[center][img]http://www.fantasyshields.com/archive/9b44cdd5c8164d029deb3cfa1c4d7f27[/img] [h3]House Starborn [i]We Light The Way[/i][/h3] [hr] [h3]Symphony of Death[/h3] [hr] [b]Starring[/b] [hider=Rareik Farwyn] [img]http://img11.hostingpics.net/pics/151637charlibal.jpg[/img] Known in Mivaen as the Dread Pirate Rareik, Rareik is actually of noble blood, belonging to House Farwyn that were principal rulers of Mivaen before the rise of the Starborns. His ancestors defeated by the Starborns, their ancestral lands conquered, the Farwyns were exiled into the western badlands which have since taken their name. Though inhospitable, the rivers and lake that border the badlands offered Rareik much opportunity to hone his seamanship. A competent sailor, Rareik harasses and pillages Starborn merchants at every opportunity. He is currently in hiding following a defeat at the hands of High-Captain Tybolt Starborn.[/hider] [b]Guest Starring[/b] [hider=Wesly Starborn] Nephew to King Victor Starborn, Wesly set sail from Starborn City a fortnight ago, on a trading expedition bound for the Kawachian Straights. He never reached his destination.[/hider] [i][b]5th of Gerna 1200 AU[/b][/i] [/center] The boots of the man fell upon the deck of the ship with a purposeful stride. The snowy beard and hair resembling the wild mane of a lion as his predatory gaze scanned the threats about him, and his sword sung through the air finding flesh and letting loose a cascade of blood that painted the planks of wood a deep crimson. The sound of biting steel and screams of dying men was deafening but to his ears, it was a symphony of death for which he lived. He was the dread pirate Rareik Farwyn, or so decadent wretches of Starborn called him so, fearing the man as they do. Rareik knew the truth. He was a king. With resistance upon the ship put down, all those who would fight him slain, and the cravens that thought surrender would save them are slapped in irons and thrown into the sea, Rareik stood before his prize catch, the man for whom his attack was waged. The rightful king spat as his sea-grey eyes took measure of the man before him. He was a Starborn, that much was certain, the arrogant air that surrounded him was proof enough of that. He was dressed in finery from lands far away. The cur’s eyes were fervently searching for some means of escape, but after a firm correction from Rareik’s backhand, they found their suitable submissive gaze downward. “You wish me to beg, is that it?” Wagged the insolent tongue of the Starborn. “I assure you, you will not get such satisfaction.” Rareik said nothing, merely let his eyes bore into his flesh as if they were hot coals that could burn away the skin and lay bare his corrupt heart. Whether Starborn caught glimpse of the hard gaze, or felt it penetrate his being is unclear, but whatever the case his pride began to wither away and the precariousness of his situation let a stark fear creep up his spine. “You know who I am. Whatever you want, we will pay.” Rareik smiled, his lips curled to reveal his rotted teeth. “I don’t want your ill gotten gold, Starborn. I merely wish to sate [i]his[/i] hunger.” Starborn shuddered as iron clamps were slapped across his wrists, and heavy chains were laid upon his shoulders. “What trickery is this? My life is worth it’s weight in gold! Don’t be a fool!” The words were mere wind in Rareik’s ears. “Lohennir is hungry, what mortal can deny him?” Placing his boot upon his captive’s chest, and with a firm push, he shoved the protesting lordling over the side of the ship and followed his pleading eyes as they disappeared into the deep of the sea. Lohennir is not the only one that is hungry, and like that fallen God, Rareik too could not be sated merely by this paltry sacrifice. Only when the cursed city is razed and Mivaen his will he be content and the pangs of a hunger generations old finally be quelled. [hr] [center][h3]Homecoming[/h3][/center] [hr] [center][b]Starring[/b] [hider=Tybolt Starborn] [img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/f3/33/bb/f333bbd5769bcc989866c665f7a5ac67.jpg[/img] Though the elder of the two Starborn sons, Tybolt has exhibited little interest in rule beyond that of his own ship. A seasoned sailor and explorer, Tybolt is the naval commander of Mivaen's fleet, and is content with that title. [/hider] [hider=Victor Starborn] [img]http://radimere.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2010/08/sotw00101.png[/img] The pragmatic head of the Starborn Dynasty, and ruler of Mivaen and Starborn City. A man of near sixty, he is widely respected among the lords of Mivean while reviled in greater parts of Ethica. Seen by many as greedy, or a midas touched by others, no one can doubt his shrewd mind for finances.[/hider] [hider=Willim Starborn] [img]https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/236x/5a/2f/c0/5a2fc0b5b17c553d96fdbfd6b8dd06f1.jpg[/img] Though the younger of Victor's two sons, Willim is thought to be favoured among his father and vassals for the succession, given the keen mind for business he learned from his father. Sharing his father's pragmatism, Willim's love for family and empire is overshadowed by his love of gold.[/hider][/center] The smell of the sea filled the nostrils of Tybolt Starborn as he stood upon the forecastle of his ship, The Star’s Edge. Before him the great city filled his view, it’s sprawling towers stretching out over the horizon, gleaming as the white limestone from which they built caught the rays of the sun and shone. After two years in Lointaine he was home at last. To say he was homesick was a stretch, that much was sure. Did he miss his bedchambers, his hearth, and the gaggle of servants that waited upon his every whim? His home was the sea and he held little affection for such comforts. His family then? With his mother returning to her kin in the Northern Reaches, he had grown accustomed to the pain of her absence long ago. His wife, a fine woman to be sure, but he held little love for her. Tybolt supposed it was his dearest friend he missed most of all, Seras Rightspear. Two years is a long time to have an ocean between her embrace. Seagulls squawked high above as his dromond sailed into the great Starborn habour. Heavy ropes were cast from stern to aft, tethering the vessel to the stone pier that jut out into the sea like a pearl finger. Tybolt descended from the forecastle and flung over the rail of the ship, dropping down onto the pier, not bothering to wait for the plank his crew extended. He swept his salt speckled cloak across his body as he made his way into the bustling harbor. Surprise took him as Tybolt saw a small gathering within the harbour square. His father, Victor Starborn, King of Mivaen stood along with his brother Willim and a small entourage. A gaggle of merchants and nobles hoping to earn an audience with the king were kept at bay by a pair of guards with crossed halberds. The king and his followers regarded Tybolt as he approached, falling on his knee in respect of his father. “My king, father, I am home at last, returned victorious from Lointaine and the errand you set me upon.” Two years ago he left to broker favourable trade relations with the eastern sultanate of Kysra. He had been wildly successful, earning an exclusive deal with the sultan, cutting their rivals in Violetta out of their iron trade. Victor placed an indifferent hand on the brow of his firstborn. “You have served your house with distinction on that distant shore, now rise, for you homecoming is overdue.” Tybolt rose, the compliment soured by complaint from his father very familiar in his ears. “Ill winds kept my voyage longer than I had hoped,” he explained. “Still, I did not expect a welcome here in the harbour.” Willim, Tybolt’s younger brother, scoffed. “We are not standing among the peddlers and beggars for your consideration, brother. The empire does not stop and start at your comings and goings.” “Than perhaps you would be so kind as to fill me in on your purpose.” Tybolt replied calmly, the coldness of his brother making him miss the vast sea. His father put a calming hand on Willim’s shoulder. “The emperor is dead. Taken by a storm at sea. He, and many of his companions are lost to the deep.” Tybolt felt the air leave his lungs. He realized his father’s purpose. He was bound for the capital, his duties as Arch-Elector compelling his voice before the Phoenix Throne. “Father, counsel if I may?” The king shook his head. “I have no need of counsel, but rather a regent. Willim shall travel with me and impart the wisdom of his statesmanship in the challenges ahead, while you will sit the Pearl Throne in my stead. Heed the wisdom of the counsel and remember the lessons I have given you. Are you up to this task I bestow upon you, my son?” Tybolt’s knees felt weak, as if made of glass that cracked and shuddered under the weight that now fell upon his shoulders. “Surely Willim…” “No.” Victor interrupted sternly. “Willim will be by my side, but a Starborn must always rule. As you are High-Captain with a seat on the Royal Council, I deem it should be you, despite any reservations.” “I will do as you bid, father.” Tybolt bowed. With a satisfactory nod from the king, and a mocking smirk from Willim, the party moved on toward the piers, to board a ship and sail for the capital. Tybolt made way for the Stargaze Tower, the ancestral palace of his family. Locked away in seclusion, where for one of the few times in his life, he felt uncertain of the future. Uncertainty then gave way to fear..