[IC] Tales Of A Gilded Throne

[GreivousKhan]

Date: 74th of Zieliah, Year 698
Location: Lochbridge Port

Alysara, daughter of Lord Regent Shamgar of House Paragon, stood frowning at the silvered mirror. The dye in the dress was said to come from a tuberous vegetable. Which when simmered produced a deep and pure scarlet. “It's the color of blood,” She said. “This is what everyone in Prostějov is going mad for?”

The seamstress flanking her in the reflection looked pale and drab, almost lifeless. Seated to the left on a settee, Arlohius of House Oloro cleared his throat in a manner all too familiar to Alysara, and she turned, brows lifting, and said. “And what shall we argue about this morning, then? The cut of the dress? The style of the court? Or is it my hair that now dismays you? As it happens, I like it short. The shorter the better. Why should you complain about it, anyway? It's not as though you've let your hair go long as a horse tail just to fit in with the day's fashion. Oh, I don't know why I invited you in at all.”

Mild surprise played with his even features for the briefest of moments, and then he offered up a lopsided shrug. “I was just thinking, it's more vermilion then scarlet, isn't it. Or is it our eyes that are changing?”

“Idiotic superstitions. Vermilion...well.”

“Eldfolk wives call it the “Born of the Hearth”, don't they?”

“That's because they boil the root, fool.”

“Oh, I would think the name more descriptive than that.”

“Would you now? Haven't you somewhere to be, Arlohius? Some horses to train? Some sword to whet?”

"You invite me only to then send me away?” The young man rose smoothly. “If I were a sensitive soul I might be offended. As it is, I know this game- we have played it all our lives, haven't we?”

“Game? What game?”

He had been making for the door, but now he paused and glanced back, and there was something sad in his faint smile. “I hope you'll excuse me, I have a horse to whet and a sword to train. Although, I should add, you look lovely in that dress, Alysara.“

Even as she drew a breath, mind racing for something that made sense- that might even darw him snapping back on his leash – he slipped out and was gone. One of the seamstresses sighed, and Alysara rounded on her. “Enough of that, Ephalla! He is a hostage in this house and is to be accorded the highest respect!”

“Sorry, mistress,” Ephalla whispered, ducking. “Bit he spoke true- you look lovely!”

Alysara returned her attention to the blurred image of herself in the mirror. “But,” she murmured, “Do you think he'll like it?”

---

Arlohius paused for a moment in the corridor outside Alysara's door, near enough to hear the last exchange between her and her handmaid. The sad half-smile on his face remained, only fading as he set out towards the main hall.

He was nineteen turns old, the last eleven of those spent here in the House of Carixus Rientrius Paragon as a hostage. He was old enough to understand the value of the tradition. For all that the word 'hostage' carried an implicit pejorative, caged in notions of imprisonment and the absence of personal freedom, the practice was more of an exchange than anything else. It was further bound by rules and proscriptions ensuring the rights of the hostage. The sanctity of their person was immutable, precocious as a founding law. Accordingly, Arlohius, born of House Oloro, felt as much an Paragon as Carixus, Ealstain or, indeed, Shamgar's daughter.

And this was...unfortunate. His childhood friend was a girl no longer but a woman. And gone were his childish thoughts, and his dreams of pretending she was in truth his own sister- although he now recognized the confusions swirling through such dreams. For a boy, the role of sister, wife and mother could- if one was careless- be so easily blended together into a heady brew of anguished longing. He'd not known what he'd wanted of her, but he had soon how their friendship had changed, and in that change a wall had grown between them, impassable, forbidding, and patrolled by stern prosperity. There had been moments of awkwardness, when ether Alysara or he stumbled to close to one another, only to be drawn up freshly chiseled stone, the touch of which yielded embarrassment and shame.

The struggled now to find their places, shifting about in a search to discover the proper distances between them. Or perhaps the struggle was his alone. He could not be sure, and in that he saw the proof of how things had changed. Once, running at her side, he had known her well. Now, he wondered if he knew her at all.

In her room, only a short time ago, he'd spoken of the games now played between them. Not like the games of old, for these were not, strictly speaking, shared. Instead, these new ones held to personal, private rules, solitary in their gauging, and nothing was won but an abeyance of unease. And yet she had professed ignorance. No, ignorance was the wrong word. The word was innocence.

Should he believe her?

In truth, Arlohius felt lost. Alysara had outgrown him in every way, and at times he felt like a puppy at her heels, eager for play, but that sort of playing was behind her now. She thought him a fool. She mocked him at every turn, and a dozen times each day he silently vowed that he was done with it, all of it, only to once more find himself answering her summons- which seemed to be uttered ever more imperiously- and finding himself, yet again, the arrow-butt to her barbs.

It was clear to him, at last, that there were other meanings to the word 'hostage,' ones not codified into the laws of tradition, and they bound him in chains, heavy and cruelly biting, and he spent his days, and nights, in tormented stricture. But this was his twentieth turn of life. He was only a month away from being released, sent back to his own blood, where he would sit discomfited at the family table, trapped in his own strangeness in the midst of family that had grown around the wound of his prolonged absence. All of this- Alysara and her pious father, Alysara and her proud uncle, Alysara and her brilliant though now exiled brother, Alysara and the man who would soon be her husband- all of it would be past, a thing of his history day by day losing force, its power over him and his life.

And so, too sharply felt for irony, Arlohius now longed for his freedom.

Striding into the Great Hall, he was brought up short to seeing Lord Carixus standing near the hearth. The old man's eyes were on the massive slab of stone laid into the tiled floor, marking the threshold of the hearth and bearing ancient words carved into the granite. The Common language struggled with notions of filial duty- or so Ealstain's old friend , a court poet named Gallan, was fond of saying- as if hinting at some fundamental flaw in spirit, and so, as was often the case, the words were Ancient Tilrinic- the tongue of the Arcane order. So many of the Orders gifts to the people of Elyden seemed to fill the dusty niches and gaps left gaping by flaws in the Common tongues character, and not one of those gifts was without symbolic meaning.

As a hostage, Arlohius was forbidden from learning those arcane words, given so long ago to the bloodline of the Paragons. It was odd, he now reflected as he bowed before Carixus, this prohibition against learning the mason's script.

Carixus could well have been reading his mind, for he nodded with a creeping smile on his visage as he said. “Gallan claims he can read the language of the Skien, the arcane words of Order, granting him the blasphemous privilege of knowing the sacred words of near every great temple in Aglil. I admit,” He added, his fat, muilti chinned face twisting slightly. “I find the notion displeasing.”

“Yet, the poet asserts that such knowledge is for him alone, Lord.”

“Ha, poets, young Arlohius, cannot be trusted.”

The hostage considered that statement, and found he had no reasonable reply. “Lord, I request permission to saddle a horse and ride on this day. It was my thought to seek sign of eckalla in the western hills.”

“Eckalla? None have been seen in entire cycles, Arlohius. I fear your search will be wasted.”

“The ride will do me good, Lord, none the less,”

Carixus nodded, and seemed he well understood the swirl of hidden emotions lying beneath Arlohius's bland words. The former High admiral, often called the “Laughing Falcon,” was a man who seemed capable of easily reading others. It was a talent that had helped him greatly in his years of politicking within and without the Great Court of Skyhaven. “This year,” he said, “I must give up a niece who has been almost a daughter to me. And,” He glanced at Arlohius, “A most beloved hostage,”

“And I, in turn, feel as if I am about to be cast out from the only family I truly belong to. Lord, doors are closing behind us.”

“But not, I trust, for ever sealed?”

“Indeed not,” Arlohius replied, although in his mind he saw a massive lock grinding tight. Some doors, once shut, were proof against every desire.

Carixus's gaze faltered slightly and he turned away. “Even standing still, the wold moves on around us. I well remember when you first arrived, scrawny and wild-eyed – the cold Abyss knows you Oloro are a feral lot – and there you were, wild as a cat, yet barely tall enough to saddle a horse. At least it seems we fed you well,” He laughed, both hands on his large belly, and it seemed his entire body moved with the motion.

Arlohius smiled. “Lord, the Oloro are said to be slow to grow-”

“Slow in many things, Arlohius. Slow to assume the trappings of civil comportment, in which I admit find considerable charm. You have held to that despite our efforts, and so remain refreshing to our eyes. Yes,” he continued, “Slow in many things. Slow in judgement, slow to anger...” Carixus slowly swung around and fixed Arlohius with a searching regard. “Are you angry yet, Arlohius Oloro?”

The question shocked him, almost made him step back. “Lord? I- I have no cause to be angry. I am saddened to leave this house, but there will be rejoicing this year. Your daughter is about to wed. House Benedikt has always been a loyal and trusted ally of Paragon and Aglil.”

“Indeed.” He studied Arlohius for a moment longer, then as if yielding some argument, he broke his gaze and faced the hearthstone, gesturing. “And she will kneel as witness before Kammeth and Valarien within the house her betrothed even now builds for her.”

“Edvard Benedikt is a fine man,” Arlohius said, as evenly as he could manage. “Honourable, pious, and loyal. This binding of marriage is a sure one, Lord, by every measure.”

“Does she love him though?”

Such questions left him reeling. “Lord? I am certain that she does.”

Carixus grunted, and then sighed. “You see her truly, don't you- the turns together, the friendship you have both held for each other. She loves him, then? I am pleased. Yes, most pleased to hear you say that.”

Arlohius would leave here, soon, and when he did, he knew that he would not look back, not once. Nor, for all that he loved this old man, would he ever return. In his chest, he felt nothing but cold, a scattering of dead cinders, the grating promise of choking ashes should he draw breath. She would have a hearthstone. She- and her new husband- would have words that only they would know; the first words of the private language that must ever exist between husband and wife. Kammethein gifts were not simple, were never simple. “Lord, may I ride this day?”

“Of course, Arlohius. Seek out the eckalla, and should you find one, bring it down and we shall feast well. As in the old days when the beasts were plentiful, yes?” The prospect of a feast always did seem to brighten Lord Carixus's mood.

“I shall do my best, Lord.”

Bowing Arlohius strode from the Great Hall. He was looking forward to this expedition, away from this place, out into the hinterlands, the hills Aglil was famous for. He would take his hunting spear but, in truth, he did not expect to sight such a noble creature as an eckalla. In the other times when he had ridden the west hills near Skyhaven, all he had ever found was bones, from past hunts, past scenes of butchering.

The eckalla were gone, the last one slain cycles ago not long after the everwinter came to an end. And beneath him while he rode, if he so chose, Arlohius could listen to the thunder of his horse's hoofs, and imagine such report as slamming of another door. They seemed to go on without end, didn’t they?

”The eckalla are gone. The hills are lifeless. And winter is coming”

[LordZell]

Date: 74th of Zieliah, Year 698

"Where did the letter say to go, again?" James asked, looking around the darkened city.

"One of the abandoned temples to Kammeth. It's a brothel nowadays." Kenten said, nonchalantly passing the beggars to his side. The city was unchanged in the darkness of night, only because of the depravity it faced during the day. The two were going deep into the heart of the city, where it progressively got worse and worse towards the center.

Although not wearing the colors of their flags or carrying any banners, the two were still fairly extravagantly dressed -- James had his fine cloths and lordly gait, and Kenten had his odd bits of jewelry, and newly-returned Makitherin sword to his side. They were moving targets in the alleys of Stonereach City, and it was far from unnoticed. As they ducked into a wider alley, James paused.

"Do you hear something, Kenten?" He asked, suspiciously.

"Aye, I do. It's a city, after all." He chortled in reply. He didn't fear the criminals. The important ones were under his pay, and the rest usually answered to them. However, every now and then, one of Stonereach City's lesser-known vagabonds would try to climb the ladder of the underworld. Lenn was just such a man.

He moved in from the shadows, quicker than lightning could've struck. Within an instant, he was holding Kenten from behind, pressing a knife to his throat. His thick accent rumbled in the lord's ears. "You reach for tha' sword, 'yer a fookin' dead man, understan'?" He said in a low, hoarse voice.

"Aye." Kenten said, gritting his teeth.

Lenn took the knife from his throat, and turned Kenten to meet him face-to-face, in the hopes that he could quickly stab him through the heart to avoid the chance of his unsharpened blade only glancing off his throat, and take what coins the well-dressed lord would have. It would be Lenn's first, and last mistake.

Kenten leapt forward, pressing his face into the man's throat. Just as soon as the attack started, it ended. With a soft crunch muffling Lenn's weak scream, the would-be mugger's body hit the floor. Kenten turned, wiping blood from his mouth, spitting on to the ground.

"Wasn't the first time I've bit out a man's throat, and it won't be the last." His solemn face quickly became a sinister chuckle, and his blood-drenched yellow teeth shone almost orange in the moonlight. For a man who spoke of his ability to hide his emotions, James's face was one of fear.

"C'mon mate, just around this corner." He said with a laugh, spitting more blood from his mouth.

True to his word, around the corner, stood a short, squat building, filled with short, squat whores. It had no quaint sign like "The Screaming Goose", just a single, strange sounding name that brought surreal scenes to mind with sheer imagination.

"Madam Zell's Emporium"

The two stepped into Madam Zell's Emporium, and were immediately hit with a wave of intense perfumes. Ignoring the women who laid about on carpets and pillows, they followed the letter's instructions, and quickly went downstairs.

There was barely any light, only a single torch along the wall. There was a circular table, and uncoincidentally, three empty chairs for the both of them, plus one. They sat down, unsure of what would happen next.

"Please sit," a hollowed growling voice called out as the monster of a man slumped out of the shadows, a ribbon tied scroll in his hand, "I have some new for you."

The beast didn't wait for his company to sit first and plopped himself down heavily into the far side chair, almost knocking it backwards onto the cheap stained rug.

The two complied, sitting down in silence, until it was broken by Lord Conrad.

"What is the news?" He said in a low voice.

"Lord Flint Whiteshorn lives," The ugly snarled face glared two hot coal-like eyes at the men. A silent smirk began to form on his toothy mouth, and a tiny ripple starting in the deep of his throat.

Kenten chewed his beard nervously. If what the half-gnoll said was true, his plans were in jeopardy.

"I kid, he is as alive as the dirt on my boot," A rippling laughter casually bounced out of the half-gnoll, "however, I suppose you may or may not have any questions?" Cassewah lifted a greasy brow at the recentlly paled men.

"Good." Kenten said, with a sigh of relief. "I've no questions. What about you, Conrad?" He said, turning to his companion.

"How soon till shamgar and Roman lay dead?" Jame's said with a deep low voice.

"Soon enough," replied Cassewah, his voice sounded distant as if in a thought, " by the way, I expect you have a third of the payment? And perhaps a third of my lordship?" His coal eyes rested impatiently upon the pair as he folded his clawed fingers on the table, leaning in.

"I'm not paying in thirds I will pay for the whole deal. As for the lordships those will only come if you support us in rebellion." James said looking into cassewah's eyes.

"Oh dear," Cassewah said harshly while scratching his chin. The beastly man became silent as he continued to scratch, leaning back in his chair carelessly. His eyes scanned the room quickly as if looking for something. Eventually his eyes floated down from the ceiling and rested on Kenten, pupils narrowing.

The monster gave a sickly forced smile to the goat Lord as if reassuring a past conversation. With his smile unyeilding he stood up and casually walked over to a rickity cupboard that hung over a rotted countertop, throwing it open roughly, causing the wood to make a snapping sound. Cassewah retrieved a dusty bottle of red wine and two wooden cups, flashing a friendly toothy grin at the lords as he walked back over and collapsed back into his seat and slamming the cups in front of the Lords. The half-gnoll lifted the old wine and pulled the cork off effortlessly, lifting the vessel to show a faded label that hung off the neck of the old bottle. A sickly chuckle rumbled in Cassewahs throat as he made his offer, "Care for a drink?"

"No thanks, I'm fine as for your money." James pulled out a smaller sack yet heavier then the last. "Here should be enough for Flint. Now Kenten perhaps we should get back before Ben and Luke begin to worry." Jame's said as he stood up.

Cassewah looked insulted, eyeing the bag and then Kenten, "Open the bag, if you may, and pour its contents on the table."

The beast leaned back in his chair, shoving one hand deep into a pocket.

James did as the associate asked and poured out the bag of tricrowns.

Cassewag nodded approvingly, motioning for Janes to retake his seat.
"You see gentlemen," Cassewag began as he started to sort out the coins, "we have a bit of a problem," the coins scratched against the rough surface as Cassewah spoke.

"We usually get paid upfront completely, provide excellent service, then leave until calles upon again," he slid a singke tricrown away from the rest, "hile personally I see these bags as lovely gifts, Loru remains skeptical," Cassewah looked up from the table, " he questions the reliability of the transaction, and what if you don't win your little politic game? Where does that leave us?

Cassewah began to play with the coin, "There is little trust among us currently, as I witnessed at the refusal of a drink, that is no way for business associates to act."

He shook his head in dissapointment, " What should I tell Lori? How will Conrad pay the Scorpions during an embargo, and how will he pay us If he loses such a game of knights, rooks, pawns, and what have you."

Cassewahs voice began to rise, spinning the coin, " And if I find out I can trust Conrad, how can I know to trust Kenten, and how can Kenten trust Conrad, and Conrad to Kenten!"

He grabbed the coin quickly as it spun and buried it in his balling fist, his eyes sharply observed the two, "you see the dillema?"

Kenten nodded, with a raised brow. "But I do not see the solution to such a dillema."

"Aye, we have a relationship based on trust. If we don't have trust we're no better then those damned things from the black contient. Come Cassewah I'm sure we can trust eachother. I've been a man of my word in the past and I've given you a large amount of gold." Jame's said as he sat down again seeing as this may take awhile.

" I see," Cassewah thought briefly, "well, Kenten, do you trust Conrad, and Conrad, do you trust Kenten?"

"Aye." Kenten said. Conrad was one of the few Non-Gullish men he had boasted of killing his brother to, and all things considered, was a man who just witnessed him biting out the throat of a commoner. He trusted Conrad to the fullest extent.

"Well," Jame's said with a sigh "To be honest no. But I don't trust anyone aside from family. It's my personel rule. Altough Kenten has been one of the few people I can count on to help me. As I'm sure you will do the same." Jame's said with a sign looking at cassewah in the eyes.

Cassewah nodded sympathetically at James' story, " May I propose then, a trust building exercise, I need to make sure I can trust you two, and from the sounds of it, Conrad needs some convincing too."
The beast began to divide up the tricrowns, winking at Kenten with a toothy grin.

Kenten nodded slowly. "You have my attention."

Jame's saw the wink Cassewah gave to kenten but pretended not to notice he nodded and said "So what are we doing?" James said with an exhale.

The door slowly opened and in stepped a dark hooded man, and behind him too more stepped in, exactly identical to the first, minus the firsts large belt of various knives. The group leaned against the wall by the door. Cassewah nodded at them, "Trust me my new friends," he said looking at James, and then Kenten.

"Alright," Cassewah said softly, then after a pauss suddenly his voice turned into a growl, " A simple game of come the hell back here tomorrow with something I can give Lori to prove to him he will get what he was promised, be it land or anything to gesture in the right direction."

"You may leave, but the fear of an idle promise puts me in an awkward position, namely the fear that Conrad, and Cragmore will not be able to pay the lordship by the end of this," Cassewah waved a dismissive hand and the other three scorpions approached the table.

"If you will excuse me gentlemen, I have one last appointment," Cassewah barked as politely as he could to the Lords.

The ashen skinned man carrying the assortment of knives smirked devilishly at Kenten and gave him a acknowledging nod as he approached Cassewah, his beady blue eyes meeting with the furious coals that burned in Cassewahs skull as they began a harsh whispering conversation while Cassewah made a hand gesture idly as if to shoo the Lords away.

Jame's nodded and said "I'll look forward to our next visit. You'll get your value and perhaps I'll get another head." He then stood up and began to walk out with Kenten.

Kenten took a quick bow, and followed James to the door. "And a good evening to you too, Master Cassewah."

[solamelike]

Flint lay still, his body rested on a large pile of logs and straw, concealed by a large silk sheet. The sun was rising on the horizon and the sky burned a bright red.

Eden's eyes scanned the field. So many people had turned up to say goodbye to her father and brother. The faces where sunken, saddened by the demise of such a great man. The people where of all classes, poor, rich none of it mattered as they all shared their grief.

Eden looked to Laurel, her eyes where puffy and red, evidence she had been crying for a while. No such redness was around Edens eyes, the girl didn't seem to show much emotion, she hadn't cried yet. Some would say this was bad for her, that she should let her emotions flow, but she kept her strong stature.

"Today" the Priest Began, "we bid farewell to our dear king Flint Whiteshorn. Father and courageous ruler of Odesh."

Gadings body was also rested on a pile of logs, covered by a second silk sheet.

"We also say a permanent goodbye to our Prince Gading Whiteshorn, though he never ruled, he was known as an energetic young boy who would have ruled as lovingly as his father had before him"

Two men stood beside the bodies, each had a flaming torch in their hands. They wore the purples of the royal guard, and had the signature curved swords of them.

The Priest continued "Now as we say goodbye we prey that there bodies be put to rest and their soul may rise to the side of Kammeth." The priest gave a nod to Laurel and she walked up to the front, beside the priest.

"A lot of you may not have known my father personally" Laurel began "But you know of what he has done, the land of Odesh has been at peace for a long time over the rule of my father, he cared about this land and he would have done anything to protect it. Now he will become part of it, his ashes scattered across these fields." Laurel then looked to Eden to see if she wished to speak. The girl just shook her head silently.

With that Laurel looked to the guards and waved for them to begin.

The men slowly placed the torches on the straw below the royal bodies, the entire bottom soon lighting. Laurel began to cry once again as she returned back to Edens side.

As the torches were set onto the pyre, a group of the mourners began to sing. It was a slow dirge, sung as if it were a choir elegy. The singers, a group of mourners wearing the symbol of Kammeth, slowly joined together, their words echoing throughout the vast waves of people. They were accompanied by a single drummer, rhythmically hitting his drumstick against the thin skin of the frame drum every two seconds.



Close your eyes, my child,
Now it is time to rest,

You have left this world,
And gone on to the next,

Home is now behind you
And the heavens are ahead

Rest your weary legs,
You've no more roads to tread,

Flint and Steel,
Ash and Sand,
We will forever miss you,
In these earthly lands,

Flint Whiteshorn,
Be lead by Kammeth's hand,
We will forever thank you,
For leading these lands,


As the song ended, the sun rose. The day was just starting. What lay ahead for Odesh?

[gorgenmast]

Plates and silverware clinked together softly as dinner wound down in Gullstone's dining hall. A charred iron kettle stood atop the dining table, steam wafting from the contents within. With a long-handled ladle in one hand and a napkin in the other, a handsome servant girl went about the periphery of the table, asking the guests if they wished for seconds; thirds; or, in the case of Sir Alfric, fifths.

"Aye." The knight slurped, wiping a dribble of rich, brown broth off onto to the back of his hand. "Keep'er comin', lass."

With a gentle nod, the girl reached across the table and fished out a heaping spoonful of the contents: a rich stew of fatty dove, leeks, potatoes, and carrots; Wilharnese bay leaves and a splash of Aglil merlot contributed a more exotic, savory zest. No sooner than it had been poured into his bowl, Sir Alfric had dug into the stew with his spoon and fished out a heaping spoonful of leek and potato.

Though no one else at the table had as voracious of an appetite as Sir Alfric, the stew had proved popular with all the guests and diners. Even the notoriously-picky Thadeos seemed to enjoy the chunks of dove well enough, though he did pick around the potatoes and vegetables.

"Elise dear, can you see if Thadeos is eating his supper?" Lady Marisa Anselm asked of her daughter from across the table. Elise leaned over Thadeos' shoulder and peered into his bowl.

"Mostly." She reported. "He's yet to eat his vegetables."

"I don't like carrots, or leeks, or potatoes, or leaves!" Thadeos protested.

"There will be no desert for you if don't finish your greens."

"Greens are for goats! I don't wanna eat them!"

"There are serfs in this very city that would be thrilled to eat your vegetables. You will clean your bowl, Thadeos." Barad snarled, speaking for the first time since dinner had been served. The other conversations going on about the table cut off. Being reminded of the starving peasantry just beyond Gullstone's walls was uncomfortable proposition, particularly when enjoying a fine meal. The lesser lord Osweld Verne, a hefty man with a thick, full beard of black hair and wiry muttonchops, offered the table out of the uncomfortable silence.

"I'll take little Thadeos' vegetables!" Lorde Verne of Gliss offered with a hearty laugh. "Every bit of the stew is positively splendid. Lady Anselm has done a marvelous thing with it."

"Ah'll agree to that." Sir Alfric added as he munched on a bit of stringy dove meat. With the uncomfortable silence averted, Lady Anselm excused herself from the table with a smile, beckoning the servant girl to help her prepare the dessert in the pantry.

"If I may observe, you seem somewhat discontented, milord. I take it nothing of import was accomplished at the summit." Lord Verne said to Barad, hoping to at least distract the bitter lord from whatever irritant was bothering him tonight.

"You'd be correct. An arrangement was made between House Conrad and ours. James Conrad promised our payment of a quantity of jewels in return for service on our part. Aside from that, and Heldan's absence, of course, nothing of concern to us took place"

"Sold a vote did you? No shame in that, milord. Doesn't make a lick of difference who's making orders up in Skyhaven, not in the Weald anyway." Lord Verne chuckled before taking a swig of the Stormgully merlot in his goblet. "But jewels... jewels we can do something with." Sir Alfric rolled his eyes.

"Unfortunately, however, there has been a complication. Heldan and I spoke by means of sightstone this afternoon. There is talk of Jame's family being arrested in the South, and House Benedikt has made the argument for naval embargo of the Sharktooth Isles."

"You fear you will never receive your due payment?" Osweld Verne deduced, eliciting a tacit nod from Barad.

"Sounds t'me that we'd ought ta collect on yer payment, m'lord." Sir Alfric chimed in, mopping up the remaining broth in his bowl with a slice of rye bread. "Kammeth's sake, Ah'll do it. Take one'a them boats to the Sharktooth Isle and get yer soddin' rocks. Don't even know what the fuss is about; I can't reckon how they plan t'carry out their, erm... what was it called again?"

"Embargo." Osweld and Barad said in unison.

"Right." Sir Alfric popped the broth-soaked slice of bread in his mouth. "How do ya think they figure they're going to do that when James' got the Sharktooth Armada? Ah'll show up, get the stinkin' jewels, and be off before we 'ave any trouble with this embargo business."

"You would do such a thing? I fear an element of danger. I do not wish to lose you, Sir Alfric."

"When, m'lord, do ya think a spot'a danger's ever been a concern ta me? Ah'll take one'a the boats in the 'arbor, sail around past good ol' Gliss, get the jewels from James' cousin or some such, and make mah merry way back home. Ah'll be back in a fortnight."

"You would be doing a tremendous service to the realm, Sir Alfric. I'll see to it that you have a ship and crew prepared for your departure tomorrow."

"I don't need no crew, m'lord. Gimme a few crowns to have one of these Karvina boats take a detour on their way home, Sers Percy and Rendel, and Ah'll 'ave yer gems before ya know it."

"Persimmon cakes!" Thadeos exclaimed, practically jumping up in his seat. "My favorite!"

The topic between the lords and the knight was put on hold by the arrival of dessert. From the pantry came Lady Anselm and her servant girl, each with a heaping plate of golden pastries. Nostrils sniffed up the sweet smell of honey-sweetened cakes as they were brought to the table.

"These look positively delectable, Lady Anselm." Crooned Lord Verne.

"They are. But do be careful: I imagine they're quite hot yet."

His mother's warning did little to hold off young Thadeos, who practically crawled across the table to snatch one of the pastries. Elise shoved him back into his seat. "You've not finished your vegetables, Thadeos." Elise reminded. Without further protest, Thadeos upended his bowl and bolted what remained of his helping of stew. Without so much as the slightest bit of chewing, Thadeos gulped his vegetables down and shoved his bowl aside before reaching again for a persimmon cake. The rest of the diners soon reached for their own pastry, albeit in a more controlled and reserved fashion than young Thadeos.

"Oh my..." Lord Osweld Verne exclaimed after tasting his first bite. He had bitten through the moist, spongy outer layer of pastry into a steaming core of saccharine persimmon pulp. "These are extraordinary. Lady Anselm, you must provide my wife with the recipe!"

"They are surprisingly simple to make. What's difficult is finding good persimmons. They have a terrible penchant for spoiling; the fruit goes rancid well before you can ever get them to market, so you must have a local tree. Fortunately, our Gina here went out to the wood's edge where a few trees with ripened fruits may be found. She deserves the lion's share of the praise for them."

"Well then, miss Gina, you have my thanks!" Osweld told the servant girl.

"Ya got mine too." Sir Alfric said with a mouthfull of vermillion persimmon pulp. "By th'way, speakin'a my ol' Gliss, how fairs the place, Lord Verne?"

"Quite cool of late." The minor lord of Gliss reported after swallowing a bite of pastry. "I was quite surprised to come down to Riddom yesterday to find it much colder than I have ever seen it in Gliss. I can only imagine how cold it has gotten since my departure. Winter is coming indeed, and it seems it shall arrive first at Gliss!"

"Also," Osweld added after a sip of merlot, "there's been some unfortunate incidents with the people of the deep woods lately. There was a peasant girl that was taken one night, presumably into the deep woods for some nefarious scheme; dreadful affair, that one."

"Damnable Eldfolk." Alfric snarled.

"I trust you dispatched the knights after her?" A sympathetic Elise asked.

"I did, yes... but I have little hope of them returning with the girl. One would have an easier time of finding a grit of sand in that kettle of stew there than a handful of knights searching the deep woods for a missing peasant girl. I am confident that Sers Hammond and Rolf are doing as much as they can, but I will be the first to admit it a nearly-impossible task."

"Know this, young Elise: House Anselm rules the Weald, but it is the Eldfolk who control it. That poor girl is in their realm now, and fear she shan't return from it."

[Little Bill]

Elle slowly walked through the halls of Stonereach, interested in exploring her new guest quarters, she found the whole place rather odd. So far up in the mountains. She had only ever lived on ground level. It was a curious building at that, with winding halls, stairs that went up and down, and occasional deadends and spiral staircases.

She wasn't eager to go around opening random doors, but she slowly grew frustrated with the winding chaos, and resolved to open the next door she saw, turning a corner. As luck would have it, it was a tall, tan door of sanded wood.

She opened the door, and found herself in a small study. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with newer novels, and ancient tomes alike. There were scrolls strewn about on a nearby table, and papers scattered on chairs. The floor was surprisingly clear of any papers, although it was hard to see in the dim lamplight.

Elle began to walk slowly around the room, her soft steps making little sound as she browsed the books on the shelf. She wondered how hard it would be to collect them, the trck up the mountain would be hard for a carriage carrying so many books, or maybe the collection had grown over time. The books adding one by one from the far off lands, she even spotted a few Odeshian authors. Most where of craftsmanship or about elephants, they where the most popular outside of Odesh after all.

"The halls are simple once you memorize them." A voice from the corner spoke, breaking the silence and causing Elle to jump. It was Reliwen Cragmore. She was no longer dressed in her regal gown, but a brown tunic and and green pants, tucked into black boots. Like a boy. Her hair was tied into a loose ponytail, and to her side hung a sword. Her face was a bit reddened in the dim light, with beads of sweat clinging to strands of her hair.

"Full of shortcuts here and there, including the shortcut from our training grounds to the study." She slowly walked toward Elle, staring at her peculiarly, like a lion might stalk their prey. "If not for the shortcuts then what, pray tell, brings you here, Elle of Odesh?" She asked, raising an eyebrow.

Elle looked at the woman oddly, she had looked so elegant before, like a proper royal lady, but now, she looked much more like a fighter, a sword on her belt and a look in her eye that made it seem like she could kill a man with her stare alone. Elle liked this girl a lot better now.

"I got lost." Elle admitted "But if the end result has led me to a conversation with you, I would say that it has not been a fruitless journey" She smiled as her hand rested on the crossbow on her hip. The girl looked as if she would strike her down.

"Don't feel too ashamed that you were lost," Reliwen said, slowly smiling. "Originally, Stonereach was the main hall we ate in, connected to a long mineshaft. When it was emptied out, the halls and stairways were simply built into the mine itself."

With a grunt, she sat into a chair, slouching back. "Only those familiar to it won't get lost."
She picked a book up off of the table, survied it for a moment, and dropped it back down to the table.

"So, what brings a pretty young lady like yourself into the company of Kenten and James?" She asked, leaning forward a bit.

"I was invited... Well, my father was invited... But he was busy." Elle dragged over a wooden chair and sat down infront of Reliwen. "Official diplomatic buisness," She continued "Not really my forte personally, I prefer the rush of lunging with a sword, or scoring a heart shot on a prancing deer." Elle smiled, "I am guessing that sword isn't just for show?" She teased looking to the blade.

Reliwen smiled, unsheathing her sword. It wasn't the usual shortsword that The Gullish so proudly paired with their shields, famous to their region, but a bastard sword. She admired it, holding it with one hand, and giving it a twirl. It was a silvery steel, with a black handle, and runes etched into the blade itself.

"I wouldn't say it's for show either, but I've never slain a man, if that's what you were asking. Stormgully sees few wars." She stood up, letting the sword shine in the lamplight. "Swordplay's mostly reserved for boys in Stormgully, and in the rest of Elyden, frankly. I suppose it's one of the few things I have to boast of, that I've a skill few other women possess." She smiled, turning to Elle. "And you too, it may seem."

"Well I wouldnt say I was a professional, but I know which end I'm supposed to thrust with." Elle said admiring the blade in front of her. "Odesh sees few wars as well, some would say we are lucky. I feel otherwise at times." Elle thought about the possible upcoming battles "Do you shoot crossbows in Stormgully?" Elle asked as she slipped her own from her belt.

The crossbow was small in size, crafted by the greatest crossbow maker in Amplefort. The mans signature "Sam Hill" engraved on the side. He wasn't an extravagant man, he barely even made crossbows anymore due to his age. But one could be ordered from him, if you had the money. The grip was made of ivory, one of the rarest comodities in Elyden, and the bolts were made to cause as much damage to a human as possible. Barbed and made to be painful and deadly to remove.

"We don't have crossbows in Stormgully," Reliwen commented, examining the contraption. "It's the nicest one I've ever seen. The first, but certainly the nicest as well." She said, smiling warmly at Elle. "I like the way of the sword plenty, but there's certainly a lot to be said for marksmanship."

"You get stabbed a lot less." Elle joked as she holstered the weapon once again. "So, why a warrior? Why not a profound lady, possibly a Queen if you had the right connections?" Elle asked wondering why someone would choose a harder life than the easy wealthy path of luxury.

Reliwen paused for a long moment, almost suspiciously so, before saying "There are events in life that meld you into what you need to be, and what I needed to be was a warrior."

She looked quite pleased with her answer, nodding to herself. "As it turns out, I'm good at being one, so it all worked out in the end. Still, I'm not completely immersed in fighting. I know my only ticket out of here is getting a husband, and since we Gullish aren't the prettiest choices, I've at least learned to sing."

She sheathed her sword, giggling to herself. "What about you, do you have any hobbies outside of marksmanship?"

"I read here and there" Elle responded, looking around the room "This is quite the study," She smiled. "I also make wooden carvings, usually of animals like birds." Elle thought back to how her father taught her how to carve wood, how to always cut away and keep a firm grip on the handle of the knife. He was a nice man, but Elle believes a ruler shouldnt be.

Reliwen nodded, and asked her more of her hobbies, and in turn, so did Elle. They spoke for the better part of two hours, and when they only stopped, it was because the lantern had burned the last of its wick. They wished each other a good evening in the end, and went off to their seperate quarters, satisfied that they had made a new friend.

---

Stonereach's halls were kept warm by their fireplaces, candles, lanterns, and near endless supplies of pelts. If that was not enough, there were still rooms filled with teas and hot ciders, sure to warm anyone within their halls. It was one of the most pleasantly cozy places one could hope to find themselves in, and so, every resident and guest alike slept easily each night.

Every resident, but one. Reliwen Cragmore tossed and turned in her sleep, clutching her eyes tightly. The rain was calm and subsiding outside, but in her quarters, there was a storm. The same words she heard earlier now echoed in her mind, rattling around her nightmares.

"So, why a warrior?"

In her dreams, she was not the tall, singing swordswoman she was today. She was a young girl of ten, who could neither hold a sword or a note. She was holding a handful of flowers, as she had been nearly eight years ago, when she was still not but a child.

"Melvy, I got you some flowers." She said, skirting into her brother's room. Her hair was long, and pulled into a braid that nearly reached her ankles. Her cheeks were rosy, and her eyes still shone with the innocence of a child.

Melvan lay in his bed, sitting up against his pillows, with his blankets pulled up to his waist. He was pale and sickly looking, struggling to keep a glass of water to his lips. Placing the glass on his bedside table, he smiled weakly at Reliwen.

"Thank you, sister." He said, watching her fit them into a vase. She knew he was only rarely well enough to go outside, and occasionally brought him things from the outside world. Namely, flowers. They were light yellow, with slightly wilted leaves -- The type of bouqet a child would pick out, after all.

"How are you feeling today?" She asked, sitting at his side.

"Better everyday." He lied, coughing into his blanket. He knew she worried for him, and hoped to ease her fears.

"I'm happy, then." She crawled across the blanket, and kissed him on the cheek. She crawled over him, and plopped on to the floor. "You read anything ni-"
She stopped mid-sentence, hearing the loud footsteps thundering down the hallway. Immediately, almost instinctively, she ducked under the blankets with Melvan, curling up next to him.

"Don't worry sister. I'll keep you safe." Melvan said, somewhere between cooing and promising.

The thundering footsteps were that of Kenten Cragmore. He was younger, sporting a long moustache in lieu of the beard he had since grown. His face was cleaner, and his eyes fuller. But his face was certainly redder -- Much redder. He was completely red in the face, staggering down the hallways, occasionally pausing to adjust his balance. He was slobberingly drunk, bellowing his words out with a strong slur.

"Reliwen!" He shouted, looking around the hallways. "Reliwen, I saw you before. Bring yourself to me." His voice was somewhere between crying and roaring, in a deranged drunken sort of way. "Don't hide from me, little lamb." He begged out.

She stayed hidden underneath the barrier of blankets, protected by her jaundiced knight. She shook with fear, but did not whimper or cry. Melvan held her tightly, silently praying to his dear Kammeth.

There was a loud knock on the door, threatening to shake the very door off it's hinges. It went on for a long while, shaking the door violently. It continued, growing louder, and louder, and then, nothing.

The knocking had subsided for a moment. Even the silence was a welcomed peace, like the calm in the eye of the storm. The hairs that stood on the back of Melvan's neck slowly went down, and Reliwen slowly stopped shivering. Moments passed, and nearly a minute went by. And then, as the eye of a storm always does, the silence ended.

The door was thrown open, and Kenten stood in the doorway. He was a hulking brute of a man, holding an empty bottle of cider in one hand, and propping himself against the doorway with the other. He started at Melvan, and then the shivering bulge in the blankets next to him.

He silently stumbled over to the bed, and grabbed her by an exposed arm. He dragged her out, much to her protest, and slammed the door behind him. "You should know better," He paused, stopping himself from drunkenly vomiting, "Than to hide from me,"

He began to take her down the hallway, before pausing to catch his balance again. He knelt down to her level, looking at her face as she tried to look away, clenching her eyes.

"You look so much like your mother, little lamb."
He smiled sinisterly, dragging the back of his hand over her trembling face. "And you grow with each passing day." He stepped back to examine her, from top to bottom, practically staring through her.

"Come with me, little lamb. Let's find someplace else." He tightly grabbed her wrist, and began to pull her down the hall once more.

Before he could step even a foot, a soft voice raised up from behind him.

"Papa, stop this!" Melvan said, slowly walking down the hall. He had no limp, but his legs shook with every step, threatening to send him careening to the floor.

"Stop this now, please!" He urged, continuing to walk towards his drunken father.

"Melvan, you're too sick to be up. Get back to bed." Kenten grumbled, loosening his grip on Reliwen and extending his arm towards him. Reliwen took her opportunity, and broke free, tearing away from his grip and running down the halls with a scream.

Kenten was far too inebriated to respond quickly, and turned to watch her flee in terror. Slowly, he turned his head back to Melvan. His face was redder than before, and his teeth clenched in anger.

"You little sh-shit," He growled, stuttering with anger. "Think you can make a fool of me?" He hissed. Even as Melvan shook his head in fear and began to back up, his father took a single step back, and kicked at Melvan's leg.

It was no push -- Kenten was a large man, and had kicked with every last bit of strength in him. The boy's leg snapped backwards, in a hideous contortion, accompanied with a crack that echoed in the stoney halls.

Melvan did not scream. His eyes welled up with tears, and he opened his mouth to scream, but only a squeaking gargle emerged. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and the boy fainted, collapsing from the pain.

A few moments passed, with Kenten only seething in his anger. A guard, responding to Reliwen's scream, emerged from around a corner. "M'lord?" He said meekly, examining the scene before him.

"My son's infection has spread to his leg, send for a doctor." Kenten said in an almost-whispering tone. He lifted his head, and stared at the servant. "If the doctor, or anyone else hears otherwise, I'll have your head sent to your family."

"Yes, M'lord. Understood, M'lord." He said, silently nodding.

[solamelike]

-The Day before Luke and Laurels Arrival to Amplefort-

The bright pale moon was high in the ebony sky as Elle Whiteshorn sat at the desk in her mildly decorated chambers, the soft candle light glew just enough for her to finish her hurried writing. Laurel was arriving tomorrow and Luke Conrad would be accompanying her, he had urgent news that required her fathers attention. Her flustered hair kept falling into her eyes as she scribbled with a tired sigh, her loose white silken night gown shifted slightly on her shoulders with the short excursion. With a small nibble of her own red lip she pushed her untameable hair back behind her ear as she kept on pushing herself through the boring work, as the cool night caused her to shiver slightly in her oaken seat

Elle looked to the book she had been reading, copying the supply checks onto her own personal work notes. She was used to doing this paperwork. The important tedius checking and balancing her father was always too busy to attempt and with the latest Ashishian shipment just arriving that morning, the work was piled high with all sorts of legal work and permissions to compensate the long business partners that were the Ashishian merchants. However the arrival of the all too familiar merchants aroused more than paperwork, as a fantastical and giddy thought pranced freely in the depths of Elle's mind, only to her pessimism, to be thoroughly hidden and kept in secret despite the flutters this fanciful concept gave way to in her chest.

A small breeze was gently making its way through her bedroom window and scarlet curtains that was placed behind her. The breeze caused the tree that stood outside her window with the crisp amber leaves to scratch and hiss against the rough exterior wall. Her candle light nearly flickered out as the breeze gave way to a heavier sigh. Elle thought nothing of the night breeze as she remained trapped in her fantasy while her body routinely filled out such mundane orders and solved simple mathmatical problems.

Two ashen hands quietly found their way to grip the window sill, much to Elle's ignorance, soon after forcing a shadowy hooded figure into the room with a barely audible "oomf". The man took a soft step forward, wet boots soaking the fine woven carpet. As he slowly approached the unaware Elle he pulled back a brown hood, revealing a handsome young Ashtoken face, with a masculine nose between two soft silver eyes that glew with reflections of the dancing candle flame and a black as night stubble starting to shade his square jaw. The man slowly moved his hand past a small utility knife that hung loosely on a worn leather belt. A topaz crusted signet ring almost catching itself on a loose string that eluded the weave of his dark tunic that was wrapped close to the lean figure by a beaten leather jerkin, salty from long seaborne exposure.

The ringed hand eventually found its target: a long shimmering chain. As the man just reached Elle's chair and the pungent scent of the sea crinkled her delicate nose, the mans swift hands looped around her, locking the chain around her slender neck with a quick snap of a clasp. Revealing to Elle, a fine silver necklace, complete with an purple amethyst pendant crafted with delicate care in the hands of a skilled Kenero jeweller. The cold metal caused small goose bumps to pollute her fair skin and shot a small chilling ripple down her spine, only to be warmed once again by the thoughts that now flared wildly in her head, which now seemed to have manifested into reality.

A pearly smile caught the faint flickering light of the candle as it stretched itself from ear to ear across Elle's pretty face, her eyes brightening with a loving glow as she turned quickly in response to the mans lingering touch.

"Jopol, I didn't expect you for another turn of the glass!" Elle remarked, standing up quickly to embrace the man. She went to the door and checked that no-one was on the other side, then came back, locking the door with a large metal bar. She rushed to the mirror "This... its beautiful" She said smiling as she span around again, "I would advise you to not sneak up on me. Next time you might lose your hand" She teased, embracing the man again.

Jopol wrapped his arms tightly around Elle's warm body, refresh both his own sea chilled bones and longing heart. His silver eyes danced with joy as he heard her voice once more parade in his ears. His big smile would've been impossible for him to hide even if he had wished, his face narrowing at Elle's comment and he slyly rebutted with a false dis-attachment, "perhaps I should've seeked out a smith rather than a jeweller."

"Well I cant kill a man with this.." She looked to the chain and stroked across it. "But i guess it will do, its always nice to be treated like a lady."

The smitten sailor replied with a simple light heated chuckle, his eyes locked on Elle's. Their hands fell from each others sides and entangled. Her soft fingers gripped his rough scarred hands as they stepped closer. Jopol leaned in, sealing the moment with a soft kiss. Her lips pulsed against his as the hard stone casing that had imprisoned her heart to such an abrasive level cracked and shedded, giving way to that soft beating flutter that she had felt long ago when they first had met. The cold loneliness that had so gripped her was boiled away by the soothing warmth of his breath and the care of his gentle touch, enlightening her newly lightened spirit with the fire that satisfies the long waiting one lover cradles for the other.

Elle pulled away slowly from her lover, she gripped the mans wrist and gently walked him to the bed. She kissed him once again before slowly slipping out of her night gown, she pushed Jopol onto the bed and straddled him as the breeze from the window extinguished the candle light.

---

A soft dawns light barely peeked into the dim room, splashing just enough of the sun on the couple's faces to stir them gently from their dreams, but not from each others tight embrace. A calming song gently drifted and chirped from a lonely songbird that had taken residence in the autumned tree, bringing a pleasantry to their ears. Jopol opened his eyes, they fuzzed for a moment than readjusted. Two happy hazel eyes stared right back into his, "Good morning, love." Elle whispered with hints of still being near breathless from the night. Her warm breath caused Jopol to blink and smile as he returned her blessing,

"good morning princess," he said in almost a joking manner as he rested his hand flat on her soft cheek. Elle took her own around it and gave false frown,

"now is that any manner for a pauper to talk to nobility?" She quoted a past event with a charismatic mockery whisper in her voice.

Jopol laughed heartily, as she shared in the humour. He presented his ring, "well at least I rose somewhat from that old title of pauper," he defended himself lightly, "Infact I recently heard Gori Lamillur himself requests my presence to discuss some things, The First Star ," he said trying to hide a child like excitement.

"Oh?" Elle said equally as excited "Maybe you are the succession to the throne?" She teased twirling his hair between her fingers. "Maybe then you wont have to climb through my bedroom window when we meet. And I don't have to blame the insects for those red bite marks on my neck" She said softly as she kissed up his strong jaw line, then stroked at his hair once again. "I didn't even think Asktoken could grow hair" She joked teasingly "Why the locks? Not that I don't mind some fluff on your head for once"

As Jopol smiled , remembering all the excuses they had both made up over the years to their superiors, or in her case, father, he remembered his hair and his expression changed to one of a wide eyed doe.

"Shit, I cannot see the Stars like this," he then looked at her, and the reassuring smile that was so beautifully painted on her rosy cheeks shooed away such minkr cultural thoughts and instead ushered back his revitilizing smile Elle had grown to enjoy so much, "you also didn't think Ashtoken could smile, or even give reasons for such excuses," he said reminding her of a seemingly far away past with a witful wink.

Elle suddenly remembered "Oh by the way, my sister is returning today, Luke Conrad is bringing her and I believe she will be staying for a few days." She remarked sitting up as she thought about all the work that needed to be done before hand. "I should have finished that paperwork last night... unfortunately someone distracted me" She looked to the Ash man beside her.

Jopol stretched and made a face, "whoops," his voice was heavily drowned in sarcasm. With a quick yawn he looked over at his beautiful partner, "Perhaps, I am to be appointed King," he said stroking his growing beard,

"Then perhaps someone will find the thief who keeps stealing your clothes off the floor," his eyes scanned the room "and promptly thank them."

"Alas my sweet," he continued, his rougish smirk dominating his face, "I must make haste to the Citadel, and perhaps I will come back with a solution to the distance that tends to haunt us."

"But for now," Elle continued, "that distance doesn't need to come around for a few hours, "he smirked back, wrapping her slender arms around Jopols neck, who in return gave her a suggestive glance as her leg rubbed up against his.

The paperwork laid on the desk, only to be thrown off by a gust of wind as the two lovers picked up what began so long ago in a heat of passion.

[Goldeagle1221]

(Behold, the might of Googer, and Goldeagle) THE NIGHT OF THE 76TH

With the stoic, unmoving diligence, the Phoenix Tower’s contingent of Royal Guards stood vigil throughout the citadel as night crept down upon Skyhaven. Every errant flicker of movement was guarded against, every corridor and doorway thoroughly scanned. With torches and blades in hand, the swollen garrison checked every ceiling vault and every crenellation with the utmost care. At the entryway of the more sensitive offices and sleeping quarters, a pair of seasoned houseblades stood watch. The whole of the palace was on high alert following the recent murder and on the account of the uneasy diplomatic situation throughout the realm. The breaches used by the assassins on the night of the summit had been recognized. It seemed another intrusion into Phoenix Tower would be impossible now.

It seemed.

The silent night would’ve worn down even the most vigilant of guards, but tonight was different. The men felt off, and their hair stood on end at the mere thought of another intrusion. At the walls a few guards sucked in the cool night air, and exhaling with a shutter, as a slight chill made its pass through their body.

“Cold out tonight,” A guard noted, glancing at the guard who leaned over the wall in observation. “Damned winter,” He said again after a few seconds of no response. The guard made an insulated face at his silent comrade, “what are you lookin’ at anyway?”

The guard approached, his chain mail clinking against his scabbard. He placed his gloved hand on the silent mans shoulder, “Karl?”The guard went to turn the man around and, as he placed his hand upon him, the body fell limply to the ground onto his back, blood pooling around the head. A sharp fear froze the frightened guard as he stared at the flesh of Karls face, his skin completely missing with torn edges hanging limp off the bloody muscle. When all of a sudden a cold blade sunk its teeth through the guards chainmail and severing the spine. The guard collapsed to the ground next to Karl with a lifeless thud as a dark cloaked man stood behind him, wearing the face of Karl stretched across his own visage. Soon with a swift wind, another assassin appeared behind the first, who simply pointed at the untouched dead guard.

The Assassins sprinted stealthily on soft padded boots to the base ramparts of the citadel with a silent grace; wearing the bloody faces of men that were not their own. One guard saw their steady and quick approach off the wall from down on the streets, and a blow dart saw its own approach to the guards eye, puncturing it with a quick and imposing pain and paralyzing the victim instantly. The first assassin leapt into the air and tackled the stiff man with serrated knives slicing through the air and eventually through the man's jugular with an audible rip. No witnesses, no survivors, The assassin thought as they continued now uninterrupted until they came upon four guards milling about along the tower’s perimeter.

The second assassin made a quick hand motion and the other nodded. With deadly accuracy two darts flew through the air and found their bloody rest in the two left guards bare necks, causing them to gasp silently in a suffocating terror. The other two guards turned to the dying men and went to unsheathe their swords, only to find them missing. Both guards quickly paled at the realization as their heads were lopped off in a quick synchronized fashion. ‘

They had arrived at the foot of the tower itself now, to it’s marble facades glowing white in the moonshine. The spire terminated far above them amongst the stars above at a crown of alabaster minarets. Somewhere up there, just beneath those highest points, the Regent slept soundly in his bed. A sleep, the assassins had vowed, Shamgar would never wake from. All that remained now was the task of scaling the most heavily-guarded structure in Elyden; twenty to thirty floors, each teeming with guards.

One of the ebony robe-clad assassins gestured silently to the peak of the citadel far above them. With a nod of understanding, his accomplice drew for the heavy, wicked implements strapped against their belts. They sheathed their blades and in each hand took a heavy, iron climbing hook with points beaten down into sharp tips, ideal for sliding in between the masonry of an edifice. With a deft jab of the hook into a seam between the marble blocks, he began the treacherous climb up the very walls of the Phoenix Tower. His shadowy accomplice trailed just behind him.

Black robes fluttered in the frigid gusts as they ascended the spire, the winds high above the city themselves seeming to act in defense of its Regent. But the assassins’ grip proved true, the efforts of the howling wind notwithstanding. Regularly they looked down to check their progress, watching as Skyhaven’s lights sank farther and farther beneath them.

As they advanced steadily upward, the black duo came upon their first obstacle: one of the citadel’s numerous balconies. The first Assassin lifted one hand from his life bearing hooks and made a gesture, the other nodded, but before action could take place, a curious guard peaked over the balcony in fatal ignorance. His glance was quickly met with a sharp thrown knife to the face, misting his blood into the cold air as his body gave way and fell down to the seemingly unreachable ground. Two more faces quickly responded with their own glances. A climbing hook whirled upwards and dug its claw into the man's collar bone with a thick steely prong, a sudden jerk ripping him off his feet and sending his body up and over and the assassin to the balconies lip. The thrown guards helpless body scrambled for a grip as his weight sent him against the tower, colliding with the stone wall with a cracking and crushing sound of his rib cage. With a frightened and shaking tone the last guard unsheathed his blade and pointed it at the assassin that sat so calmly and silently on the lip of the balcony staring with unblinking, icy eyes, Karls smiling face only visible from a windows soft emitting glow. The guard lung forward, but with an inhuman speed the Assassin rebuttled with a quick grab of the guards wrist, sending him over the ledge with the use of his own force. The second Assassin quickly rejoined the ascended first, and with an approving silent nod, the two resumed their bloody approach.

Their hooks dug into marble in lieu of flesh and mail as they ascended once more. A long, exhausting climb it was; the faintest rays of the sun’s light could be seen in the eastern horizon, diluting the blackness of night with a dark blue. Morning was fast approaching and time was running out. But, in their favor, the destination was at last in their lethal gaze.

A stained window looking out above the nocturnal Aglil countryside. The decorated window was of little concern to the professional murderers as they quickly dug chisels into the plaster, quickly displacing the colored window that was soon to be stained crimson with blood. Unceremoniously, they tossed the liberated window aside, kept intact so as to minimize disturbance. With soft feet, the two shadows slipped into the room with macabre intent.

Before their very blood lust filled eyes, their quarry lay asleep, helpless against their sickening and gruesome tools of death. The demons slowly approached, their minds already decided on what to do to their limp and sleeping victim, a disturbing smile crescented behind the pale dead lips of Karl, revealing filed sharp teeth, a clear mirror into the meaning of their very existence. An air of chilled wind followed their approach from the opened window, giving a physical feel to the pairs stone cold hearts and absent souls. A hollow dagger was pulled out of a metal sheath with a careful hand, a small trickle of clear desert liquid drizzled out of the sharp tip and slided down the razor’s edge, ready to claim another life as its own. Here the silent hunt ends, here the blade caught a shimmer of what light the early dawn had to offer, revealing the two murderers horrendous masked faces.

But the gusts whistling through the wind alerted one to the arrival of the assassins. Shamgar had not been left entirely unguarded as he slept. A single houseblade stood vigil over Shamgar’s bed, feigning drowsiness, but keenly aware of the assassins in his midst. He looked half-asleep, oblivious to the murderers, but the delayed action of his hand slowly drawing a shortsword was obvious to both assassins.

A single houseblade guarded the Regent as he slept. It seemed comical to the assassins, insulting perhaps. The defense against the deadliest killers in Elyden was a single houseblade watching over the Regent while he slept? This glorified palace guard thought himself sufficient to thwart the machinations of the Black Scorpions? He would be made to suffer for his presumptuous illusion.

The assassins drew their blades, setting aside the reserved dagger to fluidly and silently produce their exotic yexaras from their sheaths. It was apparent that the houseblade’s feigned obliviousness was fooling no one. His shortsword left its sheath with a quiet shiver as he brought the point to bear. He approached the assassins, moving silently across the Ashishian carpet laid out at the foot of the bed. The assailants sidestepped about the creeping houseblade, the first began to fancifully swing his blade, catching the dawn’s growing light in flashes, distracting the guard as the second leapt with a quiet step, sending his sharp tempered yexara in a low swooping motion, eating through the sentinels exposed leg, and catching itself halfway through the bone. The man was sent off his feet from the devastating blow, only to be caught by the Karl bearing assassin’s cold gloved hands. The killers fingers gripped the sides of his head, and with a fatal jerk and twist, the man was no more.

Shamgar awoke to the sound of snapping bone and tendon. At the very foot of his bed, the houseblade charged with his protection lay in a bloody heap on the the carpet. A soft ‘shing’ sounded as the deadly dagger returned to the hand of the Assassins.

Dread swelled within Shamgar as the knife scintillated in the pre-dawn light; panic assured him of the grisly doom awaiting him. But with logic’s return to his mind, recollection of the plan came with it. He glanced down to the assassin’s feet: planted upon the blood soaked carpet. The houseblade had done his duty - the trap was sprung.

Shamgar’s arm shot from beneath the blankets and tugged for dear life upon a rope tied taut alongside his bed. With a loud clank and the sound of a gear dropping, hinges were released with a loud grind and shriek of metal, collapsing a weight and sending a large chain net to shoot to the ceiling with a scream of the metal, pinning the snared second assassin the the ceiling, and clipping the first and tripping him to the ground with a thud. The thunderous sound precipated the door bursting open and a swarm of guards armed with myriad pointed blades, sharpened and ready to strike down the intruders spilled in. A few guards accessed the trap’s prey while the others surrounded the seemingly unconscious first assassin.

The guards faces turned white and a sickened bulb formed in their stomachs at the sight of the terrible mask. The assassins fingers moved slightly, and with an unexpected motion, he launched himself off the ground with a powerful force, sending his poisoned dagger deep into the side of the closest guard, while unsheathing his yexara in one single motion. The guards swung, but the assassin was determined and stabbed and cut his way closer to Shamgar, who sat not knowing what to do. Many deep cuts and lacerations began to riddle the assassins torso and arms, but more foreign blood stained his skin than his own as he disemboweled a lunging guard with a skilled stab and rip to the side, sending his blade in a arcing swing to the next opposer, ending their life as the singing blade sank through the fleshy neck with an exotic ‘shing’.

The crimson devil grew weak as a sword found its way into his back, and tearing apart his lung. With one last final raspy breath the killer spoke in a weak and beaten voice, “it is not suffic-”

The ambitious murderer collapsed dead onto the guard in front if him, his arm reaching past the horrified man as his outstretched finger tips just touched the blood spattered blankets of the Regent's bed. Blood poured out of the Assassin's many cuts and punctures, his white and red bone clearly visible on his butchered arm, as his flesh was continuously hacked away by the still panicked guards, who have never known such immortality.

Content that the remaining threat to Shamgar’s safety had been snuffed out, the surviving guards who had retained their sanity after witnessing the slaughter meted out by the one assassin turned their attention to the one wriggling in the chain net on the ceiling.

“Cut ‘im down.” The guard captain ordered. With a deft yank on a jingling chain hanging from the ceiling of the bedchamber, a guard sent the iron net crashing down to the floor with the assassin still trapped within. No sooner than it had hit the floor, the would-be murder within flailed about yet again underneath the weight of the chains that ensnared him.

“He’s alive yet,” a guard shouted emphatically as a stunted cackle lingered from the beaten body of the assassin.

“Excellent work.” Shamgar acknowledged, clearly unnerved by the hysterical captive. “To the dungeons with him.”

[GreivousKhan]

Chapter 3- Twin Flames
Date: 5th of Seliel, Turn 698
Location: Phoenix Palace

“Machinations? What in Kammeth's name is a machination?” -Sir Alfric

Fate was a cruel mistress, an inescapable inevitability that trapped every man and women in it's cold embrace sooner or later. One could not run form it, or hide, and though any could try to pull against the harsh leash it coiled about their throats, there was found little give to be had. Fate had decided for Agrippa Paragon, that he should be orphaned, and lose a brother he dearly loved as well. At least he could still give the boy moments like this, though rare they were. Agrippa stood a few feet away, wide eyed, as he stared at the creature before him. Smiling with ease, Shamgar placed a reassuring hand on the young kings shoulder.

“Go ahead,” He said in a high whisper. “You need not be afraid.

Agrippa nodded, and walked forward. The bird; a dire hawk of mighty proportions and regal beauty, crouched in its pen, head turning back and forth as it regarded the young boy. Agrippa touched the feathers of its neck, quickly pulling away after a sudden movement for the hawk. He gingerly returned to slowly petting the creature. To the boys utter amazement, the creature moved slightly against the hand, accepting the touch. Agrippa smiled back proudly to Shamgar, who smiled in turn with an approving nod.

“What's his name?” He asked in a high whisper, as if speaking too loudly might shatter the moment.

“Her; and it she is known as Sliverwind.”

“Silverwind,” Agrippa repeated, more to himself as he stared, enthralled, at the great raptor before him.

“Just so,” Shamgar nodded again. “A dire hawk is a proud creature Agrippa, they take only one master in their life, choosing them when young. The masters within the Skysentinel know all too well that the hawk chooses their master, never the other way around. And serve them well they do, for even in the death of a rider, a dire hawk will never leave their masters side.”

“Did father have his own?”

“Oh yes, Bloodrain, one of the most impressive of the great hawks who remained to us.”

“I miss him.” Agrippa said in a quiet voice.

“Yes,” Shamgar answered with a sad smile. “That we both do. He is with Kammeth now, he looks down upon us even know. His strength will always be with you when you need it most.”

They remained quite for a time as Agrippa cherished this brief respite from the near endless studies and attention. After a time he said. “Will I ever be as great a rider as father, uncle Shamgar?”

“I know you will, Agrippa, just as your father, perhaps more.”

There was anther pause, and Agrippa almost whispered. “Will I ever be as great a king?” He said, looking back.

“I have no doubt young Lord, you will be a great king.”

“How can you know?”

“Because I have seen it, now come I have indulged you long enough here, but we shall return soon I promise.”

Agrippa sighed, and jumped from the stool he had been standing on. The day he knew, would be another dull affair. He had never wanted to be king, before the day of his brothers death, he had not even known what that really meant. He was still not sure he did even now.

---

Date: 77th of Zieliah

Asura stalked through the dark halls of the Palace, past guards with hooded visors, maids, and servants dashing about with hurried steps as if they were rats dodging a roaming cat. He ascended the staircase- an nearly avoided running into a young servant girl- who hastily apologized before running off again. The Palace had been a buzz of activity more then usual of late. It had no doubt something to do with the intrusion several days passed. So far the High Council had been hush with details, but the rumor abounded that the Scorpions had struck again. If that was the case, as it likely was, Asura needed to know more.

It would seem Kenten had failed in his part of bringing Asura's claim to the other lords. It was an unfortunate outcome but one that he would not let slow his ambitions in the slightest. He needed to find out who the major players were in the upcoming days. Thankfully, he had more reliable means at his disposal. He arrived at his chambers door, and quickly entered before locking it securely behind him. His chamber was a fairly modest bedroom with a single bed, a desk at the fair end bellow the bared window- which marked the only one present in the room. Along the wall to his immediate right was a large dresser, and a single chest was positioned on the other side of the room opposite the door.

It was this chest he quickly walked to after locking the door, and stopped over before fumbling with the lock. In a moment more he was able to open it, revealing the contents. At a glance it looked like nothing of interest resided within, a few folded pieces of clothing. Asura carefully removed bundles of clothing until the bar bottom of the chest was open. He neatly piled the removed garments of the chest on the floorboard beside the chest and inspected the chests floor. Running ruined fingers across the surface until he found what he was looking for. He carefully removed a now revealed section of the chest bottom half- a false bottom as it were.

He lifted it open and retrieved the single bundle within- an object wrapped in pure Aglil silk. He closed the chest again and walked to his desk before sitting down and unwrapping the contents. As he removed the cloth a faint glimmer of luminescent golden light shun from a round gem like stone.

Having freed the sightstone, he placed it gingerly upon his hardwood desk. With a wave of a hand, and using the words he had been instructed to use, he mouthed a simple spell. There was a several heartbeats of silence that followed, where in which Asura had begun to think he had done wrong. Another failure to account for. Soon however, the stone pulsed before a faint shadow seemed to appear within the gems heart.

“Asura Sky,” came the voice, as if tasting the words for the first time.

“Shadow,”

“Would I be right to suspect your attempts for legitimization have been so far been unrealized?”

Asura sighed. “You would know all to well, as I am sure your spies have kept you well informed.” He bit a nail nervously in thought for a moment before finally adding, “Kenten failed in even bringing up the topic during the Summit, the Lords remain ignorant.”

The voice within the stone was silent for a time, “That is unfortunate. Still, not a complete loss, we did not expect Shamgar to agree in any case. The recognition would have been a weapon in and of itself, but now we still have anonymity- and that is a weapon that can be just as deadly or more in the right hands.”

“How will we proceed?”

“For now you must watch and wait, remain my eyes in the Palace. In light of that, I hope you have something else of import then your failed attempt at kingship.”

Asura chewed his lower lip. “There is something else. It would seem another group of assassins infiltrated the Palace, at least one of them might have been captured. So is the talk among the guards.”

The voice within the gem said nothing in response.

“Though I wonder,” Asura continued after a moment of silence. “Who could have hired this particular hit. Surely not those who took the crown, they would have little need to strike again so soon.”

“Indeed, there was whispers in the winds. I was not certain until now.”

Asura inhaled, in slight frustration. He never expected to get much information from his mystery 'benefactor.' He never even gave his true name, only ever referring to himself as the 'Shadow,' and his those in his employ as Whispers. Still, what information he was willing to share had always been beneficial, as well as accurate, but Asura knew enough to know this 'Shadow' always knew more then he let on.

“There are few I can think of that would benefit from Shamgar's death. Too many in fact, but few who would be so bold to strike against him in such a manner.”

“Of course, but one name emerges from all the rest. His is an ambition that has been interesting to watch. One we might even use to our advantage.”

“And this would be?”

“Why, James Conrad of course, and it would seem your friend Lord Kenten has thrown in with him as well.”

“That is news,”

“Aye, whispers speak of a rebellion, and such conflict could benefit your ambition. If you act quickly that is.”

“What do you mean?”

“As you know, Royal Houseblades march now to arrest James Conrad and most of his kinsmen. With the assassin in chains, it is only a matter of time before they learn who sent him.”

“By which time James will already be in the Capital. Ending his rebellion before it ever begins.”

“A most troubling situation for the Conrads. But such gives opportunity.” The voice on the other end took a darker tone as he continued. “Send word by messenger bird, a spell bound twitter should deliver the news in warning quick enough before the Houseblades arrive in Stone Reach. Where he even now resides.”

“Warn him off? Too what end?”

“He will be, thus, in your debt, once more, he will trust you. That is the most important part of all. Warn Conrad, and be sure to include the capture of the assassin, embellish if you must- but he need not know how you learned of all this of course. From then on he will have no choice but to play his hand, thus rising his banners in rebellion. All the while you shall be his confident here in the Capital.”

Asura nodded, seeing now the benefits, and a smile creased the corners of his mouth. “I understand.”

“Good, contact me again when you learn anything of the assassin captured.” With that the darkness within the gem slowly faded. Asura wrapped the sightstone and returned it to it's hiding place. Before long he had returned to his desk, first he needed to compose his letter. Then find a twitter, the damned birds were rare and expensive, but Asura had his connections. The coming events in the realm were about to get very interesting.

Chapter 2 Sum

Summary of Chapter 2:
James Conrad, has begun his first maneuvers to his ultimate goal of rulership. Himself and conspirators have hired the deadly Black Scorpion's, and already twisted Elle Whiteshorn into their faction as well, and now the rebellion grows. Temir Karacid Has risen his bannermen, and now Tauricia marches too war. Arrest warrants have been issued to all Conards, and though this is to an unrelated crime centered around reports of necromancy, such a move further splashes more oil on the fire. The Crown is still missing, rebellion is spreading like wild fire, and James Conrad may be finding allies in unexpected places...

[solamelike]

Date: 77th of Zieliah, Year 698
Location: Amplefort - Odesh

The Royal Houseblades where let through the large Northern gates of Amplefort. The town guard saluting the higher ranked brethren. Their crossbows by their sides as they eyed the royal soldiers. The men soon travelled through the winding streets to find the palace

The Houseblades marched into the palace, a sense of duty clearly surrounded them. The one at point held a scroll tied with a gold ribbon, they made their way down a large open white and gold gilded hallway, complete with marble pillars that shone a bright bone white. The armoured cluster eventually found their way to a large decorative door labeled as a study, where they awaited the new Queen patiently.

A subordinate moved into the room and after a clatter from inside and a few minutes had passed Elle appeared, she wore a long flowing red dress that danced around her as she walked calmly towards the men "I presume you have something for me? I doubt you would travel all this way for a simple chat?" She stood in front of them, her boots peeking out from the beautiful red silk. Her hair had been quickly brushed down and it seemed that the Queen had only just quickly changed into the clothing she now wore.

The houseblade holding the scroll looked down at the message through his protective metal faceguard, and began to unravel it, and handing it to the crimson Queen. The Houseblade cleared his throat and spoke with a sense of memory and authority as Elle read the finer details of the decree,

"All trade with House Conrad is to cease, all male Conrad nobles of age in the realm of Odesh are to be escorted to the capital to await trial, and all contact with the Isles of Men are to be severed until the trial has ended, by order of the crown."

The Houseblade stood at attention while the Queen finished reading the order, "I suspect there may be questions, First Marshal Gori Lamillur has given explicit orders to clear up any misconceptions that may arise from this delicate delivery."

Elle read over the note with a frown "And what about my metals? My people need tools and weapons. It is one of Odesh's biggest trades" Elle looked up to the man who had handed the note. "When can I meet with Mr Lamilur? She asked, knowing the guard wouldn't have the answers she needed.

The Houseblade nodded with as much sympathy a soldier could muster for a politician, "The Conrads are suspected of breaking royal laws, and the laws of Kammeth, I just deliver the news."

The armoured man then thought about the second question, "He most likely abides at the Citadel in Agile, we had left with our message a while ago, but I suspect you could find him there."

Elle sighed, rubbing her eyes softly "I see...I must see him as soon as I can..." She muttered to herself then looked back to the man "anyway, must you be off now to continue the message? You may gladly stay and rest until morning if you and your accomplices wish to." Elle was tired of ruling already, there was so much that she had to do and check, and unlike her father she did not trust others with the information she should be giving to her advisors.

The man nodded, clearly tired from his journey, 'We thank you for your hospitality, but before we conclude, we must know if you are to enforce the decree, and if you know of the locations of any Conrad men."

"I feel I have no choice in the matter of following this decree.. I shall do so of course, and I have not seen any Conrad in a week, when they dropped off my Sister. she has been staying here since then." A subordinate walked to Elle's side "Should I escort the Royal Houseblade to the Tavern?" She asked

"No, no. Take them to the guest rooms. They shall stay here for the night. They are not some low lives to sleep in a bed of fleas, they carry a royal decree" Elle said smiling softly as the subordinate nodded.

One of the female houseblades laughed, "yes, wouldn't want to get any bug bites in our sleep."

The man at point nodded, "Agreed, most hospitable of you, Queen of Odesh."

The next morning, the Royal Houseblades, 5 Royal Amplefort Guards and Elle Whiteshorn, set off to The Citadel on horseback.

[gorgenmast]

76th of Zieliah, Year 698
Riddom

Seagulls cackled overhead, choppy waves sloshed and churned underfoot. The barnacle-encrusted wharves of Riddom's harbor teemed with activity in the early morning as stevedores grunted and toiled hefting cumbersome loads over the gangplanks onto the ships or vice versa, all without the labor-saving cranes one might find in more developed parts of the world. All the same, the moored vessels were loaded and unloaded in preparation for the next leg of their journey. For most vessels, this next destination would be Korczyn or Soldier's Port. Relatively few vessels traversed the sea lanes along the Northern shores of Elyden, as most ships instead plied the more prosperous eastern and western coasts of the continent. Those ships that did stop in Riddom typically came to resupply and restock before leaving for their primary destinations. Even so, the port was busy enough for Lord Barad Anselm to track down a vessel calling Jihlava in Karvina its port-of-call.

"...Three, four, five." Lord Anselm counted aloud as he deposited a number of golden coins in the hands of the ship's captain. "Five golden crowns, for the trouble of sailing instead to Krakenheart in the Sharktooth Isles."

"A fair price indeed." The Karvaci captain agreed, tucking the crowns into a breast pocket. "Sir Alfric and his companions will have safe passage on this ship. You need not fear for their safety. You have my assurance that they shall return safely home in ten days time, Lord Anselm." The captain extended his palm to Barad's and shook it deftly, confirming their arrangement. "May their business there be fruitful."

"We got us a boat, lads." Alfric grunted, slapping Sers Rendel and Percy squarely on the back of the shoulder, gesturing for them to make their way up the gangplank to the Karvaci Cog after the captain and a handful of crewmates.

"I shan't keep you much longer." Said Barad. "Time is of the essence, you ship must arrive at Krakenheart before there is any attempt to enforce a blockade. Heldan has informed me during our last discussion that Houseblades have been sent out to see the embargo enforced. I have arranged that your vessel shall not layover for resupply until it reaches the Sharktooth Isles in the interest of preventing your captain from inadvertently learning of the embargo, but you must take care not to let it known to your hosts that travel to the Conrad holdings has been forbidden."

"You 'ave my word in tha matter." Alfric acknowledged. "I'd not worry about it, but ah'll keep it-"

Alfric was cut off by Sir Percy leaning weakly over the side of the ship, his face an unnatural hue of pale white. Even before the young knight had begun dry-heaving, both Barad and Alfric knew precisely what was coming next. After a wet, burpy cough, Sir Percy's mouth erupted with vomit, painting the hull of the vessel off-white with half-digested porridge. The Karvaci deckhands snickered to themselves as Percy continued dry heaving.

"Oi, Percy! Better find yer sealegs in short order, lad!" Sir Alfric called out to his companion.

"Perhaps Sir Percy need not join you for this excursion?"

"He'll be fine." Alfric dismissed. "Boy's a bit green around the ears, aye, but he's mighty calm under duress that one. In case this business with tha gems goes sour, I want two lads I can count on at mah back."

"See to it that it never comes to such a thing."

"I can make no promises, m'lord." Sir Alfric warned as he made his way up the gangplank onto the ship. "All ah'll say fer certain is that I ain't comin' back empty-handed."

[solamelike]

70th of Zieliah, Year 698
Amplefort, Palace


Eden looked to the small bowl of powder in front of her, the varied mix of containers and chemicals strewn across the table showed all the different formulas she had tried mixing to get the result she had now. The smell was strong and anyone entering the room would be enveloped in the chemical scent of sulphur's, charcoals and various other powders and chemicals. The girl removed the homemade helmet she had for mixing chemicals and smiled from ear to ear at the fruits of her labour. She poured the powder into a small bag, it mixed with more of the concoction as she quickly left for the Palace Gardens, taking a small tinderbox with her.

The sun was high in the sky, small clouds where beginning to form which provided enough shade to keep the day at a pleasant temperature. Eden skipped past the many different flower beds, each one from parts all over Odesh, but mostly from Flowerhurst. The tweeting of twitters could be heard all around the garden as Eden ran deeper into it, she soon made her way to a small clearing, the ground here was not filled with beautiful flowers like the rest of the Garden. The place seemed trodden on, the dirt covered in stains and singes from past experiments. No life could be heard here, as most animals had learnt to avoid this place entirely. It was Edens test grounds.

The girl poured a small amount of the powder in the middle of the clearing, then took a few steps back. She picked up a small bundle of dry grass and used the tinderbox to light the end, then she poked the powder with the flame. Heat flooded the girls hand causing her to drop the grass as the flame rose a foot into the air, White smoke puffed upwards and continued to rise into the sky. Despite the surprise of how big the fireball was, Eden was still smiling. "Brilliant" She thought as she began to pour more powder into the spot.


76th of Zieliah, Year 698
Amplefort, Palace


Eden had done many experiments in the last few days. She had added and mixed more with her concoction and had even made small clay shells for them. The imperfect spheres of powder sat snuggly in a small satchel at her hip as she walked through the palace. Now that her father had gone, she hoped that her sister would beable to see what she had made and possibly put some investment in future inventions. She hoped that she could start inventing and producing items that could help leap Odesh into a new time of enlightenment.
Eden began to whisper to herself "Hey Elle.... no no.... your majesty Queen.... no... errm... hello miss Whiteshorn" She practiced the way she would ask her sister as she walked through the long halls, adorned with paintings and tapestry's from far off lands. She finally got to Elle's office and still had no idea what to say. She knocked twice.
"Come in" A voice called from within the room.

Eden opened the door to a large mess. Elle sat at her desk, she was still in one of her silk nightgowns, and she was flicking through the papers in front of her.
"You don't look like a Queen" Eden said out loud, walking towards the desk.
"Well you don't look like a princess" Elle responded meanly looking up and down at the girl. She wore pants and a shirt as if she was a lowly peasant boy. The pants had a light layer of dirt from messy hands that needed to be cleaned.

"Im not a Princess im an inventor, and if I could jus..." She was cut off by Elle
"I know what you are going to say and no, just as our father said, I can not fund any of your projects. "She responded in an annoyed tone, the work had been getting to her. "Why don't you just stop? None of your so called inventions would work and even if they did they would cost an entire workforce a year to build."
Eden attempted to retort "This one I..." She was cut off again.
"This one is what? Different? Just like the machine that can make a man fly and the war wagon that could power itself, or maybe you are talking about how you plan on heating water to make giant wooden contraptions move and destroy our enemies." Elle spat the words, her voice even angrier now
"Go now. You should begin studying for something useful" Elle looked back at her paper as Eden ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Tears began to streak down her face as she rushed off to her room.
Ignored once again.
Nothing had changed.

[Goldeagle1221]

77th of Zieliah, Year 698
Phoenix Tower; in the Dungeon
Creaking, sagging stairs wound into the depths of the great pit, affording the Seeker of Secrets a way down into the undercroft of the Phoenix Tower. To call it a stairway was to embellish; the flight down into the dungeon was more aptly described as a series of half-rotten planks fixed against the walls of a great crevasse beneath the base floors of the citadel. Vaulted columns rose up from the rocky surfaces to support the foundation of the Phoenix Tower above. Torch sconces had also been affixed to the walls of the deep chasm, glowing like stars against the dark expanses far above. Whereas dungeons and stockades in most castles and citadels were naught but reserved segments of the basement, Phoenix Tower's dungeons seemed to be a natural formation - a craggy ravine in the mountain that the tower had simply been built on top of. These sorts of crevasses and grottoes could likely be found underneath much of Skyhaven, giving rise to the unsavory Undercity beneath it.

Upon arriving at the landing at the bottom of the dungeon's stairs, Heldan discovered that while the tower's dungeons were clearly better controlled than the Undercity, they were in many respects every bit as unpleasant. Droplets of moisture fell from the humid walls of the grottoes, falling down into fetid puddles at the landing. A small, shallow pond had formed at the very bottom of the stairway, leaving the Seeker no option but to traipse through the muddy water and follow a trail of tacky bootprints embedded into the silt. The Royal Guards standing vigil along the entrances to the grotto nodded in courtesy as the cloaked Seeker scurried past - the disdain for their miserable post quite evident on their faces.

"Canary Keeper's down the passage, second portal on the right... if that's who yer lookin' fer." A bored sentry directed Heldan, pointing down the dripping cave with his halberd.

Indeed, it was the so-called Canary Keeper that Heldan sought. Dungeonmaster Mork Harmun, Heldan had learned, earned his nickname for his apparent talent of coaxing his victims to "sing like canaries", divulging any secrets that they might try to keep to themselves. The cage-like gibbets in which many of his prisoners languished, the Seeker presumed, certainly helped establish the Dungeonmaster's macabre namesake. He was easy enough to find; anguished wails echoing through the deep lead the Seeker to the Canary Keeper with ease.

The Keeper's chamber was a foul enough place: an open grotto branched off from the main corridor. Small, dripping stalactites formed a dismal ceiling from whence cruel and cramped gibbet cages hung from chains. Swirls of blue smoke wafted upward from a number of braziers filled with wicked iron rods and brands glowing with incandescent heat among the coals. Through the damp, smokey haze, daylight shone through in a solid golden beam from a chisel-hewn merlon that fell upon the floor of the grotto and illuminated the whole of the chamber. Basking in this ray of sunlight was the Canary Keeper himself, warming an iron poker amongst the coals of brazier.
He was a fat, tall man clad in a studded tunic of boiled leather, with a scraggly, unkempt beard that carpeted his neck rather than his chin as a proper beard would. A jowled face with an upturned, porcine nose gave a malign grin as he dug the head of the rod through the crackling coals before pulling it from the flames and approaching a gibbet inhabited by an emaciated prisoner.

"What do you want from me?!" The prisoner howled, rocking the cage in a futile attempt to escape. "I don't know anything! Someone stop this man!"
The Canary Keeper responded by whistling a cheerful tune and he thrust the glowing end of the rod into the cage. The hiss of searing flesh and an anguished wail rang through the grotto., accompanying the Keeper's sappy whistling. Were it not for his duty in the dungeons, it would most probably be the Canary Keeper locked in one of these gibbets.

"Master Heldan," the Keeper acknowledged as he left the poker to heat up in another brazier. "I've been expecting you. Waited all morning for you to see him."
"I understand two assassins were captured in the night," Heldan responded with cold purpose, "where are they?"
"One. The guards dispatched the other, they had little choice. I heard that he made an astounding mess before they finally slew him. Killed a Houseblade and eleven Royal Guard trying to reach the Regent, he did. Would have been a pleasure to make him sing." The Keeper reported wistfully
"The surviving assassin?" Heldan reminded curtly.

"Of course, Master Heldan. Right this way."

The chained mace on the Canary Keeper's belt jingled with each step as he guided the Seeker across the cavern to a single cage bearing a worn, tired looking mass of black shredded robes and pieces of crisp dried skin that remained from the old 'face' mask. The assassin sat with his legs crossed and his face under the shadows of his upturned hood, dark red wet patches covered the clothes and were visable from the surrounding torches bright flicker. A vibrating hum was emitting from the assassins throat as he awaiting further beatings, his ears perked at the sound of the hollow footsteps among the screams of other prisoners. The Seeker approached the cage, inspecting the suprisingly serene figure trapped within.

"Not too close, Master Heldan. Guards patted him down and such, made sure he didn't have a file or some such. I wouldn't be too surprised if he had another blade hidden somewhere. These folk are armed to the bloody teeth."

Keeping a cautious distance from the rusting bars of the cage, the cloaked Seeker studied the assassin within. "What is your name? Will you give me a name, if for nothing else than to allow me to address you?"

A slow nod started fom the assassin as the humming was cut short, a croaking hoarse voice dryly replied, a sense of pain was almost detectable between the syllables of his single word. "water." Heldan reached an open palm to the Canary Keeper, signalling for a waterskin.

"I'm not drinking after him. Not with that shit on his face." The dungeonmaster protested. A vain protest; Heldan's hand seized the skin in his hand and tossed it to the base of the cage - refusing to put his arm within reaching distance of the assassin within.

A gloved hand reached through the rusted bars and lightly grasped the skin, and slowly retracting it back towards the Assassin. The hood was pulled back, revealing the stolen smiling face the assassin still wore, wrinkled and falling apart. With a slow swing the murderer sucked down the water with gusto, letting a few drops fall to his dark painted chin, giving a weak filed sharp tooth smile at the refreshment. With a quick gesture the assassin extended the water skin through the bars as to return the empty container.

"You realize you're going to be replacing that, Master Heldan." The Seeker nodded thoughtlessly, keeping his attention on the prisoner.
The Assassin spoke with a renewed energized voice, now having a clear heavy set eastern accent, "Skinless Ivoni would be my name."

"Ivoni," Heldan repeated. "I trust you are aware that five days prior, King Whiteshorn was murdered in his sleep at the palace in Amplefort... much like you and your comrade tried with the Regent. It was associates of yours, Scorpions, who did this thing?"

Ivoni thought for a moment, flashing light eyes from behind his devilish mask as he spoke, "If a man was to strike another, would you blame his hand, or his arm? No, I suspect you would blame the man. Much as I am but a finger to the hand, wouldn't you much rather waste your time somewhere else?"

"This man had Flint Whiteshorn killed, he nearly had the Regent slain. I will find the man behind the hands, but I must know first where his fingers go. Who else do your associates aim to murder, Ivoni?"

"While I have a few ideas where your fingers might go, it is not of my knowledge or ability to answer such accusations, or questions, " Ivoni replied, his voice starting to fade into the sounds of the other prisoners.

"I'll get it out of him." The Canary Keeper snarled, drawing a glowing brand from a brazier. Heldan waved a hand dismissively, shutting the dungeonmaster up.
"Who, then, sought your services?" The Seeker continued. "Who benefits from the death of Lord Whiteshort and the Regent? Who is the man behind the hands?"

"How would you suspect that I would have even been told, myself?" Ivoni proposed willingly, as a small rumble attacked his stomach.

"You and your comrade scaled the better part of the exterior of the Phoenix Tower with naught but steel hooks to murder the Regent. You put yourself at tremendous risk to accomplish this thing... and you expect that I am to believe you when you tell me that you were never told to what end, to what benefit, you were expected to attempt such a thing? You will find that recalcitrance will accomplish little here." The Seeker turned his head briefly to the dungeonmaster stoking the brazier's coals with a brand.

"I ask you again, Ivoni. Who hired the Scorpions to murder the high lords?"

Ivoni began to start ripping off loose peices of his thick black robes, his eyes seemed perplexed behind his human mask. As he began piling the scraps in the palm of his gloved hand he sighed without removing his sight from his palm, "I don't know."

"Surely you have some suspicion. I would think you an observant one, Ivoni. Surely you have heard, in passing from the hands behind the fingers, what the ultimate aim behind your endeavors might be. A simple guess could save you an extraordinary amount of needless... discomfort. Were you in my position, in what direction would you begin seeking answers?"

"Enough of this tripe." The Canary Keeper growled, plucking the glowing rod from the flames. "I'll make him sing."

With a purposeful grin, the dungeonmaster brandished the incandescant brand and made his way to Ivoni's cage, waving the glowing end menacingly. "Should've talked to the Seeker here. I fear I'm not as friendly as he is." With that, he plunged the burning tip into Ivoni's gibbet and pressed it in. With a quick reaction, Ivoni's gloved hand filled with scraps of cloth grabbed as far up the brand as possible, sending a sizzling sound and horrid smell into the air as the devilish assassin pulled back on the brand while wincing in incredible pain, sending the torturer slamming into the metal bars with a loud clang, popping the mans nose into a bloody mess, and causing him to drop the brand into the cage. In a fluid movement the second hand of the angered demon grabbed the midly conscious man and held him close to the bars, while the other repeatedly stamped the red hot end of the brand into the helpless screaming mans eyes. A fierce smile shone on the Scorpions face as he melded the Dungeonmasters eyes closed forever. A brief paused seemed to promise the end of the horrific act, only to be interupted by the glowing brand being shoved into the poor mans mouth and melting the inside of his mouth with incredible burns, causing the screams to muffle into horrid gags and blood filled croaks. With one final push, the brand was lodged into the mans esophagus. The torturer was let go of, and his thick body hit the ground, the handle of the brand clinking against the stone floor.

Ivoni shot his enraged gaze towards Heldan, as if daring the man to try and continue what the torturer started.
Boots rumbled through the grotto as a gaggle of Royal Guards emerged on the scene upon hearing the Canary Keeper's "singing" through the cavernous dungeon.
"Kammeth's sake, what happened here?!"

"What in the fook did he do to the Keeper?" Without further comment, the guards levelled their halberds at the assassin in the cage, ready to skewer him. Heldan held forth his palm, staying their blades.

A horrible cackle erupted from the gibbit, "Roman Benedikt happened! He is on the loose, plotting your demise, kill him, kill him! Least, we kill you."

"Remove the corpse with utmost caution." The Seeker ordered over the hysterical prisoner, feeling not the slightest pity for the fallen dungeonmaster. "But do not harm the prisoner."

Dumbfounded, the guards nodded and tugged the Canary Keeper's hefty corpse from the assassin's cage by the feet before unceremoniously dragging him off by his arms and feet.

"We'll be speaking again soon." Heldan concluded, following the guards out of the grotto.

[GreivousKhan]

Date: 5th of Seliel, Turn 698 AU
Location: Lyonhall Citadel


Lyonhall Citadel. The Continent of Elyden held many a marvel, but when the League of Builders were tasked in constructing what was to be the main base of operations for the Royal Army of Elyden, they left nothing to chance. Built on the highest rise of earth in the hilly country of Aglil, Lyonhall, often simply referred to as the Citadel by soldiers of the royal army, the magnificent structure was built around an entire inner fortress complex roughly 1350 feet in length and 500 feet in width, constructed with large, carefully squared spell forged stones. Along the inner walls were numerous rectangular and semicircular towers, roofed with pointed cross-arches.

Overlooking the high, eastern edge of the inner fortress stands a large keep, measuring 200 by 150 feet and protected by massive rectangular towers. The outer curtain, walling the inner fortress and wrapping it in further redundant defences, perfectly circled the rest of Lyonhall, marking the borders of the Citadel. Small walls connected these outer walls to the fortress walls within, thus segmenting off sections of Lyonhall. The citadel was thus a huge concentric nest of defences, cunningly designed to support each other and to be abandoned by the defenders in stages so that the attacking force must fight for every square inch of ground. The outer walls and gates are formidable enough, but these were only the first layer of defence. After that, the going for an attacker would only turn bloodier; with towers strategically placed to allow defenders to attack outward sections, but always lower than the inner wall, thus, in stages, even should an enemy take the first towers, they would still ever be at a disadvantage.

The western gate was almost always open in times of peace, as it was the most often traversed and used, with troops moving out of the Citadel to head either to Greenwood Castle, Skyhaven itself, or Lochbridge beyond that. The western gate section was also the main staging grounds sorties, and was thus packed with small stables for swift horses native to Aglil's hills. The flag of the Royal Army, an Eagle in flight with two swords crossed behind it's outstretched wings, flew high above the Citadels ramparts, even in the face of a coming storm. The west section also housed the King Stables, where knights and their mounts made their home while called to duty, groomers, horse hands, and other servants ran back and forth in the falling rain. Bells were singing and echoing in the cool high breeze, the spotters having seen the approaching caravan, one no doubt holding their newly appointed Lord Marshal and Firstsword’s shipment.

Jopol sat outside the citadel gates, a long shadow enveloped him as he sat in the damp green grass, a luxury of land that he was not used to as both a sailor, and an Ash kin. Having arrived days before as per Gori Lamillur urgent request he found this spot to be his favorite when he was not listening to Gori’s commands, even if they were more watching his facial features rather than any actual listening. Jopol never really saw much of the Stars because of his pauper lifestyle and sailing career before this, but he had heard many things about the stars, particularly Gori, which they have proven themselves relatively true. When Jopol first laid his eyes on the tall man, he concluded that he does in fact look as if he was carved right out of a formidable stone, with very powerful and striking features. The sailor knew however not to mistake the stone like figure for sloth and slow movement, for even the weakest of minds knew that if this man could counter gnolls in combat, he must be clever and quick as well as powerful. This has proven true to Jopol expectations, as he found himself more often than not having long tactile tangents with the seasoned General and First Star for hours when there wasn’t much business to be taken care of, he even had the pleasure of practicing against one of the Ashtoken guards, which, he still remains sore from at this moment.

Suddenly the all too familiar hiss and whistle of a giant fuwma filled his ears, causing him to leap to his feet, nearly slipping on the wet grass, as it had started to rain; water seemed to have an uncanny way of following him wherever he went. Sure enough his silver eyes picked out the long line of a fuwma caravan in the distance coming up the road. Large wagons were attached to the great beasts that moved so effortlessly against the weight of the shipment. Jopol could tell however, that they weren't moving as fast as they normally do.

Probably homesick, Jopol concluded, as fuwma tend to hate leaving the desert and her comforting warm sun that shines off and warms their dry sand colored scales. Before he knew it or even could finish his thoughts of the desert, the caravan was upon him, requesting entry through the imposing gates. Jopol walked over to the foremost wagon, and put a booted foot on the slippery step, “Mind if I tag along, I was just on my way in,” Jopol flashed his usual charmingly roguish smile.

The driver looked over, she was a pretty one with light soft features and big eyes, and far too well dressed to be an actual fuwma driver, this connection caused Jopol to wrinkle his shaven brow in confusion, lifting himself on without ever getting a reply.

“Well, I suppose you can!” The woman sarcastically said with a flowing accent, seemingly taken aback by the rude entry.
Jopol lifted his brow and narrowed his eyes.
“I’m sorry, it has been a long and strange trip,” the woman defended, no look of sincerity emerged from her gentle face.
Jopol just nodded blankly, a typical stoic Ashtoken at this point. Then his observant eyes caught sight of her expensive yexaras that hung one on each of her shapely feminine hips, they held the sigil of the fifth tribe on the decorative pommel, and suddenly it all clicked, “Henzil Deprash is your father,” Jopol blurted, happy with his deduction.

The woman, Yia Deprash, in turn gave him the typical blink and nod, to which Jopol shook his soaked ashen head, as the caravan finally began to rumble through the gates.

A dash of lightning flashed as the caravan came to a stop, the fuwma hissed at the wet intrusion as well as the sudden blasts of light. Jopol could see a distant Gori approaching from the grey mist that was forming, but before he distinguished the tall stone man and his mighty spear, he received the sudden urge to look up, and so his silver eyes shot skyward, twitching his eyelids at the showering rains endless assault.

The rain had begun some half a candlemark ago, and already it was starting to pour. Taking in her immediate surroundings, Valera Paragon, Lady of Greyhall and first Mistress of the Maiden Blades; was soon to spot a most interesting sight. Her current vantage point, several hundred feet in the air, allowed her to easily spot the slow moving procession of a body of men. Currently too high up to recognize the heraldry of their banners, she was able to see they rode not on horses. The awkward jerk of their legs and long reptilian like tails made that evident to her, even if she lacked the eyesight of her wing companion- a Nomadii named Kayein. Predictably a sharp whistle brought her attention to that very same women, and she had signalled to reveal she too had spotted it.

Valera signalled to her squad, a group of five other dire hawk riders of the Maidenblades, before leading them into a sharp climb before wheeling back around. In her mind, the current conditions could hardly worse for flying, though Goldeagle hardly seemed bothered by the beating rain and the odd bang of thunder. Still, while her companions would normally be silhouetted against the skies, the lack of sun and the presence of the storm would have in fact made it a simple matter to strike down in a sudden surprise attack on the caravan. Of course, she had no reason to do so, and in fact- as she began to decline to the parties far left, she recognized their sigil. A banner holding six copper stars around a red sun on a grayish silver background that could only be…

She tugged sharply on Goldeagles reins, causing him to snap his head back slightly and give a shrill 'chwirk'. Heads snapped up at that great bellow, surprise written on their faces- at least Valera guessed, still a bow shot away from the caravan. Herself and her fellow riders pulled up short as they glided the last several hundred feet. Too land softly just thirty feet to the left and ahead of the head of the escort. Valera heard a sharp curse several feet behind her. Apparently Lorica, Skybolt as the rest called her, had landed her mount rather unceremoniously in a large puddle of water. She walked Goldeagle forward, a hand raised in a sign of peace, she brought her dire hawk to a stop still some distance away however, not liking the way he was eyeing those lizards these men rode.

“Valera Paragon, Captain of the Lyonhall Garrsion, Lady of Greyhall and first Mistress of the Maiden Blades,” She had already begun to remove her open faced helm (only a mad man or women would ride a dire hawk with a but a visor to peek through), and freed her long raven black hair, letting it fall nearly to her shoulder, “I recognize your sigil, but not your face, would you be Firstsword Gori Lamillur of House Ashtoken?”

Jopol pointed a confused finger at himself, speechless as the raptor riding woman spoke to him, “No,” he finally stuttered. The reply to his weak answer was a quick bold one and came from several yards behind the mighty hawk.

“I am The Voice Of Ashtoken, Firstsword Gori Lamillur,” A strong booming accent sounded, all too familiar to Jopol now, as the tall man paced casually in the rain to the clutter of fuwma and hawk, his ever present ancient spear tight in his hand and Lam’Token on his belt. The First Star wore not his ceremonial desert robes however, but dawned thick sandy fuwma scales, that wrapped around him protectively as if the blessed desert had weaved the strong armor herself for the protection of her children.


Valera smiled and gave a nod. “Of course, I did think him a bit young.”

Her clear light grey eyes stared searchingly at him for a moment, as if taking his measure. Rain ran down her steel pauldrons, her armor itself was the uniform Tilrin style plated mail, with its elongated curves, flutings and ridges which strengthened the armour, providing natural deflection from arrows and weapon strikes; perhaps redundant given Valera spent most of her patrols from the skies. One might see, despite all the grime of hard travel upon her, that she was quite beautiful, yet in a dissolute short of way. She wore no cloak, and save for the leathers and padding under her armor, had no protection from the elements. Yet she seemed unperturbed by this fact.

Helm under her left arm, the other still on the reins she continued. “Well then, we have much to discuss, and the weather seems intent on making that difficult out here. My companions and I have just returned from a patrol along the southern reaches north of Balrion River, allow us to escort you and your caravan the rest of the way to the Citadel proper,”

“Of course,” Agreed Gori Lamillur with a polite nod of respect, as he studied the hawks and their riders alike, “I was about to suggest getting the fuwma out of the rain, and us in better quarters for a tribunal.”

The First Stars eyes quickly glanced at Yia, recognizing her face instantly, giving her but a simple raise of the brow and twitch of the nose. The young girl hopped off the tall wagon, her knees buckled as she nearly slid on the muddy ground. She walked over to Gori, Jopol quick at her heels as a true fuwma driver took control of the foremost wagon.

“You two should come along,” Gori requested, both feeling it was more than a suggestion, due to his naturally authoritative tone.

Valera gave a curt nod, before re-donning her helm again and signalling for her band to rise skyward once more. She pulled on Goldeagles reins and he walked back with slow strides two steps, once he had enough room he gave a another great shrill cry- causing a few fuwma to snap up their heads at the sound- before he beat his mighty wings and slowly ascended. Soon the procession was on the move once more, overshadowed now by the six dire hawk riders above.

The caravan entered through the first gate, and begun moving through check point after check point. The sky riders themselves soon vanished in a north easterly section of the Citadel, presumably to specially made and quartered off stations for their mounts.

It would be almost a full turn of the glass before Valera had finished seeing to Goldeagle, making sure a fresh horse carcases had been brought to him and that his groomers paid special mind to his usual foul temperament during a storm. Odd how when grounded and under a roof he found lightening followed by thunder to be unsettling. Still tracking mud with each step, a few lingering drops of water falling from her form, Valera made her way to the main war chamber. The rooms official name was 'Chamber of Campaigns,' and was a room Valera knew all too well, despite the Greater Realm as a whole never having fought a true great war. Reaching the door, she stopped a moment, wiped dry her hands, then took hold of the iron loop beneath the latch as she pulled the portal open.

A heavy lanolin smell was the first thing to strike her, as it often did, and then the light, sharp and bright from the east-facing wall where a spell lite brazer burned- spell lite she knew due to the complete lack of smoke it produced. The air was cool but rapidly swarming as the brazier had begun to give off much needed heat. The sight of breakfast leavings off to the side on another table reminded her she had not yet had anything it eat. The center room was dominated by a massive table, one especially designed with the an extremely detailed map of Elyden. Gori was already within, peering across the map before him.

She stepped in, the door closing behind her, she snapped her feet together and bowed a salute. “First Sword Gori Lamillur,” she said crisply. “Valera Paragon reporting, I see you found the main chamber without much trouble.”

Gori kept his finger tracing various passageways and routes as the sharp salute was made. He looked up at her announcement however, and straightened himself out uniformly and gave the salute a warm welcoming bow of his own head,

“A pleasure to finally meet you Valera Paragon,” Gori Lamillur said in his stoic fashion, his eyes covertly studying her once again before snapping into politics and offering a seat with a formal gesture, himself preparing to take one as he shifted his spear into the crease of his arm.

The two sat down rather close as to observe the map if necessary,
“I am wondering, Valera, what you know of the current conflicts of the greater realm?” Gori asked in a swooping eastern accent, his pale eyes digging in with the inquiry.

Valera sat back in her seat, taking a much needed and long awaited breather. She screwed up her face slightly at Gori's question. “Mostly of recent events: The second intrusion of assassins, resulting in the death of one servant. The Summit and the appointments that followed. Not much else then that- I've been keeping busy with my duties here, along with leading hunts along the eastern borders. More and more Gothica seem to be coming down from the mountains of late than normal...worse still we have been hearing less and less from House Jaegar of late. All we know from rumours is that they have been fighting off a few incursions of their own.”

A hand tapped against the armrest of her chair. “I suspect you may very well know more then I Firstsword, it has been a month since I have stepped foot in Skyhaven.”

Gori digested her words quickly, “I have sent a request for the presence of Lord Jaegar, I myself have heard snips of those rumors, and would prefer them beaten back as soon as possible,” The man paused, his stone set face finding spots on the map.

“However,” Gori continued, “We will get back to that topic but first; There is also unrest in the southern and western Isles, consequently reducing our navy, and putting the continent at risk of invasion due to silly selfish ambitions.”

The man's gaze connected with Valera’s, “I have taken many scenarios into thought, spent nights and days concocting strategies, and various solutions to problems present, and future. Many things have been brought to my attention in many ways, and what I do know is: our navy is useless.”

Gori tapped his spear heavily on the floor, causing Jopol to open the door slowly and peak in, “ready for me?” He asked in a light sighing tone and was met with a simple nod.

As the sailor casually strolled in, taking in the sights of the grand room, Gori continued.
“I thought to myself, we must be ready for anything on, and off shores, our standing army is powerful and formidable, yes, but our navy suffers, especially with the lack of cooperation with House Karacid, and Conrad. Luckily, I had requested Jopol to help solve such issues. Jopol Shempul is a merchant manager of Tempur, a born and raised sailer and man of the ocean, skilled enough to rise the ranks quickly, and now provides us with even more resourcefulness.”

Gori rubbed his bald chin, “We must prepare to be outnumbered on the waves, therefore we must have better tactics, and better equipment to work with, Jopol if you would.”

The young sailor took a folded piece of paper from his soaked pocket and flattened it against the map, rubbing it viciously to keep it unfolded. On the worn damp paper revealed a design, a new ship, one of which Gori had mentioned to Jopol, was very much an odeshian idea and that Jopol’s journeys and dealings with other cultures clearly paid off.

“you see,” Jopol began sucking up any sense of nervousness and hiding it behind his dashing silver eyes, as the other two stared at him intently, “ I was shipping some wine one day, when a wave knocked an entire rack of barrels into the ocean, some cracked and broke in the storm while others didn't, keeping the rack afloat. So I thought why don’t we do this with our hulls? Why a single layer when there can be two, with hexagon compartments in between to catch water instead of weighing the entire ship down? One compartment may fill up, but the rest of the ship would be just fine!”

The sailor looked happily over his work, awaiting the two to speak.

Valera rubbed her chin in thought. “I admit to having little experience in naval warfare or sea travel in general. But you have reason to believe we might be attacked from overseas? The last Black Armada was nearly two cycles ago, surely they can't be planning another invasion so soon?” The very idea was unsettling, but there was a measure relief in knowing that newly appointed to the position he may be, Gori was already immersing himself into the task. “And this ship design... it might prove promising if it will be as effective as you say, how long would it take to build at least a small fleet of ships of such a design?”

The mediocrity of the Royal Navy had been an issue she had raised before, even her cousin Carixus had voiced concerns on the state of the navy- or lack thereof.

Gori almost smiled at the question, such tactics being one of his favorite discussions, “I myself wondered, but then it struck me obvious. One merchant ship is usually the same size as another which sells the same product, one of less product is a slightly smaller ship. It is quick and easy to tear a ship apart, and all we need is enough wood for the second hull and the compartments, which can easily be taken from either ship and added to its brethren, and why stop there, “Gori persisted.

“I fear threats from not only the far east, but possibly island houses who seem to send off a rebellious nature, as troubling rumors have acquainted themselves to my ear. In turn I have acquainted myself with their styles of warfare, and have come up with a conclusion should the need arise to face our own at sea. If we cover the decks to deflect the arrows of enemy gallys, it provides enough cover for retaliation, as well as a new weapon to be feared on the waves.”

The First Star paused and looked at Jopol who had started to lean in close as if the booming voice of Gori was a soft whisper, Jopol smiled warmly, “Excuse me,” he requested as he sat back.

“I have ordered pitch and sand,” Gori continued, his almost glowing eyes focused back on Valera as they peered from his chiseled stone visage, “When an enemy climbs your walls, you pour hot pitch on them, when the enemy tries to flank the desert army, you put them in a sandstorm, likewise when enemy archers on a galley aim their arrows at us, we burn their feet with unquenchable oils, and blind them with infallible sand, when the time comes for this, we shall bring the very desert to the ocean.”

The Lord Marshal sat back in his seat, both his hands folded on his spear, and a look as if buzzing thoughts spoke to him conjured up an appearance on his face, “this is my solution for the navy, currently,” He concluded in a gentler voice.

“I have always been of a mind the Greater Realm has suffered the island nations current rule, given their tendency for Independence and rebellion. That is a threat that has been brewing for too long.” She said nodding. “What you suggest however Firstsword sounds quiet...adventurous, to say the least. I can't imagine any of our enemies expecting it, or having an answer for it. But many ships and navies employ windsingers, such individuals could turn that very sand back against us, if not at least nullify its advantage all together.”

Jopol interjected, “then we shall answer with the Magi!”

Gori Lamillur shot Jopol a glance, one of either agreement or disappointment, it was hard for Jopol to tell. The seasoned soldier tightened his grip on the spear and became entranced in thought, “possibly,” He finally said, “One would be wise to think on such a tactic before considering it all well and done right off, to be aware of certain unseeable rebuttals, when you have time,” Gori continued his proverb, “it is best to use it so you know what to do when you don’t.”

“One of many tactics,” The Voice said collectively, “Perhaps the answer to your question of windsingers is to send more boiling oil over, or catapult stones, maybe to hook their boat and set it on fire, perhaps even ballista.”

“ Yet another tactic is quick sleek ships armed with a prongs much like a Trireme, with a line of them, covered and hooded to protect them from falling arrows, and swiftly propelled by two sets of under deck rows, one could puncture the enemy hull, allowing marines to take the ship,” Gori paused again, "There are many solutions to the problem, I guess my theory would be. They can be combined, mixed, and matched, and all work in their own scenarios, it is finding the appropriate time to use each that decides the effectiveness. I am inclined to believe that a tiny row boat could take down the largest galleon, given the proper scenario and strategy.”

“Valera,” Gori began, his deep voice switching to curiosity, would you say it is time to get our army prepared for the worst? I myself wish to access what we have to work with.”

“Well I suppose it will be left to the High Admiral to decide.” She folded her fingers together as the topic. “I think it is past time we began reorganizing the Royal Army. Currently the army stands roughly 22,000 strong, with auxiliary forces available from the other High Houses which could see that number double or in the best circumstances tripled. The core of the army itself, stationed here in Aglil comprises of 7,500 spearmen, 3,500 swordsmen, 3,500 crossbowmen, 3,000 skirmishers, 2,000 of which are mounted, and roughly 4,500 men-at-arms and knights. However, we seem to have a significant lack of heavy Calvary, not a problem if we see any action in the north-west, but may pose an issue later. Of course, we also have fifty three skysentinel's to call upon.”

Gori nodded slowly, “yes, a reorganization would be in order, I plan on bringing Shi’iti into the army to help spark new military ideas and integrations, such would only benefit the military. Perhaps, if things worsen, we should pull auxiliary forces for formal training. I suspect famous Agile armor is being used, but how is the quality of the weapons?” The stone like man tapped Lam’Token, it’s steel blade had visible dark lines flowing alongside the blade, signifying its density yet flexible nature of the carbon tubing created in the delicate smithing process.

“That could be beneficial, many still speak highly of Shi’iti martial practices. As for weapons, tilrinmessers are used primarily by foot companies, with mounted lancers servicing longswords. They've served well enough, but I suspect you would have to speak with Tilrin blacksmiths of the Citadel to get a more in-depth analysis. I've heard few complaints myself.” Valera absentmindedly rested a hand on the hilt of her sword, still sheathed in the scabbard.

“I will do an in depth inspection personally as well as speak to the men and women of the army, and as soon as possible” Gori stared in thought, “Soon this army will be well oiled and ready to defend on the case of any intrusions.”

Yia slowly creaked the heavy door open, her head poking in “um, First Star, there is a Queen Elle here to see you.”

Jopol’s posture suddenly straightened itself out as he took a more noble appearance, his ears in disbelief and his eyes wide like a doe’s at the name as Gori began an acknowledging nod.

“Sure, let her in, and why don’t you join us, Yia,” Gori waved at the countless chairs, clearly the meeting was to end here, and another to begin. Such was politics, as Gori Lamillur had learned.

The Queen quickly entered, "Why must I relinquish rights to trade with the Conrads?" Elle yelled allowed getting straight to the point, she was not in her formal Royal clothing and instead wore a short black battle skirt, her crossbow lay by her right side as the curved sword on her left almost touched the floor. "Surely you do not understand what this would do to Odesh, our main export is tools and weaponry, and without House Conrad's metals we can not continue this Economic stability."

Gori raised a brow at the sudden attack, as Jopol nearly fell out of his chair, his arms barely catching the chairs sides. The Voice kept his calm composure and replied with the usual boom, "I understand your plight, and I have given thought to them."

His scale covered hand motioned at the seats once more, one in which the silent Yia had already taken, "As you are well aware, Ashtoken and Whiteshorn have been long term business associates for quite a while, in fact we have Shipping Manager Jopol Shempul here now," Gori motioned towards the wide eyed man, "He is well in charge of Odeshian shipments, and any lack in resources can be compensated through our own old trade routes."

Elle looked to Jopol, she didn't react to seeing him. "I believe I have heard of his name." She said not giving away a hint that she knew him. "Should I talk to him on the matter of addressing how Odesh will receive its metals?" She asked Gori, glancing over to Jopol once again.

Gori nodded, his gaze unwavering, "he has the ability to write up all the formal paperwork to be looked over by the council, but there should be no reason we wouldn't help out a long standing friend, and such a bill of trade should pass immediately."

The First Star tapped Lam'Token, "I'm sure you will find Ashishian steel reliable and to your taste. Although I do offer any tests you might want to use to quench any doubt if such a need ever arrives."

“I will check over the batch personally” Elle said, looking to the floor. “I fear that this could have been solved sooner, and saved me a trip, if you had thought about Odeshian needs before you sent out the demands to cease trades.” Elle retorted with a frown. “But I see you would rather come to my lands and demand I surrender my trade and even to go so far as surrender my extended family, without even a meeting so that the houses could at least be told in person the severity of House Conrad’s crimes towards the crown.”

"You have my apologies, but I must say; The arrest pales in comparison to what crimes lay hidden among the Islanders, and it was not my decision alone. I wouldn't bring harm to my countries friends, neither let trespassers against them sip in delicacies of victory over their unknowing maimed bodies. I will bring light to what questions the decree brings, but I also I must find the light in the questions brought to me by others. There is a lot going on Queen Elle, and I apologize for what part I play, and any discomforts you may feel from such actions, but I will see to it personally that they are all compensated, and all Houses suspected of crimes receive just and fair trials, and all Houses affected receive fair solutions."

Gori ended his calm speech with a blink, his spear idly leaning against him. A single clink sounded as the spear butt tapped the ground, and The First Stars powerful hand gripped the artifact to steady it.

"What of my fathers assassins?" Elle asked doubtfully "Any news on who did it, or who hired them? I presume the Black Scorpions are the prime suspects? I would hope that this was priority number one, not rounding up Conrad's "Elle placed a hand on the hilt of her sword, sweat dripped from her forehead to the floor. The journey had been long and uncaring and it showed on the womans face.

Jopol sucked back condolences and instinct to comfort the woman, whom he "had never seen before".

Gori sat through the question like the stone he was made out of, unlike Yia who looked full of worry.

"It is top priority, and the only concern of the Seeker, right next to the crown. As I have mentioned, I will not let trespassers laugh and smile in cheated victory," Gori reiterated the last sentence, a sense of care could have been taken from his usual stoic voice as he spoke with the Queen who was but a baby when Lord Flint opened relations with Hevi Deprash.

Elle looked up, her warm eyes looking into the men in front of her. "Thank you... I should return to my kingdom now... I hope to speak with you soon Mr Shempul " She nodded towards Jopol then turned to leave.

Gori bowed his head in respect, "Of course, and feel free to take as many nights as you wish here, though it may not be luxurious, take the best room you see."

The Firstsword thought for a moment, “but of course we were just discussing some issues of the greater realm, as Queen of Odesh, it would be very much appreciated if you would wish to join us.”

"I guess I can spare some time to join in the conversation, of what are we discussing?" Elle asked, walking over and seating herself, attempting to adjust her sword so she could sit down comfortably. Failing, she unsheathed the blade and placed it on the table in front of her, The large curved Claymore covering 4 feet of the table.

“ Concerning military matters, as well as the uncomfortable rumors of an island rebellion,” Gori Lamillur noted with a blink, “Do you have anything to say on the matter?”

Yia leaned onto the table, seemingly bored, her big eyes studying Elle as she waiting for a response, but her eyes kept finding their way back to the curved blade, causing Yia to rest her hand on her fathers yexara she kept on her left.

Elle layback in her chair, thankful to finally be sitting down. "I know that if left out of the loop they will make your jobs a lot harder, rumours run around you see, and the seedy underworld has a way of getting past things like embargos and sneaking people in and out of places, under the noses of the ones in charge." Elle glanced to Yia, who seemed to be more fixated with Elles blade than what she was saying. "I will raise security at my docks, but it seems Odeshian criminals can slip through the tiniest of cracks" Elle continued.

“As long as they can not fund a rebellion, also, with the appointment of a new High Admiral, things should hopefully see improvement. However I see your point, and would hope to work close with you, as your ports have heavy shipping schedules, and the eradication of criminal activity would benefit us both.”

Yia spoke finally, her voice sounding tired, “you mentioned a new High Admiral?”
Gori nodded at the bored Deprash, “Yes, the man I trust the most with the job currently would fall to this man,” He pointed a gloved finger towards Jopol who was taken aback, “Me?”

“Of course, you know these waters better than any other in the east and are up to par with the west, followed by your cultural experiences and well thinking, I trust you can get the job done,” Gori folded his hands on his spear, “Of course first you must finish your shipment with Odesh, but after you are to be debriefed, and relocated to a major port where the majority of the navy would benefit the most from being docked at.”

Jopol simply nodded, taking in the sudden promotion. He played with his topaz ring, thinking what this new title would bring, and what he would hope it doesn't bring.

"I do not want to judge your selection, but does this man know anything of Military tactics? Naval Tactics? Experienced military training?" Elle was sceptical at the sudden promotion. Looking to Jopol, she wouldn't want him to be killed in action. Possibly by her own hand.

“I would suspect, a Shi’iti who has sailed the pirate infested eastern seas would know a thing or two,” Gori looked to Jopol to await his own analysis. The newly promoted admiral sat silent, his face looked lifeless and blank, and his silver eyes twitched back and forth as though they were reading invisible words. With a sudden shaking of the head, the man snapped back in, his voice noticeably low,

“As a Shi’iti I have no doubts,” The tone was almost sad, and clearly distressed.

Elle thought about the words, Asktoken society was always so... weird to her. So militaristic in nature. "If this man is to defend my ports I wish for him to be trained with a crossbow, so if the need arises he can use the weapon effectively. I do not expect you to arm him with one but I would feel safer if I knew he would be able to shoulder one." Elle believed the crossbow to be one of Odesh's greatest inventions, a weapon that could defeat men with little effort or practice, but she also liked that the weapon could be trained with and used as a tool to take out long range individuals. Shooting key targets further than any other weapon.

Gori nodded, "Agreeable, he may leave with you whenever you choose to depart."

Elle nodded in thanks then looked to Jopol “I will put you in the hands of the the Odeshian Scouts… they will make sure you can shoot a flea off a dogs back”

"Thank you Queen whiteshorn," Jopol said with his usual pleasant smile.

[solamelike]

Date: 5th of Seliel, Turn 698 AU - NIGHT

The night was a coal black interrupted by sparkling stars that laid out blueprints for imaginative pictures and age old stories. The pale moon shone brightly down on the royal encampment; a few tents and tied up horses.

The area was a damp grassy hill, with only a single warm fire to fight away the coming chills. Jopol sat quietly by the fire, a long rotted twig in his hand. His clothes were cleaned back at the citadel and only now faintly stunk of the seas salty breath. A thick woollen blanket hung off his shoulders, catching what heat the fire had to give. His silver eyes followed the dancing licks of flame as he thought mildly on the recent events.

He had been promoted, which was good, or was it bad? He had no idea. It was as if two tigers fought inside his very soul, one ashen and dutiful, a true formidable creature, and one red and passionate, full of life and a sense of ambitious emotion. The rumble of the bout caused his heart to skip a beat and he grasped his chest as he let out a shuttering breath, his lips growing cold from the long expulsion.

Through his hard working pauper life he had little hope, and even less care. If he was born anything but an Ashtoken he would have been labelled a silly name such as "sky" or "elephant", and possibly "bone". Despite unknown presumably dead parents he had never known, these bastardious terms never touched the lips or flung off the tongue of anyone who spoke to him, for he was Ashtoken, he was fourth tribe, he was Shi'iti. To this he owed mountainous gratitude and should lay his life down in return no matter what, but his once well hidden heart had already been claimed, and there it would stay.

"Shouldn't you be resting?" A mans voice could be heard from the right of Jopol, a young man no older than twenty five walked towards the High Admiral. A thick stubble covered most of his face as he wore the purple clothing of the Odeshian Royal Guard. A sabre rested on his left as the familiar Odesian hand crossbow was on the right. His head was topped with a purple turban, covering the scraggly black hair that was hidden underneath.

"Thought I'd watch the camp in case any-"

Jopol slapped his own cheek in a frenzy. He removed his hand and observed the small twitching mosquito that had bit him, "In case any... mosquitos attack," Jopol finished with a hearty tone.

"Well you don't seem to be doing such a great job" The man chuckled looking to the odd man, ashtoken where so much different to Odeshian, and even though this one seemed far more laid back, he still stuck out as Ash folk. The guard recognised the man but couldn't quite put his finger on it. "Im Joshua" He said his hand extending to Jopol. "Royal Guard to Queen Whiteshorn of Odesh"

"Jopol," The Ash kin said, shaking the mans hand. "Royal guard, huh?" Jopol continued, remembering all the guards he had out manuvuered getting in and out of Elle's room, "See any action lately? I myself have been growing rusty for years, only to be thrusted into a military position for one decent idea."

"Not really, It seems I am a soldier without a war... though im lucky to still have my job since the whole Whiteshorn assassination incident... a lot of people got laid off after that." Josh cracked his knuckles and sat beside the man "Oh! Jopol. The new High Admiral!" The man suddenly remembered "Well... I don't think I am supposed to know that yet... but Elle is quite talkative when she has drank a few... I probably shouldn't be sharing that information either..." Josh laughed a little "Im sure it is no surprise that the Lords and Ladys enjoy getting pissed"

A fiegned smile stretched across Jopols stubbling cheeks, you don't know the half of it , he thought to himself.

"Yes I hear the more regal enjoy a good tantrum," Jopol replied a little louder than hoped. He turned back to the fire allowing silence to disperse his announcement. A yexara laid next to the fire, a gift from Gori, congratulating his progress. Such a gift is priceless to any Ashishian, and Jopol liked to think the same feeling of contentment was inside him, if only it didn't remind him of his inner struggle.

"Ever use one of those," Jopol asked, making the best of the sword as he pointed at the blade that shone against the flames.

"Cant say I have, though this does me fine" Josh unsheathed the large sabre from his side and passed the blade to Jopol "It isn't anything special, but it cuts heads from shoulders" Josh wouldn't actually know if this was true, as he had never killed anyone. Sure incidents had happened in the five years he had been part of the Royal Guard, but nothing that had escalated to the spilling of blood. "I hope to get into the Scouting corps to be honest, they are all ex Royal Guardsman and are the best of the best.... all you have to do is wear that uniform and everyone treats you as if you are a lord.." Josh looked upwards to the black void that was the sky "Fame, fortune, woman" Josh laughed "You get it all being part of the Scouting Corp."

Jopol balanced the blade against his palm, "Sounds lovely," he said without taking his eyes from the sword.

A fun little thought entered his mind at that moment, "Hey, Joshua, want to practice?"

Jopol reached for the hilt of the yexara and sat back up with it.

"You can pick what sword you want, I just need to loosen some bolts."

An elegant smile was prevalent on Jopols face, one that clearly meant his tired exhausted mind wasn't thinking things through.

"Well, I guess I can see how fast I beat you" Josh teased taking his blade back and hopping up onto his feet, he swung the blade in a figure eight then loosened out his arm more by swinging the sabre. "Ok lets try and not murder each other, id hate to get blood on this uniform"

"Well," was all Jopol said while leaping to his own feet. His hand tightened around the comfortable new hilt and he posed himself in a plow ward. He could still hear his Shi'iti martial master shouting commands, followed by correlating facial signals.

Joshua stepped forward, swiping a shallow swing to provoke the fight. His blade was met with the thrust of the Yexara, effectively sliding along the edge of the sabre as Jopol advanced forward.

The cross guard of the Yexara flicked, parrying the first swing, and double backed with a long draw cutting swing of its own. Joshua countered quickly Sending his blade perpendicular with a loud clang.

Jopol smiled, and Josh returned it. The two began to skilfully and quickly swing their swords at each other, each time the blades met with a loud clang. The two circled each other as their blades danced, the yexaras blade singing against the generated wind.

Jopol advanced forward aggressively, throwing Joshua off his balance trying to parry a powerful stroke. The man caught himself and used his new momentum to thrust upwardly. Jopol dodged to the side and swung low at the back of Joshes knee. The blade was jumped over by the guard, who then grabbed Jopols arm as he fell backwards. The two landed into one of the tents, effectively caving it. Then with unceasing energy the two abrasively leapt back in stance and continued their now loud duel of clangs and clashes. A quick parry of the sabre, a counter from Josh, skilled foot work to the side. They used every thing they were taught as the camp came to life. Guards rushed out of their tents and unsheathed their weapons at the violent sight of the seemingly aggressive fight the two continued by the blazing fire.

The duellers ignored the shouts from the guards as their blades flashed blinding reflections of the fire, and the sharp edges and points barely missed vital areas. Josh threw a punch, terminating the counter Jopol was fluidly designing with a smack. Now the fight really heated up, as the Shi'iti started to remember not only his more advanced training, but what he had done to kill the few pirates he was forced to. The yexara arced with magnificent strength, and the sabre was brought to a defensive ward to catch the violent swing and rebuttal. The singing Ashishian steel bit into the sabre, effectively damaging the blade at a brittle point, and nearly shattering it all together and ripping it from the guards grasp, only to be slid back and formed into a quick thrust. Joshua spun away from the point and to Jopols side, using the momentum to create a strong horizontal attack. Jopol ducked and rushed forward with his yexara in an upward "ox" ward aimed at the mans face. The rise gave forth to a strong thrust only to both their discomfort as an all too familiar voice yelled at them disrupting the attack and knocking Josh down crudely.

"What are you two doing!" Elle yelled, she was carrying a large crossbow that was pointed to the floor. Her silk nightgown flapped in the cold breeze, what could be seen of her face showed undisputed anger.

The guard sank away as Jopol took the heat.

"It was my fault, I called his mother hairy," Jopol blurted. He was terrible at covering other peoples actions, and recognized the face Elle gave him,

"By hairy mothers I mean friendly bout."

A large "forgive me" smile shone from the guilty mans face.

Elle really wanted to be angry, what an idiot! This so called duel was disrupting the entire camp. She really wanted to be angry but.... god damn it "Don't let it happen again!" Elle yelled flustered by the handsome mans grin as she turned to return back to her tent.

Jopol looked at the seemingly disappointed guards who had watched the fight, "Nothing left to see, go back to bed."

With that the guards grumbled and returned to their tents. Jopol sheathed his new sword and crept over to the regal tent, and skillfully slipped in.

Elle sat at a small portable desk, the stool she sat on was uncomfortable but better than standing. She was working once again, it seemed she could never have a break. Tonight she was planning the trade that Gori Lamillur has promised her, figuring out just how much metal that would be. She heard a movement behind her "I have not requested any company" Elle said allowed, not taking her eyes off the paperwork. 'He is insane' Elle thought.

"Jopol Shempul reporting," the man said redundantly and digging a tiny scroll out of his pocket and flicking it onto the desk.

"I can see you're busy, but perhaps a drawn up list of demands and shipping agreements of metal to Odesh would further your... demands and shipping agreements of metal to Odesh. Just check off the amount, and what you are willing to pay, keep in mind your discount you suavely persuaded," the Ash skin chuckled.

"This should save a few hours of writing up documents, I worked on it during our long march, it has become second nature, your majesty," Jopol leaned lightly against the tents support beam, careful not to cause any more disruptions. His sudden ego rising up as a wall to deflect the guilt he felt for disturbing her, and although it flooded his voice quite expertly, his face remained lined with guilt and discomfort, causing the sham to be easily unravelled.

He buckled under the weight, "I'm sorry."

Elle looked up to the man , then the scroll, " For a second there you where sounding like someone who actually knows what they are doing" She joked placing her papers down and standing up, walking towards Jopol. "Dont worry, no-one in power actually knows what they are doing half the time" Elle smiled softly at the man, standing a foot or so away, the warm fuzzy feeling she felt when they embraced rising from her stomach. He looked disgruntled, and rightfully so. He wasnt a Commander, he was a swash buckling sailor. Her sailor.

Elle slowly leaned in and kissed the handsome man who happily returned the favor.

"You should go get some sleep" She said smiling "Maybe tommorow you will feel better?"

[gorgenmast]

The Shivers, Shivering Sea
78th of Zieliah

'There is no faster way across the Shivering Sea', they told Sir Alfric.

The Karvaci sailors called it the Shivers: a turbulent current of cold water running from the northern oceans that clashed with the relatively warm seas around Elyden. The current curled westward around the continent, moving southward toward the Royal Coast. For vessels seeking to bypass Elyden's northern reaches in short order, it was the preferred route of travel. For inexperienced seafarers like Alfric or pitiful Percy, the speed came at a high price. The seas roiled and churned around the Karvina-built cog, white-capped waves crashed against the hull. Simply walking about the deck was a struggle. Sir Alfric could scarcely imagine trying to manage the sails. Even so, the Karvaci seemed only mildly disconcerted by the gales and rough seas.

The knight struggled up to the aftcastle of the ship, staggering about with every crashing wave. The captain seemed surprisingly serene, even as he fought against the wheel to keep the rudder in the correct orientation.

"This is good!" Exclaimed the captain, smiling through gritted teeth. "Wonderful weather!"

"Ya mean t'tell me this's better than normal?" Said an incredulous Alfric.

"No! These seas are the worst I've ever seen them!" The captain laughed over the roar of foam washing over the deck. "But we will make it to Krakenheart in record time at this speed. Good in that sense. These waters are nothing the boys and I can't handle."

"Been in rougher seas than these, no?"

"No..." The captain admitted with a chuckle. Alfric was hardly enthused by the honesty of his captain. "But it is nothing we cannot handle. We will be in calmer seas in a day. Fret not, good knight."

"LAND HO!" Rang out over the frothy roar of waves, drawing everyone's attention. The shout came from the crow's nest, in the masts high above the wind-strained sails. Confused glances were exchanged by the deckhands, Alfric looked to the seas around him but saw naught but whitecaps and hazy, overcast horizon as far as the eye could see.

"Impossible." The captain muttered. "We're a hundred leagues from the nearest land. He's wrong!"

"STARBOARD SIDE! NORTHEAST!" The spotter cried again. There, peering just over the whitecaps of the roiling seas, Alfric saw it. A jagged ice-capped peak poking just over the waves.

" Captain? What island is that?"

"That is no isle..."

The cog's sailed pulled it over the crest of a wave, affording the crew a glimpse of the white object on the horizon. With the several feet of altitude that the wave's peak provided, they could see the entirety of it. Two jagged peaks rose high above the sea, whose shadows and pits registered a deep blue against the pure white. Beneath the peaks, a giant, cavernous arch could be seen arcing above the waves keeping the mass afloat.

"Thas'... ice?"

The Shivers brought it south from the distant north." The Captain declared ominously. "A harbinger of winter; sailors know the legends of the fragments of the septentrion. They bring with them the chill of the long winter. It is the first of a great many."

"Thas' a bloody hunk of ice? Whence in Kammeth's name does such a block hail?"

"An ill omen indeed." The captain said soberly. "For that, Sir Alfric, came from Everfrost."

[Goldeagle1221]

The Seventh

The night was retreating and the sun rose on a fresh new day in the land of Odesh. Bright and early, the new recruits had been awoken and set out into the field and told to stand in a line. Ten recruits, men and woman alike, and all wearing the green colours of the Odeshian Scouting corp. The uniform was simple and easy to move in, allowing the one wearing it to travel comfortably in severe heat and cold. From where they stood, the recruits could spot Coldley, the town they had slept in the night before. The large tower that made up most of the town touching the highest tree tops. In the ranks of the new recruits stood Jopol. the outsider.

Jopol stood in the line, almost completely to the left, with only one other recruit further away, Joshua. The man he has sparred (the night before?) stood at attention with his eyes focused diligently forward, on what exactly, Jopol had no idea. It had been a long time away since he had lived completely in Ashishia and even a longer time away since his formal training, and he certainly felt he was going to need it now especially. With that in mind, he mimicked Joshua's unallocated stare and began to try and force up every sigh, nod, and utter his old Shi'iti master had ever sounded or gestured.

Pep Zarri stood in front of the recruits, his eyes looking each one up and down. Like a vulture waiting for an antelope to collapse. He had the stripes on his arm signifying the highest rank of the scouting corps. Colonel Zarri. Leader of the Odeshian Scouts and champion of the 20,50 and 80 yard target shots. There are many stories about his crossbow marksmanship, some say he killed two rampaging elephants with a single bolt, others swear they know a friend that saw him shoot a bird out of the sky with his eyes closed. He finally spoke.

"So.." He paused. "You lot want to be part of the Odeshian scouts?" He said aloud, as he began to walk down the line, eyeing the recruits once again.
"You don't look like much.." he paused once again as he got to Jopol. He stood straight in front of him.
"What in Kammeths name is that shit on your face soldier!" He barked at the recruit.

Jopol's eyes did not wander, as tempting as it was. Dicipline was the first thing on his mind as the senior officer began his tangent, and was strongly suggested by himself when he heard an all too familiar question. Hiding the annoyed redudency of his answer, he promptly spoke, with the tone of a recruit, "It is the sacred ash," He hesitated, then remembered the end of his answer, "Sir."

His eastern accent, stood out between the words of the commander, despite how watered down it had become over the years of traveling Elyden.
"Sacred ash? That some kind of Dustman oogy boogy stuff?" The Colonel barked back, he needed to punch a recruit today, and this recruit looked like he deserved it.... somehow...

Jopol kept his pose as all sorts of fun responses buzzed in his head, only to be surpassed by a simple, "y... yes."
He wasn't sure if the Shi'iti would approve, but then again, Jopol figured that such a petty issue would be above their concerns. Either way it didn't matter, he wasn't doing this for the Shi'iti or any Ashtoken, he was doing this for Elle.

Pep's fist soon hurtled for Jopol's chest. This all too familiar scene ticked an old response embedded in the back of Jopol's mind, and without thinking, his torso twisted to the side as he launched his own hand perpendicular, snagging the flying fist before it could connect. Washed with sudden sobering realizations of his act, he quickly let go of the Colonels wrist. He had a terrible feeling such reactions wasn't to be rewarded in this volatile stand off of superior and recruit.

Colonel Zarri looked stunned, this recruit had blocked him. This ashfolk had grabbed his wrist. "You.." The colonel seemed like he suddenly didn't know what to say. But soon his brute fullness grew back. "Do you have any idea what the punishment for assaulting a superior in this military is!" Pep yelled loudly, the two scouting corps members who accompanied the colonel nudged Jopol out of the recruit line, as the other recruits stood back a step in unison.
Jopol looked at the sudden aggressive force that approached him, I suppose it isn't a warm blanket and a cookie, he thought to himself as he observed the many scowling looks he was recieving. Both his hands were raised with the palms out as if to surrender, backing up slowly after the forceful shove.
"Five lashes" The man continued, his face filled with rage as he nodded for the two scouting soldiers to escort Jopol away. The men grabbed his arms, hoping the ashman would go willingly.

The Ash skin closed his eyes and flowed with the tugging movements of his torturers. Knowing that struggling would only increase any output of discomfort he might recieve, he bent his own will, much to the dissatisfaction of his pride. The pain of the situation emotionally showed itself on his face, and would soon be overruled by the look of pain from the bare skinned lashings.

The men shoved Jopol into a thick wooden pole jutting out of the ground. His eyes scanned the ground, speckles of old dried up blood littered the dirty grass and the dried out wood. A aggressive hand pulled back on his collar, as if to choke him, while another wiedling a knife ripped his issued shirt open, revealing his bare back. A strong hand held Jopols scalp and forced his forehead into the pole as a whip crackled behind him threateningly. Then with a sharp snap the leather braid so evilly lined with jagged glass and stone cracked across Jopol's back, causing him to wince at the extreme pain and feel of his own blood starting to escape. He wrapped his hands around the pole, forcing his every instinct to fight back down with strained muscles and quick thoughts of serene Elle. He was interupted by another skin ripping slash across his back. The rope bit deeper than the las swing and he clenched his teeth, accidently biting his own cheek and filling his mouth with the metallic taste as the whip cracked again. This time his mind focused on how easily he could escape, all he had to do was throw the man who so roughly held his head into the way of the lash wielder, but he knew it was futile, and this thought was finalized and terminated with another sickening crack of the violent whip. Jopol swore he could hear a small chuckle from the crowd, and any Ashtoken stoicism was fighting it's last breath, almost taken over by foreign rage. With a shuttering inhale he regained his identity, cooling such useless anger, and exhaled with a grunt as the whip lacerated his flesh one final time. The rough hand pushed down on his head, causing him to bump his head onto the pole as one final insult. His head pounded as he felt the warm trickle soak down his back and into his pants, but he could make out these few words from the Colonel, "Don't forget to sew your damned uniform back up you mud caked mess!"

---

The following day, Jopol was sent back out into the field at the exact same time as he had done previosley. After his lashing's he had been sent to the med bay, where the doctor had not been kind to the ashtokens back. He had sewn up the back of his uniform and returned back in line with the other recruits, today crossbows had been lain out on a long table just behind where the recruits stood.

"Today you will meet the love of your life" The Colonel was back to his usual drill instructor barking. "You will hold her as if she was your dear beloved, you will not be getting anything else whilst you are in my company. So get used to sleeping, eating, training and fucking with this fine piece of machinery" The instructor lifted a crossbow in his hand. "This tool, is built by some of the greatest craftsman in all of Odesh." He lowered the crossbow. "It is a Hand Ballista, and don't I ever hear any of you call it a crossbow!" He barked the words, particularly at Jopol."The Hand Ballista's behind you are your personal tools, I want you to get accompanied to them before we continue training, Give it a name, take it out for dinner, treat it proper! I will be back in a moment."

The recruits turned and began to look at the finely crafted machinary they had just recieved.
Jopol picked up his hand balista and examined it carefuly. He ran his fingers across the grain of the wood, determining it's make and details.Coincidently, he figured it was made of Ash wood, a fine tree for fine weapons of range. He fluttered the trigger lightly, figuring out it's release. As an Ashtoken he didn't ever really use a crossbow, but also, as an Ashtoken, he would not scorn a foriegn tool, especially not one so effective. He drew a mental map of the entire device as he studied it carefully, awaiting further orders.

"Now that you have fingered your wives good and proper, Its time to see how good you are at shooting her." Down the field, straw targets where beginning to be set up about 150 feet away. A scouting corp soldier began to lay 5 bolts onto the table behind each recruit.
"Shoot your target, im sure even you numb nuts can figure that out" The Colonel stepped to the side as the targets had finished being set up, the recruits around Jopol began to scoop up their bolts and where already quickly loading them.

Jopol snatched a bolt and put his foot through the weapons styrup, pulling the tight cord back into the catch. He lifted his "hand balista" and with the bolt loaded, he observed the recruits around him. He had never held or fired a crossbow before, but thankfully he knew how to bullshit and mimick really well. With a false cloak of pure ego thrown around him, he copied the man next to him perfectly, letting loose the bolt with the skill of the victim of his copying.

The bolt skimmed the top of the straw target, missing by mere inches.
"Going to have to do better than that dust boy" The Colonel laughed, the other recruits hitting their marks.
Joshua stood beside Jopol, already onto his third bolt, he turned to the ashman
"The trick is to forget everything you know about archery" He joked "You don't aim a crossbow you point it" He whispered, as he let loose his bolt and it hit centre mass. More bolts where placed on the table behind the recruits.
Jopol nodded understandingly, and grabbed a few more bolts. He reloaded, and this time kept thoughts of Ashishian composite bows out of his head, and simply pointed the contraption, letting loose once more.

The bolt plunged deep into the top of the hay.
"See not too hard" Josh whispered as he grabbed some more bolts.
"Now do that, but faster, and maybe you can shoot a bolt before the enemy archers have peppered you with arrows"

"I'd like to see this on a chariot," Jopol mused quietly, letting loose another bolt with a twang. Before he even checked where it landed, he already had another one loaded. He was always told to aim, shoot, and reload and aim again before ever even thinking about if you hit your target or not. He fired again, reloaded, and aimed, this work was repititive at best, but crucial if he was ever to get through this corps and far away from the lovely Colonel.

A long time seemed to pass, recruits where panting and many bolts had shot down range, the targets little more than piles of hay.
"Recreational and rest, back here at sundown" Pep yelled then the recruits saluted. Fists on chests. They began to leisurely walk back to Coldley tower for their lunch.
Jopol stretched his sore hands as he walked casually to the tower, he was unsure what was more unpleasant: Getting his ass handed to him on a silver platter by an Ashtoken elite, or humbling himself to petty insults that never seemed to cease, and not being able to do anything about it. I suppose, Jopol thought to himself, This is where all that emotion and dicipline training comes into play, and where the classic Ashishian stoicism ideas are proved efficient. With the tiny conclusion he nodded and blinked at nothing in particular, as if to entertain his idea with the all too familiar Ashtoken response. He was always a man far from the desert, but now he was not only far, but judged by it, much to his own lamentation.

---

The recruits soon returned, rested from the hard work they had done that morning.
The tables had been removed and five large ballista's sat snuggly in the tall grass.
Colonel Zarri stood their, beginning his usual barrage of words and spittle
"Now maggots, where going to see how accurate you are with the most powerful weapon in the Odeshian military. The Odeshian Ballista, the weapon that smacks Kammeth himself in the face. It can take down an elephant and is used regularly for that reason. Tonight you will be hiking with this fine piece of weaponry. You will be in pairs, each group consisting of a spotter and a shooter. You will move to checkpoint One, marked by a red flag, then you will fire at the target in the makeshift campsite. Killing the target secretly without anyone of his friends knowing. When you are ready, pick up your equipment and head west.

Jopol was confident, when you are trained to fight in a sandstorm, you pick up on how to spot obstructed, or nearly invisable targets. Now it was just a matter of shooting again. He gave Joshua a nod, as to signify their possible teaming up.

Joshua nodded back and they both walked up to the ballista, it was a large wooden monstrosity, weighing as much as the man carrying it. 3 large bolts snuggly fit in a holder on the right of the weapon. "We carry it above our heads" Joshua told Jopol "On our shoulders." He muttered as he went to pick it up. Jopol obeyed and fit it as comfortabily as one can onto his shoulder, and began his march.

The walk wasn't pleasant, but it could have been worse. The ballista was incredibly heavy, but the ground was flat for most of the hike. The sun had set and the moon was the only light that enveloped the field.
"So.. how are you taking it?" Joshua asked, grunting as he heaved the large weapon.

" To be honest," Jopol said in a hushed tone, "I just want to get it over with, but I do value what I'm learning."
Jopol pointed a finger, while his shoulder strained from the weight, "Isn't that the flag?"

"The training is rough, but if you survive it then you come out as some of the hardest their is" Joshua smiled then squinted to where his friend was pointing "Yeah, on that hill." The small flag waved in the light breeze as it was surrounded in thick bushes. As the duo moved closer, they could see that the position was elevated above a small campfire site, tents where set up and torches where in placements. Straw dummies also littered the camp.

"Ok so we have to kill the one that would be in charge..." Joshua muttered, looking for the most well dressed of the dummies "You look, I will set up the ballista" The two placed the weapon down as Joshua began to set up the bipod.

Jopol eyed the camp, the dummies were dressed in low quality armor to simulate a real soldier, nothing string enough to stop a well shot arrow, let alone a massive bolt projected a many times the power. One wore a red bandanna and a false badge of wood, he stood behind half circle of other dummies. It was possible to easily take this fake man out with a well placed shot, and also possible to take out the man who stood so close to him with an even better placed shot. Jopol turned to Joshua who had just about finished his own task, and explained the grouping.

"Sounds easy, you fire and I will spot you." Joshua stood up and began to crank the large ballista, the rope slowly pulling back. The weapon was soon primed and the Odeshian placed the 3 foot long bolt into its loading position. Then he kneeled beside the crossbow, taking out a small device to measure wind and elevation needed.
Jopol lined and pointed the large machine to his target, and flirted with the trigger a little, adjusting his aim just a little. When all was ready, the trigger was squeesed and a rather silent swoosh and snap jerked Jopols arm as the massive bolt shot throug hthe air faster than one could see. The monster bolt ripped through the captian dummies head easily and kept going, only to be stopped half way through the dummy behind the capain. Straw littered the camp, and Jopol was rushed with a sense of achomplisment.

"Not bad" Josh smiled "Now lets get back to the tower."
Jopol nodded, and then blinked.

[GreivousKhan]

Date: 3rd of Seliel, Year 698

There were people who feared solitude, but Arlohius did not count himself among them. He sat astride his horse, the barren hills stretching out on all sides, a warm wind brushing across the grasses like the breath of a contented god. Near a jumble of half-buried stones there was a scatter of white bones, and set upon one of those boulders was the multi-tined rack of a bull eckalla. Slain by a hunter turns past, the perched antlers pronounced and the triumph of the kill.

It seemed a poignantly hollow triumph in Arlohius's eyes. The ancient tradition of hunting had been held aloft as a standard of virtue, emblazoned with the colors of courage, patience and skill. It was also a hand upon the beating heart of the earth, even if that hand was slick with blood. Challenges and contest of wits between Tilrinic and beast- when the truth was, it was rarely any contest at all. Unquestionably hunting for food was a sure and necessary instinct, but forms were born of pragmatic needs until such endeavors came to mean more than they once did. Now, hunting was seen as a rite of passage, when necessity had long since ceased.

It was a curiosity to Arlohius that so many men and women, well along in their turns, still found need to repeat those rites of passages, as if emotionally trapped in the transition from child to adult. He well understood the excitement of the chase, the sweet tension of the stalk, but for him these were not the reasons to hunt, while for many he know that they had become just that.

Do we hunt to practice for war? The blood, the dying eyes of the slain... our terrible facilitation with suffering? What vile core do we dip into in such moments? Why is this taste not too bitter to bear?”

He had seen no sign of living eckalla, and he had ridden far from Lochbridge, far from sad Carixus and his excited niece, far from the world of weddings, hostages and ever growing tensions among the highborn, and yet even here, among the hills Aglil was famed for and beneath this vast sky, his kind found him, with trophies of death.

Years past, when he was still young enough to dream, he imagined setting out to discover a new world. Years past, when he was still young enough to dream, he imagined setting out to discover a new world, a place without other tilrin or other people, without civilization, where he could live along and unencumbered- no, perhaps not alone: he also saw her at his side, a companion in his great adventure. That world had the feel of the past, but a past no eye had witnessed, which made it innocent. And he would think of himself as prey, not predator, as if shedding the skin of brazen killer, and with this would come a thrill of fear.

In his weaker moments, Arlohius still longed for that place, where freedom's risk were plain t understand, and when he rode out from the city, as he had done this time, vanishing into as much of the wild as remained, he found himself searching – not for eckalla, or their signs; not for wolves on the horizon or in the valleys; not for the hares and the hawks- but for a past he knew was for ever lost. Worse yet, it was a past he and his people did not belong in, and so could never know. He had been trained for war just as he had been taught how to hunt and how to slay , and these were deemed necessary skills in preparation for adulthood. How sad was that?

His horse's ears flicked and then tilted. Arlohius rose to stand in his stirrups, scanned the horizon in the direction of the horse's sudden attention. A troop of riders coming down from the north. Their appearance startled him. He could see that they were mostly Tilrinics, wearing armor but bareheaded, helms strapped to the saddles. The only settlement remotely close was Sedis Hold, at least three days to the northwest, and these riders would have had to cross the Silver river, a difficult task at any time of the turn, when it would have been simpler to remain on the road on the river's other side, which would take them down past Whitestone and hence onward to Lochbridge. There was no reason for such a risky crossing when solid bridges beckoned to the south. The riders were drawing closer, but not in any haste

Nudging his horse round to face the newcomers Arlohius hesitated a moment, and then rode towards them. As he approached, he saw that the riders had rather unkempt looking gear, and oddly sized for their frames. As if the gear itself had come second hand. That was not all together odd, given the expense of forging such equipment. Still something about that detail struck Arlohius as odd. The riders amounted to a score of apparent regular soldiers in all, a sergeant and, at the forefront of the troop, a captain. This mans eyes were intent, studying Arlohius as if looking for something in particular. Evidently failing to find it, he visibly relaxed, and then held up a hand to halt those behind him.

“You journey far,” the captain said. “Do you seek to deliver a message to Silverdeer?”

Arlohius shook his head. “No sir. To do that, I would be upon the other side of the river.”

“Then what brings a young highborn out wandering the hills?”

It seemed, then, that this captain was determined to ignore the matter of their being on the wrong side of the river. Arlohius shrugged. “I am Arlohius Oloro, hostage to-”

“House Paragon.” The captain's lean, weathered face broke into a smile. “Is it a rude guess that you fled the frenzied preparations for marriage?”

“Excuse me?”

The man laughed. “I am Captain Maroccius Clantia, Arlohius. My journey to the south is simple. We plan on attending the ceremony, Of course, It pleases me to know that Alysara and House Paragon are upon the very crisp of wedding bliss. Something the realm surly needs.”

Arlohius knew the name of Maroccius Clantia, an officer who had fought with distinction in the under wars. What he had not known was that he had been posted at Sedis. “As hostage to House Paragon, sir, it would be my honor to escort you. I have tarried in these wilds long enough, I suppose.” He brought his mount round as the captain waved his band forward.

Clantia, Arlohius rode up alongside him. “If I were in your place, Arlohius Oloro, I might well be seeking an empty cave among the hermits of the north wilds. A young woman about to be wed- whom you have known for so long now- well, I have guessed wrong as to your motives?”

“My motives sir?”

“Out in the wilds, along and blissfully at peace- you have been gone some days I wager.”

Arlohius sighed. “You see the truth of it sir,”

“Then we'll speak no more of wounded hearts. Nor will I torture you with questions about Alysara. Tell me, have you seen any eckalla?”

“None living sir,” Arlohius replied.

The Captain nodded and they rode for a time in silence. His smile held he absent mindedly tapped the bagged strapped to his saddle. Baesar had always fancied himself a good liar as well a talented smuggler, and indeed- there were few easier ways of getting across country under the nose of many attached to a official caravan. A royal one at that.

[naxhi]

Those in Tauricia knew the drums of war would be sounding all month. The Tauricians have been an independent people, living under autonomous reign for years, but they now only desire complete and total independence. This was made evident by the Taurician summoning of the banners and creation of more warships with the wood supply they did have. It would not be long before the Tauricians began to attack points across the continent, but it would not be easy.

"Commander Hzell," said Temir Karacid to his uncle, "you must give me a status on the situation."

The commander proceeded to take out a map of the Southern Region, home to all the Lordships in the South, including the Taurician Isles. "Sir, our scouts have reported that a portion of the grand fleet is being assembled in the South, but we do not know where. The blockade and embargo have gone into effect, and already we have started to ration food to the people. This fleet could threaten our fishing waters and cut us off from all food supplies, starving our people. We must locate this fleet and destroy it, it is our main priority." The warchief studied what his uncle had drew on the map. "We do have some targets in mind for an attack, but the entire royal army is on standby waiting for our next move." said Hzell.

"All twenty thousand?" Asked Temir Karacid.

"All twenty thousand." replied the commander. "They would be on us if we even dared attacked anywhere in the south."

"Rules out the Stormgully, the Plains, and the Windfall Hills as targets." said the anxious warchief. "A quick hit and run against Maelstrom Bay would provide some much needed supplies, the lords of the region do not have the army and navy to stop us. Yet the threat of the royal army reaching word is a big threat. Perhaps we should strike somewhere in the north."

"The royal fleet would be at its strongest up north, where the major ports of the Empire lie. It would be a brutal sea battle for control of the waters. A direct attack would be............"

"A wise and interesting opportunity for an alliance." The two men looked up and saw the interrupting mouth of Guryt Karacid entering the war-room. "We have another realm with a common enemy. My spies have reported that the Conrads of The Young Isles of Men are being hunted by the Crown, and already they have lost members to the Emperor's justice. Perhaps if we send ships we can help secure those islands for a possible attack site."

"We would leave the Islands defenseless if we send too many, yet we cannot send too few. Send 50 Galleys and 200 Triremes to the Young Isles, along with 4600 men, half of our armed forces. Hzell I give control of the army to you. You must lead these men to the north. Attack any coastal region you find on the way up, yet do not draw the eye of the Royal Army. I shall send a small group of raiders to the Stormgully to distract the Army and fleet as you make your way up North, but you must be prepared incase the fleet attacks." Ordered Temir Karacid.

"Yes Warchief, it shall be done." Said Hzell before exiting the room, leaving Temir with his younger brother.

"Perhaps we should take this opportunity to find your niece and nephew. They are still up there." said Guryt Karacid.

"Perhaps indeed little brother. Right now though I need you and your cronies to do something for me." said Temir Karacid. "Send your spies to the mainland. I want to know the Empire's every move, every decision, and everything coming from Skyhaven. Information is important, and you seem the most capable in getting it."

[solamelike]

Date: 10th of Seliel, Year 698
Goldcoast Docks

The sea was calm on the cold Odeshian night. One of Goldcoast's town guard stood watch as the shipping yard lay silent, from his post he could not see far out into the waters, a thick fog stopping him from seeing all the way out to the horizon. The night was like any other, except for a special guest to the coastal city. Eden Whiteshorn, the princess of Odesh, had arrived the day before to pick up paperwork for her sister, she had begged to be able to go and look at the ships in the docks, her intentions unknown to the Queen. She sat quietly in the guestroom of one of the lords houses, sat snuggly by the docking stations. She was writing her usual fantastical notes.

The fog glistened off the water as the guard stood watched. Unknown to him and the rest of the town, a fleet was stationed off the coast deep within the fog. If you had looked closely, then you would see small flames dancing in the water. The fog covered everything, and the flames were made to be extremely tiny in the night. If anyone had seen them, they would have known that these were not Odeshian ships, for most of the fishing and merchant ships were docked for the night. Very few fisherman braved the cold night for an extra catch.

The Guardsman lazily rested his crossbow against the wall, the small stool he sat on uncomfortable beneath him as he struggled to stay awake. His eye's squinted to attempt to see further out into the fog, but with no avail.

One thing caught the eye of the Guardsmen. It was a bright light emerging from the fog. It was small at first, but it grew larger and larger. He did not know what to make of it, for at first he thought he was hallucinating or the light was a rock from heaven hitting the water. Yet the light kept getting larger. The guardsmen's curiosity turned to alarm as the ball of light started coming down towards the town. He heard a flaming sizzle, and a whistling sound, and the ball of light landed in a warehouse near his post. The sound was an immense bang, which cleared the fog for the guard to see. He turned towards the warehouse and saw that the ball of light was a flaming boulder, and it had torn a fiery hole in the warehouse roof, destroying much of the building. Shouts were heard, but not enough to startle the entire town. The guard turned around to sound his alarm for a fire brigade, and he stopped dead. He dropped his crossbow, as hundreds of other flaming boulders shot out of the fog.

Eden jumped as she heard the large fiery explosions close to the small house she was resting in, she quickly moved to the wardrobe and began to change, quickly slipping out of her nightwear and into some pants and shirt. Her short black hair and simple clothes made her look like a boy, a commoner boy at that. She quickly scooped up her satchel of trinkets and stuffed her papers inside, hearing more explosions nearby as she glanced out of her window to the fiery death that rained upon the town. She was smiling. This was so exciting!

The catapults reigned fire on Goldcoast as the fog began to thin. Once it began to thin, the attackers were revealed. Over 200 warships, tiremes and galleys combined, were laying costal siege to the town of Goldcoast. The town militia was hastily called from the sleepy citizens as death and fire destroyed the town. They had no idea about the intentions of the attackers, whether they were invaders, or destroyers. They never had an attack like this before.

Eden was soon out onto the street, watching the chaos unfold as she began to jot down anything that could be of use, the reactions of the people panicking, the speed of the reload time on the catapults. Estimated number of ships. Sadly her enjoyment was cut short when two royal guards quickly grabbed her and began to rush her to the stables. Both had their swords unsheathed and ready to defend the princess.

The raiders soon decided the time for catapults was over. Rowboats were being deployed by the hundreds, and soon warriors landed on the shore, and rushed into town. The raiders were under orders to search all the homes, take as much supplies as possible, and to take as many captives from the people, including men, women, and children. The raiders began to rip the town apart looking for anything that could be used for repairs, weapons, and new ships.

As the guardsman rushed to the stables, they turned the corner to find the roof had caved in, the horses either dyeing in the fire or running for their lives. "Crap" One of the royal guardsman exclaimed as he quickly racked his brain for an alternative. Soon the roars of the attackers could be heard, they had begun the human assault.

The men turned as a group of the attackers began to run towards the princess. The guardsman stood their ground "Run princess!" One of them yelled as they began to cross swords. The Royal Guard clearly outnumbered. Eden didn't hesitate and was soon running quickly away from the attackers.

"Neska garrantzitsua da, lortu bere!" shouted the attackers. The guards stood their ground against the attackers, swords in hand. The attackers were not fond of swords, and used axes and maces instead. One guard was immediately struck down by a mace blow directly to the nose and the head. The other guard managed to slice a nice gash into a raider's neck before getting scalped by another axe.

Eden was soon hurtling herself down an alleyway, only for her momentary freedom to be cut short. A group of men soon appeared at the end of the alley, as she turned to retreat, she noticed the group that had chased her before where on the other side. She had nowhere to run, and so. She had to fight. Quickly ,and without hesitation, Eden scooped a ceramic ball from her bag and lit the small fuse. She quickly rolled the contraption towards the group in front of her as she lit and flung another behind her. The grenades soon exploded as the powder ignited inside them, a bellowing white smoke engulfed the groups of men, obscuring their vision. She pulled back her sleeve and revealed the small contraption within, a crossbow like machine, lined with bolts all the way up her arm. She haphazardly aimed the contraption and fired at the group in front of her. A flurry of small metallic darts shot threw the air and peppered the soldiers in front of her as she began to run straight for them. The men where confused and in disarray, never before fighting such an oddly equipped opponent. The Princess rolled up her other sleeve to reveal the same contraption as before and unleashed another 50 or so metallic darts directly at the men in front. She ran and pushed off of the wall to her side, leaping over the men that where now covering their scarred faces and crouching to dry heave from the toxic chemicals they had inhaled.

Unfortunately, Eden had put on the wrong shoes for this maneuverer, and instead of landing behind the Enemy soldiers. She landed on top of them, where she proceeded to tumble and fall behind them. Knocking herself out on a large piece of broken brick.

_______________________________________________________________________

When she awoke, Eden was on a boat, along with some men whom she assumed to be the attackers. She was lying on the deck of the boat as the men around her were doing jobs that would befit a crew of a ship, yet they seemed different. She has never seen these men before, not in the markets, nor around the region. She tried to get up, but she found out that her legs and feet were in chains. She looked around and saw men and women she recognized from the night before in chains as well. "Ah, it seems our sleeping beauty has awoken from her slumber." Eden turned around and saw an older man, with grey hair, and a grey beard at the helm. She immediately assumed it was the captain.

"Who are you, what is the meaning of this, and why are these people and myself in chains?" replied the scarred girl.

"It seems your people do not know about Taurician might." replied the man, stroking his grey beard.

"Taurician? What is a Taurician?!?" replied Eden in an angrily tone. She had heard legends about these warriors, but dismissed them as fantasy.

The old man simply gave a laugh. "You are on board one of their ships right now! This is the "Kraken", my ship, one of hundreds of ships in the Taurician Horde. I am commander Hzell Karacid, and I lead these fine lads. I serve the Warchief Temir Karacid, my nephew, and we have instructions to sail north."

"North? What happened to GoldCoast? Why are you attacking Odesh? What is the meaning of this kidnapping?!" Eden was slowly growing more and more confused by the second.

"To fight a common enemy. Odesh was just a simple distraction," replied Hzell, "and it seems you will be accompanying us for the real prize."

"You are very mistaken, Odesh is not a distraction. Do you know what you have just done! Odesh has been neutral in all wars since before my father was born! and now you will have encompassed the wrath of Odesh, a land with the greatest war machines and one of the largest armies to ever be mobilised." Eden spat at the captains feet "Soon you will know what power this 'distraction' holds."

"Well as long as we have you, princess, your High Lord wont be doing a dam thing against us."

"Sir, we have searched through the captives' belongings. There are notes here that you may want to read." yelled a soldier across the ship.

"Very well, bring them to me in my quarters." replied Hzell. "Set sail men! We ride the waves to the Isles of Young Men!"

"You underestimate how expendable I am" The princess responded, looking away as the ship continued its journey. Cursing to herself that they had found her valuable notes.

(A collab by myself and naxhi)