[hider= A Familial Dispute]

"Damn it all, father, you can't just mount a war from nothing!" Eli shouted angrily, slamming his fist upon the large, engraved, map of Formaroth in the Mercy War Room. "Think of the logistics, the supplies, the manpower-"

"Conscript from the land en masse, men and women who have already sired children. I need an army. I've already written letters to some mercenary contacts I've maintained, and I've even sent a few letters to some old friends of mine. Eli, just do what I say." Giles' voice was cold, harsh, unwavering. It had been ever since Naomi had suffered her injuries. Where Eli's passion and anger showed on his face and in his words, Giles carried himself coldly and with great distance.

"I see. You plan on turning the kingdom into...what, a mercenary company? Father, that's idiotic, we can conscript but not that heavily. Leave the women to their children- why do you want to raise the women anyway?"

At this Giles scoffed and gestured as if the answer were obvious.

"Boy. When you think of men fighting, what image comes to mind?"

Eli paused and considered the question.

"One of the fighting rings, or soldiers with swords and shields on the field."

"Exactly. Each of those areas has rules. Even the battlefield, the warzone, is prey to..honor, rules, expectations. When two men fight they throw punches, hit the gut and face. When two soldiers clash they swing sword and parry and so on and so forth. Now, what do you think of when you imagine two women fighting?"

Eli paused once more.

"...Chaos. Clawing, pulling hair, spitting and biting and scratching."

"And absolutely nothing held back or reserved." The Old Man added with a wicked smile. "Think of your sisters. They may be exceptional individuals, yes, but they don't break this pattern one bit. I knighted Beatrice so that she may participate in tourneys, but she hardly ever fights fair now does she? She grabs and throws and punches and grapples and uses every advantage she has to fight her best. Drevala? She holds nothing back either. You and I? We play with our prey, we make sport of fighting. There will always be rules that men, unspoken and unbidden, follow in a fight, that simply don't apply to women."

"You're insane. No mother will want to leave her child to go to war." Eli frowned deeply, though his mind was whirring viciously at what his father said. Women did fight...much more chaotically and violently than men did, for certain. "You'll be destroying entire families."

"Manshrew just tried to destroy mine." Giles said, the stoicism of his face betrayed by a twitch of the lips. "Not a man or woman in Alenius will stand by under the threat we face."

"What makes you so sure? We're neutral now, we can profit immensely from the arms trade and build a fortune that would make us one of the richest kingdoms in Formaroth! You're threatening to take that prospect away from a people who have been destitute their whole lives. For generations, even! We can handle this more discreetly and more exactly than rushing to war, father."

The Old Man heaved a sigh and some of the energy seemed to drop from his shoulders. Eli's own passions subsided at the sight of his father, whom had always been limitless and unstoppable, drooping.

"Alright Eli. What do you suggest?" Giles asked dryly, and Eli instantly felt his neck hairs rise on end. This was a tone he'd never had his father turn on him. Eli had to stop under the weight of this...dry, emotionless, tone. This was a tone he had heard his father use against men who were moments away from being dead.

"...I propose we strike back more subtlely. Remember how we bled his forces dry in the last war? Let's do more of the same, let's cut off his supplies and thin his numbers. Let Duncan and his forces crush Manshrew's army, then we can sit back and watch as our vengeance is done for us while we build a fortune and amass an army of our own."

Giles' features didn't move from his unimpressed dryness. "Boy, this is all a ploy so you can make your own bid for that damnable throne." The Old Man cut straight to the point, crushing Eli's building energy for the plan. "Let those two fight it out, then sweep in and take everything for ourself?"

"Just trying to funnel some of your passions father." Eli replied in his own dry tone. "I think I'd be a better ruler than a snake or some lord stuck high on his honor."

"You'd be dead within a decade. That throne is a deathwish, it doesn't matter who the king is- that's all pointless. I want Manshrew dead, so he will die- there's no politics in this, Eli." Giles' drooping features hardened again. "And I won't be manipulated by my own son. Manshrew will die because he hurt my daughter."

Eli ran a hand through his hair and shut his eyes. This... stubborn old man, his father, was incredibly frustrating to work with. Didn't he see that the throne was within their grasp?! All they had to do was take it! Eli let a sigh out and opened his eyes.

"Very well father. We can expect diplomats from both Manshrew and De Reimer, without doubt. How do you wish to handle them should they arrive?"

"Manshrew; Break his diplomat's knees and send him crawling back. If Manshrew wants to speak to me, he can do it himself in person. De Reimer; hear his offer out, you can make a better judgement on it than I can. We'll not bow to him, however. If he wishes for us to be allies against Manshrew, it'll be on equal footing and equal terms. I've bowed to enough kings in my life." Giles said, turning away from the map. "Do you understand me, Eli?"

"Yes Father." Eli bowed his head to the Old Man and looked back at the map in the same movements, his frustration hidden well but still bubbling.

"Good. Address the people of Mercy later. Get me an army, Eli..." The Old Man paused and his stoicism seemed to soften somewhat, as he glanced at his son. "But do it your way."

These were Giles' last words as he left the room.

Eli cut his eyes up and watched as his father left, and once the door to the sound-proofed room closed, Eli violently threw a pile of parchment from the table and walked away with a yell.

"...Gods damn it all...alright...alright Eli calm down...You can do this..."

He went and picked up the papers and began sorting back through them.

"You can do this. You're so close... so close..." he muttered to himself.

[/hider]

[hider= The Lord Addresses Mercy]

It was morning, and Eli was dressed in his a powerful outfit; his boots were black and worn from marching, his trousers faded from sun, rain, and wind. His tunic was black, and mostly hidden beneath a scarred, dulled, breastplate bearing the Blackwell insignia. On his arm was his leather falconeer's glove, and sheathed at his hips was his long, elegant, rapier. He wore no helmet or finery, though his clothes were of superior make- they were still simple.

However, despite the simplicity garb, there was an unmistakeable air of authority and power around Eli Blackwell. All who gazed upon him felt the weight of an intellect beyond theirs, the refinement of a lord, and the authority of a man who could be a king. He was a man many respected, and a few felt intimidated by, but beyond that he was a man who had a way with words and could see through deception with ease.

Accompanying Eli were two members of the Dragonguard, and a short man bearing the robes of an Alenius Mage.

The small group strode briskly from the castle itself and down into a courtyard, where there had been erected a platform. A large, very large, effectively massive gathering of people from within the city was present.

A few days ago, declaration had been made from the Blackwells that they would speak on Alenius, the fracturing alliance of the Soldier's Entente, the civil war, and the rumors of assassins in Mercy. That speech was to be today, and Eli Blackwell was the one to give it. His father's words- 'Get me an army'- still rang through his head and Eli set his jaw. He had a difficult task ahead of him, rousing a people was never easy...

But he did not balk from the task. He had thought hard about what needed to be said in the past few days, and he felt ready for what was to come.

He stepped up onto the platform and the Dragonguard spread out behind him, though the Mage knelt down. Eli cleared his throat once and spread his arms.

"People of Mercy!" He declared in a strong voice, before pausing. Only the chunk of people directly around him could have possibly heard him, though after a few seconds he glanced back at the mage who nodded to him.

"People of Mercy!" he declared again- this time his voice carrying over the entire crowd, as if he were standing right next to them. The mage behind Eli was working at amplifying the speech, and it was a rather succesfuly attempt at that. Only a few people here and there perceived something quieter or louder than it should be.

"I have called you all together to address issues most dire! Our nation is split in civil war once more! Manshrew and De Reimer squabble for a throne, and in the midst of this conflict our lands have come under threat!"

Eli left a pause here, partly for dramaticism and partly to let the information set in- build suspense. He began to pace the stage, full of energy, excitement, passion for the words he had to say.

"Your princess, my sister, your king's daughter, Naomi Blackwell has suffered a wound most grievous at the hands of assassins! Men bearing the sigil of house Manshrew, and weapons coated most heinously in poisons, have infiltrated the castle of Mercy and assaulted the men, women, and soldiers of this land. Some have died, others suffer from poison, but thanks to the efforts of healers, mages, and prayer others have survived. Naomi Blackwell is one who still suffers, and will continue to suffer. A man with a crossbow shot her and she became poisoned, and even now she lies still in her bed barely alive."

Another pause, once more letting the information set in. Eli folded his arms behind his back, adopting a somber air as he paced- the energy and passion not dissipating one bit from his words or actions. The people present, who heard his voice, erupted into whispers and angered yells. Everyone in Alenius loved Naomi, or at least liked her, and everyone was angered by the unwarranted and unforseen attack on their people in the castle.

"However..."

As Eli began the whisperings quietted down.

"It is not only our lives that are under threat- our very sovereignty, our independance, is under threat! A new king of Formaroth has been crowned! One who will expect us, in time, to bend our knees and accept him as our ruler! I say nay! Nay, Duncan De Reimer, you are no ruler over me!" He yelled, his somber mood shifting, subtley, to anger.

"We fought for our liberation! We fought for this kingdom! Alenius is a people who has suffered oppression, tyranny, bankruptcy, and cruelty more than any other people in Formaroth. We have fought to liberate ourselves of the oppression and memory of House Willow! We have fought to liberate ourselves of the fear and fire of dragons! We have fought to liberate ourselves of bankruptcy and debt, and now that we are at our strongest a new man- a man like any other, a man of flesh and blood... A man in a crown will ask you all to bend your knee, break your back, and give up the independance you fought and bled and worked so hard to attain!"

Eli threw his hands our, splaying his arms as if encompassing everyone present to hear his words.

"I say nay! I say Alenius will remain unbent! I say Alenius will remain independant, and that threatening our independance is just as evil as threatening our lives! I say that you, the people of Alenius, are a strong and worthy people. We have survived the flames. We have survived the crushing power of starvation. We have survived!"

Eli could tell his words were having an effect on the crowds, he could feel their energy building, he could hear their cries of agreement and their building passion- and he fed off of that, took their energy into his own and began to sweep the spark of excitement that had just flashed into existence and fan it into a flame of passion.

A flame of passion he needed to spread through the entire kingdom from his words. Words that were being penned down by scribes as he said them, words that would go through all of Alenius and build up the fervor he needed.

"People of Alenius, will you stand idly by as men, no more special than you or I, dictate who should live and die with words whispered in the dark? That men, who claim to be honorable and just, send assassins in secret to attack those of neutrality? Those who wished to stay out of a fight that didn't concern them?"

A resounding negative response flew from the crowd back at Eli- he had succeeded in enamoring the people with his words.

"People of Alenius, will you stand idly by as a man, no more special than you or I, expects us to bend and kneel and give up what we have fought so hard to attain? Bled, and sweat, and cried, and burned for?!"

Another resounding negative response flew from the crowd.

"Then, people of Alenius, I ask you this..."

He let his arms swing back down and left a pause, hanging on the crowd's silence as they awaited his question.

"What. Are. We?"

Eli shut his eyes as the massive weight of the cry that returned washed over him, left his heart beating fast with adrenaline and excitement...

The cry that the people of Mercy had returned was one filled with the weight of passion, anger, patriotism, and an edge of fear. The people of Mercy- and of Alenius itself- were a people who, before the Blackwells, were nothing. Nothing whatsoever. Peasants, no money, no power, no influence...

But now they were wealthy, now they were skilled, now they had food, and weapons, and a deep, powerful, pride in who they were. They truly were a people who had fought, all their lives, to become who they are. There was no life before this generation, just a people crushed by oppression and tyranny. This was the first generation of Alenius' people, in a very long time, to taste wealth and power like this- independance like this.

And Eli had wanted to prey on that pride and patriotism, and he had- with immeasurable success.

The cry that returned to him was one that affirmed his success, and simultaneously left a sour thought in the back of his mind- one he crushed quickly with the efficiency that a master of chess would declare 'check'.

The cry that returned to Eli Blackwell was thus; [b]"FORGED IN DRAGON'S FIRE"[/b]

And the cry in his mind that he crushed was thus; [i]These people will die from my words[/i]
[/hider]

[hider=Eli has much to do]

It had been a few weeks since Eli gave his speech to the people of Mercy, and by now the copies of his speech were being filtered through the rest of the kingdom. The effects of the speech were unmistakable- a fervor had been built amongst the people, and the volunteer militia numbers had surged considerably under the weight of the threat to the kingdom.

And now there was the logistics of the ordeal to handle.

He had already decreed that the arms trade was to be cancelled and neither Concord nor Manshrew Alliance be allowed to buy weapons from Alenius, nor food. That meant that Alenius, whose blacksmiths and armsmiths were numersous, and whose fields were plentiful, was amassing a formidable stockpile of food and arms.

That was relatively simple for Eli to handle. What had him so overworked and busy was handling the logistics of the newly bolstered militia. Ordinarily someone in, say, Beatrice's position would handle this sort of paperwork, or perhaps the captain of the guard Garret Hattersby, but none had the penchant for organization and tactics that Eli had- so the position of tactician and military organizer also fell on his considerably weighed down shoulders.

He is, very much so, overworked- but without the work, he'd be nothing. The work justified his existance, the results were the songs of praise of his deeds. With a quill, parchment, and a few hours of focus Eli Blackwell could do almost anything... But what held so much difficulty for him now was the logistics of what his father wanted. Eli had swayed  a people into a fervor, but the more he checked the numbers of those who had joined militia and those wanting to train to be soldiers...

It simply wasn't possible for such a number to be handled with ease.

Mercenaries had been negotiated with and haggled with, and those men had been given leave to raise encampments outside the city walls and were given food and drink. The standing army had been raised and called to drill and patrol more heavily, and set up checkpoints all along trade routes to check for threats and spies coming into the country. The Militia, bolstered by patriotism and inflamed outrage, [b]had[/b] to be armed and trained...

And, to put an even greater headache on top of it all, Eli had to draft funds to rebuild the navy that had been destroyed. He was fond of seafaring and the fleet had been his personal pride- so the destruction of it had painted a massive target on Akki's back in his eyes.

But he could harbor his anger when he was working, he could focus on getting the job done.

Eli handled the logistics of it all, and as the weeks carried on and he checked the numbers over and over again, he began to feel satisfied that his father's wishes had been met.

Alenius' army had been bolstered considerably, and their supplies were many.

[/hider]

[hider=Naomi's Weakness]

Blackness swirled in her eyes. She could see but a pinprick of light in the center of her vision, and immense pain in her body. She tried to move her hands, but as soon as she tried blackness overwhelmed her once more and the pain flooded her senses.

Light returned once more, this time more of it in her eyes... About the size of a coin. She turned her head slowly and everythingwas blurry, but she heard voices. Voices that pounded in her head. The pain was less, but she felt a burning in her body. A strong burning, that overwhelmed the pain. She had a difficult time breathing, but she wanted to hear those voices- desparately to hear those voices.

The words were indecipherable, and soon blackness overwhelmed her again.

She experienced this kind of awakening a dozen times before any improvement happened.

When she awoke again, this time she could breathe easier, and she could see. She was in her bed, in her tower, in her room. A healer was sitting nearby, resting. Naomi tried to move and instantly felt much pain in her stomach. She winced and let out a soft cry- and instantly the healer was awakened and moved to the girl.

"Rest easy, lie still. You have been in bed a few weeks now. Poison nearly took you, but your sister exercised much effort to keep you alive. As did many healers."

Naomi nodded her head weakly and licked her lips.

"Here, have a drink. Your sister will return soon." The healer lifted a flask of water to Naomi's lips, and the girl managed to choke some of the water down. "Are you well enough to receive bad information?" the healer's voice was quick and to the point.

Naomi shook her head- she didn't want any bad information, but after the drink she felt heavy and wished to sleep...so she did, and blackness filled her once more...

She spends most of her time asleep, and very little awake. She is able to make small conversation in her periods of lucidity, and improvement is constant. In a few weeks, she may be back to normal.
[/hider]

[hider= A discussion of sisters]

Beatrice sat quietly. She was always somewhat uneasy around Drevala. It was different from the unease she felt towards Eli- who was condescending and superior. It was an unease that...this was someone who can do something she'll never be able to match or equal. She felt this unease around all mages and magical users.

To be honest, she was just thankful that Drevala was clothed. Beatrice studied her sister quietly, Drevala's somber mood more than enough to say how serious the issue at hand was. She waited patiently for Drevala to speak, though it took several more minutes for her to get words out.

"I have a concern about Naomi."

That was it. Beatrice let worry fill her features and she clenched her hands tightly. She hesitated for a moment.

"She's not going to die is she?" Beatrice asked quietly, to which Drevala responded by dismissing the statement with a wave.

"No, she's a tough girl..thanks to you I suppose...but she's hurt bad, and I fear she'll... never be able to have children after the damage she's sustained."

Beatrice paused again, the information sinking in.

"Use your magic, patch her up. Surely you can do that?"

"I...could...but she's already stabilized how she is, and the wounds are all healed. It's damage that was too severe for me to fix before making sure she wouldn't die. I could..." she paused and shook her head. "I can't believe I'm even considering it...I could...possibly...use my magic to fix it, but it's no longer...a wound, it's healed up. That means I'd have to...risk turning her into an abomination if I wished to try and fix her womb."

"No. Absolutely not." Beatrice growled instantly. "I'll not have my little sister rendered mutant by magic."

"Then she'll never have children." Drevala said in resignation. "I... I loathe being the one to tell her."

"I'll do it." Beatrice said sharply, stoicism filling her features, hiding the mixture of panic and confusion. She was a soldier, difficult business was her business.

"No...No...I don't know if we should even tell her, father...father said not to."

"What?" Beatrice said incredulously. "Why could he possibly not want her to know?"

"He doesn't want [b]anyone[/b] to know." Drevala sighed and pulled her cloak about herself. "Perhaps he intends to...marry her off." Drevala's words were heavy, but not resentment. They were simply a depressed sister speaking about the ailment of her kin.

"Father can be a bastard sometimes." Beatrice frowned. "But...He's father, so be it." She nodded.

"Have you ever considered being married, sister?" Drevala asked- and Beatrice frankly had never contemplated it, and that fact showed on her face as surprise at being asked.

"No, I haven't! Why would I get married? I'd just have to hang up my sword and armor and start wearing dainty dresses and pretending to be smart."

"Nonsense, it must be you who put all these negative thoughts about marriage in that poor girl's head. You know for a fact that if you married into another family that the house would instantly gain an ally and that none would deny you the right to fight." Drevala tilted her head some. "I'm...I'm the difficult one."

"What do you mean, difficult one?" Beatrice asked warily. "Magic? Shape shifting? Blackwell?"

"All of the above, and then some." She said with a wry smile. "I think you'll find that I'm less interested in men than I am magic."

"And I'm less interested in men than I am armor and swords and blood and fighting..." Beatrice said as if Drevala's answer made no sense.

"But you've taken a number of them to be-"

"You swore to stay silent about that." Beatrice hissed.

"I am silent, sister- it's not my fault you can't handle your ale." Drevala allowed herself a smile. "Besides, you could marry a...ahem...'lowborn'..." she rolled her eyes. "and carry on the Blackwell name instead of marrying a noble family. If you haven't realized, father is old and Eli hasn't gotten married yet either...which means we're the last of us. The absolute last. If we die, there are no more blackwells besides Vivian and we all know how she feels."

Beatrice went silent.

"Fine. After the war I'll get married, carry on the line, if Eli doesn't." It was Beatrice's turn to sigh as she said these words.

"I'm sure brother will do his part once everything's safe and secure, and I manage to tear him away from his work and schemes." Drevala said with a light shrug, passive about it all. "I just...little flower..." she hid her face behind her cloak for a while, and Beatrice lowered her head.

"Well, Beatrice. It's up to us to keep this crazy family safe. Let's do our best, yeah?"

Drevala forced the happy tone and tried to smile.
[/hider]