The audible stomps of metallic greaves echoed around the grand halls of Shadow Worth.  It's been too long, far too long since he had set foot back in the South.  The skirmishes in the East proved gruelling, not because the battle was hard to win.  No, rather, the difficulty presented itself through the boring and predictable patterns of war that Cuwarr came to familiarize himself with.  Cuwarr, himself, forgot the reason as to why he was sent to the East in the first place, but it had something to do with uprisings of some sort.  However, his journey to the orient proved to be quite fruitful as evident when he had smuggled a lot of his weapons to the enemy side, only for his men to collect back the fallen iron when they slaughtered the rebels who were too stupid to realize that the people who sold them their weapons were the same soldiers they had been fighting.  In other words, his profit grew by a staggering five-fold, and his expenses were but a few men, and a few bottles of rust removers.  His four main lieutenants counselled for the warlord to return to the South for a bride, if only to spare themselves of the agonizing lecture of which was more artful:  an arrow to the temple, or an arrow to the throat.  After all, if Cuwarr fetched himself a wife, then, someone else could listen to his ramblings other than them.  

Pezach, the eldest of the lieutenants, believed that Cuwarr's heart was merely split in two:  a portion for this senseless art, and a portion for perfection.  These two halves join together as one in the moment before he fires the arrow, and, as Cuwarr placed it, makes art.  However, no matter how infuriating the warlord grew to his subordinates, his men remain ever loyal to the young drakken who brought honor once more to the Naxremis name.

Cuwarr led the party of five towards the place of choosing, and it wasn't unheard of for the warlord to always bring his four lieutenants around with him.  Pezach at his right, Havfalun at his left, Qiorach behind him, and Belnun at the rear of the formation.  The four were considered to be the closest brother-in-arms the warlord had, and tagged with him wherever he goes on an important mission.  At this moment, Cuwarr still wore his intricate, metal chestplate with emblems of dragons etched on its surface, alongside his armguards and greaves-- almost as if he was still going to war.  A deep, red streak of crimson stained his armor-- one that earned Qiorach a discipline lecture because the warlord, being a deadly marksman, should never be stained with blood since he operates at the backline.  However, a bunch of rebels snuck up behind them, and if it weren't for Cuwarr's skill with the blade, he would have suffered more than a stain.

"Dominus, are you sure carrying your longbow will be wise?"  Pezach remarked, eyeing the yew-made bow whose limbs were fashioned with roses of different shades.  "Wouldn't it be better if I carried your weapon, sire?"

[color=bc8dbf]"The act is received well, even if it is not accepted."[/color]  Cuwarr replied, hoisting the bow over his left shoulder using the string.  [color=bc8dbf]"I, alone, must be the one to carry the Paintbrush."[/color]

"As you wish, sire."  Pezach nodded before turning his attention to the hallway in front of them.  "Do you have a bride in mind, dominus?"

[color=bc8dbf]"No,"[/color]  A slight smirk formed on the warlord's lips as he thought about the potential gemminite.  [color=bc8dbf]"But, it fuels my curiosity as to what sort of gem can pique my interest.  I believe it wouldn't be that tasking to feed a wife."[/color]

"Dominus, you remember Lord Huron?"  Havfalun inquired.

At this, Cuwarr let out a soft laugh before speaking.  [color=bc8dbf]"The better inquiry would be from whose mind would Huron's shame slip through?"[/color]  Cuwarr composed himself before turning to his lieutenant.  [color=bc8dbf]"What point do you wish to press, Havfalun?"
[/color]

"He had four wives, Dominus, and yet he's still searching for one.  Think about that, sire."  the lieutenant replied.

Cuwarr took a moment to ponder before he gave his answer.  [color=bc8dbf]"Even a distinguished lord fares badly against a gemminite whore."[/color]  His lieutenants bowed solemnly.  [color=bc8dbf]"Do not let worry grip your hearts, brothers.  I am not as savage as my uncivilized counterparts.  You shall witness."[/color]

Finally, Cuwarr arrived inside the Grand Hall, and he almost drooled at such magnificence.  He heard tales of how the Grand Hall reflected gemminite architecture in all its splendor, but never did he imagine that it would exceed his expectations.

[color=bc8dbf]"Beautiful, is it not?"[/color]  Cuwarr mumbled, removing his hood, and pulling down the metal mask that covered the lower half of his face.  He observed the grand design through hazy visions, brought on by the piece of cloth covering his eyes.  [color=bc8dbf]"I wonder what it looks like when my eyes can see it for themselves."[/color]  Then, Cuwarr turned to his lieutenants.  [color=bc8dbf]"Enjoy, and make merry yourselves among the food here.  I am not famished.  We have not stopped from our travels from the East, brothers.  I know your stomachs require nourishment.  Now, go."[/color]

As his guards dispersed, Cuwarr opted to take his seat among the distinguished warlords of the Drakka, and even recognized some familiar figures.  He saw the Tigress conversing with one of the less significant officers before she waltzed off to fetch a bride of her own.  Cuwarr only conversed a few times with the Tigress, but he knew from the start that she earned her keep within the ranks of the warlords.  Next was Huron, and how Cuwarr released an amused laugh at the droll display of the warlord fetching another wife.  How long would it be until he adds another one to the list of wives he's lost?  He also recognized his colleagues among the rabble of lust-ridden drakken, all but craving to taste the flesh of gemminite women.  At this thought, Cuwarr rolled his eyes (thankfully, the cloth prevented anyone from seeing his look of disdain).  [color=bc8dbf]"Nothing but savages, they are."[/color]  he remarked before he stood up.

Cuwarr opted to admire the gemminite architecture further, if only to distract himself from the boring sight of his brethren sneering and jeering as to which gem in the hall had the tightest crevice possible.  Conversations like these were beneath that of Cuwarr, and he found no reason as to why he should taint his glory with such desperate conversations of narrow-minded imbeciles.  Cuwarr believed himself to be above most, if not all.  He found no reason to kill his enemies directly, and opts to give the killing to others.  As a matter of fact, a few of the warlords would know that Cuwarr is the only warlord without a single confirmed kill on the battlefield.  While his deadly prowess with the bow brought him to fame, Cuwarr chose to just shoot enemies with the purpose of incapacitation, preferring others to land the killing blow for him.  When asked, Cuwarr merely replied that he found no glory in killing someone so defenseless.  But, he always adds that he wants his first kill to be remembered-- he wants his first kill to be on someone notable, not just any grunt who just happened to pick up a sword.

His adoration for the intricate spiral etches and designs on one of the pillars in the hall robbed Cuwarr of his attention, causing him to bump into an unknown person.  At first, he stepped back and observed the offender, but his frown softened into a grin upon seeing that it was just a frightened gemminite, wearing one of the most artistic dresses he had ever seen:  red cloth mixed with yellow alongside floral designs really made her chestnut eyes shine.  The shaking of her shoulders, and the way her cheeks twitched gave away her otherwise neutral posture, and if Cuwarr was someone of low standards, he would have already taken her as a bride.  Instead, he placed his hand on the crown of her head, patting it gently.  [color=bc8dbf]"Take courage, child.  The more you act like a caged bird, the more you draw the worthless lords to travel down your thighs.  After all, the best lords are the ones who take a challenge.  Lift your head if you want to survive longer than normal."[/color]  Cuwarr chuckled before moving onward.  [color=bc8dbf]"Oh, and don't just stand idly there; waltz and sing, worthless one.  You won't be so lucky to bump into me again."[/color]

The warlord shook his head at the gemminite's predictable nature.  Oh, how he wished the gems that were brought here were better than her.  And, oh, would his prayers be answered when Cuwarr turned a corner, and stopped in front of another gemminite who was being escorted by drakken guards.  Immediately, his eyes trailed down her figure, and the warlord's breath hitched in his throat.  Her dress, still of a floral design, was matched with a flowing white curtain that made her appear like a white lotus amidst a great turmoil.  Then, he went to her face, and again, he swallowed a lump down his throat.  [color=bc8dbf]"Oh, my."[/color]  he mumbled.  The girl's eyes were unlike any other, and bore a mixture of courage, fear, desperation, and will.  The myriad of emotions found all over her face reminded the warlord of an abstract painting he found in Gem.  Hard to understand, difficult to comprehend, but, oh-so meaningful on its own.  Immediately, the warlord turned to the guards, and waved them off.  [color=bc8dbf]"She'll be my company for the night, gentlemen.  Now, go, stuff yourselves into each other's posteriors if you would."[/color]  The guards huffed angrily before marching away.

Cuwarr turned to the woman with a smile, and although her features were harder to determine because of the cloth on his eyes, the warlord still managed to grin.  [color=bc8dbf]"And, through what combination of letters do I address this white lotus before me?" [/color]

[@Vesuvius00] [@SevenStormStyle]