that fact is the large number of capable Nobles of this realm. Leading warriors by his direction without fault. This realm is the bulwark of the North, its strategic center and its long arm that reaches south time and time again.
As the first day of elections for Ruler passes, I am certain there are discussions being held behind closed doors. That is not how I remember Selenia doing it. There was a time and place for the Phoenix Courts and for all to be involved. Together, out in the open,with every opinion valued and heard. Like this letter is to you.
Perhaps there are those among us, of great merit and in possession of exceeding years full of wisdom. Willing to stand up and lead us. Not in cabal or with henchmen but like a true JeVondair. Out in the open, with passion sewn into their very fabric and unyielding like all those that came before her. Where the very clutches of death take pause and finds its grip singed, burned by the Phoenix flames. We should strive for that.
In closing, should no such ideal be able to be found, no man nor woman aspire and with ability stand up I shall put up my name. Young, inexperienced in government and a life long student of Selenia. I have seen what she has seen, heard her inner most council and offer my own thoughts at every turn when she deliberated. I only offer myself as a last resort, as to not do so and fail her memory would spell dishonor for my name and wouldn't be worthy of her legacy or that of our people.
In that vein I shall lead, as she did. With the Nobility, offer opportunity, broad rather than tall and with many advisers. My aim would be to bring unity to our realm, to enable the war effort and to build our prestige in the world.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Commonyr
-=-=-=-=-
Fellow Nobles of the Realm, Talon Lionel,
A summary of your views on the current political situation.
Before I do so I extend appreciation to Chief of Justice Ryndhal. May he not remain the only one to stand up after my call.
In broad strokes there is the North and the South. The North is militarily led by Talon Lionel of House Kinsey. It holds two alliances that together face the southern alliances. They in turn are led in congregation. Several generals try their hand where the North has a more pyramidal structure. This difference spawns the world we live in. At least, in large part the world as most of us experience it.
From what I've seen and I will make that reference strong, I haven't seen everything and will offer you that insight which I do have. Limited as it may be. A thing that I will continue to do, sharing knowledge. As was her tradition.
The armies of Sydgard, the raider realm are often absent the southern armies. They move independently. At times completely at odds with the remainder of the southern warhost. When I look at this through the lens of politics I must consider that they do not agree, in some part, with the rest of the south. A division. Either in wargoals, methods, leadership this is unknown to me.
The same can be said in some way of Shadowdale. Their forces often lag behind, are sluggish and seem absent more frequently. They are a weak link in the chain of the North. Both the north and south share a similar weakness. Where Sydgard is actively raiding, the same cannot be said of Shadowdale. Again this may be due to the latter being more closely watched by the North and the command structure that is in place here.
An important general of the South vanished, Kellan of House Dodger. This means that the south is less able to coordinate their armies even further. The situation is rife I imagine where politics and perhaps even diplomacy is concerned. A young noble Lady became Imperatrix. She is now the General of Perdan, the Strongest Realm of the South by some measure. No experience she has and likely will make mistakes. Degrading their prestige and opening up political intrigue.
The Perleone Empire is in shambles. Their influence has waned a great amount. Their armies have lessened and their reach diminished. In truth, they are once more a middling realm where before they stood primus. Fallangard will become more vocal as its diminutive form becomes more important. Its educated and capable Nobles may gain a more prominent position on the grand stage. That leaves Vix Tiramora.
In short, that episode was a debacle. More so because it was not exploited in any noticeable way. Now the Vix are stronger than before. A more viable army they will be able to field. With those factors into consideration, they will more firmly become part of the trinity of Perleone, Perdan and Vix Tiramora. The advantage of the wastelands surrounding Perdan City that the North has been enjoying will be contested more fiercely I imagine because of all this. There is more on this but that veers ever more far away from the Political situation as was asked of me to write about.
The war and its political situation. I believe the war is fought purely in the midlands. southern midlands even. With the rising force of Vix that line will be pushed upwards into Caligus again. Possibly into the surrounding of Westmoor but I suspect not due to the Northern's leadership being centered on Greater Eponllyn. Caligus will become more important and vocal. Their lands will be more threatened.
In truth, the political landscape is rather dull in the north. We in Eponllyn haven't even heard from the Rulers of Nivemus nor Shadowdale or even Sirion. There is nothing coming from those places. No words, no relations, nothing. Only silent warriors as we are threatened to become. Perhaps a new Ruler of ours can bring us those words, if they exist.
About Nivemus and Sirion, I do not know their Political situation. Nor what they aim for or desire. One is left to guess.
In my mind it would be a dangerous situation if Caligus decides or is somehow persuaded to cease fighting. For all of the South would then be funneled through Eponllyn. Unless they like Mountain Climbing which seems very unlikely and foolish.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Commonyr
-=-=-=-=-
Fellow Nobles of the Realm, Talon Lionel, Ambassador Alexander,
A single day remains and only one other person has stepped forwards as a contender for the Phoenix Throne.
That being what it is, I will address the questions posed. Starting with those from Talon Lionel and then those of Ambassador Alexander.
-
The correction in my knowledge by the Talon is much appreciated, in my previous letters I clearly said that I could only give my views for as far as my knowledge reached. He has extended that reach, for it I am grateful.
What would you have us discuss with Sirion and Nivemus?
To begin with I would want to establish relations with their rulers and key individuals. Get to know them, beyond colored banners that strut across the battlefield. Not just for myself to know but for our entire realm to know. Who are they, what drives them, what do they want. Basic questions really. Things that would do us well to know. To identify with them, to better understand them and to be able to be better allies. The secrecy often needed in military planning should not be required in the diplomacy that could bring realms closer together. I, and I am sure many agree, feel little for shedding blood for a silent rock. For a person however, a friend perhaps, that is another matter entirely.
For too long has there been an experienced silence for the mass of Nobles. That is not a good thing.
I'd like some context on why you were in correspondence with an enemy King... Unless King Kay is lying, but it would be a strange thing to lie about.
The Talon rightly surmised that I have been in contact with the King of Perdan. So too have I been in contact with other Rulers from both the North and the South. The blood that courses through my veins was reason enough for many of them to reach out, unbidden. If I am the Son of House JeVondair and Renodin, as I am. Shame and Pride, it is my duty to uphold the dignity carried therein. You will agree I am sure.
Where I may not have reigned before, unlike those of my blood, it behooves any person to develop relations. Those that reach out to you and also those that you belief you can learn from. The King Kay of Perdan reached out to me. Selenia knew of it. At the risk of sounding Elitist, Royal Houses speak beyond the bounds that encircle or are self-imposed by others. That is what Selenia taught me.
What relations I have and have developed, with more to follow I am sure, I shall utilize to the benefit of our Realm. To see our goals realized and to make true those aspirations we set out for ourselves.
--
Now to the words of Ambassador Alexander.
I would like the candidates for the rulership to address what they believe the concerns of Greater Eponllyn are and how they anticipate to solve them.
In my prior letters I touched upon this area. I believe there is a distinct lack of harmony or unity within the Realm. Yes, there is obedience to the military command but that is not all a realm is made of. I noted that the former Eponllyn Nobles, few as they are, together with the multitude of Nobles from Redhaven, Xavax have achieved little to become one. To come together. Formally government positions have been shared but it seems it ended there. That is a shame and a problem.
How to solve it you ask. I will try what Selenia has done in the past that made us strong. To rule together. To offer voice and platform to all willing to speak and act. Phoenix Courts, Nights of the Black Swans. Gatherings, deliberations. To do not alone but to do, together. Not in disregard of Eponli traditions but to welcome them. We are a people divided and we should no longer.
Furthermore, I request to know their agenda and platform for their reign.
The Agenda and Platform for my potential Reign. I can repeat that which I've written in previous letters and in part I will. To bring the Realm together, to bring prestige to our Realm on the great stage of the world and to achieve our wargoals as set out by those that came before us.
I will not sit on the throne in solitude. Where I am young there are many, great men and women in this realm. Their wisdom, capability, guidance I will draw upon if they will let me. If ever there was a platform, in the literal sense, you are it. You all are.
Where paper becomes in short supply, I will close with this. With one day remaining, I had hoped to see more stand up. If that is not to be the case, I wish all the best to Chief of Justice Ryndhal. I don't know him very well but I grew up among you all. Whatever you will, I will accept.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Commonyr
-=-=-=-=-
Fellow Nobles of the Realm, Chief of Commerce Mara, Ambassador Alexander,
A few more questions have been posed, I shall give my answers.
Do you take on all responsibilities of our former Queen? Do you too promise me the duchy of Perdan as she did?
Lady Mara, the promise was made by Selenia. Not by me. However, let me ask this question in turn. Will you bend the knee and swear undying fealty onto me should the realm see fit to ascent me to the Phoenix Throne? What did you promise Selenia in exchange for the Capital of Perdan? This is a discussion that has never been in the public eye.
--
Ambassador Alexander asks:
May I ask what your stance is around Vix? What your intentions would be for that realm and the geographic region providing the northern armies are able to crush the resistance?
My stance towards Vix is a traditional one. They are the opposite in ideology as to us. In the words of former Arbiter Godric, Death to the Democrats. That being said, they are weak and in flux at this time. Albeit with potential. What is to become of that region should I have say over it I do not know. I'd consult the Realm, you, our Nobles. It isn't a place we want to occupy for ourselves.
It might be good to remove them from the war, to install a new government as was tried before. Ultimately however, I would allow myself to be guided by those that see fit to advise me in this.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Commonyr
-=-=-=-=-
Fellow Nobles of the Realm, Chief of Commerce Mara, Sir Daeron,
Our discussions continue, where my part is concerned in it, I shall provide.
Chief of Commerce Mara,
''I didn't promise anything''
~Mara Aurelius
''as was discussed in the details of the merger''
~Selenia JeVondair
The aforementioned promise was a personal one, between yourself and Selenia. That is explicitly stated. It was made during merger discussions that led to the creation of Greater Eponllyn. You've demonstrated your aptitude for records-keeping, please provide us the rest. The merger details that include the personal promise between two Nobles.
You did not respond in full to my question either while I am expected to just that. I urge you to grace yourself and not to leave parts by the side of road. If I am to aspire to be wise, I will not blindly promise anything. My respect and reverence for Selenia you would only insult if you choose to further press that angle. She would inform you about that fact herself if she was still among us.
Sir Daeron,
How exactly would the Vix situation be handled diplomatically or otherwise as I feel it is being presented simplistically in observation.
The matter you broach is a complicated one. In essence it remains simple however, they are enemies and sought our destruction. The Debacle you refer to however. The diminutive Vix, as they were was pounced upon. Three Nobles in particular stand out. Both Ambassador Franz of House Fitz Robert and Ambassador Alexander of House Greybrook among that trio. Citrine Tourmaline being the third.
They were in positions of power and presumably perceived the Realm of Vix Tiramora to be sufficiently weakened to accept radical change with downward cast face. It was a powerful move. The act miscalculated perhaps or the strength of the instigators found wanting. It could be that the sudden earthquake shook the Vixens awake and into action.
If it had worked it would indeed have been a magnificent victory for the north. That it didn't does not take away from the audacity and daring of those that undertook it. The result we have to live with today is that Vix Tiramora has once more emerged as a viable realm and became a true member of the Trio of the South, Perdan, Perleone and Vix Tiramora. How to deal with that situation diplomatically.
We protect our own. This is war and we must survive. The democratic Ideals they hold dear are alien, wrongheaded and the north fights to eradicate them. For us it is also a struggle for survival, not so much today but our own goals lay in the south. A home they helped destroy. How much diplomacy do you want to conduct with sworn enemies?
I feel we will isolate them as much as possible. Discredit their claims but we should not allow them to distract us from our war goals. As we've been pursuing for all this time. Under direction of Talon Lionel.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Commonyr
Continued.
-
-=-=-=-=-
Fellow Nobles of the Realm, Ambassador Alexander,
I would also be interested in your opinion regarding the traditional migration south? Is this a undertaking you would be willing to consider or reject?
The Xavax desire home. The war we fight still is because the south tried to displace our people and they succeeded. The Xavax did not give in. Rather they chose to continue the fight. Many joined their ranks and Realms did likewise. Until the great behemoth of warfare of today took shape.
Ancestral home is the goal. To return to that land from which we hail. There was a great exodus and if that is possible so it must be possible to return. How, when, in what shape and how. Those are questions we must find answers to. What we do know is that we will not accept a position of weakness. We will not be slaves or servants. It will happen on our terms. Our own.
Why else have we bled and continue to do so. The Xavax have been fighting not to take lands in the midlands or to live in the north. They have fought to return to Greater Xavax. We are no longer just the Xavax in Greater Eponllyn. There are Eponli Nobles. With their own heritage and desires. They have lived close to Xavax, to the west of it. In my mind it isn't such a big difference. We are neighboring peoples that were forced north.
Sheltered by realms that welcomed us and provided for us. We've come together as one in this realm. This Greater Eponllyn and we still dream of returning to the south. We can do that, and we will. Perhaps in time, we will no longer be neighbors, as we are in the south of the past. Maybe we will become something greater, as is my hope.
It is not a dream that has been forgotten and that was ever the goal for this war.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Commonyr
-=-=-=-=-
Fellow Nobles of the Realm, Chief of Commerce Mara,
If you choose to ignore parts of my own letters to your person and follow that by pushing your own narrative, that is fine. It does have the effect of me being less inclined to be accommodative towards you. Neither do I wish to argue with you as that is a futile effort.
Should you wish me to restate the matter which I put to you, I shall.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Commonyr
-=-=-=-=-
Fellow Nobles of the Realm, King Ryndhal,
I offer congratulations on your election King Ryndhal.
May you reign wisely and I shall be the first to publicly offer fealty onto the throne as you take your seat.
Wings unfurled,
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin
Knight of Commonyr
-
Welcome back, get comfortable. I got two letters for you. One is a pure letter and what follows will be Nemean's response. Its a letter that I wrapped in a bit of RP. Sometimes I like to do that. Give it some more weight, depth or feeling. Just that tiny little bit extra you know. Hope you enjoy.
Letter from Alyssa Kingsley
Sir Nemean,
As the northern armies ransack our lands, I find myself in the difficult position of being unable to defend them from the host that has been massed against us. Thus, we are trapped behind our walls, and I myself in the Imperator's Tower in the duke's palace, with little to do but read reports of battles and the wanton slaughter and robbery of my people and host tedious meetings with quartermasters and courtier. My tower while spacious is tucked away in a far corner of the palace and it is unfortunate that it is out of the way of most people's thoughts and minds. I am sure my predecessor enjoyed the solitude but I miss seeing the faces of the countrymen who I have come to respect and care for dearly. I take a walk through the gardens or the city and train with the sword when I can, but more often than not I sit at this desk and write letters to generals and pen orders. It was not exactly the life I expected the Imperator lived but I understand the necessity.
In some ways I miss my time as a simple knight. I still bore the weight of my realm, but to a lesser degree. It feels as if all of my people look to me and I must not fail them, for the stakes of my failure now are much higher. Perhaps you should be glad you were not chosen for such a high position yourself. Or perhaps being a Prince of your people you feel this weight all the time.
You have a new king in Eponllyn. Have things improved? You said you felt lonely before, and ignored. While I see them less and less, held by the paper chains in this tower, mine own realmmates remain busy and loyal to the defense of our realm. I have even had the fortune of training some of the newer nobles in swordplay on a few occasions. I can confirm that our realm breeds talented warriors, and true knights. They are eager to follow the path of righteousness and honour. They will go out and do good despite the bleakness of the war and the world around us.
Regards,
Alyssa Kingsley
Imperatrix of Perdan
Dame of Bisciye
An Open Hand
The hue of soft yellow pastel crinkled with lines of biscotti make for a piece of parchment that gives off a well worn complexion. Light stains left where the palm of a hand has rested lazily. A deep and oily oker fingerprint almost presents itself as yellow wax. The vellum is thick and was once quite rich was it not for its repeat use.
Impe..
Alyssa,
You do you not fail your people. In service there is one of the greatest honors you can give. That is why we often look up at those that render great service onto the many that cannot do it themselves. There are many soldiers but they cannot do what the general does. All their eyes look up at the general. Although the soldiers die once, the general dies over and over again. And yet, the soldiers greatly appreciate their general. Despite dying.
When you were a simple knight. The same happened. The soldiers died, willingly. Because they believed in you. You never were a simple knight Alyssa. When I rode up to you the first time. A great southern army stood at your back. There were two warriors at your side. Your warriors. They admired you. And I saw why.
It never gets easier. At least I haven't known it to become less. Expectation is a great and terrible thing. A monster with rows upon rows of teeth. Its bite, burns more remorselessly than pitch. Disappointment and Disillusion. The faltering hope that fades from once believing eyes. The unspoken question, why didn't you make it work, as life leaves their body.
You've risen. Ascended to a place where you are too, lonely. You understand why you do it though. I saw that in you as well. That you care is a great sign of responsibility. That it is heart-wrenching, is a burden you must shoulder. Forever. The moment you no longer feel that weight, you should no longer be a general or a leader. I complained about being lonely and I still am. There are those that know what I was raised for. They do not want it. Others are hopeful and glance but do not dare to look yet, as yours do openly at you. The burden is there still though.
I think of that moment when I first saw you. How your people looked at you. Their desire to protect you. Knowing that they had a treasure that was theirs to protect. Something good. Even if they didn't yet know what kind of good, or what good, would come from it. It wasn't important to them. They felt and that was enough. They were right.
In admiration,
Nemean
Down below the text, the distance of about the width of a hand, a circular stain resides solemnly.
-
Following is a small series of Roleplays that involve three characters. All credit due to their respective players and writers of course. It's about an envoy presenting a gift. That is a really narrow way to explain it but I feel saying anything else might spoil it. Hope you enjoy.
A Rampant Envoy
Where it might've been highly unusual or at least against protocol it seems that one particularly well spoken man with a quiet disposition managed to get himself announced to the Imperatrix of Perdan. His style of dress wasn't local and not even regional of the south. The robe he wore cut in such a way that it both served to lend his posture grace and at the same time rendered functionality on the road. On which he surely must've been for some time before arriving. His eyes are of a dark oaken color and the words that emerge from his mouth are measured and often quite gentle. While clearly not a noble it'd be hard to dismiss his embedded affluence. He might not be decked in jewels and neither does he carry any particularly outlandish garb, the simple quality ingrained in every piece of his attire nudges any doubt of his means firmly out of mind.
Draped around his shoulders is a thick leather cape lined with the fur of ermines. Before the man was brought to a waiting room he was said to have taken the time to groom his horse himself. Insisting that he did not mind the task and preferred doing it himself. What stood out was that the man had brought a sturdy leather trunk. Its surface worked so finely and with such care that the material was transformed into a bright amber skin. Curiously, there were two finger sized holes in it, near the handle. The man very carefully handled said trunk, at least, so reckoned your servants.
Upon asking his business he offered two pieces of information. The first was that he came on behalf of a Noble party. The seal and paper he presented for this claim consisted of a single page with upon it a clear sigil of the Realm of Perdan. The second piece of information constituted a phrase. ''In case there might be more Troll Kin in the Perdan Mines.''. Supposedly this would make sense to the Imperatrix the man suggested. Enough so that she might deign to receive him.
With that he was content to give it some time and wait it out. Politely asking for some spiced tea as he made himself comfortable in the waiting room.
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
"No tea."
The grim looking old man scowled at him, his old, dented armour barely reflecting the lantern light in one of the Imperatrix's pavilions. The noble sigil on his breastplate, a sheaf of wheat, was almost entirely faded. He glanced at the paper again and somehow his frown deepened. "She's the busiest girl in Perdan so don't hold your breath. Stay here." he growled, putting a hand on his sword and walking out, paper in hand.
Several minutes later, the old warrior returned, with him two young women in light armour neither of whom could be twenty. One with red hair and a tunic of black and purple was quiet and watched the envoy with an uncertain curiosity while the other with hair of gold tied back in a ponytail stood proudly at attention, her hand on a sword at her hip, a white cloak over her shoulders clasped with a brooch depicting a snarling wolf. She looked at him with a stern but weary gaze, the cold blue of her eyes searching him for answers.
"Alyssa Kingsley, Lady of the White Lodge, Imperatrix of Perdan." The old man announced a hint of pride in his gravely voice, motioning to the lady in white. She said nothing and the old warrior continued, motioning to the other girl. "Dustiria Noire, Dame of Lorient."
The man then took a step back, and Alyssa took a step forward. "I am told you were sent to give me something." She said, glancing at the trunk.
Delivering the Gift
"Alyssa Kingsley, Lady of the White Lodge, Imperatrix of Perdan." The old man announced a hint of pride in his gravely voice, motioning to the lady in white. She said nothing and the old warrior continued, motioning to the other girl. "Dustiria Noire, Dame of Lorient."
The man then took a step back, and Alyssa took a step forward. "I am told you were sent to give me something." She said, glancing at the trunk.
~Alyssa Kingsley
A gloved hand found perch over his heart and the envoy bowed. In the motion he carefully placed the trunk beside him on the ground. His cape veiling and unveiling the item as he rose again. Calm brown eyes passed from one of the young ladies to the other. ''I did indeed come here bearing a gift, Imperatrix Kingsley. Forgive me the time I steal as I take it to offer proper respect to Dame Noire.'' With that he made a second bow.
Turning his attention back to Alyssa. ''I must caution you however. This gift may require some time to fully appreciate.'' The rich delivery of the words laces them with a worldly quality. The man kneels down beside the trunk. His hands working on the straps. A leather flower emerging on the ground as his cape spills from him. ''Perhaps.'' A pensive pause that includes the motion of his hands. ''Perhaps this may ease the, shared hardship, you and my master at times feel.'' Lips formed a warm expression. ''He would have wanted me to say something along those lines. Although he didn't quite word it that way.'' Oaken eyes glanced up at Alyssa before they returned to the trunk at hand.
The straps became undone and the man turned the lid to face the Imperatrix. He whispered to the trunk. Coaxing almost, was it not for his seeming practiced paternal tone. As the lid rose the light revealed droopy and charcoal colored ears. A small hump holding the two together which ended in an even now, robust snout tipped with a broad black nose. Two dark anthracite, well spaced eyes looked up. Regarding the humans about the pup shook its tiny body and pawed the inside of the trunk.
Looking at the puppy for a brief moment the man stood up again and took a step back. ''I hope it..'' The tiniest of barks fiercely interrupted the words, eliciting a a small chuckle from the man. ''I hope this gift may find your approval Imperatrix. It is a Cane Corso.'' With that he bowed again, awaiting her response.
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
She inclines her head to the envoy as he bows to her. Her hand does not leave her sword hilt as she stands ready slightly to the left and behind the Imperatrix. As he works to open the trunk her shoulders go back and she looks ready to spring forward. Confusion crosses her face as the dark brown puppy is revealed. Her stern warrior face melts into a smile she can't help. "A cane corso...I haven't seen one since I walked away," she says almost too quiet to hear. Louder she says , " if I may ask Imperatrix who sent this? Forgive me if that is to forward to ask. " her own brown eyes look curious from Alyssa to the envoy and back before resting on the puppy.
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
Alyssa took her eyes from the pup to glance at Dustiria. "It was your newest friend that is behind this my lady."
The puppy hopped from the trunk and sniffed around his new surrounding, following his nose to Alyssa's boots. She knelt down to pet the creature, taking off her glove as it sniffed her hand and licked her finger. She gave it a gentle stroke across its back, as it wagged its tail.
"Tell me messenger," she said looking up at the man with a eyebrow raised in challenge. "Was it Sir Nemean's idea or your own to carry this poor creature locked away in a dark trunk? The babe must have been frightened."
The puppy sniffed around again, curious of his new surroundings, bounding about as he explored the tent excitedly wagging his tail.
"Or perhaps not," she allowed, as the little dog pawed at a table set near the corner of the pavilion. "He seems quite brave."
As the puppy crossed by her as it wandered about the tent she pet it again as a slight smile crossed her face.
"You may stay under our protection for the evening" She said to messenger. "I will send you back with a letter to your Sir in the morning."
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
"oh," she looks at Alyssa surprised. "You must be close friends for him to send you such a special gift. " She smiles as the puppy explores the tent,"he sent you a companion for at least the next decade. A cure for loneliness on four paws. A confidant that will never leave your side. Priceless loyalty and total love," she laughs softly,"forgive me. Sometimes I think I understand animals better than people. Name him well my lady. " She heads to the tent opening,"by your leave Imperatrix. I think I will watch the moon for a bit before I rest"
A note among the Dark
"You may stay under our protection for the evening" She said to messenger. "I will send you back with a letter to your Sir in the morning."
~Alyssa Kingsley
With those words the envoy made his final bow before making his departure from the tent. Leaving both the pup and the trunk behind. Once outside he settled in beside one of the small campfires but not before producing a small lute from a saddlebag. Plucking away a lazy tune as he enjoyed the glowing warmth that emanated from the fire.
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Welcome back! This Rp I got for you today ins't, unfortunately, a continuation of the previous one. However, this is an introduction of my character at a Tournament. How someone in the crowd might see him so to speak. Hope you like it.
A Humble Shadow
In a strikingly subdued manner a young man crowned with dark blond hair moved about the various parties and toastings. Accepting the drinks that are offered and displaying measured modesty as he does so. His entourage is virtually non existent. Seemingly preferring to go about these affairs absent attendants. In as much as the young noble tries to present himself as inconsequential there is a lingering air that refuses to remove itself from his demeanor.
His chin raised in just that way, the quiet calm of his pose as he observes. The ease with which a quiet smile is effortlessly conjured upon his lips. From a distance, he seems to accept his chosen role. Content to listen yet undaunted by the splendor. At times, it seems as it is entirely immaterial to him. The gilded gold of the fairground structures. The actors and the theater. Bowls and tables filled with magnificent foods, their scents wafting the stuff of dreams to the commoners beyond the lists.
Prominently worked into the patterns on his doublet a golden, rampant lion could be seen. Judging by the color-scheme and the heraldic animal, it would fit the Royal Houses of both JeVondair and Renodin. Something that the young man hasn't voiced and neither seems inclined to bring up. In either those he exchanges words with or about himself.
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Welcome, great to see you. No, the tournament didn't go that well. Nemean got beat by the champion in the first round. 1 to 2. Only solace might be the fact that the champion then proceeded to trounce just about every other contestant 0 to 3. Anyhow, today I got a few RPs for you. Nemean decided to try to learn about his father. The JeVondair's are no longer playing (paused their characters) so I figured Nemean would try to uncover the other half of his heritage. The Renodin part. Asher Renodin to be exact. Here is the initial Rp that saw Nemean leave Greater Eponllyn and join Perdan.
Dashing Across the Line
Where earlier on the rays were bright and the world an inundated landscape filled with light. Now there was a bronze world where shadows lorded over the land and leafs spelled doom with their crackling noises. The woodlands, the edges of the verdant swaths that enshrined the villages and towns of Beziers housed the Northern vanguard. A small army in and of itself. It had went unopposed and Nemean rode dutifully along. Warriors from Nivemus razed farmsteads and pillaged all in sight. The only thing taller than the giants with green canopies were the trails of black smoke. The atrocities visited upon the living, framed in the amber glow of a hundred raging fires.
On patrol with his modest group of cavalry he had evaded partaking in that horror. In blind panic the lowborn fled their homes. Even this far away and practically inside the forest he could hear it. Maybe he imagined it. He shook his head, trying to dispel the terrible sound. ''You alright sir?'' One of his warriors asked. Nemean nodded. ''Yea, it's fine. Press on.'' Like a marbled statue his arm reached out like an emperor. Years of privileged life creeps in one's every move. He pointed westwards, towards Bisciye. The place where he would embark upon his own path. ''On the other side of this forest, there lies another life. One you did not choose. Another world. I chose it. I release you all from your bond. Warriors, servants, retainers,'' A short pause that saw eyes lock. ''Captain.''
From high above perched upon a branch, a Red-Robin chirped as it looked down at the troupe of humans. ''Turn back and return to your families. If you stay with me you might never see them again.'' He wanted to smile. Reassure them that it wasn't so. All he could manage was a small line of a mouth. Tight and resolved. His emerald eyes beheld them, traveling from the left all the way to the right. ''I will go through the forest and find out about my own family. The Other Lion.'' With his hand he touched the crest that adorned his chest. The Lions of Houses JeVondair and Renodin.
Unbeknownst to the young man, even though he was gaining the features of a more mature and masculine individual, his mind was truly still unwise in the ways of men and women. So when the people spoke. The fighting ones and all the others, he was surprised. ''Let the Lion Roar.'' It was a single voice. Not even spoken forcefully but rather diminutive actually. Without fault however, it had that quality. Inner pride. ''Let the Lion Roar!'' The worlds came again. This time from several voices. ''Aye! aye..'' while others said: ''We're with you Nemean.'' The one that broke his Noble posture and made him carefully laugh went like this: ''Get through the bloody forest already, so we can get some mead.'' Mirth. They didn't object. The thought crystallized in his mind. They'll come with me. And Nemean knew kinship and warmth.
Leaving the burned out villages behind them. The trails of smoke in their wake, fortunately not of their making. Plunging headlong into a new future. Uncertain, unknown and where the possibilities were endless. Nemean felt nervous, his gaze fixed upon the horizon. What will I find on the other side.
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Next up, Nemean taking a vacant estate in a region he doesn't even know the Lord of. It also includes a letter to the realm. Enjoy!
Sending a Message
Arriving in Bisciye was an easy enough affair. He'd had weeks to send out scouts. Pour over the reports from the armies and fortunately the nearest, significant settlement was perched atop a lazy hill. Slumped and entirely taken advantage of as a sprawling town had grown all over and around it. Approaching it was, awkward to say the least. The captain had wisely lowered the banners of Greater Eponllyn and the North. Stowed them out of sight and the only banners that flew were familial ones. The Black and Gold.
The locals were nervous. To the point that some fled on sight. Small crowds rushed into the settlement proper and eventually, a bell rang. Getting closer Nemean could see a small contingent of Spear militia present itself. That's rich. He thought to himself. Observing how the militia fumbled to create a line. How many where they? Twenty? He gestured at a scout of his. ''Announce me.'' The young woman bowed in the saddle and sped off.
An hour later Nemean had spoken with the local mayor. A friendly, rotund man with grassy red hair. The Local manor fortuitously had remained vacant. Leaving nothing to chance Nemean had ordered his posse to take up residence there. Zabar Manor, it'd do.
Before he'd released the shaken mayor he gave him a letter and instructions to present it to the local Lord and Nobility.
Fair Nobles of Perdan,
The hand that writes belongs to Nemean JeVondair Renodin.
My companions and I have arrived in the lands of Bisciye. The Militia did their duty and challenged me duly. I commend them even though I did not come in arms. From him I learned that these lands belong to the Baillivus Benjamin of House Pryde. As is Noble custom I offer him my fealty as I've taken the formerly vacant estate of Zabar Manor. Should he accept it I shall serve him and in full capacity and observance of Noble Code.
That aside, and it holds paramount importance, I present myself to the wider Nobility. I hailed from Greater Eponllyn. With the above oath accepted, I shall no longer be from there but share a space under your banner. The banner of my father.
I shall welcome questions if there are any.
Wings unfurled,
Nemean JeVondair Renodin
The villagers had a field day. A strange Knight appearing from the forests. Claiming a great Manor and their very mayor not objecting at all! Or so that's how they saw it. Highly irregular!
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Here is a small RP to illustrate Nemean's discovery of one of the very few if perhaps only good Cavalry recruitment center in the realm. In a city that's barely defended. At least, that's what I tried to make shine through.
Fine Horses
A brief stop at the equestrian complex that the city of Aix was host to convinced Nemean. ''These are some fine creatures.'' His hand ran along the cheek of a particularly fine stallion. Muscles barely contained under a rich and soft coat of raven black. Tall, proud and healthy horses every single one of them. Sadly he was informed by one of the trainers that Aix was also the only location Perdan had such facilities.
It didn't take very long at all for Nemean to get the gist of the trainer's true concern. The scary fact that the small city was practically defenseless and surrounded by enemy forces. Apparently even the man's brother had taken up the call to join the local militia. Unsanctioned by the master of the city but mustered nonetheless.
''You keep on providing the realm with such fine horses and I'll make sure they do their utmost to safeguard your family.'' He would've liked to utter the words with more confidence but the trainer lapped them up regardless. An awkward nod and half grin from Nemean, entirely forced, saw the two part ways as he continued on his way to the Capital.
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Eventually Nemean had to travel to the capital and I felt like writing something a bit more uplifting. This was the result, hope you enjoy it hehe.
The Sable Lion in the City of Lions
Earlier in the day they had come upon a small caravan from the Perdan mines. Several of their carts had been overloaded and during their journey had broken down. Taking the opportunity to get to know the locals, Nemean had ordered his men to aid the merchants. Two in particular were useful in this regard as they were sons of a carpenter, brothers and both more than happy to put in their hands wood rather than steel for a while. As the carts were being mended Nemean had spend time conversing with the caravan master. A stern man of advancing age. Fortunately that was mostly exterior and they soon laughed as they compared Northern Silver with Southern silver. Clearly the man held great contempt for the ''pewter'' of the north. It was an easy subject to joke about and while the man didn't recognize Nemean's banner he was remarkably laconic.
As the carts were made serviceable again the caravan was doubly grateful to learn that they'd gained a Noble escort. ''Don't mention it.'' Nemean had said amicably. ''We're both headed for Perdan city.'' Bandits and raiding had drastically reduced the amount of goods getting through to the capital. As they continued the journey, burned out hovels only doused by occasional rainfall were passed by, more frequently than either party would've liked. The caravan master glanced at Nemean's banner every so often as they did and it made the younger man feel uneasy.
Past the midday hour the group came across a great, brown mass on the road. One of the forward scouts returned to report that it was alive. ''Careful sire, I believe it is a bear.'' The captain of Nemean's unit frowned. She was expert at the expression and it could scold a man's pride as much as a full blown insult could. Something that Nemean at times envied. A slurry grunt could be heard as the group approached the supposed bear. A deep heave followed. Was that a burp?
With the distance reduced it became clear the bear, it was indeed a bear, was camping near the site of some wreckage. It huffed and pawed lazily at the debris. Clearly looking for something but either with immense disinterest or this was one clumsy bear. Big broken wagon. Disemboweled ox in front of it. A shredded leather tarp, presumably it had served to cover the wagon. Nemean continued to study the trashed site from a distance. A few crates and.. strewn about, broken casks. Somewhere below it he spotted several intact casks. Clearly the bear was trying to get to them but failed miserably. It's frustrated grunts and panting coupled with its terrible coordination began to make sense suddenly. It was drunk. A drunk bear. The smell of Mead wafted on the air, sweet and inviting. Certainly to the bear it had.
Nemean sighed. ''Wide berth, I don't want to mess with that bear.'' His warriors obeyed as did the merchants. The bear, way too late, realized he wasn't alone. It managed a slurred roar. Interrupted as it was with a hiccup. In its intoxicated state it tried to strike a menacing pose but only managed to briefly stand on all fours before veering far to the right and tumbling into a shallow ditch. From which it uttered another pathetic hiccuppy roar. It sounded more like a plea this time or a self directed curse. The men muffled their chuckles. Which the bear obviously picked up on and loudly burped at, surely it had meant something more imposing. Which only made the men burst out in laughter as they wiped tears from their eyes.
It was the talk the entire rest of the trip to the big city. People become fast friends when they come across drunk bears apparently. The fortress walls of the capital allowed them entry through the King's gate. It felt strange for Nemean to enter the capital. Was he following in his father's footsteps? Did he also enter through this gate? His eyes looked around and saw the sprawling harbor city. The caravan master touched him on the shoulder. ''Master Nemean, I thank you for the escort. I don't dare to imagine what might've happened if we had to face that bear alone.'' The mirth in his eyes made both men smirk. ''Say nothing of it.'' Nemean offered. ''It was a pleasure.'' The smirk grew larger. ''Alright then Master Nemean. We'll be off then. They'll be mightily pleased to receive a fresh batch of silver. Most caravans have either not made their runs outright or got ambushed.'' The mirth made way for a hint of greed. ''We'll get a pretty penny for our troubles.'' Looking at the young Noble for a moment, he resumed. ''I'll make sure they hear of the man that helped us.''
That concluded their exchange and they parted ways by shaking hands. The merchants went to the dockside area and Nemean directed his men towards the craggy hill that housed the most dominating feature of the entire city. The Palace and its Lion Guards. Legend held it originally was a ducal castle that over time and generations was expanded upon. Until it hardly resembled a stronghold at all anymore and truly grew into its current palatial appearance. Riding calmly through the city Nemean traversed the great promenade. A broad and opulent road lined with great alabaster statues of sitting lions. Proud, fierce and yet protective all at the same time. It all looked so magnificent. The warscape not ten leagues south of the city could just as well be a world away by comparison. It confused his mind even more why the North never made an assault on the Perdanese capital. Looking closely though, there were small signs. More beggars than usual. Food prices were inflated. Houses cramped with refugees. Many people looking for jobs. Yet it didn't dampen their spirits. If anything, the people rallied. They willingly aided one another and this sense of unity struck close to home for Nemean. Maybe that's what his father saw as well.
So the maturing Lion entered the city of his father and made his way to the palace.
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Next up is how Nemean reached Perdan city and now has to navigate the Capital city to its center of power. The Palace.
Arriving at the Palace
People were generally the same everywhere. Nemean looked at the people of Perdan city and compared them. All the while making his way to the palatial grounds perched atop the broad hill overlooking the harbor. He saw small workshops with storefronts filled with hardworking families. The father and brothers plying the craft of their ancestors as the sisters were tending the shop. A babe could be heard wailing from the residence above the shop. Undoubtedly being looked after by the mother as she tried to keep the rest of the toddlers in line.
That was not his life though. No matter where he went, nothing seemed familiar. Nothing he could identify with. He didn't have a sprawl of sisters and brothers. No hard working father with rough hands from working timber or cloth. There was no crowded home where his mother lorded liked a supreme being. His eyes wandered over to the image of the palatial grounds. No home of his own. The hiss of a cat interrupted his musing. The lines on his face hardened as he thought about it. My father is gone, my mother is dead. I've lived in palaces and on the muddy road. Been submitted to more ascetic training than fanatical monks. I want to relate to these people. These simple lives!
The storm of thoughts manifested themselves in an angry gaze as he rode past a a small gang of street-bound orphans. They froze mid game as Nemean looked at them. The youngest of them, perhaps three summers old, burst out in tears. The teenage girl holding him tried to soothe him. Whispering sweet nothings at the little one. Taken aback and realizing he was the cause of their distress Nemean spoke. ''At ease.'' As if the children were horses or soldiers. Ridiculous. Now he also felt stupid and frowned. An improvement over his previous angry look. ''Here.'' In a desperate act he tossed a few silver coins on the ground before speeding on. Nudging his horse on. He more heard than anything else how the children literally dove for the coins. Muffled thanks mixed with squabbles as the coins found new owners.
Riding on he left behind the common areas of the city and entered the Noble district. Naturally a gated district but none of the guards dared challenge him. His clothes and gear marked him as wealthy but his demeanor more than anything screamed Noble. They just saluted and Nemean nodded at them. The wealthy domiciles that followed impressed him. Mostly in their contrast to where he was not thirty minutes ago. Great and imposing fronts, columns and gardens. Some even had fountains and lots of decorations of course. Somehow, it didn't feel right to him. A waste of wealth he realized. The feeling was new to him. Useless. A round bellied man, clearly a noble with his walking cane crossed the road. Flabby cheeks moved as he dipped his head in greeting to Nemean. As response he sneered at the fat snob. Whom in turn looked shocked and a bit outraged but didn't challenge the warrior Noble on horseback beyond that.
As the sun began to dip and cast the world in a rich amber glow, Nemean reached the palace at last. The careful blending of the old, functional castle with the more recent, lavish grandeur which made it a palace stood out to him. A strategic tower with guardhouse and below it a fishpond flanked by a small menagerie. Granite and marble. The main gate was where he stopped and announced himself. Requesting entry and an audience with the Master of the Palace. Be that the Duke or the King he wasn't entirely sure but he hoped to find out soon enough.
And that is how Nemean reached the Palace in Perdan. Waiting to see if he'd be allowed in and more importantly, if he would be received.
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During a turn change I got the message that one of my soldiers captured an Enemy scout. The scout belonged to a Noble from Greater Eponllyn. the Realm Nemean grew up in and left for Perdan. There is some violence described in the rp, be aware.
Decisions while Waiting
The companion of every person. Grumpy and insatiable yet exceptionally grateful and often the cause of indulgence had driven Nemean, as it had many before him, to a guardhouse near the palace main gate. When he saw soldiers coming and going from the building with bowls filled with deliciously smelling stew, he had to obey hunger and investigate.
Causing a bit of an upset by entering the establishment without announcing himself caused over half a dozen off duty soldiers to stumble to their feet in salute. The confusion was mutual as Nemean looked at them and they back at him. Wordlessly he gestured them to sit back down again. It didn't need further prompting as one of the men, apparently the cook, otherwise a regular soldier himself, ladled out a fresh bowl of the superbly smelling stuff. Nemean accepted it with a soft grunt as he sat himself down at the very same table the other soldiers were using. It reminded him starkly of his days training at the academy. A pang of sorrow crossed his face but the sensation was quickly dispelled as the first spoonful of goodness entered his mouth. Apparently his approving grunt was appreciated as the cook's face lit up and the other men chuckled softly as they to, dug in.
A long happy moment drew itself out far too short as one of Nemean's bannermen stepped in through the door. ''Sire.'' The man stopped himself and saluted before continuing. ''Sire, we captured an enemy scout.'' The bowl promptly found itself slammed onto the table as Nemean got up and all but stormed out.
Outside the guardhouse a few of his men had gathered as they detained the enemy scout. A man somewhere in his twenties Nemean guessed. Older than he was. The scout's hands were bound and he had been forced onto his knees. The Palace Guards apparently allowed it all as Nemean was officially a Noble of the Realm. Not that he paid much attention to common soldiers not his own. Pacing around the scout he tried to get the measure of the foreigner. Foreigner, only by a couple days. The thought made him grimace. ''You are a traitor!'' The scout uttered with disgust. That settled it. A serene composure settled on his demeanor like stepping through a portal. He drew his sword, briefly struck a pose and lunged at the kneeling man. The blade easily pierced the cloth the shirt was made of, flesh parted before the steel tip and a blood rose welled upon the scout's chest. Withdrawing the sword produced a spatter of crimson upon the flagstones. The scout tried his best to remain upright. Eyes filled with dread as his gaze transfixed upon his own blood. A thud brought his attention back to Nemean. The young Noble proceeded to clean the bloody sword upon the scout's shoulder. A visible expenditure of effort that the scout could ill afford as life rapidly departed his body.
Slowly slumping to the ground, Nemean patiently waited until the man died in front of him. Before death claimed the scout the parting words he heard as his world went dark were ''Captain, discard the corpse with the other refuse.'' And a clack of boots before he heard nothing, ever again.
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The following Rp is written not by me, all credits and due respect go to the respective player.
Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
Requesting entry and an audience with the Master of the Palace. Be that the Duke or the King he wasn't entirely sure but he hoped to find out soon enough. And that is how Nemean reached the Palace in Perdan. Waiting to see if he'd be allowed in and more importantly, if he would be received.
Duke Smiddich had only recently returned to the palace, after the disappointment of the tournament. Coming in at the top four was not an embarrassment, exactly, but he had hoped for more. Perhaps his age was finally catching up with him?
He kept his own ducal quarters at the other end of the palace to the King; there was a huge expanse of ocean to the North and his estate took advantage of that. Where possible, it was windowed or balconied to enjoy that view of blue calm, and sometimes not so calm, where the spray threatened the walls and the ships moored at her docks.
The interior of his rooms were typically lined with a gleaming timber, of sometimes mahogany or walnut. Everything that could be polished, gleamed with care. There was a definite _nautical_ motif; here and there were flags and crossed cutlasses, a ships wheel hung on the wall behind his desk, and everywhere, maps.
The Duke had shucked out of his armor at the first opportunity; he harkened back to his days aboard ship, before all this noble business, when mobility (and the ability to swim!) were paramount. But his attire was altogether finer now than then. There was a time when he had not even two identical boots, but even back then there was the spark of nobility.
A messenger knocked on the open door, just as the black bladed Duke had his matching boots up on the desk, clipping back the tip of a cigar and pouring himself something sweet and strong,
"Sir Nemean, at the gate", said the messenger, and Smiddich nodded, "See him in!"
The Duke puffed a plume of dark smoke and looked out from his desk across that stormy sea; the tide was coming in.
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I was naturally very happy to have my Rp's answered and this was my reply. Hope he likes it and you as well of course.
The Smoking Duke
It had been some time since the scout's life had ended. Enough time even for Nemean to have finished his bowl of stew and to compliment the warrior cook. The man was humble about it and that had prompted him to lay it on extra thick. The mood in the guardhouse was as rich and warm as the food had been. The men there had that bond that forms over time and through shared hardship. Unspoken they all recognized this quality. Even the young Noble did.
Mid joke, a particularly burly soldier was interrupted. A finely dressed man had thrust himself into the company. The Winged stag perched upon a field of verdant and alabaster, prominently marking him out as a servant of the Duke himself. ''Sir Nemean.'' The address was truly a formality as the man, even before uttering the words, looked directly at Nemean. It also served to cut short any interaction. As well as a mallet could crush porcelain. ''The Duke will see you now.'' Turning about foot without a second thought the servant walked straight out.
That was more or less the attitude Nemean had expected when he arrived in Perdan but hadn't received, until now. It still stung. The Ducal Palace or perhaps the Royal Palace, he wasn't sure which of the two applied, was grand. The outward improvements and extensions to the complex more than carried through to its interior. Although he found it odd to come across model ships the size of elks and entire carriages. Some were proudly displayed in alcoves nestled along hallways while others had entire rooms dedicated to them.
Eventually he reached a wing of the complex that immediately called out to him as a private section. The variant of guards, the personalized style of decor. The location of the wing. All signs that this was not part of the regular makeup of the place. Aren't we going to throne room? Nemean thought to himself as he took in the gleaming wooden floors. As if to answer his thoughts the servant spoke as he rapped on an already opened door. ''His Grace, the Duke of Perdan.'' He paused for a short moment before continuing. ''Sir Nemean.'' With that the servant left the doorway and took up position in the hallway within earshot, if one raised their voice.
Unconsciously Nemean raised himself to his full height. Eyes looking over everything within his cone of vision. A painting of a defiant ship braving a terrible sea. Dotted with meticulously represented crewmen doing just about every sailor's job you could imagine. The waves towering over the vessel on one side and its captain roaring orders from behind the wheel. Next that caught his attention was the fresh ocean breeze. It carried with it the cry of a gull, the faint taste of salt, or was that just imagined? And tangy smoke, Smoke?
Nemean took a step and then another, following the scent. Around the corner from the small hallway that followed the entrance and precipitated the Duke's private office he saw the man. Boots first actually as they came into view first. Lazily deposited atop a fabulously expensive, mahogany desk. A small puff of smoke drifted into sight next as Nemean entered the room. He saw the smoking Duke perched quite comfortably. Eyes staring out a gilded window. Opened and fully permitting every gift the ocean winds could bestow upon them. Following Smiddich's gaze Nemean too could see that the weather promised little good. If only that wasn't an omen for how the older man would treat him.
''Hgmmgh!'' Nemean cleared his throat and promptly struck a respectful pose. Yet, his chin rose a tad. His chest puffed slightly and his eyes held every so slightly that quality of contempt. So the young lion met the Old Sailor. The Pirate that had followed his father. The Duke that risked it all and now sat right there, before him.
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The following Rp is written by and all due credit goes to:
Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
The sea breeze rolled into the chamber, gusting and swirling papers but not disturbing anything overmuch; Smiddich knew the drill. The wide windows and doors could be closed and barred but he rather enjoyed the stormy weather now that he was not out at sea in it.
The pirate Duke tapped out his cigar into an ashtray where it remained smouldering, and took his time getting up, drink in hand, "Pour you something, so long as it's brandy?", he said, swaggering to a buffet which was lined with crystal bottles of something warm.
Still, the room was festooned with trophies and souvenirs; a swath of sail with a needle and thread, a small pile of cannonballs, a belaying pin so weathered it might as well be a toothpick. Yet all of these were beloved mementos of a time at sea.
"Allow me to welcome you to Perdan City", said the Duke finally, once his drink was refreshed, and one forced into the hand of his guest, "I hope you have found everything to your liking, accommodation and such. It is no so often we receive a guest from the North, even less, one who renounces them completely! I must admit, I am surprised but not disappointed."
He puffs on his cigar and blows out the thick dark smoke, "I knew your mother for a short time", he says curtly, "Before her.. before she passed away. That was a dark time and I am sorry for that! Were she alive now, I daresay her and me might have made this continent stormier than _that_", he grinned despite himself, motioning with his glass towards the window. Surely... they could have made peace between the North and the South but that was not to be; Ayden was overwhelmed by militia before any real talk of a union could take place.
"I knew your kin, also, Hogny", said Smiddich, a little more softly now, "Spent a summer with the boy, Gia and me". The duke peered off into that storm for a little while before returning, "That were a wonderful summer. Taught him to swim! Gangly, not too sure of himself, but he got it in the end. He had no choice!", laughs the black bladed Duke, remembering picking the lad up and tossing him unceremoniously overboard.
Sink or swim.
"So, Sir Nemean... mind telling me why you're here?"
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Here is the response to the above Rp by Smiddich. Wonder if I did the emotions well enough. Hope you enjoy it!
A Forced Drink
"Allow me to welcome you to Perdan City", said the Duke finally, once his drink was refreshed, and one forced into the hand of his guest, "I hope you have found everything to your liking, accommodation and such. It is no so often we receive a guest from the North, even less, one who renounces them completely! I must admit, I am surprised but not disappointed."
And after some more words:
"So, Sir Nemean... mind telling me why you're here?" ~Smiddich Fontaine
The quiet disregard of the pirate Duke and the apparent ease with which the man turned his broad physique away from Nemean unsettled him. Wasn't this supposed to be a confrontation? The marble-esque visage of the younger man crumbled in the interim that eyes weren't locked. The thrust glass filled with amber liquid found perch in his hands. Intrusion. The shifting frame of the older man. The predatory confidence. The quiet simplicity with which the Duke moved in his own home. The larger muscles that overshadowed the younger Noble's, while arms didn't lock they were close enough to be compared.
Nemean felt more than willed his gaze drop to the ground as the Duke offered his first words. ''I hope you have found everything to your liking..'' The wood paneling of the floor stared back up at him. Fingers gripped the expensive glass tightly. ''It is no so often we receive a guest from the North..'' Warmth of an unkind spring welled, deep in his chest. ''Even less, one who renounces them completely!..'' Slow breaths brought some measure of control to Nemean as he forced his eyes to meet those of the Duke. The man continued his brief story and all Nemean could do to attempt and remember his teachings in custom, was to sip the Brandy. The burning liquid running down his throat.
As the Duke asked his final question, the room fell silent. Slowly taking a sip Nemean put the glass down on the Duke's desk. A flash in his mind, he saw himself launch over the desk. The whipping sound of sails in the imagined background. His hands around the master swordman's neck. The voice of anger nudging him: Do it.
''Don't speak of my mother in that way.'' Eyes full of promise, Nemean approached the desk. A slither of a thought formed in the recesses of his mind. Near silent but powerful still. -Remember your training-. Marble slowly crept back as his face set into a mask. ''I am here to find out about my family. My father, who you served. Were sworn to.'' Nemean stopped himself. Visibly struggling despite his efforts to appear neutral. Eyes closed.
''There never was word from him.'' Eyes opened again. ''Not a letter, not a story, nothing. My mother..'' A fierce glance lashed out at the Pirate. ''..never spoke of him. She only fought and had little time. All of the Golden Wings were forbidden to speak about. I know nothing about him. Who he was.'' Whatever anger had risen in the young man, it now all but suddenly left him as a great tree giving in to the logger's axe. He even marked the desk with the tip of his boot and shrugged.
''There was nothing left in the North.'' He tried to look at Smiddich. ''The family I was raised in is gone. There is no will where I came from. I could not stay there. I was rich there.'' Nemean raised his chin as if wealth mattered and was an achievement, but he knew otherwise already. ''My name, I couldn't use it. One I could but not all of my name. It was wrong. They didn't say why it was wrong. Only to destroy Perdan.'' A hand reached up and rubbed his chin. ''To destroy the Realm and Home of my father. My family's land. That isn't right but they wouldn't hear it.''
Unknowingly Nemean had begun to pace. ''I am looking for Family Smiddich.'' A statement, a challenge, a quest. A desire and a problem. Caught between worlds and far from illustrious heritage on either side. A young man without that, which everyone seems to simply have. Looked at the older and wiser man in front of him.
-
Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
As the Duke asked his final question, the room fell silent. A flash in his mind, Nemean saw himself launch over the desk. His hands around the master swordsman's neck.
The voice of anger nudging him: Do it. "Don't speak of my mother in that way", said the knight. Eyes full of promise.
The winds were whipping up the curtains now, and one of the doors had come loose. The black-bladed Duke was still leaning back in his tall chair, booted feet up against the fine desk and a crystal tumbler half full of languid, amber fluid. Did his eyes narrow, for just a moment? A plan, formulated in a second; the tumbler thrown, a letter opener through the throat or eye, a belaying pin to dash out his traitorous brains?
The Duke inhaled as the tension between the pair became stifling, and drank the remains of his glass without taking his eyes from the Knight. He set down the tumbler, smoothed his goatee and moustache with a smack of his lips,
"I apologise", he said slowly, "That was unkind of me. I would have saved her, and you, from that fate if I were able. That your mother was part of your life for an instant were more than I received, in truth. I shall not speak of her again, save that I wish she were alive for both our sakes".
"I am here to find out about my family. My father, who you served...were sworn to! There never was word from him."
"Your father was good to me, nay... the best. He saw our groups splintering and failing without a homeland, and gave us one. He was content to lead but not to rule; I would no be in this position", said the pirate, indicating his fine office with a swirl of cigar smoke from his hand, "were it not for the trust he placed in me. His leaving, so sudden and without warning... it stung! Nay... it bled."
"There was nothing left in the North...It was wrong", continued Sir Nemean, "They didn't say why it was wrong. Only to destroy Perdan...to destroy the realm and home of my father. My family's land...I am looking for family, Smiddich."
The Duke sucked in his smoke, and snorted it from his nose and mouth ignobly. This, like one of his many tells - a penchant for rum, one too many raucous tattoos and a prediliction for objectionable dancing - spoke to his primitive upbringing and a life at sea. But the utter lack of title, of honorific rankled in that moment,
"Know your place, Sir Nemean", said Smiddich, standing. He was broad, in only a shirt, boot and breeches, his long dark hair tied back with silver clips and a scar the length of his face, "It is at the bottom for now. In time, your service, as well as your name, will stand you in good stead in this nation. There are many, myself included, who owe your father a debt."
There existed only an inch or two before the distance between the two men became an inch or two too many.
"You cast off the North, just as we defy their charges against the Perdan of old. Join us in the new Perdan, this place where castaways and refugees find a place of redemption.. of salvation! Gods know.... I need that, just as much as you", admitted the pirate Lord of Perdan,
"Make a name for yourself as your father did, and forge a new history and a new family here. I hear you are already making waves in the military channels; good! But have a care how you treat with our enemies. I may not be the diplomat your father was, but Perdan will not be bought or sold for cheap, and not at the cost of our capital, culture or identity"
The door was clattering now and threatening to shatter, but Smiddich made no move to attend to it. Lanterns and candles in their sconces were flickering madly as the sun dipped finally behind a cloud and the roar of the ocean heralded evening. The once-privateer stretched himself, and his eyes said in no uncertain terms...
Your welcome is running out.
-
And that concludes this particular story
Cutting Words
"Know your place, Sir Nemean", said Smiddich, standing. He was broad, in only a shirt, boot and breeches, his long dark hair tied back with silver clips and a scar the length of his face, "It is at the bottom for now. In time, your service, as well as your name, will stand you in good stead in this nation. There are many, myself included, who owe your father a debt." ~Smiddich Fontaine
The careful vulnerability that had previously won over Nemean's baser anger recoiled from the brief barrage from the Duke. His face registering shock before likewise retreating behind pride. Hard and angular. A cleanly shaven chin rose slowly. There was no time to respond however. Words flowed from Smiddich like a rising tide. About the North, about Perdan and about Redemption. It was hard to dislike the impassioned words. Young green eyes softened as the Pirate Lord spoke of his father. Among those words, Praise, something that was seldom his. It made him feel awkward. It didn't sting but his reaction was akin to warding off a blow. Shuffling a step backwards.
As the Duke finished, another promise hung in the air. Protective and enshrined in a proverbial wreath of defiance. Nemean nodded, this he could understand.''I, I would never give up the City of my father.'' It took a moment before the next set of words came to him. ''Apologies for calling you by your name. It wasn't meant as disrespect. In Xavax it is a sign of respect when you are familiar. I thought..'' But he didn't finish the sentence. Instead Nemean nodded to himself and took a more formal pose. Bowed and proceeded to leave the room.
As he pulled the door shut behind him, these words escaped his lips: ''Thank you.''
-
Here Nemean just recruited some new warriors and also went to try and look for the Bloody Stump. A tavern he was suggested by a mutual friend.
The Drinking Hole
Looking at the new additions to his petite company of riders Nemean glanced over at the walls of Perdan. Just beyond, his old comrades were laying waste to Brive. A small simmering pain drew his attention. The healers had done a good with his left forearm. The arrow had lanced the inside of it but fortunately it had only been a flesh wound. A stinging, nasty reminder of his mortality.
He nodded to himself having resolved his thoughts. ''Take the day to familiarize yourself with one another, tomorrow we'll ride for the frontline again.'' Nemean looked over to Jacinta, his captain. ''They're all yours.'' With that he left the recruitment grounds and set out to discover the elusive location of the Bloody Stump. A tavern he had been told that was supposed to exist somewhere in Perdan City.
Strolling the streets of the Capital the green eyed noble did his best to find a drinking hole reputed to be for the common man.
-
Here we have Nemean, discovering just what kind of place the Bloody Stump, really is. In all fairness, I dressed it down too much. As you'll soon see.
The Stump
A wet splash startled Nemean. Dashing to the side as the yellow liquid drenched the ground he had been walking on not moments ago. He shot an angry look upwards. Only to see shutters being deftly closed. The pungent, reeking odor of piss greeted him with a sickly welcome. One he was quick to abandon as he pressed on through the alley.
Pedan hadn't been kind to the exploring noble. He certainly regretted not bringing at least a bodyguard. The slums of the great city sprawled before him and he was sure he'd been lost at least a dozen times by now. The beggars were legion and some of them only practiced the trade as a cover for more sinister deeds. Children in stained clothes and with hands practiced at pick-pocketing often gawked at him with big, teary eyes. His somewhat fine clothing in his own mind must've been unrivaled decadence in theirs. The sword on his hip had so far been enough deterrence.
Several hours later, Nemean came upon a seedy looking place. His mind worked, weighing the options. Would he actually enter this place? The roof sagged, the tiles stuck together as a worn crown of clay reds and browns while some of them sported moss or whatever that green stuff was. He shuddered but steeled himself as he pushed the door open. The sign was beyond doubt. A tree stump covered in blood. Like a bleak omen of what he was to encounter inside.
His eyes stung and all he could do was to shut them as he stopped dead in his tracks. A dense current of woodsmoke mingled with the plumes rising from dozens of pipes. It clung to the ceiling and had no escape but to invade the headspace. Nemean coughed as he tried to adjust to it. Peering through slids he wiped away a tear. Raucous laughter emanated from a grand bar decorated with crudely carved statues of bears. They stood on their hindlegs and with their paws supported the massive counter. Brass chandeliers supported rings of fat candles stained yellow that in turn cast the room in a flickering orange glow. Slowly pacing deeper into the establishment Nemean felt something speed past his legs. The sound of paws upon the wooden floor told him it must've been a dog but he couldn't quite tell. Someone bumped into him as he approached the bar itself and before he could even challenge the man a heavy hand slapped him on the shoulder and some slurred cheer was shouted into his face. Nemean's face shriveled into a ball of wrinkly disgust. The smell of cheap ale and whatever the drunk had been snacking on nearly made him retch. Fortunately the drunk lumbered off with a loud laugh.
Finally managing to reach the bar he discovered a pocket of not so rancid air. The bundels of aromatic herbs hanging from the ceiling doing their job. He gulped in air like a fish on land. Softly chuckling a broad armed man moved to face him on the opposite side of the bar. ''New are you?'' The impressive arms rested on the counter. Rows of dark hair did a poor job of hiding the layers of muscle. Nemean caught himself staring. There was a tatoo of crossed spears there as well. ''You going to buy me a drink next?'' The man intoned. Several patrons seated at the bar chuckled. Nemean looked up and regained some of his demeanor. Big Arm put up his hands. ''No offence, you seemed pretty far away.'' The words were delivered with an easy prose that belied years of mediation and social intuition. The forte of any barman worth his salt. It did its magic on Nemean as it had on so many before him and disarmed him.
''Are there any..'' Nemean glanced back into the crowded, main common room. ''..more quiet seats?'' A nasty yellow grin greeted Nemean from the patron seated right next to where he was standing at the bar. The patron received an admonishing look from the barman. ''Of course good sir. You might find more peace and quiet in the Pinter Room, its just to the right through that door where the barrels come from. If that isn't quiet enough you might take a table in the Stump room. There's no shows on, it should be quiet in there.''
The barman indicated the double door next to the bar. It just so happened to open and showed a room with a large central stump. Like, from an immense oak. And the doors shut again.
Nemean nodded towards the double door. ''I'll take a table in there. Please send in some wine and cheese.'' The imperious tone drew eyes. Mostly mocking ones but the Barman played alone as he pocketed the silvers Nemean had placed on the bar. ''Of course.'' He said with a jovial tone. It was lost on Nemean though. He simply went into the Stump room and spied out a suitable table. It fascinated him that the room was centered on a huge tree stump podium. Having settled in he took out his writing kit and penned a letter.
-
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
Dustiria pulls up here horse and more falls than slides off her horse. In her hand a crumpled letter. Her feet barely support her as she pats Belmont her trusty steed. She hands her reigns to her captain. "See to him and our new men. " She says wary. She looks up at the Bloody Stump sign as it creaks in the wind. Her hand crushes the letter more,"how dare he." She mutters
From the outside it looks rustic, homey and well maintained. Burnished timbers and huge stone beams make up most of the building's outer structure.
It's tough to see through the windows, but the music and voices from within can be felt outside.
As Dustiria enters the Bloody Stump through the heavily used, wooden door, she is welcomed by excitement and joyful music.
The bartender is engaged in a conversation, but still manages to welcome her with a wink.
She nods back with a small smile and looks around.
It's as engaging inside as it is on the outside. Hardwood beams support the upper floor with hanging lanterns. The walls are littered with all sorts of memorabilia, though whether they're collected or donated is uncertain..
The tavern itself is packed. Travelers and locals mingle happily here with no care for rank. Most appear to be commoners at first glance. Several long tables are occupied by happy, excited groups of people, some are dancing on the table, while others cheer them on with clapping and yelling. The other, smaller tables are also occupied by people who are indulging in homey food and ale that isn't the best but wets your throat nicely, while some do try to strike a conversation, others can barely speak a word while contemplating their exsistance. Even most of the stools at the bar are occupied, though nobody seems to mind more company.
Many great her as she walks through and goes to her usual small table. One of the servers places and Ale before her and leaves.
"How can he not see this" she shakes her head again and begins to drink her Ale.
-
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
Alyssa walked through the streets of Perdan City as a light snow fell across the cobbled city streets. There were a few people out and about and they all made way for her and the small company of armed guards escorting her. The clack of their boots against the stony streets echoed off the tightly packed buildings of Perdan's West Quarter. Alyssa's own footsteps were light as she stepped carefully, lifting her modest white dress to just above her ankles to avoid it touching cold wet snow. Around her, a black cloak, somewhat oversized, loaned to her by her elderly squire Graham, and at her hip, the ornate ceremonial Blade of the Imperator hung from a golden sash on her waist.
The place did not smell well and the people looked at her skeptically as she passed. She continued on towards her destination, head held nobly as she passed by them. She knew many of these people were refugees who had little and less, and while they seemed unwashed and shifty, she knew them, and their simple desire for a better life. Children of Perdan, She thought. If only I could lead you back home. Her party continued down the street and into the alley where she spotted the sign, that she supposed was meant to be a stump but looked like a misshapen wooden mass coated in faded red paint. The Bloody Stump, it read as Alyssa looked at it skeptically. She was uncertain of why she would be asked to such a place like this. She doubted any noble lady had ever been near this dank looking tavern. Perhaps this is some sort of joke. She mused. She understood Sir Nemean less and less with ever letter he sent. She felt some unease as she stepped into the barroom, as men armwrestled, drank and laughed with women, musicians playing jaunty tunes. A few patrons glanced at Alyssa and her guards as she walked in, one man looked nervously at the Blade of the Imperator, likely not knowing it was dulled and served mainly as a badge of office. Their eyes shifted from her to a table near the back where Dustiria Noire sat quietly.
Alyssa met the other woman's eyes, giving a skeptical look. What is going on She thought, now confused and concerned. Quickly she stepped across the room to her sworn sword as many eyes looked nervously at the stiff-looking noblewoman and her armed men.
"My lady..." She said somewhat concerned. "I was to meet Sir Nemean here. I did not expect to find you in this establishment as well."
-
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
As the doors open she looks up from where she sits with her back to the wall. The crumpled letter the only thing other than a mug of ale on her table. a relaxed Dustiria, something not seen stands and smiles. "Welcome to the Bloody Stump Imperatrix. My home while I am in Perdan and not with you. "
The patrons resume talking now that they are sure Dustiria is not in trouble.
"Have a seat. I must confess when I told you I met Sir Kenneth here I didn't expect you to meet here too," did her cheeks flush a little or maybe it's the poor lighting."it's a good clean place where nobles and commoners can enjoy themselves. I am so thankful Duke Smiddich gave it to me since my men and I enjoy it so much. I am far from Lorient after all and it's a nice place to rest my head. So what brings you here? Miss me?"
Her black gauntlet covered had waves to the barkeep,"ale allright for you my lady?"
-
Naturally, there had to be a way to interject Nemean into the unfolding scene. This was my attempt.
Wine but no Cheese
Sitting by himself in the Stump Room there was little else to do but to turn the cup that held his wine. It was clay and had this strange wavy motief. A child could've made it. That was his first impression and it had stuck. A steady murmur grew into comfortable droning until it slid back again to being more subdued. It was indeed more quiet in here but it worked on his nerves. It wasn't them even, the other patrons, it was something else. Nemean shifted his weight. That didn't help. His lips felt dry and he felt the need to swallow. From the main barroom a higher crescendo came. Some drunk probably fell of his bar-stool or some such. It wasn't unease he figured. He had a hard time keeping still, unusual for him. Against knowing better, he didn't want to admit he was nervous. He knew but didn't acknowledge he'd glanced at the double doors that allowed people into the Stump Room at least two dozen times. Every time someone entered he looked up and every time he felt a bit of disappointment as it wasn't her.
Resolving to wet his lips with a sip of wine he noticed that the cheese he'd asked for hadn't been brought yet. Instantly, a frown appeared as his hand withdrew from the cup of wine. That won't do. He thought to himself. The doors opened again and snippets of a rowdy song snuck in with the new patrons. Nemean placed his hands on the table and pushed himself off his chair before making for the doors himself.
Pushing through with one hand he immediately directed his attention in the general direction of the Bar. Half turning his head preemptively and uttering the words: ''Barman! Where's the cheese? Are you waiting until it's become blue cheese before you'll serve it to me?'' Looking but not really looking Nemean's eyes came into focus. Armed guards? Eyes scanned the room. Those guards looked familiar. ''Oi! Move off the way lad!'' A man pushed past him from behind as he cleared the doorway. There she was. His eyes beheld her and she stood radiant like a bright star on a cloudy night.
A very cloudy night as his line of sight was promptly broken by a mass of men trying to dance together while having their armed locked together. They managed to go from left to right but even that was quite a feat in their state. Not wanting to wait Nemean maneuvered through the crowd. Pushing, elbowing and dodging. The going was slower than he'd liked and the irritation was only mildly tempered by practiced civility that was mostly lost anyway on the patrons that stood between him and Alyssa.
''Alyssa, I mean, Imperatrix.'' Nemean fumbled as he came close enough to say the words without having to shout to be audible. ''You made it.'' He couldn't help himself from smiling the words and instantly hoped she wouldn't think him mocking.
''Young Master? You be wanting them cheese still?'' The Barman called.
-
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
"I'm afraid I haven't the time today my lady." She looked around at the many commoners around, and the lack of nobles. It did not seem a place nobles would wish to find themselves. Certainly the some of the looks she was getting made her feel that this is the first time some had seen a noble. A boy her age stared at her uncomfortably, while a couple of old miners whispered glancing at her sword, while a common woman with a tankard of ale sitting merrily in the lap of what Alyssa suspected was a sailor winked at her while laughing and flirting with the man she was with. Alyssa shifted awkwardly at the attention she had drawn from all of the bar's patrons, but made no other sign of her discomfort. Her guardsmen said nothing, standing at attention while the music played jauntily in the background. Perhaps I should send Maron here, he would enjoy it and perhaps get him out of my hair.
"I was asked to meet Sir Nemean here. I have only a short time before a War Council to begin planning our next offensive. Have you seen him, my lady?"
-=-=-=-
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
He is mocking me. She thought, as she saw the young knight stumble off the the dancing floor before her. It is no matter. I have allowed him to bother me enough already. Truthfully, she wanted this conversation to be over so that she could return to the War Council. The failure of the last campaign still weighed on her and she was anxious to start planning for the next. She had not slept much last night trying to piece together how to avoid the pitfalls she fell into this time and the thoughts continued throughout the morning.
Alyssa shot Dustiria a skeptical glance before turning back to the not. Her presence may not be an accident. She considered, standing at ease, before addressing the knight who had fumbled his way to her.
"Indeed, I am here. You have summoned me, Sir, and I have come. Would you speak with me here or privately?"
-
Of course, here we go.
Old Familiarity
Alyssa shot Dustiria a skeptical glance before turning back to the not. Her presence may not be an accident. She considered, standing at ease, before addressing the knight who had fumbled his way to her.
"Indeed, I am here. You have summoned me, Sir, and I have come. Would you speak with me here or privately?" ~Alyssa Kingsley
Her words sounded exactly like the letters she'd send him the last two years. Fortunately, during that time he'd become more practiced at dealing with them. Internally at least but the moment it took him to respond caused him some embarrassment. ''Ehm'' He considered Dustiria sitting right there and looked over at her for a moment. ''Privately? I think that.. yes, privately would be better.''
His eyes moved back to the double doors that led the Stump room and then they went to the exit that led out towards the alley. ''I don't quite know what would be quite private though.'' As if asking a question he glanced over at Dustiria.
-
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
She looked like she was considering something then said,"follow me." She led them behind the bar. She made a movement with her fingers at the barkeep that those following couldn't see and the large muscled man moved aside. She slid aside a panel that looked like wall and motioned Alyssa and Nemean into a room that clearly looked like it was used for private gambling. "Will this do?"
-
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
Alyssa bit her tongue as the knight's eyes shifted towards the back room and the exit. He does not know what would be private? It was he who summoned her to this dingy place, he did not know where he wished to speak?
Dustiria motioned before she could speak and took the knightly pair to a back room behind the bar. There were tables set up loaded with dice and cards of varying sorts, clearly a room for playing games. Alyssa wondered why such a room would be hidden away and also why her sworn knight would own such a secret place, still she did not question it and entered the private room, followed by the Sir behind her. Standing again at ease she nodded to Dustiria and thanked her for the privacy, before turning to Sir Nemean, looking at him expectantly.
-
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
Taking the hint she leaves and slides the panel back in place. Outside she leans against the bar scanning the room.
-
What ensued behind closed doors was agreed to be a set of Private RP's between the Player of Alyssa Kingsley and myself.
I will however share some of the Rp titles I used:
Presence of Mind
> Rp from Alyssa
Heart and Mind
-
To illustrate, as the private part of the story / RP went on, Smiddich took it upon himself to do the following. Which was absolutely gold.
Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
A Night in the Life
The doors to the 'Stump flew open, the saloon flapping wildly as the sun set. The individual in the lead was well known in the city, and apparently among the patrons of this bar, as a small cheer went up and glasses clinked.
Those with an eye on the well-to-do in this city might have overlooked this swarthy individual, a tall and broad man in a shirt and breeches and second-best-jacket and boots, save for a medallion around his neck; this was Margrave Smiddich Fontaine, the black-bladed Duke of Perdan. His fingers were bedecked by rings, a cutlass at his hip; not his daily carry anymore, but a comfortable and familiar sidearm.
If the Duke was trying to be discrete, he was failing spectacularly. While the Pirate Lord was definitely dressed down for the evening, he was joined by a gaggle of followers who could barely stand, let alone keep quiet. Here, a bankers son, a merchant and his brother, a wealthy tradesman (complete with strumpet clinging to his arm); these were not nobles themselves but comfortably upper middle class.
"Your Grace", offered the barman, saluting with an empty shot glass, "Cleaned that office out like you asked, Lord. The regular?"
Smiddich nodded in the affirmative as his throng milled through the tables, greeting patrons with a laugh and a slap on the back. The barman reached under the table, pulling out several dusty glass bottles of dark green; the Duke snatched them up, and a packet of cigars from a stand. The Duke flipped a dark cigar into his mouth and patted down his jacket for a light until one of his groupies obliged.
"We'll be taking over the Double-down", grinned Smiddich, his face already ruddy from some previous engagement. Before the barman could offer any complaint about the room already being occupied, Smiddich and his throng departed, plucking glassware from tables and trays amid hollering and cheering.
His entourage preceded him into the chambers, throwing themselves into the chambers with abandon until their clamoring suddenly stopped; the room was already taken, and by a couple of nobles, no less..... their very own Imperatrix, and Knight Nemean. One standing, the other seated with a quill and papers.
"What be the hold up?", asked Smiddich as he shouldered his way in past the strumpet.
"Ah...", he said simply, and his throng shuffled their feet listlessly, for in a way they spied their evening about to be ruined. "Imperatrix", he nodded, "Sir Nemean"
"...."
"I don't suppose either of you play Dead Man's Chest?", asked the Duke.
-
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
Alyssa jumped, startled at the booming voice of the entrant Duke. Yanking her arm away from Nemean's hand, who was holding her own hand to his chest. She stared mortified at the black-bladed duke and her own sworn knight, as well as some of the curious bar patrons who gathered to the bar for a chance to spy at the cause of the commotion, wholely aware of what they might be thinking at the sight they came upon. The Duke looked quite surprised at the sight Alyssa's hand upon the young knight's chest while the woman who winked at her in the barroom gave an encouraging holler. She heard a laugh from further back, who's it was she could not see.
She turned to Nemean, a horrific realization on her face as all the pieces fell into place in her mind. /I have been set up/ She thought, recalling the cheeky smile on his face when he first appeared to her, Dustiria's unexpected presence, and the seedy locale she had been brought to. As the shock and horror on her face quickly turned, her brow furrowed and her nostrils flared in Nemean's direction.
"Do not ever presume to touch me again, Sir!". She blurted out, her face flushing from embarrassment and anger.
"Perhaps I was mistaken. I think I do know who you are." She barked andstormed past him towards the exit, stopping to address the intruders. "My apologies your grace," she said to Duke Smiddich "There is a meeting I must attend."
She then addressed Dustiria whose role in this she was unclear on but whose involvement she was convinced of. "You and I will speak this evening." She growled. Her heart racing as she stormed out of the establishment, her face red with water begining to form in her eyes.
-
This happened just as the Duke was walking in.
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
She startles as the rambunctious party enters the bloody stump. She had never seen this man before what an odd mix of dandy and commoner. Dustiria relaxed as people cheered and went back to her watch. Obviously this group was no threat. Then as the man goes behind the bar her warrior mask face exspession slaps into place and she forces her way to him. As he looks in the room she grabs his arm
"sir I must ask you to leave" dustiria says and then her face shows confusion as he addresses those inside the room.
-=-=-=-
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
"your grace" Alyssa's words echoed in her head as realization sunk in. She released the dukes arm as fast as one would avoid touching fire. The normally confidant knight stood still in shock and was brushed aside as the Imperatrix stormed off.
-
With this piece I'm trying to illustrate a lot of feeling rather than action. As such, there is some abstract symbolism.
Tumbling
Panes of glass, thick and strong. Yet, allowing vision without hindrance. Not stacked but carefully placed, one next to the other. As tall as a person. The beginning and the end of this string beyond knowledge.
"I don't suppose either of you play Dead Man's Chest?", asked the Duke.
~Smiddich Fontaine
The rock was hurled. Grey, bordering on anthracite. Specks of quartz glittering in a perfect summer sun.
He felt her hand upon his chest. The briefest of moments. It might've been four heartbeats, it might've been five. However long it lasted. I felt like the blink of an eye. A ripple rumbled through her from the core. She tore her hand from his. The sharp edges of her nails hurting his skin. The pain was ignored though. Fury rained on him and it consumed all of his attention. Her blue eyes rose like icebergs in an angry northern sea. Dipping into the frosty waters as she uttered the words:
"Do not ever presume to touch me again, Sir!" She blurted out, her face flushing from embarrassment and anger. ~Alyssa Kingsley
The mass of rock touched the first pane. First imperceptibly slow. Like the last drop of honey, refusing to fall from the jar. Cracks started to appear. A brilliant star was born. Then in a storm, it burst outward as the glass gave way to stone.
Nemean couldn't speak as Alyssa turned away. Every detail flooding his mind. Unbidden he saw her rage. Outrage. The hurt in her eyes. The rising tide of tears she fought. The questions that streamed past her mind's eye. Glancing eyes seeking answers and accusing at the very same time. They didn't meet his anymore.
An awkward stance was struck as she faced the Duke. Words murmured. A pivot, defensive stance. The warrior unsure. Retreat became the path and gone. She was gone.
Forlorn. Usually the first to storm the walls. First to die. First to be remembered. The feeling that he felt was nothing like the way they spoke of the word. Crushed, abandoned, torn. Like the soldier attempting to scale the walls by ladder. Only to catch a cruel boulder thrown from above. Marking both his doom and his grave.
"What in the bloody hells?", exclaimed the Duke finally, "This is my bloody pub!"
~Smiddich Fontaine
Pane after pane shattered. The Chorus of shards being born from glass a deafening song. The rock lost none of its momentum. An onlooker might've hoped it would've. But it didn't and the blizzard grew.
The Duke's words reached his ears like the fiercest hiss of a kitten when he had just endured the roar of an entire pride. A blank stare was all he could muster as he looked at the man. An expression one might find on a man that was lost and had strayed beyond caring. Having foregone drink and sustenance a long while ago. Beginning to accept that the road will be his final home.
Henna eyes demanded his attention. They weren't alone and a new storm brewed.
Narrowing her eyes and glaring at Nemean. "You on the other hand," her hand goes to the hilt of her sword,"what did you do to the Imperatrix?" ~Dustiria Noire
What did I do to the Imperatrix? The words formed in his mind. Sometimes a warrior crosses the line. When a dear companion, a brother in arms has fallen. The danger becomes insignificant. The threat of death and excruciating pain a mere nuisance in comparison to the desire to follow. To avenge. To feel like you've done something about it. There was no enemy here now to unleash such blind rage. Dustiria was no foe he could try and batter down and it would make no difference anyway. Like other brothers in arms would hold you down as they saw the abandon in your eyes. They were the first to know. Sorrow has to come out.
Nemean's head lulled forwards. His knees felt weak and the wind in his lungs seemed to evaporate as he opened his mouth. He slouched against the table. Sitting, leaning and looking defeated. The green glimmer in his eyes, so cast in the light of candles. Extinguished as they shut.
-
Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
Blood on the Stump
Duke Smiddich had apparently walked in on quite a scene.
His crowd of hangers on were shuffling listlessly, not knowing where to look. Sir Nemean and the Imperatrix had obviously been in the middle of something, and once they were sprung, the tensions on their coils had snapped. Nemean looked confused, Alyssa looked furious and hurt, and a short, rusty haired knight had clapped her black gauntlets on his arm.
"Sir!", said the braided knight, wearing a black padded jacket and a purple surcoat with a heraldric pin, "I must ask you to leave!"
His eyes narrowed on the knight protector. Black and purple, a left-facing hunting bird. House Noire.
***
He had purchased this locale long ago, while he was still Duke in Bescanon.. back when there was a duchy in Bescanon. Oh, she was a fine city and his first real command in Perdan. He thought back on those days fondly. They had a new King, then a new Queen; portal magic was out of control on both sides. Perdan and her new Knights and refugees were finally making a name for themselves and carving out glory for themselves.
There hadn't been much call for renovations on this dingy dive; it wasn't meant to make money. Instead, she served as a clandestine location for meetings, gambling, and a venue for the performing arts. Smiddich hadn't thought much on the 'Stump until he heard that his knights had been frequenting again, sometimes in public and sometimes in private.
Those that knew him before, when he was a mere Knight of Xavax, thought him fierce; he was fierce, and feared, and smelled of smoke and gunpowder. His low speech, bad habits and questionable morality spoke of an adventurous upbringing as a privateer. A deft hand with a cutlass and the compunction to use it at the merest slight made him unapproachable... practically feral.
The Perdan duchy appointment had cooled all of that. That, before, was pleasure, and this was business... the business of keeping his realm running. As much as he tried to deny it, he found a life of wealth and affluence appealing, and slowly the rough exterior was plastered with a veneer of untouchable civility. His rough speech was as clipped into sensibility as his facial hair, and he groomed both fastidiously. A Duke had to make appearances.
Which was why it was so important to have a place to relax, enjoy a drink and a smoke, and utterly destroy some fools at cards every once in a while.
***
The Black-bladed Duke gave way as Alyssa shoved her way through in no uncertain terms, "My apologies, your Grace!", she mumbled, and the gauntlet released off his arm as if burned.
"What in the bloody hells?", exclaimed the Duke finally, "This is my bloody pub!"
-
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
Dustiria tried to get out of the Duke's way as well but his followers blocked the way. At her name she looks to the door and sees Sir Kenneth. Her cheeks flush for a moment as she realizes he can see her predicament.
Her eyes go to the Duke," am sorry your grace. If I had known it was you I would never have dreamed of trying to restrain you. Forgive me." She says with a bow before turning her head,narrowing her eyes and glaring at Nemean. "You on the other hand,"her hand goes to the hilt of her sword,"what did you do to the Imperatrix?"
-
Here's where the normal story line continues in chronological order. I had waited a bit with that Tumbling RP so I could incorporate all the other people's responses. Here we're back on track.
Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
Flies and Honey
"I am Dustiria Noire," she says with a bow,
"And Kenneth MacArbin, at your service!"
".......Aye", said the Duke, narrowing his eyes at Nemean sitting deflated at the table. Too late to remedy whatever had caused this ruckus, he drew himself up to his full height and took a breath. "Captain, some privacy?", he said pointedly, and the posse of punters were displaced amid groans of disappointment at missing out on a fun, free night in the capital. The door was dragged shut part way as the soldier roused them out of the room.
The pirate lord turned his attention to the two junior knights. Both seemed eager, a little antsy - no doubt on account of whatever had just occurred here. He clasped their forearm in a soldiers salute, one after the other. MacArbin was one of his, a city knight, having recently snatched up one of the new wards. Noire, from Lorient, if memory served. Horses?
"A pleasure", said the Duke, who swayed slightly. Perhaps there was more he wished to ask, had they even more privacy, perhaps for someone to explain what exactly was going on.
"Your letters reached me in the Capital, Lady Dustiria", nodded Smiddich, his low speech slowly evaporating as he took charge, "That is what brings me here. I expect a minimum of decorum among my Knights if they are going to frequent these establishments in my city. I expect you to share that sentiment among the knights and their men, on my orders. In fact",
said the Duke, turning his back on Nemean for a moment, "Why don't you take an estate in the city? There are several new and refurnished estates, and the money would be better."
He had not posed it as a question.
"A pleasure to meet you both. I trust you yet have business; and your lady to protect. Have a fine night", he said, dismissing them casually but receiving their salute in return.
***
They retreated, the door dragged the rest of the way shut. The Duke stepped to the stump, clutching a duo of dirty glasses in his fingers. The cork popped out of the bottle with a satisfying sound; the Duke was partial to plum brandy. Even he was not so cruel as to admonish a man so thoroughly defeated, and poured them both a measure.
"Lovers spat?"
-
This Rp bit of the story was not kept private and as such, you get to fully enjoy it. I know I did.
Plum Brandy and Dreams
The door dragged the rest of the way shut. The Duke stepped to the stump, clutching a duo of dirty glasses in his fingers. The cork popped out of the bottle with a satisfying sound; the Duke was partial to plum brandy. Even he was not so cruel as to admonish a man so thoroughly defeated, and poured them both a measure.
"Lovers spat?" ~Smiddich Fontaine
It was the pop that brought him back. His eyes opened and as he turned his head towards the Duke he could see how the worldly man poured two glasses of the amber liquid. It hadn't quite dawned on him yet that it was Smiddich. Perhaps it had but the fact had whirled itself from his mind again. Nemean pulled himself up by the rim of the table and took the proffered glass. He swirled the liquid. Almost staring into it. The alcohol stung his eyes. Strands of his dark blond hair errant, completing the uncaring posture as he downed the glass with a single swig.
The inside of his throat burned. His stomach protested and he had to cover his mouth with the back of his hand. The same hand that held the now empty glass. From this perspective Nemean looked over at other man. Sharp alarm would've stood out in his eyes at any other day but today. The Duke wore a good but simple shirt. Some of his chest-hair escaping the loosely laced front. Lovers spat? Nemean grimaced.
''Not quite.'' He neatly thumped the glass near the bottle of brandy. ''This-'' Nemean pointed his index finger upwards and spun it around at the room. '' -was supposed to be an apology.'' His chest heaved with a heavy sigh. A flash of Alyssa's furious look passed his mind's eye. Followed by another of her trying her best to rush out of the room. Nemean sucked on the inside of his cheek for a bit before he addressed Smiddich again. ''I don't play Dead man's chest.'' Chapfallen, he worked his lower jaw.
''I'll go back to scouting duty if you don't mind.'' Dimmed emerald eyes, hollow. ''Your Grace.'' The younger man clearly waited to be excused. For all intends, the Duke could be replaced with an executioner and the blade delivering final death, would be welcomed all the same.
-
Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
Yo ho ho!
"I'll go back to scouting duty if you don't mind........Your Grace."
~Nemean JeVondair Renodin
"Belay that!", growled the Duke, "And sit down!"
The older man swaggered to a chair and stretched his leg over it, slopping another measure of brandy into the dirty tumblers. He knocked it back without breaking eye contact with the knight errant. Though he was dressed simply, his fabric was fine and the cut was flattering; everything that could shine or gleam, did.
"You're bad at apologies", the Duke said at last. His ravendark hair was pulled back into his typical ponytail, secured with steel toggles, his fingers bedecked with old rings. "If Alyssa can't do her job, we're dead in water, and who'd take her place?", demanded the pirate Lord, "You?"
The Duke held the bottle corkwise towards Nemean, pouring him another brimming measure,
"I'll tell it to you straight, Sir Nemean, the men don't like you. Half believe you to be a spy for the North, and the other that you mean to retrieve your fathers legacy. You're nay half as smart as you believe yourself to be; you may be a tactical genius but you've got no tact!"
Smiddich poured the remainder of the bottle into his glass, barely half filling it, and he slammed it back. He slapped the glass onto the table with a grimace, "You've got potential... you've got heart! But we none of us know what you're fighting for." The Duke stood, rolling his sleeves smartly, his thick arms bristling with dark hair.
"It's time to roll the dice, Nemean,", said Smiddich, looming, his breath heavy with drink, "And show me you've got some pluck. Or I'll let that girl out there have her way with you, and have no doubt... I'll be the easier. On your feet!"
-----
Training Match
(Personal message) - 6 days, 15 hours, 42 minutes ago
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin, Knight of Bisciye meets his challenger Smiddich Fontaine, Duke of Perdan, Margrave of Perdan for the agreed training match.
Smiddich has decided to use the 'overrun' strategy while Nemean JeVondair has chosen the 'aggressive' strategy, giving Smiddich the advantage.
After a series of blows, Smiddich wins the training match. Unfortunately, the winning blow was deep and Nemean JeVondair has suffered a minor wound.
-----
-
Here I tried to write a small piece for the first bit of the Duel. Hope I did it justice.
A Practice with Steel
"Belay that!", growled the Duke, "And sit down!" ~Smiddich Fontaine
All he wanted to do was just to disappear. How the sounds of the tavern hummed and ebbed through the wooden wall. Ethereal and able to just glide from room to room. He envied it. Glasses clanked, boots scuffed on the floorboards. A stool fell over. His arms felt heavy. Why wouldn't the Duke just let him go. Couldn't even muster dislike for the caring Pirate right at that moment. Only a fleeting desire to cease.
"You're bad at apologies", the Duke said at last. "If Alyssa can't do her job, we're dead in water, and who'd take her place?", demanded the pirate Lord, "You?"
Perhaps meant as a challenge or as a taunt, the words dissipated rapidly but not before they surprised Nemean. The older man still managed to find something to sting him with. The prick of a honeybee. Painful. He rolled his eyes, gaping a word before deciding with some measure of defiance not to utter it. He'd just ignore it. Ignore it and not give him the satisfaction. He didn't realize it but the Duke was drawing him away from the self wallowing despair. A favor but he didn't even see it as it was happening.
"I'll tell it to you straight, Sir Nemean, the men don't like you. Half believe you to be a spy for the North, and the other that you mean to retrieve your fathers legacy. You're nay half as smart as you believe yourself to be; you may be a tactical genius but you've got no tact!"
Looking away from the Duke, Nemean instead looked at the sliding door. A gate that led into paradise. What paradise though? A dark thought wormed its way back into his head. The pirate Lord remained in the way. Nemean turned inward. Searching for what remained in there. What feeling he could discover not yet bruised and broken. A sharp sensation greeted him. That feeling of competition when you want to prove someone wrong even if there is absolutely no reason to do so. Suddenly the Duke's words didn't sound so compassionate anymore. What are -you- gonna do about it? A mental sneer. A vile mask laughed at him and for the first time, his eyes locked onto Smiddich's.
"It's time to roll the dice, Nemean,", said Smiddich, looming, his breath heavy with drink, "And show me you've got some pluck. Or I'll let that girl out there have her way with you, and have no doubt... I'll be the easier. On your feet!"
The room became a tiny space. The young Prince sprang from his position. Darting like a bird of prey at the larger man. The table became a spring board. A hand planted on its surface and legs sliding over. With his remaining hand Nemean liberated his sword from its sheath. Mid flight. The naked steel sharp and angry with orange flickers as candlelight reflected.
His prey, the Duke, all but launched himself from his seat. Dashing to the side as his cutlass covered his flank. Droplets of either sweat or lost drink hung in the air as the flesh of men moved faster than gravity, for an instant. A loud crash saw the table upturned as Smiddich kicked it over. Fouling Nemean's landing. Young steel licked out but found no purchase. Forced to crouch while landing Nemean rolled forwards, creating a breath of distance. That space disappeared quicker than liquor before a drunk as the Pirate Blade cut and swung.
The sliding door became intimately known. Like a lover Nemean fell and pressed himself against it as he desperately avoided two downward cuts. The first landed where he had crouched just before. The second drove him up the wall, nearly. Heat burned his toes. Nemean dared a glance and saw a cut candle. Laying on top of his boot. The milky white wax spilling all over. He had no time to wonder where it came from, the wall would inform him later.
Being so awkwardly caught out of place all he could do was dash along the wall. Run full tilt half the length of the room. Muscular arms pursued. The broad blade seeking Princely flesh. A deck of cards took flight. Aces and Spades filled the air. The Duke dashed through with abandon. Dark grey greeted him. His barrel chested frame contorted like a belly-dancer. Eyes wide with shock as he was caught off guard for a moment. The inferior strikes weren't hard to counter for him and he batted them aside. One he even pushed aside with his free hand.
So the two rushed around the room like a baboon chasing a smaller monkey.
-
Roleplay from Smiddich Fontaine
A Bottle of Rum
Playing cards were fluttering lazily through the air as Nemean was forced into a corner, and he spun, panting. Despite the sudden and frenetic fight, his steel was steady even as his eyes darted around for an escape.
"This is not the game I'd intended on enjoying tonight", said the Duke with a grin, his sword low alongside his leg in a ready stance, "But it is thrilling. Tis as well I own the place". The princes blade was aimed at a broad torso, the master swordsman already calculating a myriad defense.
Sir Nemean pushed himself off the wall with the one hand, a wordless scream, his blade coming in high and fast. What would have bisected the Duke in one moment was dashed aside at the last, sparks flying from their sharpest edges. Nemean turned to face his foe again; he had won his freedom from the corner but found himself still with few places to go. The Duke pivoted smoothly in his tall dark boots which crunched on broken glass, an errant lock of dark hair across his face.
"All other concerns wash away in this moment, Nemean. Win or lose, now", said the pirate lord, stalking his prey, "Now we are countrymen!"
The Prince was backing away, near slipping, as the Duke began his playful onslaught. The blows rained on him from the left and right, with disemboweling lunges, each repelled with inches to spare before finding flesh. In truth, Smiddich relished this return to his familiar weapon and its wicked curve.
"Is everything alright in...?", ventured a voice, forcing open the door which had become jammed with debris, and Nemean took this advantage to launch his own volley. An array of overhead, dashing blows at the neck and shoulders which Smiddich parried in a dazzling blade-dance, his feet stepping lightly with a hand behind his back. Twice, Nemean would have punctured him had he not turned aside at the last second....and, enough!
The Duke brought his basket hilt down hard on Nemeans own hand, having overextended at the last. His sword dropped from his numb, fractured hand with a cry, even as his other hand reached for a dagger. The prince never had a chance to raise it; the black-bladed Duke of Perdan had already made up the distance and implanted his sword to shoulder, inches deep,
"Enough, Nemean", said the Duke, withdrawing the blood-slick blade. "That was well fought, and not as sure a thing as I might have hoped. There is passion here, and I can only hope to stir it, and direct."
He extended his open palm to the fallen knight. From the door, the bewildered barman viewed the scene of the carnage with a wince.
-
And this concludes the duel. I am very grateful for the players of Smiddich, Alyssa and Dustiria. Couldn't have done it without them.
The Red Tide
Even as his other hand reached for a dagger. The prince never had a chance to raise it; the black-bladed Duke of Perdan had already made up the distance and implanted his sword to shoulder, inches deep. "Enough, Nemean", said the Duke, withdrawing the blood-slick blade. "That was well fought, and not as sure a thing as I might have hoped. There is passion here, and I can only hope to stir it, and direct."
He extended his open palm to the fallen knight. From the door, the bewildered barman viewed the scene of the carnage with a wince.
~Smiddich Fontaine
The cold was replaced with searing heat. Steel made way for a steady stream of crimson. It quickly covered half his chest, oozing nay, pulsing out of his flesh. Nemean tried to sit up and yelped as he instinctively had put weight on his hand. The Duke's basket hilt already forgotten. The young man fell backwards and droplets decorated the scene.
Among the fury, worry and much greater parts concern swiftly turning to panic a strong and steady hand presented itself. A clammy youth's hand clasped it. Slick with more than mere sweat. Nemean winced, croaked a protest he tried to stifle as the powerful hand gently closed around his and pulled him up. Everything spun before his eyes. The warm yet piercing oaken eyes of the Duke studied him. Why? A weak confusion skid across his face. Not realizing his legs were already wobbly.
As he followed Smiddich's eyes he saw that his entire right side was red. The floor around his feet had begun to pool. Nausea swept through him and his head felt light. That didn't seem to be the most important fact of his life though. Nemean made an effort to look at the Duke. ''Well fought.'' His head bobbed. ''Your Grace.''
Rushing away from the Bar, the burly barkeep sped towards the pair. ''Proper station be damned! Can't have a Noble dying in my bar.'' With a very back-alley technique Nemean had his deep shoulder wound triaged and the flow stemmed with a firmly knotted washcloth.
Fluttering his eyes, Nemean looked up at the Duke a final time and smiled before passing out.
-
This is the start of a new story arch I believe, or rather, a new chapter in an old one. Unexpectedly, Nemean received an apologetic letter from Alyssa. Asking him to meet her in her Tower.
A Painful Walk
Some days had past since the fight in the Bloody stump. Days or weeks, it didn't feel much different either way. He still had to wear a sling for his left arm and every time he snuck it off, one of the healers would verbally assault him and fuss all over him again. Fortunately for him, the army did not require him to travel with them. Instead he'd poured over scouting reports and spend his afternoons and evenings penning letters. It was more difficult than it sounds, not the writing itself but the bracing of the blasted parchment. Sling in the way and a paperweight more clumsy than a drunk chicken. He had managed though and although there was little feedback, he liked to believe his reports were useful.
It was one of those afternoons. When he sat down to write the next bit on Bescanon and what enemy forces his scouts had sighted that he noticed an unusual letter, perched upon his desk. His chambers were modest and not spacious whatsoever. Still, they inhabited the Ducal palace and that beat any tavern. The thought made him wince. He couldn't even keep himself from mocking himself with his own words.
He shrugged it off, the Duke had won fair and square. The letter. The seal that it bore displayed a wolf. Alyssa's wolf. Using the inkwell and a letteropener he sliced it cleanly off. Moments later he held her words in his hand. Leaning back into the chair his eyes studiously roamed the parchment until he finally put it back down. A deep sigh ensued which further necessitated pinching the bridge of his nose. ''This'll be great.'' The crass scraping noise of the chair on stone as Nemean got up from his seat. He paced towards the door of his room where he stopped and took a half cape from its stand, slinging it deftly around his left shoulder. Obscuring the physical weakness and also, it felt nice, the additional warmth it provided.
Moments later Nemean was skipping down the stairs of the Ducal palace. His captain, Jacinta, spotted him in the main courtyard. The two made eye contact and Nemean waved her at ease. Something the woman seemed content to comply with, resuming her meal of roast chicken bits in whatever broth that was. He didn't linger and promptly made his way towards the Imperatrix's Tower. Passing several guards whom he scantly paid attention to. He finally reached the small and quite secluded part where the tower itself actually stood. Not that it was abandoned. Not by any stretch of the word. Scribes and servants of every color and stripe frequented the area. Warriors too of course and it all made Nemean feel even more skeptical than he had before finishing her letter.
He didn't like having to dodge out of the way of a small group of messengers but did. It was just more expedient. The personal guards of the Imperatrix saw him coming. They waited. When he finally drew up beside them they mouthed their greetings. ''I'm here on request of the Imperatrix.'' Seeing they weren't yet satisfied he continued, a bit exasperated. ''Nemean, Knight of Bisciye.'' He eyed them and they eyed him right back. He shifted his weight from hip to hip. Licked his lips with nascent annoyance. ''Knight of the Realm? I'm the one that writes the Scouting reports about the front? She asked me to visit her?'' It wasn't sure which of the answers the guards were actually waiting for or if they were waiting for any in particular even. They were content to just let Nemean wait a bit and then, and only then forwarded the notice of his arrival.
So the young Prince waited. Perhaps she'd be as coy as her guards. Maybe she wasn't even home and the letter send from the field. Whatever it was going to be. Nemean could swear he heard some distant or muffled laughing coming from somewhere about. He could hear words and bits of phrases: ''Must've been a deep cut!'', ''Wonder if the pup learned his lesson?'', ''Wonder what the Duke will do to him this time if he finds out the boy visited her tower!''
The walk was unpleasant and so was the wait.
-
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
Maron
"Sir Lover!" Maron called as he turned the corner, spotting Sir Nemean standing at the foot of the steps to the White Lady's office and quarters. Now this is an interesting sight! He thought to himself. The singer had heard of what happened during his lady's previous visit to the capital. He tried to comfort the girl with a song when she came back to her tower in a huff. He certainly did not expect the object of that irritation here before. He wondered to himself whether the young man simply enjoyed heartache. For Maron it was a game, one he enjoyed very much. He of course knew Alyssa would never fall for a man like him, but she was quite an inspiring figure and an interesting one. There would be songs about her, and he wanted them to be his songs. In the meantime, he enjoyed pushing her buttons for a simple delight. This Nemean on the other hand...
He saw Sir Nemean's frown as he turned to see who called him such a name. Very good, Sir. He thought to himself. As he reached the knight in sour armor, the bard gave a gracious and exaggerated bow.
"Is she keeping you waiting too, my lord? How women play with our hearts, this one especially." He grinned a knowing grin. "Tell me Sir, what brings you to our darling lady?
-
Sir Lover
He saw Sir Nemean's frown as he turned to see who called him such a name. Very good, Sir. He thought to himself. As he reached the knight in sour armor, the bard gave a gracious and exaggerated bow. "Is she keeping you waiting too, my lord? How women play with our hearts, this one especially." He grinned a knowing grin. "Tell me Sir, what brings you to our darling lady? ~Maron
Standing around and waiting had aggravated his wounded shoulder. The people milled around almost mindlessly or so it seemed to Nemean and he had to pay attention to any of them that came close enough to bump into him. Something he really didn't want to happen. The constant attention wore on him and now this figure appeared.
Looking the bard over Nemean noted the instrument, the somewhat foppish tints and of course the self-indulgent smirk. ''She invited someone like you?'' He coldly dropped on the commoner. ''The lute had me confuse you for a Bard, not a Jester.''
After a moment Nemean decided against further antagonizing Maron. ''You are in her service?'' His eyebrows arched. ''She hasn't played with anything to be fair.'' He discovered this was harder to talk about than he had anticipated. ''Quite the opposite actually. It was quite clear what she thinks and wants.'' Not wishing to elaborate on the subject. Nemean looked up at the tower. Spying several neatly placed windows. One above the other.
''I might've arrived early.'' He turned his gaze to the bard. ''The army only just returned from their successful battle in Eldoret and Brive.'' The tone of his voice continued to lose much of its original edge. ''But yeah,'' He swallowed. ''She asked me to meet her here. Would you know if she's in?''
-
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
Maron
"The lute had me confuse you for a bard, not a jester" the young knight barbed at him. Oh he is quite fun Maron thought to himself as he watched the knight lie to him about his own tender heart.
"Oh she is in Sir, I had the pleasure of waking her this morning. Seeing her tender face with the dawn is one of the greatest pleasures of my life. She is most spirited when she arises." He said with a wink. He paused for a beat before continuing. "And her voice so full of life as she calls my name! 'Maron!' she cried out to me this morning. It was more music than anything I could play, Sir." The knight just stared at him as another smile began to form. "Her aim though is lousy." he offered, having had his fun. "The slipper she threw in my direction at the doorway did not even come close to me. A wound, to be honest, that she would even consider to strike this humble singer who only seeks to bring her joy, but the spirit in her voice as she chastised me for playing for her before the sunrise was worth any wound, Sir."
The knight said nothing, but looked annoyed as Maron continued on. Perhaps that is enough for today. "In any case, Sir, I am indeed in her service. Maron is my name and entertainment and pleasure is my trade. I am sure you have heard my songs, I have grown quite popular here in the city. Have you heard "The Lady in White?" It is of course about our fair lady, and written by yours truly, and is often loved by the smallfolk. Not so much among the noble crowds though, but no matter. A dozen coins are the same whether given by twelve peasants or one noble."
The group of logistics officers that Maron had spotted on their way to the tower earlier this morning were making their way down from Alyssa's solar. Nemean seemed to shift somewhat uncomfortably as the guards informed him that it would be just a few minutes more as the Imperatrix prepared for her next meeting. Poor fool Maron thought.
"Well Sir Nemean JeVondair" Maron began once more. "It was a pleasure to meet you Sir. I look forward to our legendary duel for our beloved lady's heart. I wish you the best of luck, though I am determined to be the victor. As a gentleman I will grant you a boon to more even the field, perhaps it will make it interesting."
He dropped his jolly demeanor and spoke to Nemean with a plainer, more serious tone. "Lady Alyssa has a heart of ice. She left it behind to lighten the load she bears for the realm. And it was left buried and hidden in the snow for so long it will take the brightest of flames to warm it. She needs joy, Sir, desperately. What the nobles of this brave realm did to her is an inexcusable crime. To burden one so young and bright with such grave responsibility."
And then he gave an extravagant bow. "I am playing tonight at the Lion's Den in the city as well Sir. All are welcome!" He announced jauntily to the knight, soldiers, servants and officers who scurried about.
-
Different Conclusions
He dropped his jolly demeanor and spoke to Nemean with a plainer, more serious tone. "Lady Alyssa has a heart of ice. She left it behind to lighten the load she bears for the realm. And it was left buried and hidden in the snow for so long it will take the brightest of flames to warm it. She needs joy, Sir, desperately. What the nobles of this brave realm did to her is an inexcusable crime. To burden one so young and bright with such grave responsibility." ~Maron, Bard in the service of Alyssa Kingsley
The serious tone from which Maron lept and announced his performance at the Lion's Den did little to amuse Nemean but it did cartloads to diffuse the situation. Broadly remaining where he was Nemean looked on expectantly after the guards informed him that it'd be only minutes now. A tiny voice in the depths of his skull made him turn his head in the direction Maron had vanished into. He tried to spot the man but had no such luck.
He wondered what Maron had meant with the Ice and the great crime the realm had put on Alyssa. For a moment he did his best to inspect the problem with his mind's eye but his conclusions remained the same. A problem to revisit perhaps he surmised, time was not a luxury right now. Satirically as that might've seemed as he continued to wait, with purpose now, some more.
-
Here is a bit of an intermezzo. Lucius Poe, a warrior poet who speaks with the universe and sees things others can only dream about challenged Nemean to a duel. Because Nemean has no song in the Universe and it is all quiet around him, according to Lucius. Naturally, Nemean accepts.
Duel
Sir Nemean JeVondair Renodin, Knight of Bisciye meets his challenger Lucius Poe, Knight of Aix for the agreed duel till surrender.
Lucius has decided to use the 'trick moves' strategy while Nemean JeVondair has chosen the 'neutral' strategy, giving Nemean JeVondair the advantage.
The duel rages for quite some time and superficial wounds are suffered on both sides. Finally, a deep blow strikes Nemean JeVondair down and his second declares it a surrender.
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The Healing Process
Days blend together as Nemean lay in bed. Fortunately the windows permitted fresh air and during the evenings the hearth bloomed with heat. He hadn't known boredom before suffering the near mortal wound at the hands of Lucius Poe. The fight had replayed itself in his mind over and over. At first he could only grasp and hold on to bits and pieces of it as he passed from wakefulness into delirium. At some point, it was hard to discern when exactly, it played out like a scene at a theater. Stroke up, the blade sang. Feet shuffled. The sound of fabric straining.
The meals were awful. The liquid greens and bitter grub the healers forced him to eat made him retch. At least there had been a kind nurse. Employed by one of the greybeards. She'd wait until her Master and employer was done with Nemean and came to smuggle boiled fruits in for him. And cakes. Usually after the midday sun had begun to dim. He'd begun to keep a watch for when the sun began it's descent for it would herald her arrival. Neala was her name. Cream white skin. Dusted lightly with freckles. With large brown eyes that always made him feel welcome and safe.
She wouldn't say much and made a point for keeping her private visits brief. Nemean was in no position to protest. Not until the second week. But as soon as the healers noticed his steady recovery they placed new demands on him. Apparently one of the healers had been a career soldier before taking up the profession as bonemender. The man had forgotten none of the military discipline as he broke Nemean like a horse tamer does a stallion. He had the Prince exercising his legs, first stumbling and shuffling. With ample of cursing from Nemean which was about as harmless as feathers being thrown at a slab of granite. Consequently the warrior healer worked his hard hands on the Prince's muscles and much howling ensued.
While it felt like torture the effects were unmistakable. The wound healed steadily. His body was growing stronger and his vigor returned. While he wasn't out of the woods yet, the warrior healer agreed, he could return to active duty. Nemean, ever discovering new humilities. Profusely thanked the healer. The man offered some somber wisdoms and Nemean vowed to commit them to memory.
''Now where is that Poe.'' The words said far more confidently than the duel's result would suggest. Nevertheless, armour was donned and the mantle worn.
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Lucius Poe declares friendship afterwards and overall it was a great character development moment.
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Welcome, welcome. Glad you're here. Got another string of Rp's for you. It begins with the one just below. Not written by me but the player of Alyssa. Its one of those strings yes but I won't spoil too much.
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
"A knight to see you my lady." Gareth said, still clearly nervous from his first day on guard duty. He was about her age possibly a little older, and his hook nose and droopy eyes gave him a look of feebleness. Still she would not underestimate him. She had been surprised in the past, meekness hiding great strength and a warrior's spirit. And Perdan is a realm of warriors.
Alyssa sighed. "Which knight?" she asked wearily. It had been her fifth meeting that day and she was frankly tired. Gareth leaned back out of the door and called down the stairs.
"Which one?" He yelled as Alyssa shook her head. A muffled call back came from below she could not make out and Gareth leaned back in the door way.
"Some knight called Sir Nemean."
Alyssa paused. "Bring him in." she said curtly. She stood at her desk, with her hands behind her back at ease when Sir Nemean entered the room. He wore a neutral expression she could not read. Not that she could ever read him.
"Sir Nemean. You received my letter?" She asked hoping she did not sound too cold.
He nodded.
"So you wished to speak to me of its contents. Very well." She said, sitting back down and motioning to the chair on the other side of the desk. She took a deep breath. "Then let us speak."
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My reply.
A Tower to Climb
"Sir Nemean. You received my letter?" She asked hoping she did not sound too cold. He nodded."So you wished to speak to me of its contents. Very well." She said, sitting back down and motioning to the chair on the other side of the desk. She took a deep breath. "Then let us speak." ~Alyssa Kingsley
The half mantle whipped from his left shoulder like a banner taut in the wind, as he ascended the steps of the tower and stood in the doorway. He didn't give much for the room. Instead he tried to carefully take a first step towards the table. Stones somewhat uneven but after that first step, he no longer cared. His left arm firmly in a sling, tight to his body.
With his free hand he pulled out the proffered chair and took his time to sit down into it. Deliberately shifting his weight and making sure he sat comfortably. Blueberry-bush green eyes perused the contents of the Imperatrix's table. Letters, mostly scattered over a map. A writing box of well worked wood. The clipped feather of a goose, almost hidden in the curling roll of a parchment. Nemean wet his lips and with discernible discomfort pulled his gloves off. Particularly the right one gave him trouble.
Once done, he threw them on the desk with a laconic toss. ''Was that all you wanted to say?'' He canted his head and leaned back into his seat.
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All credit due to the writer, and excellent writer in my opinion.
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
/All I wanted to say?/ She thought to herself, feeling a tinge of annoyance at the man's casually flippant attitude. /You came to me!/
But she did not voice her thoughts, instead pinching her the bridge of her nose in frustration. "That depends, Sir Nemean." She began, looking back at him "A great deal, on what you wish to speak of." She continued as gently as she could. "It was yourself Sir who arranged this meeting. I have explained myself in my letter, and as I wrote you are free to visit me if you wished to speak of it further. You have come, and I am here."
She sighed futilely, before continuing "I truly do want the air between us to be clear Sir. We have wounded each other, and that will not do. We are both knights and as such should be above the pettiness we have both shown to the other. And we are both Perdan. Our foe is not each other but those false knights who burn our crops and slaughter our people. So please Sir. If there is something I can do to help you feel at ease, please tell me so that we can forgive one another and put this distraction behind us."
She looked at him exasperated and weary, both from little sleep and the difficulty of the man before her.
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My second reply:
A Little Cottage
"That depends, Sir Nemean." She began, looking back at him "A great deal, on what you wish to speak of." She continued as gently as she could. "It was yourself Sir who arranged this meeting. I have explained myself in my letter, and as I wrote you are free to visit me if you wished to speak of it further. You have come, and I am here." ~Alyssa Kingsley
He just sat there. Looking at her struggle with the words. Finishing with something that felt like a plea almost. Asking him how she could make him feel better. As she stopped speaking Nemean readjusted his left arm. The sling had become uncomfortable and he used it as a distraction as he felt deflated. Staring at the floor until he was done.
Try as he might but he couldn't help feeling dolorous. Proud waves breaking on the reefs, never reaching the shore. ''I uhmm..'' He cleared his throat. Feigned another cough. He took a deep breath and righted himself. His stray right hand indicating into nothingness as it sat perched on the armrest. ''All that was said.'' An aquiline look preceded the words. ''That meant nothing?''
The chair he sat in suddenly felt like the very bastion of a besieged warlord. ''You can't undo those words.'' His voice started to rise. ''How can you sit there and pretend -nothing- happened.'' If before his eyes were hard, now they were wreathed in licking flames. ''You want to clear the air, then speak of that.''
Nemean looked down at the table. Whatever tectonic plate of his had begun to move, with the air he calmly blew out so too did it settle. ''I came here because I cannot believe, nor accept, that what I said and we shared, meant nothing.'' When he looked at her again, his eyes were calm. His face open but neither was there a smile. Clouds on one side of a valley promising rain and more, while at the other side, blue skies and a radiant sun. At the bottom of the valley, a small cottage seated on the banks of a small lake.
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Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
Alyssa put her hand on her temple. "Of course not. We know much of each other sir, we have exchanged letters for a year. I found our correspondence cordial and have always considered you a noble soul, if not a bit confused. You said you came here because I treated you kindly. I am happy to hear that I have inspired you, truly, to come to Perdan. I believe you came because we are of one mind on the honour of a knight and the duty we share as nobles to the smallfolk of this world. I believe you came to Perdan because you are a true knight, as I hope to be."
A silence hung over them for a few moments and Alyssa sighed.
"I want to be clear I hold no animosity for you, Sir." She said gently. "I have had my grievance with you that is true. To me, that is past. All the cruel things you have written to me, as well as your touching of me without leave I do not hold against you. I have asked for your forgiveness for mine own transgressions, as I said, I made a few erroneous assumptions and I regret it. I just..."
She hesitated. "I want to understand you. I believe you are a good man, but you treat me with both kindness and cruelty. It vexes me. I asked you before: 'What am I to make of this?' Does this man mislike me? He told me never to speak to him again. Then he sends me a letter and a puppy. Is he fond of me? I grow quickly weary of the back and forth. Endlessly trying to parse together what is going through your head. It is becoming a distraction. One that I cannot afford to have. So." She said, the weariness in her eyes beginning to sparkle into bright blue flame.
"If you have something you wish to speak with me about, please do so."
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Halfway
She hesitated. "I want to understand you. I believe you are a good man, but you treat me with both kindness and cruelty. It vexes me. I asked you before: 'What am I to make of this?' Does this man mislike me? He told me never to speak to him again. Then he sends me a letter and a puppy. Is he fond of me? I grow quickly weary of the back and forth. Endlessly trying to parse together what is going through your head. It is becoming a distraction. One that I cannot afford to have. So." She said, the weariness in her eyes beginning to sparkle into bright blue flame. ~Alyssa Kingsley
It was audible how Nemean sighed. It wasn't the first one either but a series of them as Alyssa had spoken. The chair had creaked as he leaned to the left and then to the right. As she continued her words however, his motions became fewer and his innate desire to refute and to highlight grew dimmer and dimmer. Until finally, he felt spent. Running towards an imagined finish-line only to have it pulled back every time it came into sight.
His right hand rose from its perch on the armrest and ran along the line of his yaw. His eyes pensive until his fingers brushed the tip his chin and made the motion of tossing some imaginary thing from them. ''I'm a distraction.'' The words came soft and matter of factly. With rising eyebrows an expression of exasperation and surprise melted into disbelief. His head shook slightly as his hand landed on the armrest with a clap. That was the moment he looked Alyssa in the eye.
Eyelids sheltering unstinting orbs. The otherwise deflated posture filled itself with an odd determination. ''You are very beautiful, but I won't continue.'' His hand all but swirled ''Whatever this is.'' Getting up from the chair hurt him. He didn't try to hide it either as his left arm protested. The injured limb had throbbed all the way through the conversation. As his emotions rose so to did the beating of his heard and the consequent pulsing of his veins.Without much decorum or care Nemean pushed the chair away and liberated a pathway leading towards the door.
Halfway there he stopped and turned. ''Great affection is what I felt. Unreasonably so. I tried to find out if I was justified in feeling it. Imagined, I realize now, that there were signs from you. That you might've felt the same way.'' His posture lost some of its vim and fire, eyes cast downwards towards the floor. ''I see now that I was mistaken.'' Reconstructing his will to move, he began to turn towards the exist again.
Determined to leave and pull this door closed, for a final time.
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Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
There it is. She thought as he said the words she had been trying to avoid. She knew that she couldn't. That Dustiria was right and that this was unavoidable. Why did it have to turn out like this? Why did he have to find that affection for me? Who cursed him so, to find his love for a girl such as me?
"Nemean." She said, fidgeting nervously and dropping her usual Sir. The other stopped with his hand at the door. A tear escaped from her eye as she continued, her hands folded in her lap in resignation. A grievous wound inflicted, yet she did not feel victorious. This was not a battlefield. This was a room with two people, fumbling in the dark. Both wanting warmth and light, but unable to find it. Another tear.
"I cannot help the way that I am. But I am sorry that it hurt you."
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The Voice
This was a room with two people, fumbling in the dark. Both wanting warmth and light, but unable to find it. Another tear. "I cannot help the way that I am. But I am sorry that it hurt you." ~Alyssa Kingsley
The sound of her voice forming his name was akin to a lance piercing skin, flesh and bone. He didn't turn, neither did he speak. The hand he had resting on the handle of the door the only outward sign of pause. ''..I am sorry that it hurt you.'' her words, and the handle turned. Releasing the door from its frame. Two echoing steps later and he was gone.
The door was closed from the other side and fading steps could be heard, descending the stairs of the tower.
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Ah ha! You thought I was done? Really? Silly. Here I present an rp about a takeover of a region through Sympathetic means. It kinda became bigger than expected. Hope you enjoy!
Freedom and Peace
Riding along the main road that snaked through one of the last remaining settlements in Brive it was hard to shake the feeling, being fake. Clods of muddy sludge jumped up and his horse whipped the air with it's black tail. Tiny trails of smoke roze from cooking-fires. The shelters, that's really what they were, you couldn't call them homes. Nemean didn't believe so at least. Ramshackle and painted heavily with the colors of devastation. Soot and breakage. He didn't want to see it but it was too obvious. The foundations of once proper buildings, now burned out husks. The looted timber hastily used to prop up roofs of whatever material lend itself to the task easiest. Starving children. In rags. Dirty rags, stained with mud, grime and what he suspected must've been blood.
He nudged his steed on, to trudge through the main thoroughfare. A river of brown, trodden into semi liquidity. His nose informing him that it wasn't only dirt that mingled there with water. The dew, winter's kiss, gently clinging to every building and to ever blade of grass. A thin and cold embrace that coated it all. The alleyways filled with fine mist and like great lungs breathed out into the main road. Making Nemean feel like the grim reaper on his black horse. Coughing people clutching cowls and hoods and scarfs as they looked upon the Warriors. He just looked at them, pitied them. A little girl cried as she saw him. He put up his hand in a wave. You're free now. He willed the words to her but the mother clutched the child to her bosom and gave an angry glare.
The horse plodded on and in his wake his riders. Trying to offer warm words, kindness. How do you give kindness in such a desolate place. Starving dogs roved around. Children screamed. Behind the broken homes of Brives, there were fields. Not of grain and not of barley. Of graves. Deep ones, shallow ones and the rotting dead.
Arriving at a small clearing in the village Nemean dismounted. He walked up to the great cauldron that stood at its center. A great line of destitute peasants waiting in the chilling winds. Bowls and cups at the ready. Nemean cut into the line of cooks. Words weren't needed, his expression was enough. He took the great ladle and scooped generously. Doing his part. Trying to make right, the wrong.
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All due credits go to the writer:
Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
Dustiria walks among the downtrodden people. Her men offer ale and food around her to those they see. Her warrior face betrays no emotion. Her gauntlet covered hand that rests on her sword hilt does as she sees child crying in her mother's arms as they wait in a line for food. Her hand grips the sword tightly as she wished for something she could do to help these poor souls. She stops at the head of the line when she sees Sir Nemean ladleing soup. She starts to turn away then hesitates. With firm resolve she approaches the man.
"I know you told me to stay away,"she indicated the line if peasants,"but it appears you may need help even if it is from such as I" she says to Sir Nemean.Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
Message sent to all nobles of Perdan (33 recipients) - 17 days, 22 hours, 14 minutes ago
Dustiria walks among the downtrodden people. Her men offer ale and food around her to those they see. Her warrior face betrays no emotion. Her gauntlet covered hand that rests on her sword hilt does as she sees child crying in her mother's arms as they wait in a line for food. Her hand grips the sword tightly as she wished for something she could do to help these poor souls. She stops at the head of the line when she sees Sir Nemean ladleing soup. She starts to turn away then hesitates. With firm resolve she approaches the man.
"I know you told me to stay away,"she indicated the line if peasants,"but it appears you may need help even if it is from such as I" she says to Sir Nemean.
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Due to the amounts of Rp in the Realm of Perdan the players decided to keep titles for the various story lines. In an attempt to prevent a giant rp mess hehe.
Freedom and Peace 2
"I know you told me to stay away,"she indicated the line of peasants,"but it appears you may need help even if it is from such as I." she says to Sir Nemean. ~Dustiria Noire
A cold wind whipped through the muddy square. It tugged at Nemean's hair and cape. With a nasty splash he dumped a ladle-full of slop into the worn bowl of a leather faced and flat nosed old man. The man grunted a thanks and shuffled on. Nemean looked at the soldier standing at the table next to him. Handing out pieces of bread. Ripping them with his hands. Indicating with the laddle Nemean dismissed him before turning to Dustiria.
''Get in line.'' The sound was sharp but somewhere he was grateful she had appeared. ''So how are things with you?'' Giving her a skeptical look as he resumed filling slop bowls. ''Let's not talk about me before you get that idea in your head.'' One of the peasants dared to complain about the quantity in his bowl. Claiming the one before him had received more. An angry look sorted that out right quick. ''You were saying?'' Nemean glanced over at Dustiria.
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Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
Freedom and Peace 3
Dustiria goes to were the soldier was. She pulls her hood up to protect her from the biting wind. She does not look at the knight beside her as she picks up pieces of bread to hand to the hungry people waiting in line.
"Oh doing just fine. Just taking a break from my duty that I will not tell you of and finished sending instructions to that how did you put it...hmm can't remember your exact wording....the dive the Duke gave me to care for him." The chill in her voice matched the air almost perfectly.
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Freedom and Peace 4
He stopped for a moment and turned towards Dustiria. ''The Duke gave you drive for something?'' His tone as skeptical as his expression. ''You are confusing me with someone else but do continue your cryptic story.'' He rubbed his nose with the back of his gloved hand, red from windchill. ''Besides, are you implying you are giving instructions to Duke Smiddich?''
Another bowl was filled with delicious slop. ''Ever wonder how it is back in Eponllyn?''
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Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
Freedom and Peace 5
"Cold must be plugging your ears Sir. Dive not drive. Of course I am not ordering his grace . I sent instructions to the bloody stump about festive decor. You know the pub that the Duke told me to care for that you disdain." Dustiria looks away for a moment,"I rarely think of how things are back there. I am sure my family and their horses are fine in Bescanon. It doesn't do to think of that place in that way. War had to be fought against them and it may happen again. It's best thinking about my duty here to the Imperatrix, the Duke, and our king. That must always come first to all else."
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Freedom and Peace 6
''Will be quite a thing indeed, to ride into Bescanon.'' He stole a glance at Dustiria as he continued. ''Under a banner of war. But you want to spend the festivities in the Bloody stump?'' Nemean snorted. ''You're right I disdain the place and not just because of what happened there. You gave me some terrible advice going there and taking her there.''
The next peasant in line got an extra hard wack of the ladle that nearly knocked the bowl out of her hands. ''If that was part of your duty its was about as well done as raw chicken.'' He scowled which in turn made a little girl cry as she was being carried by her mother. It instantly made him both surprised and apologetic, the damage was already done however. ''I'm sorry ok? sheesh.'' He couldn't help rolling his eyes in annoyance. ''Does that place at least earn you a fair bit of coin though? I've been speaking with Sir Derrik on the prospect of investing in one of the silver mines up north.''
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Roleplay from Dustiria Noire
Freedom and Peace 7
"I do believe I said it was the only place I knew when you asked my opinion and also said there might be better places. As to spending the festivities...I really have no place else to go. Now that the Duke has me in charge of the Stump Quarter its my home. I don't know much of the city I spend my time shadowing the Imeperatrix, the stables, or the Bloody Stump. I wouldn't have a clue where else to go. I am in the field too much to explore the city. I am sure with the decor I ordered it will look nice and festive. " she hands out bread as she talks, "As to the money the establishment is still the Dukes. I guess you can call me its caretaker. As long as it welcomes all, and is a safe place to enjoy drinks, meals, and various entertainment I am content with it. Its not about money. It was the place my men and I found welcome when we came to the city. A place I could relax and get away from the .... well that's not important. what is you do the Bloody Stump a disservice. Don't blame it for your woes. Its a safe haven in the storm of life." Dustiria's eyes briefly show emotion as she talks.
"Anyway," mask back in place," Silver mines should produce a solid revenue for you. if you need gold that should work well." she hands out yet more chunks of bread to the people in line,
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Freedom and Peace 8
Flinging the ladle in the cauldron Nemean adjusted his cape before signalling his captain to bring his horse. ''Well, Dustiria.'' He formed his gloves over his hands. ''Hope the Stump will remain that place for you. Such places are rare but you know all about that already.'' He turned towards capitain Jacinta as she approached, holding the reins of his mount.
With practiced ease Nemean climbed into the saddle. The creature pawed the muddy sludge of the square. ''Until we meet again.'' An economically tug directed the noble beast and they were off.
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Hello again. Here I present a tiny little rp that was written as a bit of an intermezzo.
The Tallest Hill in Dimwood
The land beyond was familiar. For all the wrong reasons though. Plumes of black smoke rose from the lands of Brive. He could see at least two villages ablaze. Squinting his eyes he could just about make out several small trains of refugees. The reins creaked softly as he wrung them in his hands. Many Perdanese Nobles along with their warriors had gathered in Dimwood, just as Marshal Ulric had requested. They now camped on this hill. The tallest in the area and waited on further word from the Marshal. Would the order be given to attack or would they have to suffer the sight and move on to the capital.
Sighing in the saddle Nemean knew which of the two he'd issue. His steed noticed the emotions that emanated from its rider and whisked its tail impatiently. The creature knew the young Prince better than most people and if it had a voice, it'd probably be soothing and sarcastic. A trusty battle companion, familiar like a skilled dance partner, anticipating the needs and worries of its partner. Nemean knew he had to wait and reached down to pat the noble creature on the neck.
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The creation of a new Army. By the King himself no less. All due credit goes to the writer and there's quite a bit to read. hope you enjoy.
Roleplay from Kay Peregrine
The king silently observed the setting sun. It slowly rolled down over the ruins of Brive's ancient fort. Just like on that fateful day when Caligan battleaxes struck down his battered men one by one and eventually himself. On that hill over yonder Kay fell to his knees, waiting for a mercenary's dagger to find a hole in his helmet.
"Arise, King Kay." he heard witcher-lord Gaheris' whisper in his memory. "Your work is not done."
Indeed his life's work was not yet over. Life was a grueling job and he was on overtime.
Vacantly staring at the contryside Kay patted the scrawny black kitten that latched his tiny claws into his mailed glove.
"How do you like the view, Midnight?" Kay asked softly.
The kitten meowed in response. She was hungry.
The captain of his guard approached from behind.
"The young knights are gathered, my king. They are waiting for you."
His work was not yet done. The king turned around and descended downhill toward the campsite.
The knights were almost all there. Arther, Delphine, Nemean, Hillbert, Rafael, Vesceris. Isabel was missing, she was on a monster hunting mission in Perdan Mines. The king stopped before the assembled knights and appraised them for a while with his only remining eye. Finally he spoke in a raspy but strong voice.
"Lions of Perdan. You are honoured to be the founding members of the realm's new army. The Blackmane Paladins. Yes, I wanted to go with red manes at first but changed my mind to honour my good friend Midnight." The black kitten in his hand stared at the gathered knights curiously. She had no idea she was thusly honoured by her royal owner. "Indeed. From this moment on a distinct feature of this army will be black plumes on our helmets."
Six young retainers swiftly jumped forward, each carrying a plume of pitch black feathers. They bowed before the knights and offered the devices to their new owners.
"Another distinctive feature of this army, or knightly order if you will, is that we will uphold values of chivalry and show our allies and foes alike that we are not just warriors but paladins, embodiment of knightly virtues. Do not consider yourself to be better than others though. The Golden Lions have proven their worth during decades of conflict. You on the other hand have your path entirely ahead of you. Do not let me down." The king took a short pause and then resumed his speech. "I have chosen Ser Nemean to be the first Marshal of this regiment. My decision was informed by the aid Ser Nemean has continually provided to the Military Council since his arrival in Perdan. Here, Ser, take this badge and carry it with honour. You will pick a Vice Marshal among your ranks. I will have you know that Lady Delphine showed interest in this position and I consider her a promising leader."
The king once again cast a stern glare at the knights and drew his sword with his free hand. The setting sun made the steel blade flash brightly. "Paladins! On your swords swear your unwavering allegiance to Perdan and to our firmly held tenets of chivalry! On this day you start your journey on the long and thorny path to glory."
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Roleplay from Salem Belmont
Salem silently approaches king Kay and takes a knee with his sword gripped firmly in both hands, and the hilt pressed to his temple.
"I, Sir Salem Orpheus Belmont, swear my services to the kingdom of Perdan, to your Majesty, Kay Peregrine, and to the people of this nation. I will stay chivalrous, pure as a heart of gold. I swear loyalty to all, from peasant to King. I will fight in the name of righteousness, proudly as a paladin of Perdan. This is my oath to you, as a knight, and as a man.
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Roleplay from Vesceries Silverblade
Vesceries was on his knees pushing a corpse over the ledge of the deep hole before him, it tumbling down the side to meet the others, when one of his men approached.
"The King, Ser, the King has arrived to speak to the people here."
Brushing his hands off on his trousers, he nodded, walking off a small wash basin where he cleaned his hands and face in the cool water. Pulling his green cloak from a post he clasped over his shoulders as he walked forward, sliding between troops to get a better view.
He listened intently to the King Peregrin, looking to the cat on his arm as well as the responses from the many commanders and nobles surrounding the camp. After the speech Vesceries noted Salem Belmont stepping forward and makeing the pledge. After the knight had finished he stepped forward beside Ser Belmont, drawing his sword and dropping to a knee. The scimitar was curved so he rested it on his knee as he spoke,
"I too, Ser Vesceries Silverblade, pledge my sword, and my service to you, My King. This is my oath to you, as a Knight, and as a man." he pledged, borrowing words from Belmont in hopes to adhere to their local customs.
He kept his head bowed and sword pledged with his long hair and cloak draping over his shoulders to the ground.
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Roleplay from Delphine de Montigny
The young woman was lined up proud along side the other knights. Her helmet cradled under one arm and with her other hand resting on the pommel of her sheathed sword, she stood waiting for her turn to aproach the King.
As her name was called, she slowly moved forward, wanting to look as calm as possible, fighting her feet the whole way from going to fast.
She handed off her helmet to receive the midnight coloured feather, remover her sword and knelt down. She held the blade firmly in both hands with her arms extended.
-"I, Delphine de Mongtigny, pledge my life by this sword so serve the relm of Perdan and it's people for as long as I have breath. I will fight proudly with my men as part of this army in the name of my king.
She rose slowly, collected her newly feathered helmet and returned in rank, the excitement obvious on her face.
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Roleplay from Rafael Bragança
Eagerly, Rafael waited for his name to be called. Proudly he stood, holding his sword, black plumed helm resting under his arm.
After Dame de Mongtigny, he approaches the king with a deep bow and presents his sword to his majesty as he takes a knee to announce his vow.
"I, Rafael de Bragança, pledge my life and death, to serve the realm of Perdan and it's people, to lead by example of word and deed, to bring hope and glory. To be loyal to my brothers and sisters in arms and bring justice where it is due."
Rising, he joins the ranks of his fellow paladins.
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Roleplay from Derrik Myrkwood
Earl Derrik watched with great anticipation as the new army was forming before his eyes, to have the King himself in the region, receiving oaths from his knights was a sight to behold.
Derrik waited patiently nodding to each of the young knights, as the ceremony proceeded. There was much work to be done, but showing the people of Brive there were honorable men willing
to fight for them would have some impact. The banners of nobility stretched the length of the market village of Torrence, Derrik had never witnessed such an army. He truly believed the
scoundrels to the north would pay for their savagery here. He looked north, could it be? Dame Calandria's banner waiving high in the air proceeding down the Golden Road towards Torrence.
His heart full of excitement, it was a relief she was safe, dont be a baffoon he thought to himself. Simply thank her for her courage on the battlefield, dont make it a mess. He stood there
through the rest of the ceremony, glancing occasionally north watching his friends banner move closer
-=-=-
-
And my own addition to the story.
The First Founding
The king once again cast a stern glare at the knights and drew his sword with his free hand. The setting sun made the steel blade flash brightly. "Paladins! On your swords swear your unwavering allegiance to Perdan and to our firmly held tenets of chivalry! On this day you start your journey on the long and thorny path to glory." ~Kay Peregrine
The great orb that was the sun had already significantly sunk into the horizon. Trees stood like dark giants casting colossal shadows. Where light had adopted the shade of bronze and the world stood at twilight. There stood Kay and in his hand a living piece of steel. Infused with emotions of pride, defiance and blazing as if it was the blade of some heavenly creature. First to fall to their knees was Sir Salem of House Belmont. His oath was pure and of service. His stance exuding reverence as the tip of his sword dug into the earth and his head pressed against the guard. Beside him Ser Vesceries of House Silverblade took the knee. Making his oath rather personal. Manno a Manno. Pledging himself to King Kay as a man.
The early gusts of wind that herald the chills of night made themselves known. Picking their way past banners causing them to flutter. Plumes of steam blasted from the nostrils of the warhorses. Next to step up was Dame Delphine of House de Montigny. With measured grace she approached and carefully knelt down. Pledging service until her final breath as the stern King watched. Shortly after the seemingly eager and spirited sir Rafael of House Bragança moved up. He didn't take long to recite his oath. Marked by the promise of glory, both earned and received. Making special notice of his commitment to his fellows.
The encroaching dark did much to hide the devastation all around them. The broken homes that comprised the villages of Brive. Shallow graves that lined the main roads. The King's gaze was unwavering though. The piece of steel that was his sword still fabled in its dark golden sheen. The gravel crunched softly under his boots as Nemean approached. The boy had been left behind. His skin was still fair but marked with the many kisses of battle. Ridges of pink and of white. Shoulders square and confident. The stride of a swordsman with gloved hands. His body decked in the raiment of war.
He halted as he came face to face with the King. Standing among the Knights and Dames that came before. Green eyes marked each of them before they returned to behold King Kay. He slowly pulled his sword free from its scabbard. Holding it with his right hand and nestled the blade in his left as he looked it over for a moment. The smallest of nods could be perceived. And Nemean too, went down on one knee. Holding up his sword horizontally with both hands. Offering it to the King as he bend his head in respect.
''In the past I have offered you my oath. Today I renew it and accept the increased burdens and duties.'' Nemean took a moment to sort his thoughts before continuing.
‘’Would you accept my fealty under the Imperial Charter as a willing subject and member of the Elector state of Perdan? Offering my person as tool and instrument in whichever way I am asked to serve, within the bounds of Honour. To do battle at your pleasure, to make of your enemies my enemies. To love your friends as my own friends. To hate those that you hate. Offering council when called upon and to ensure your safety when your eyes are cast away and unaware of the danger I shall willingly face, should it ever come for you.
To be shielded by your hand in justice. To have no want as I shall be provided for by you as overlord. To be clothed, landed, fitted and coined through revenues from said lands and enterprises as you shall bestow in accordance to shown merit. Where you see fit wisdom shall flow from your rich repertoire and onto me, a studious pupil of your example.
To don the mantle of Marshal of the Blackmane Paladins and be first among their number. To provide leadership and to uphold their duties equally as commander and as combatant. To execute this office with the tenets of chivalry ever in the forefront of my mind. Offering example in the flesh whenever I am able and to keep those part of this army, from straying from the path of righteousness.
In life and through enduring all the hardships I shall during this oath, to be unwavering and staunch in loyalty as long as this oath is maintained. So I do swear.
Nemean, first of my name, Prince of Greater Eponllyn, Prince of Perdan, Son of King Asher Renodin of Perdan, Son of Duchess Ayden JeVondair the Duchess of Blades of Oligarch, Adoptive Son of Xerarch and Phoenix Queen of Greater Eponllyn Selenia JeVondair and the former Greater Imperium of Xavax, through her line claimant on all of her former dominions . Grandson of Emperor Aldrakar Renodin of the Lurian Empire.’’
Having offered his words, Nemean waited for the King to respond. Stealing a furtive glance at Alyssa as he remained in suspense.
-
She did not disappoint.
Roleplay from Alyssa Kingsley
First Founding
Alyssa watched the ceremony from her position behind the king. Mounted atop Starlight and at the forefront of the other mounted knights and captains of the Golden Lions who had gathered from their preparations to ride home to watch the King and his knights forming their historic pact. She wore her usual white cloak and stoic expression, but she felt an overwhelming surge of pride as she watched the young knights swear their oaths to the King.
Kay himself looked stronger today. His visage still marked by the viciousness of death, but he seemed more confident. She worried over him, the white stone in his eye an ever pressing reminder of her failure, but today she could not worry. Today the grim expressions and distant gazes were gone, in their place was the man who lead her through knighthood, who taught her the true meaning of honour and wisdom. Who tempered her at her worst and encouraged her to do her best. Many had expressed their doubts to her after his return but she could see that despite everything he was still the same King he had always been, wise and true, and proud and brave.
She watched the knights one by one take their knee and say their oaths. She smiled slightly to herself, remembering her own knighting. It seemed so long ago, in another world. A different person, a simple fair-haired girl who had no idea what she had just sworn, or what she would have to do to keep that promise. She wondered if they knew what she didn't.
After the others the one named Marshal took his own knee. /How odd for him/ She thought. /Swearing fealty to that which for so long he sought to destroy./ She considered him for a moment. She hoped for him as well. The poor man had seemed so confused. About Perdan, about her, and about himself. Alyssa knew he could be a true knight, but he had been stumbling blindly in the dark. She had failed him so far, but perhaps he had found the way now, as he knelt before the truest King she knew.
He looked up and around slightly, looking for her. She gave a single nod as their eyes met and Alyssa felt what she hoped was understanding. /The doorway is open Sir./ She thought to herself. The Path of Truth lie on the other side. She hoped he was ready.
-
Roleplay from Kay Peregrine
As the knights started approaching him one by one to swear their vows Kay sheathed his sword to free his hand, his coal black familiar still resting on his left arm.
Ser Salem was the first to kneel. The King nodded slightly, showing his approval of the wording of his vow. Ser Salem did not choose to be a part of Paladins at this point but his oath was sincere and fitting.
As the old tradition went, knights offered their swords to their liege as they swore their oath. In ancient times kings were supposed to accept the blade and then hand it back to the knight as a symbol of trust and empowerment. But that tradition has been since streamlined. In the recent times it was enough for the king to touch the hilt of the offered sword with his hand. And so Kay did.
"I accept your oath, Ser Salem. May you bear your arms proudly in service of Perdan and highest ideals of knighthood. A knight with a heart of gold is more than a knight. In times of darkness and doubt he is a beacon to his comrades and to the smallfolk alike."
Next was Ser Vesceris. Vesceris of Silverblade, a fitting name for a knight. His words were also quite fitting.
"I accept your oath, Ser Vesceris, and bond to be a king's man. Serve the crown and protect the realm of Perdan and its people with your life as your honour now demands it."
The King then touched Lady Delpine's sword, accepting her oath in turn. He seemed to be especially pleased to see this young lady in his new army's ranks.
"Arise, Paladin Delphine. Bear your sword well in the cause to which you have been called. Indeed daughters of the Lion are as fierce and loyal as their brothers. Perhaps even more so."
Kay also had special words for Ser Raphael as he kneeled before him.
"Loyalty and justice are the knight's principal virtues. I accept your oath, Ser Rapahel, and I will hold you to it. Hope is what carries this realm through the darker times and justice is what we must uphold as the defenders of the people."
Finally Nemean kneeled and offered a verbose oath. But the longer the knight talked the more the King's brow furrowed.
Nevertheless he touched the hilt of the knight's sword without hesitation. His hand lingered on the encrusted metal as he took his turn to speak.
"I accept your oath as the King of Perdan. Not as an Imperial dignitary. Empires will crumble and few will shed a tear. I will too perish but your vows will carry on. For they are given before the crown of this realm and by proxy before the entirety of its people.
Arise, Ser Nemean, knight of the realm, Marshal of the Blackmane Paladins. These are your titles. For that is who you are. For that is what you earned. And that is not nothing if you think about it.
Arise and earn the glory you so covet and through this multiply the glory of our ancient realm."
As the vows were concluded the King snatched a brand new banner from a retainer. The banner bore an image of a roaring lion's head with a lush coal black mane. He handed it to one of the knights standing closest to him.
"Defend this banner and further its glory. Make a name for yourselves and for this regiment. Make me proud."
With these words Kay retired to his tent as the men (supposedly) cheered and brass trumpets sounded an uplifting tune.
-
Roleplay from Vesceries Silverblade
Stands in the ranks as the camps begin to break and the armies begin to migrate due to the new Marshall's orders. Holding the new helmet with the black plume, under his arm he awaited a moment to approach Nemean JeVondair. As an opening presented himself he stepped forward.
"Marshal JeVondair,
Leave to speak Ser."
Vesceries waited patiently to await his permission, resuming when given (if given).
"I've just come from Perdan City and my units are in good order, I ask leave to remain here in Brive for a bit longer to assist Earl Myrkwood's small folk in their repairs."
Standing at attention he awaited response from the Marshal.
-=-=-=-
my reply:
Turning to face Vesceries he took a moment consider the request. Nemean straightened his back as he delivered his response. ''Lord Derrik will be joining us in Perdan City. You nor your men can accomplish anything further in Brive. All has been done for the current inhabitants. More would have to move in before anything else can be undertaken.'' After giving the explanation he looked the man over and decided on a neutral deliver: ''Your request is denied. Head for the capital.''
-=-=-=-
Roleplay from Vesceries Silverblade
*Nods stiffly, saluting the Marshal Nemean JeVondair*
"Understood, I will move out immediately!" with a bow, Vesceries turned and began to organize his unit for travel.
-
And if today wasn't chock full of rp's already, here is another rp story arch. A boys night out if you will.
Dockside Drinks
It had been a while in the making and ever a dot on the horizon to look forwards to. Nemean dismounted in front of The Rose and Two. The Noble Taverna sprawled quite a bit along the dockside of Perdan city's northern bend. Sporting a broad seaside walkway build up from the beach below with fine and soft looking blocks of sandstone. An artisanal balustrade tastefully perched all along and was only interspersed with stone flowering pots and a single broad staircase. Broad steps finely chiseled into the sandstone as to permit entry to a small grainy beach which in turn was hemmed in, by large boulders the size of small hovels on either side. Gentle waves lapping the mosaic that was the beach with its faded oranges, translucent whites, specks of black and everything in between. From the pots along the balustrade a lavender fragrance permeated the entire front of the taverna as the plants themselves swayed gently in their stone homes.
Handing off his horse to a stable hand Nemean pulled off his gloves and tucked them into his belt. He walked past the terrace that fronted The Rose and Two. Noting the candles set upon the tables and the lush looking pillows and blankets provided at each table. Even before entering through the large oaken and bronze bound double doors that constituted the main entrance, he was greeted by the sounds of music, a lute, harp and was that tabor? He couldn't quite tell. It was pleasant however and only made him want to go in even more. His progression however was slowed. Two small giants came out to greet him with their wet noses. Both of them Bernese Mountain dogs. Their iconic white stripe from snout all the way to the top of their heads unmistakable. Well bred and good mannered. Nemean smiled as he allowed them to lick his hand. Moments later he was truly in though.
Sandstone arches rose up from the walls to support a soaring ceiling that was splendidly frescoed with scenes of fishermen and rose gardens with maidens in them, overlooking the working men. Nemean noted that the fishermen caught more than mere fish and he smirked. The main lounge was wide and broad. Amply allotted with comfortable seats in the form of upholstered benches, and dark wood sofa's along the walls and alcoves. Creating private little grotto's with their lounge tables and potted plants.The center itself was dotted with a wide array of tables and chairs and even several chaise longues. Breaking up the vastness were smooth columns of sandstone and tactfully placed screens with depictions of lush and slightly fantastical wildlands.
Walking through the place Nemean felt as much as smelled the food. He looked forwards to the roast he saw spitted over a roaring stone hearth. Deftly being turned by a short, curly haired brunette. Not one to linger he went towards the massive bar and took a seat. Gestured to one of the barmen and ordered himself a fine glass of wine. Not specifying the type, rather just putting a gold coin on the bar before turning around and leaning back. Taking in the scene and waiting for the others.
-=-=-
Followed by a reminder and quasi reminder. All participating nobles has been invited prior but I felt a little nudge wouldn't hurt.
A rather simple, thrice folded letter arrived. Sealed with a crimson seal of wax. Once broken and the contents read it simply said:
The Rose and Two, for the four of us.
-
Roleplay from Kenneth MacArbin
Dockside Drinks
Kenneth was more than a little frustrated. He still needed to prove himself further before he could even consider taking up a new life as a Diplomat, and keeping a wary eye on the border while the main army marched to oust the northerners from the Mines of Isadril rankled. More importantly, that meant he was separated again from Dustiria, and most annoyingly she had been so caught up in the whirlwind refit that she had been unable to join him for even a moment.
A cooler head might have taken more solace in the words of both Marshals about his utility, but a cooler head was not normally a trait associated with frustrated young men who were recently boys, so alas Kenneth fumed more than was good for him.
His annoyance peaked at an unmarked message on his desk, and he tore it open with more force than strictly necessary, scattering the remnants of the seal. It appeared to be from his temporary Marshal, and seemed a terse "invitation" of sorts. He had vaguely heard of the establishment, and had to consult with one of the messenger runners before he could place it. Duty first, then, as this was unlikely to be a military affair.
He gave orders for the usual scouting of Bescanon, scowled as it showed them holding position still. He reviewed the usual daily report on the city, frowned, examined the reports more closely, and blanched as he realized the state of the Perdan City itself. A quick note to the Duke and orders for civil work to Captain Septinia followed. And with that...He found himself with no more excuses.
He dressed in finery more befitting the locale, bright silks in his House colours with his long, dark hair bound back with the House emblem in amethyst. He still had his sword, and still his fighting boots, remembering the events of the last social event Marshal Nemean had been involved in. He did not know all the details, but the cleaning up at the Stump had taken quite a while.
As he made his way to the beach, the sight of two massive dogs briefly took him aback. They seemed friendly enough, though, and he enjoyed the feel of such massive creatures on either side. Guard dogs, indeed.
The decor of the place was certainly enjoyable, though somewhat spoiled by the presence of the object of a fair amount of his annoyance at the bar. Kenneth's honeyed skin showed well against the dark wood of the bar as he decided to forego protocol and sit immediately. He kept the annoyance out of his voice, though it neutral, rather than warm.
"A fine locale."
-
Roleplay from Christopher Stewart
Christopher walked up to the tavern near the docks, The Rose and Two, looked about him and opened the doors. A quick scan of his surroundings revealed a small gathering of locals and the smell of a roast on a spit near the back of the establishment. He noticed some of his fellow warriors who had arrived previously and strode to them. As he did, two canines welcomed him with tails wagging and tongues dripping. He touched them both on the tops of their heads and stepped between them.
Marshal Renodin and Sir MacArbin were near, but Christopher saw no others as of yet. A nod to both took place and he walked to the long, oak bar and tossed a gold coin upon it.
He had been chosen. Hand picked, as it were. He was honored once again to be named to be a part of something important. While moving with an army is the role of a warrior, defending the homeland is just as important, he thought as he stood there. He served King and Crown. He would do so in every order given.
-
Roleplay from Rogos V'Orlan
Dockside Drinks
The Rose and Two was familiar to Rogos, though he had never been inside, it was well known as a prestigious establishment with some of the most expensive land in the city, rivalling even some noble residences. He ran his hands along the boulders that flanked the beachfront entrance to the establishment, noting how oddly soft they were, and so close to the sea.
This place is far too poncy, but I suppose I should respect Nemean's choice, considering how his time at the Bloody Stump went a few months ago.
The food smelled divine, roast pork with garlic, onion, honey, and... a strong red wine by the smell of it. He had been looking forward to this small get-together, drinking alone was not much his forte, but confined to a study, his letters, or the academy, he had little time to head out and socialise, and he had grown unfortunately accustomed to the practice. A short but tidy beard adorned his face, and his black curly locks had been shorn almost entirely off only hours before he received Nemean's formal invitation, leaving but stubble behind. Another campaign was on the horizon and of all things he did not want to worry about his hair. He wore a loosely fitting tunic of pure white trimmed with cloth of gold, and dark leather breeches that buttoned at his navel. An unusually long sword was strapped to his waist, leather belt dyed a pale sandy colour, standing out against his breeches.
My birthday was yesterday. He realised, somewhat unnerved by how quickly the year had rolled around. He started it as a Lieutenant in the Opal Griffons, and now he stood at Marshal Ulric's side as his second in command. A new title, but much the same job.
The more things change, the more they stay the same...
A smile lit up Rogos' face as he ascended the stairs to the unnecessarily heavy doors and spotted the dogs ostensibly guarding it. He crouched down and extended a hand to them, looking them over and roughing them up playfully. Training and habit took over and he examined the dogs thoroughly but quickly, and was pleased with what he saw, two well mannered pups that were looked after properly. Looking to the kennels was his job for almost two years in the Griffons as a young man, and had forever impressed a love of hounds on his heart, though the company kept no dogs at present. Dog slobber wiped on his breeches, he stood up, even more pleased to be out and about in Perdan City with a purpose. He spotted the pair of Perdanese nobles occupying the bar as he walked through the doors and threw his arms up, shouting over the music,
"His Royal Highness, Marshal Nemean of Perdan's Blackmane Paladins! It has a wonderful ring to it doesn't it doesn't it?" He strode over, clapping his hand on Nemean's back in congratulations. "I am ecstatic you were given the position my friend. And Ser Kenneth! A pleasure to see you in something other than last month's plate armor once more," He exaggerated a bow in greeting, "If I recall Nemean's request correctly, you should be enjoying some extended time off here in Perdan City I should imagine. Ale, sea breeze, time to think and breathe without having to pack up camp every single morning."
He glanced around, "And... Isn't Lord Derrik supposed to be arriving as well?"
-
Dockside Drinks (N2)
The decor of the place was certainly enjoyable, though somewhat spoiled by the presence of the object of a fair amount of his annoyance at the bar. Kenneth's honeyed skin showed well against the dark wood of the bar as he decided to forego protocol and sit immediately. He kept the annoyance out of his voice, though it neutral, rather than warm.
"A fine locale." ~Kenneth MacArbin
Accepting a goblet filled with scarlet liquid offered to him by a barman Nemean took a sip before responding to Kenneth. Feeling the soft tang of the rich red wine he pursed his lips. ''You're in a great mood.'' An arched eyebrow completed the skeptical words as he looked at him. ''I'm glad you came though.'' Offering the palm of his spare hand as a gesture before reaching to squeeze Kenneth's forearm. ''Whatever I did to earn your ire, I'm glad to see you. And that you were able to stay to reinforce the Blackmanes.''
Marshal Renodin and Sir MacArbin were near, but Christopher saw no others as of yet. A nod to both took place and he walked to the long, oak bar and tossed a gold coin upon it. ~Christopher Stewart
Taking his attention away from Kenneth for a moment. Nemean acknowledged Chrisopher's node with a faint smile and inclined his head. He put the goblet down on the bar and turned to face the sun kissed Noble. ''What's bothering you?'' The words came out calmly. The diplomacy was interrupted however as the next guest made his entry.
He spotted the pair of Perdanese nobles occupying the bar as he walked through the doors and threw his arms up, shouting over the music,
"His Royal Highness, Marshal Nemean of Perdan's Blackmane Paladins! It has a wonderful ring to it doesn't it doesn't it?" He strode over, clapping his hand on Nemean's back in congratulations. "I am ecstatic you were given the position my friend. And Ser Kenneth! A pleasure to see you in something other than last month's plate armor once more," He exaggerated a bow in greeting, "If I recall Nemean's request correctly, you should be enjoying some extended time off here in Perdan City I should imagine. Ale, sea breeze, time to think and breathe without having to pack up camp every single morning."
He glanced around, "And... Isn't Lord Derrik supposed to be arriving as well?" ~Rogos V'Orlan
Unable to pretend modesty Nemean flashed a toothy smile. The comradely backslapping instantly transformed it into a prideful grin that was accompanied by laughter. It died down considerably as Rogos addressed Kenneth. Uncertain of how the response would be he interjected on the subject of Lord Derrik. ''He was invited from the very start, as you know. Though Derrik asked permission to tend to Perdan Mines if memory serves. He might still show up but I can't guarantee it.'' Hoping the little intermezzo was enough to prevent a fiery response from Kenneth he excused himself from further dialogue by taking a generous sip from his wine.
-
Roleplay from Kenneth MacArbin
Dockside Drinks
Kenneth nodded back to Christopher. He had not had a chance to meet the man formally, but they had fought beside each other, and that counted for much. Seeing the man stand, he waved him over to join them.
"Come, Sir Christopher! I have a feeling we will be better friends before this day is done."
Kenneth's response to Nemean was sidetracked by the arrival of Rogos. The enthusiasm of the man was catching, though somewhat misplaced, and he grinned back, offering his own exaggerated bow in return.
"Vice-Marshal, a pleasure to see you. And yes, the respite is welcome...But I still have more to prove than most, so I am a little...Restless."
He glanced back at Nemean, and made a small salute of apology.
"I plan to take up the arts of diplomacy as soon as may be, and unless the northerners are foolish enough to sally, I am unlikely to gain the renown necessary to do so on this campaign. I know it is...Petty, but I have little enough to my name as of yet, and hope to change that soon."
He grinned wryly.
"I have to be worthy, after all."
-
Roleplay from Christopher Stewart
Dockside Drinks
Christopher walked over to the two noblemen at the bar, acknowledging both of them. Answering the Marshal first, he said "It has been difficult at times for me to find myself included in important undertakings of the realm. I found myself an outsider, but warmly welcomed upon arriving here. I have feared that I wouldn't be accepted being that I once served Shadowdale. It simply is very humbling to not be questioned about my beginnings as a noble; it's as if I still hold guilt in some way about the north. I believe that feeling will dampen as time goes by, but for now, it pains me at times."
He turned to Sir MacArbin and, with a smile, said "Aye, Sir! I believe forging a friendship is as important as forging a fine sword, don't you think?"
He noticed Vice Marshal V'Orlan and raised his ale to the man. "Vice Marshal, welcome. Keep your coin as the first ale is mine to give."
-=-=-=-
Roleplay from Kenneth MacArbin
Dockside Drinks
Kenneth gave Christopher a somewhat pained grin.
"Ah, the delight of actions in the past that are at odds with what we now stand for. That one I know a little too well. You will have no judgment from me, my friend, and I think you are correct that forging of friendships is just as critical as forging of swords. I had never thought of it that way, but the parallels are...Apt.
-=-=-=-
Roleplay from Rogos V'Orlan
Dockside Drinks
Rogos sat at the bar, stool creaking ominously as it adjusted to his weight, "Dragon's Decree please, goodman." The bartender placed a silver flagon on the polished counter which have the Noble a moment's pause.
This place really is up to Nemean's taste. A silver flagon? ...I must get one.
"Have faith Ser Kenneth, our history is not yet done, and the ground will drink more blood before the year is up. You will get your glory, and sooner than you might like."
"Vice Marshal, welcome. Keep your coin as the first ale is mine to give." Ser Christopher spoke, and Ser Rogos shook his head, a mischievous smile on his face, "I fear you must take the second round friend, for this first round is rightfully Marshal Nemean's," he grabbed the Prince's shoulder and jostled him playfully, "To celebrate 'is new duties and responsibilities in looking after all those under his command."
His voice took a stern note and his brows furrowed in disappointment, "Now! You two get drinks in your hands, I was the last one here and the second with a mug, you two need to pick up the pace." His mouth betrayed him as he stifled a laugh with a smile. "Barkeep! Whatever it is our vigilant Marshal Nemean is having, will be good enough for both these noble Sers, two more glasses if you'd please."
Rogos raised his flagon, "To Marshal Nemean! Prince of Perdan! À Perdana!
-
Dockside Drinks N3
He listened to Christopher speak of Shadowdale and of gratitude. His lips often touching silver as he regularly took sips from his goblet. An errant droplet of wine racing along his lower lip. A minute detail that looked precarious over the fine clothing Nemean wore. Only to be, all but carelessly polished away by a simple flick of his tongue. Warmth permeated his system as the crimson liquid made its home deeper down, in his belly. A feeling of comfort settled over him. The companions around provided ample safety. Not the kind that defended against steel perhaps but against social pitfalls and that ring of trust that comes with valuing people.
He made an effort to look sincere and pushed past the grin that lurked just below the surface. ''You are among friends now Christoph.'' He gestured his goblet at the man. ''Drink and leave worries for a night.'' Kenneth's confirmatory words on Swords and friendship nicely framed his own he felt. Nemean's emerald gaze touched upon Kenneth's and he inclined his head in agreement.
The spell was broken as the bald, man giant Rogos grabbed him by the shoulder and made him feel weak. He grinned ruefully as he took the praise and mockery. ''All I had to do so far is sit in the capital with you lot. A terrible duty!'' And he took a big gulp of wine. Noting that he'd soon need a refill. Rogos was again the better man and soon he had the barkeep bring two more goblets, one for Christopher and the other for Kenneth. Not wanting to let a good opportunity go to waste Nemean asked for a carafe, they were gonna need it.
Turning back to his companions he discovered yet more praise coming from Rogos. It made him beam but also uncomfortable. He raised his drink and toasted to Rogos's words. ''Words and Blood my friend. Let's just enjoy wine and drink tonight. Words and Blood tomorrow!''
With that he drank deeply and placed a hand on Rogo's biceps. Squeezing it for a moment, noting that the man could probably crush baby skulls at will.
-
Roleplay from Kenneth MacArbin
Dockside Drinks
Kenneth grinned and took another drink.
"Aye, this war has gone on long enough, I am sure there will be plenty for me. Now! I do have one bone to pick with the good Marshal here related to this evening."
He mock-glared at Nemean.
"Why, in the name of all that is holy, did you make tonight a boy's club? An inexcusable failing, I must say."
-=-=-=-
Dockside Drinks N4
He mock-glared at Nemean."Why, in the name of all that is holy, did you make tonight a boy's club? An inexcusable failing, I must say." ~Kenneth MacArbin
Looking over the rim of his goblet Nemean beheld Kenneth. It didn't last very long as he had upend the thing to drain it of its last bit of contents. Still holding the silver thing he rubbed his lips with the back of his hand. ''Women make everything more complicated. Besides, plenty of women here.'' He grabbed the carafe and poured himself another glassful. ''Or do you only go for easy prey, that's presented to you?'' Taking his own and Kenneth's goblet he offered it to the man. A jeweled finger glittering in the torchlight.
The smile he wore was inviting and mischievous. ''Come now, I value you more and this way we can drop our guards. Feel free to prowl however.'' He shared a look with Kenneth as he glanced over to particularly fetching redhead. Leaning in he offered conspiratorially but in no way quiet. ''Christoph, Rogos and I will rate your strategy afterwards. Or not. You could just remain and drink with us.'' He leaned back again and grinned mildly.
-=-=-=-
Roleplay from Kenneth MacArbin
Dockside Drinks
Kenneth looked back at Nemean in open astonishment.
"More complicated? Easy prey? Is that how you view our fellow knights? Not to mention Council members?"
Kenneth pointedly ignored the goblet, watching closely to see if the dig about Alyssa struck home.
"Are you an outright fool, or have you merely been partaking in diversions stronger than wine before we began this event? And if I wish to prowl, I will do so for my own benefit, not your entertainment."
-=-=-=-
Dockside Drinks N5
Kenneth looked back at Nemean in open astonishment.
"More complicated? Easy prey? Is that how you view our fellow knights? Not to mention Council members?" Kenneth pointedly ignored the goblet, watching closely to see if the dig about Alyssa struck home. "Are you an outright fool, or have you merely been partaking in diversions stronger than wine before we began this event? And if I wish to prowl, I will do so for my own benefit, not your entertainment." ~Kenneth MacArbin
The goblet hovered between the two. Nemean considered the words and felt no small amount of surprise ebb as it made room for angled sorrow, neatly joined with a chunk of loss. He wanted to feel some sort of anger and tried to muster it but it was like trying to ignite a candle under water. Alyssa was no prey and he was no hunter. Silver shimmered as it slowly traveled through the air. Descending as Nemean lowered the goblet. His visage hid little for he wasn't good at these emotions. The otherwise fine and angular features of his face took on a darker hue as he looked down. The crest of his brow like a lip he just looked out from under. Admonishment embodied sat right there in the form of Kenneth. Why did he have to bring up Alyssa. Nemean sighed and put Kenneth's goblet on the bar.
Trying to think on his response wasn't helped by the influence of wine. He touched his nose in distraction and softly pinched it. ''If you must go there.'' He said softly to no one in particular. His lungs filled as he inhaled deeply before turning to Kenneth. ''I've only had eyes for her and no other.'' he surprised himself with how balanced his tone was. Not quite resigned but with certain hints of long contemplation. He could see a fleeting image of her face in his mind's eye. ''Are you not a man that favors chasing women?'' His eyebrows arched in something akin to sympathy while his voice sounded genuine with question. ''From what I heard, Kenneth, the women you like have red hair.'' He looked at him directly before making a small shrug. ''I thought you would welcome the suggestion I made. Fair mistake if I was wrong.''
''I've not chased women. Not like you if I am to believe the stories.'' Nemean licked the inside of his cheek. ''I see them but they don't have what she has.'' He righted himself on his seat, gesturing with his goblet. ''I don't get it either, that's why I said women are complicated. If I had invite Alyssa and another particular redhead, this evening would not be the same. You and I wouldn't be.'' For some reason that sounded quite final in Nemean's head. He went with it. Chalk it up to the wine. He nodded before glancing at Kenneth. ''Now, do we have to take this outside or will you opt for that goblet of wine finally or will you permit us some of your vast wisdom in the arts of women.'' He indicated Christopher and Rogos with his chin. ''I'm sure we'd all be grateful and remember, it was in good mirth.''
Not being fully convinced himself Nemean planted his feet squarely on the ground and sluggishly placed his own vessel of wine on the bar.
-
I had Nemean paused for a while and this was the Rp I wrote upon his return. Hope you enjoy it.
The Ship so Often left Behind
When last he walked these lands, his feet could not have touched the soil. Looking out over the vast expanse of land north of where he stood, he laughed out a puff of air. Only a trailing river remained of the great ocean his mind's eye told him had existed there before. The great city of Perdan was noisy. Even at day's end it didn't quiet. Did it have to intrude on his thoughts though? He eyed the great walls that stood a ways away to his left. ''Even with such high walls you can't keep the ruckus to yourself eh?'' The city walls did not reply.
What had happened he wondered. How could ocean give way to land? It had been years since he had left but mountains don't crumble in years, they take eons. The tales of old recall their peaks and we can yet see them today. A frown found its way onto his face and wrangled his brows into a curve. Maybe he had been gone a long time. The glimmer of the fading sun made pure gold of the winding river. ''You grew Bescanon River. And here I am thinking I was the one that had grown.'' A hand found its way to the crown of his head and ran fingers through the dark golden strands. The comparison made him smile. Something to strive for. To grow as much as the river had. And apparently it had already given life. A whole new town had sprung up. They had sailed past it on the way to Perdan. Hetland, if he recalled the first mate's comments well enough. A strange name but then again, apparently these were strange times.
The old tree that had given him shelter groaned. An old pine with strong limbs. But it knew when to bend with the wind and had informed Nemean that he would be wise to do the same. He glanced up at the swaying branches. ''I'll keep that in mind wise one.'' The smirk could not be suppressed. Time and travel had yet to wear down that particular youthful aspect of him. A bold confidence had found a companion though and was now accompanied with a calm reassurance as he turned deftly and strode towards the great city. His attire had remained martial. Travel leathers matched with select pieces of armor. His hair was longer now as well. It flowed over his shoulders and shimmered the color of rich men's coins in the fading light.
His mind was set. The task at hand clear by the findings of his family. As if by chance he noticed a shrine of the Silver Lady as he passed through the city gates. Leandra. He inclined his head as he passed by, while placing a hand over his heart. The city felt distant. His emerald eyes saw it all before but it had changed. The banner that hung from the gatehouse was not the one he had expected. The Royal banner that so fiercely showed a winged hind in raven black. There was no verdant split in three quarters to border a fourth white one on the top. His eyes beheld a stark bird of prey. Regal in its poise but with wings firmly against its body. The Alabaster Aquila perched on a field of black and ocean blue. He knew that bird. It once loved the Winged hind. Nemean resolved not to speak or comment on it. More had changed than the land it seemed.
Tugging his cape closer over his form he pressed on. It may not have been a campaign but he felt a need to reach his goal. Thinking on love made flutter a tiny bird that had nestled a very long time ago. Deep within his chest. Or would that raven have flown as well? Like a bursting spring did the feelings spread throughout of him. Catching him by surprise but not unawares. It was a thing that time had never managed to erode. Maybe she was still alive. A very real question that hearkens back to another war.
Traversing the city awakened a slew of memories. The sight of the Palace, while in the distance, conjured faces to his mind's eye. He could not but smile and miss them. Soon he promised himself. He nearly bumped into an old lady carrying a bundle of sticks as he turned a corner. Catching her shoulders he prevented her from falling backwards as she abruptly halted. The sticks wanting to make her topple backwards but were foiled. The youth of before had made ample room for the man he was now. Her weight was nothing to his arms and his hands had enough finesse to be truly gentle. He felt the bone that hid under her tattered clothing. Poverty. While his clothing alone would've marked him wealthy and a Noble, that didn't matter now. He helped her balance the bundle of firewood and offered her smiles and measured words. Calming, making sure she didn't worry about the encounter. Then a thought came to mind. The sticks looked heavy.
"Take this, I'll buy the bundle.'' From his pouch he produced a solid gold coin. The woman gasped, taken aback. Thinking treachery at first but Nemean simply waited before he spoke again. ''I am in dire need to have the hearth's restocked at the temple.'' He gestured just down the street towards the temple of Leandra. ''You'd do the Silver Lady a great service. And me.'' The woman wasn't convinced, something in his green eyes. Perhaps she had been betrayed in her past he wondered. Reaching out he took her hand and placed the golden coin in it. ''It is yours, I realize the price isn't equal to the produce. That is fine though, you are in need and I am not. Though I could really use the sticks.'' Slowly he allowed a smile to grace his lips as he bend down to pick up the bundle of sticks. ''May she watch over you.'' The parting words accompanied by a light touch on the woman's shoulder as he passed her by.
So Nemean arrived at the temple of Leandra in Perdan City. Years had past but some things hadn't changed.
-
This was the letter to the Realm I send to announce Nemean's return. Added a little flair, I like it that way.
A Simple Note
Folded thrice and thrice again. The ends tucked into the openings on the other side and perfectly fitting together. As to allow pressure of the hands to round the piece of writing without showing on either the inside or the outside what letters the parchment might contain. Where the first fold must be pulled to unravel the skillfully arranged piece a fat glob of red wax is stamped with the signet of House Renodin.
-------------------------------------
Fellow Nobles of the Realm,
A humble servant returns.
While years may have past, rest assured that the memory is gilded if not solid, in the fortune of gold. The name of your servant is Nemean. He yet knows little of the present times. Give him time. As time was once given onto Perdan. Should the name not bear familiarity, pleased to meet you. Perhaps one day, not too far removed from the day of this reading, we may do more than exchange ink upon a parchment such as this.
Wings unfurled,
Nemean Jevondair Renodin
-------------------------------------
Below the words there is a large letter N written with much flair.
-
And if that wasn't enough I wrote a small bit just to see if I could pique someone's interest if they would be about in the city.
A Busy Bee
The black and gold that mix as creature and landscape are seen moving through the great city of Perdan. Entering Guild halls while at most times also returning to the splendor that is the magnificent temple of Leandra. A red cheeked messenger attempts to take breaks as a stream of missives are demanded to be delivered virtually instantaneously. A task that is impossible even to such a seasoned runner such as himself.
One of the more curious parcels he has to deliver is a package tightly bound that smells of spices. The gold crowned man that send it, his skin kissed by the sun of another shore, frequent on the streets as his eyes guide him in a once familiar place.
-
This is me further trying to reach out to people whom just happened to be in the same region. This was an RP send a single person whom I had not spoken to before nor communicated before hand with either.
A Foreigner passes by
Passing through the bountiful heartlands of Perdan a man with dark golden hair is seen riding upon a great black horse. Clearly not a commoner and certainly not a member of the local nobility. This man rides with purpose. His poise transfers onto the onlooker a certainty of ease in the saddle that this man must've acquired over years of practice if not from birth. Yet, he wears a shroud of Leandra that entirely fails to cover his martial attire that clads his body just underneath.
Some whisper that he must be a foreigner, see how his skin is caressed by the sun? We ain't got no sun like that here in Perdan. Nemean paused as he reached the small temple of Leandra. There he dismounted and blessed several of the locals as they made offerings. The words to big for the gestures he made. Simple laying on of hands and offering kind words before mounting up again. His journey clearly not fulfilled and Brive but a resting place for a further goal yet unreached.
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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.
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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.
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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.
-
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.”
-
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.”
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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.”
-
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."
-
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.
-
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?''.
-
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?''.
-
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.
-
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.
-
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.
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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."