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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by deyinger
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deyinger

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No posting order. Just wait for a decent amount of posts before yours.
Mention people you interact with.
Obey the rules in the OOC.
If you have ideas for events and the like, please PM us first! All of us.
Have fun!

You’ll learn about events in the Festival in announcements like these:





To the faithful and hardworking subjects of Orewyn:

As many of you know, the princess consort and her twin brother, Laurelin and Lukas, have recently become of age. By the traditions set by our ancestors before us, this means that the royal family shall put on the festival of destinies so that the princess may find her destined and be prepared to take on the throne. Any other person with a Mark, whether they be a lord or a peasant, is invited to attend this festival. If money is an issue to those who need to travel and lodge at the Royal City, the royal family would be more than willing to compensate for your trip. Along your trip, simply show your mark to the seller. They will then record your information as well as how much the royal family owes them. These forms should then be submitted to the castle as soon as possible. The royal family will then take care of whatever needs to be done. At the festival of destinies the royal family wishes to not only allow the princess and prince to find their destined, but also others who are marked in order for people to find happiness.











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Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by deyinger
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Cosmogony posts will explore the religion of Orewyn and Galinas.

The Numen were first to exist. Manodan and Manofar, Mother and Father, alone in the darkness. They wed and beget the Six.

The firstborn, Cair, calm as the sky, she was gentle like stars and their Light.

Second was Ran, his heart unbending as the Earth, bounteous as its soil.

Olwyn was third, he was fickle as Air, a trickster both genial and infuriate.

Turenn fourth, like Lightning she was, unpredictable, spontaneous, strangest of all.

Last were the twins, Dolme and Rijit. He was a river, steadfast, yet calm as the Water. She was wild and impassioned, burning like Fire.

Mother and Father and Children together, the Animar created Mankind. Theirs was Creation, they made it their home, blessed with what was designed.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Kalmar
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Kalmar The Mediocre

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Darius Arenar

Darius glanced down at the mark on his hand, for what must have been the fifth time that day.

He had often wondered about the Destined legend. Why him? One who was marked could not necessarily be considered unique, as there were hundreds like them, but at the same time there were also thousands who were not marked at all. The ones who were marked were granted power that put them above any other human, and yet that power only remained so long as they found another like them that the gods had - apparently - deemed to be an ideal candidate.

It wasn't that he didn't believe in the Gods. He knew that they had to exist. The world could not have spawned from nothing, after all. What he doubted was the mortals' interpretations of the gods. Too often he had read of religion being used by kings and high nobility to justify horrendous acts, or to shut down opposition. Too often had he heard stories of high ranking priests forsaking their vows. And of course, the classic question - if the gods are good, then why do they let bad things happen to good people?

Therefore he concluded that the Mark must reflect the nature of the Gods themselves. Generous yet cruel. For while the power the mark granted was great, it would just as easily fade away should they fail to meet their Destined - and most did fail. They had it worse than people who weren't marked at all, Darius reasoned, for they had to live knowing that they that there was a true love out there they would never meet, and that there was a great potential which slipped from their fingers. A blessing for the few and a curse for the many. Not unlike how there were some who were fortunate enough to be born of noble birth, while others were born into nothing, even though all would likely have the same potential if given the same opportunities.

He frowned at his conclusion. How depressing. Yet he would not delude himself into believing that the gods personally looked after every single one of their followers. But at the same time, they did create the world and those who lived on it, so gratitude was certainly in order - just not blind faith.

The carriage struck a bump on the road, disrupting him from his thoughts. He glanced down at the book he held in his hand - an accurate overview of Orewyn's previous war, written from the perspective of a Galinas general. He had long since learned the importance of hearing out both sides of any given conflict or argument. It was but one book from the half-dozen he brought with him, all on various subjects. Of course, he had not spent the entire trip so far cooped up reading - sometimes he would read his book sitting at the front, next to the driver, if only to get some fresh air, but his eyes would rarely drift to his surroundings.

Then, the carriage came to a stop. The carriage itself was nothing fancy - slightly rickety, made from simple wood, the only luxury being the cushioned chairs. There was a sharp rap at the door.

Darius slid the window open. "What is it?" He asked, his face blank and his tone emotionless.

It was one of the Arenar household guards, a lieutenant named Edric Riley who led the small band of eight that had been sent to escort him to the royal city. He was clad in simple chainmail adorned with Arenar heraldy, helmet tucked under his arm revealing a bald middle-aged head. "Apologies, my Lord. We've arrived at a village - Prym. There's an Inn where we should be able to stay the night."

Darius nodded, closing his book and gently placing it on the pile next to him. The guard opened the door for him. Darius was about point out that he could open the door himself, but there was no use arguing now that it was already open so he stepped outside. He took a look at his surroundings. His other guards had already dismounted and were leading the horses to the Inn's stable. The village, Prym, was quite peaceful, he supposed. He had been passed through it a handful of times on previous journeys to the capital, but remembered little of it. Commoners went about their everyday business, some giving him and his carriage a wide berth - his clothing and escort clearly indicated he was of noble birth.

He paid their avoidance of him no heed, and turned to Inn, which looked to be rather large and well-maintained, with a sign hanging over the door that read 'Granger's Plenty'. It seemed a nice enough place to stay, although in truth he was not overly particular of where he had to sleep, despite his noble upbringing.

So without further ado, he walked up to the front door, his guard once again opening it for him to his minor annoyance, and stepped inside the Inn. He took a customary glance at his surroundings, noting a few patrons scattered here and there, the relative cleanliness of the place, and the good lighting. Yes, it would do quite well. Wasting no time, he immediately walked over to the Innkeeper. "What are the most efficient accommodations you can provide for nine men?" He questioned, crossing his arms and once again betraying no emotion. The Mark of the Destined would be visible on his hands, although it had not been his intention to reveal it.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Panic
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Nora Bellwood





“Oh it’s just perfect Nora! You look like royalty! There’s no way anyone, even the prince, will be able to look away,” gushed a young woman, as she spun her friend around. “I mean the color and the shape. I’d hate you if I didn’t want to be you so badly,” she added with a giggle.

“Stop, you’re going to make my head too big. How would I get the crown on then,” Nora responded cheekily with a playful wink. “Are you sure you can’t come with me…” she said with an added pout. Nora knew Lady Brooke would never be able to, but by asking she would be secretly encouraging her newest friend to live vicariously through her. That meant more dresses, and perhaps that gold necklace she had her eye on for a while. The one with ruby insets and silver detail. Lady Brooke was one of the richest families in Bellmare, and after many months and endless parties, Nora had finally become a confidant of the young woman.

“You know I can’t. My father probably would have even locked me in a tower if I even had the mark. You’re just so lucky,” said the younger woman as she smoothed out the flawless shoulder of the elegant gown she insisted Nora have made for the festival. “Can I see it again…” she asked sheepishly, looking up through her lashes- a look Nora was sure she had picked up from her.

“It’s just a birthmark silly,” Nora said already pulling out her wrist for the other girl to gush over more. Lady Brooke ran a soft hand over the small dark patch of skin.

“I know, but it’ll be the last time I can see it like this. After the festival it’s going to change, you’ll be royalty…”

“If I find my destined you mean…”

“When you find the prince,” Brooke insisted. “You’re perfect, everyone will love you.”

Nora gave the lady a small shy smile, feigning a humble demeanor. “It would be so much easier if I had you there, you know a friend to help me build up the courage. Then again, I wouldn’t be able to compete if you were…” Nora lied as she made her way in front of the large mirror, examining herself. She knew she was much prettier than the Lady Brooke. Money might have bought her friend many dresses, and her upbringing kept her skin a pretty porcelain complexion, but she still couldn’t compete with the natural beauty of Nora. Brooke’s nose was much too large, her eyes too far apart, a bit of pudge around her arms from too many feasts in the great hall. No, even if Brooke had the mark, Nora still wouldn’t have seen her as competition, but Brooke didn’t need know that. The young lady just blushed and tsked half-heartedly. Nora knew she had believed her.

“I feel like I’m missing something...don’t you?” asked Nora over her shoulder as she let her hand lightly run across her collarbone absent mindedly as if she was thinking. She was hoping her hint was subtle enough even Brooke would pick up on it.

“Oh! I have just the thing!” cried out Brooke with excitement as she ran back into the closet. Nora smirked, knowing it had worked.


The color was worse than the smell. Which was saying a lot considering the smell was a putrid mix of fish and tomato. Nora dry heaved again, her whole body wracking in pain as she tried to empty her already empty stomach.

“Here, try this Miss. The ginger is good for those who don’t take well to the sea,” a man offered Nora a small brown root.

“I hate this damn boat…” Nora complained as she looked darkly up at the sailor. She was currently sailing down to the kingdom of Orewyn which meant taking a boat for five days. Five long days. Not taking well to the sea as an understatement.

The man just offered her a short chuckle as Nora bit into the musty root, making a sour face as her stomach flipped again. Her uncle had used ginger many times in his apothecary, but Nora had never eaten it raw like this. “Sorry, that’s not very lady like is it. Have you always been a sailor?” Nora questioned, filling the silence that threatened to fall over the cabin.

“Since I can remember. Walk better on a rocking boat then on land,” he explained.

“Ugh...don’t say rocking,” Nora moaned, fighting off another wave of nausea. That thought gave her an idea though. “You don’t think the storm is going to make it worse do you?” she asked sheepishly, looking up at him through her lashes as her left hand went to clutch a small pendant necklace. It was an old scam she’d run down at the docks. The worthless trinket cost her little to make, mostly scraps from other projects.

“Storm? It’s nothing but blue skies?”

“Oh! No, there’s a storm coming within three days,” Nora lied confidently. “I’m certain of it.”

“I’ve been on the sea’s for years, you can feel one coming. I promise you, there’s nothing but smooth waters ahead.”

“Hmm…” Nora said furrowing her brow, looking down at the pendant. “It’s never been wrong before…” she said to herself, still loud enough though for him to hear.

“What’s never been wrong before?” the sailor asked intrigued, moving in a bit closer.

“My grandfather gave me this pendant when I was just a kid. He used to be a sailor just like you. Said it always told him when a storm was coming so he could get to port safely. Anytime there’s a bit of lightening in the gem, a storm will hit within 3 days. I know, I know! You don’t believe me…” Nora said realizing the skeptical look he was giving her. “It’s never been wrong though…” she said again, looking only at the pendant.

“Lightening you say? In that little thing?”

“Look, come here. I’ll show you,” she said unclasping it and holding it out. The sailor leaned in close as Nora was concentrating. In between the two clasp prongs holding a clear bead, Nora forced herself to concentrate. A small arc of lightning flickered, seemingly caught in glass bead. Nora knew she had him as he gasped, his eyes widening. “I’m telling you, a storm is coming in 3 days time.” By then, Nora would be long gone, the boat ride already more than halfway through. “My grandfather used to say it was his most prized possession when away from home. I think he gave it to me hoping I’d have the same love of the sea. And well...you see how well it agrees with me,” Nora said motioning to the bucket in front of her.

“I imagine he was right. Something like that would keep an entire crew safe…” the sailor said, never taking his eyes away from the pendant. This was the tricky part. Nora had him hooked, but she had to get him to make the offer. If she was too pushy, her ruse would be blatantly obvious. She quickly closed her hand around the bead, moving to place it around her neck again.

“I miss him, you know,” she said, making her voice soft with just a hint of sadness. “Sometimes I think I should just hop on a boat so it and his memory doesn’t go to waste. But I think that might just kill me…” she said with a sad chuckle. “I should have given it to my brother after all…” she finished with a sigh.

“Brother? Is he a sailor?”

“Yes, he left over a year ago. I was going to give it to him you know. But I was mad at him for leaving me alone. I’d give anything to get it to him. Give him a piece of me to keep safe…”

“Well…” the sailor started. That’s it. She had the sale. “I’ll tell you what. Let me take it, and if I come across your brother, I’ll give it to him”

“You’d do that?” Nora asked, making her eyes wider, lightening her voice so it was hopeful. She felt them watering just a bit before she smiled brightly at him. “That’s the sweetest thing someone’s offered to do. His name is Peter. Peter Norwood, a sailor with the ship Clearwater,” Nora explained. “Have you heard of it?” she asked hopefully. She already knew the answer though. There was no ship Clearwater, no Peter Norwood.

“No, but I’m sure we’ll come across it at some port. All ships cross paths at some point,” said the sailor.

Nora began to undo the clasp but stopped. “I don’t know. It means so much to me. Maybe I should just wait until he comes home...I mean, it seems wrong to just give it away,” she said unsure.

“Well what if you’re not giving it away? What if I rent it from you?”

“Rent?” Nora asked.

“Let me pay for it, until I meet your brother. We stop at the same port you joined us at least once every three months. If you meet us there in a year and I still haven’t crossed paths, I’ll trade it back. Think of it as a loan,” he bargained.

“Well…” Nora said uncertain, biting her lip. “A loan?” she asked skeptically.

“You can trust me. Here, I’ll give you...all of this. Please, let me help you out with this,” he said, pulling out a pleasantly pregnant coin purse.

“Oh I couldn’t do that. That’s too much. You’re doing me a favor…” she said now holding the sailors hands in hers. She let her thumb softly run over the back of his hands while she maintained eye contact. Take the bait, do me the favor she silently willed. “If my grandfather knew I was selling this…”

“Renting. Not selling,” the sailor corrected.

“You promise?” Nora asked biting her lip, holding back a knowing smirk.



“I told you, no rooms. We’re all booked up already for the festival. You should have sent word, made plans,”

“Mom..but what about the festival! She has to go!” said a younger voice peaking around The Ivory Inn’s keeper’s waist. Out popped a little girl, her hands still bunched up around her mother’s skirt as she hid half behind her. Nora hadn’t noticed her when she first started bargaining for a room. The inn keeper didn’t seem to be budging, but maybe Nora could use her daughter to help her out.

“Oh hello there,” Nora said with a warm smile as she bent down to the young girl’s level. She pressed up further against her mother’s leg. “Are you going to the festival too princess?” she asked, tilting her head slightly.

The little girl gave a little giggle and shook her head, pulling her thumb out of her mouth. “I’m not a princess silly.”

“Oh! You’re not? Well you sure look like one!” Nora exclaimed, making the little girl smile again. “I bet you are one, just hiding from the castle for the day aren’t you,” she said with a cheeky wink.

“Nuh uh…I live here.”

“Well, I still think you are. And my mother always told me, when you meet someone important, you get them a gift. Now, let’s see here…” Nora said quickly looking through one of her bags. “Ah here we go…” Nora said, clipping a small porcelain flower pin in the little girl’s hair. It was one of many in a set Nora had made years ago that she liked to pin within her braids. “Now you keep that safe little princess. I got it from a fairy,” Nora warned with a playful wag of her finger.

“A fairy?” asked the little girl, her eyes going wide.

“A fairy,” Nora confirmed. “She gave it to me after I helped scare off a racoon from her fairy ring. Fairies and racoons don’t get along you know.” With that Nora stood up, collecting up her bag as if she actually was going to leave. “Thanks again for trying, I know how busy you must be…” Nora said with a warm smile. “Bye little princess!” Nora said with a small wave to the little girl before turning towards the door. The little tug at her skirt made Nora smirk.

“No wait! You can’t go. Mom she’s friends with fairies. You have to let her stay here!” the little girl pleaded. “She can stay with me, I’ll share my bed!”

Nora gave a warm laugh, rustling the little girl’s hair. “Well aren’t you sweet. I wouldn’t kick a princess out of her bed though!” Nora said, making sure to only talk directly to the little girl.

“I don’t mind really! You can take me to the festival too! The real princess will be there!”

“Oh I wish I could, but you heard your mom. There’s no room. I’ll just have to check the next town over.”

“No! Mom please! What about Giselle’s room? I’ll sleep there and she can sleep in my bed! Please!” the little girl begged.

“Hush. Fine. I’ll make you a deal, I’ll let you stay in my old maid’s room in the servants quarters, full price of a normal room mind you, if you will take Cora here to the festival at least twice,” the innkeeper bargained.

“I’d be more than honored to,” Nora said with another warm smile. “That is a very kind offer, thank you.” Nora had no intention of taking anyone anywhere though. A quick slip of dried serenoa and the girl would be stuck home sick. Nothing major, just a little bit of an upset stomach, maybe a touch of nausea and vomiting.

“Give me a bit to get it suitable for you. I’ll have Henry set it up if you can find something to keep yourself busy for the afternoon,” the innkeeper said, waving over what Nora assumed was a stable hand.

“I’ll come back a bit before sundown,” Nora agreed before bidding her goodbyes to the inn keeper and handing most of her bags over to Henry. Her stomach growled a bit and Nora figure a quick bite to eat was in order. Certainly a city of this size must have something worth eating.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Dioxide
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Dioxide Foreign-Local in Hong Kong

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George Andre Tir




Several suns ago…

George heaved the wooden crate of supplies from the ground up to his back, held in place with rope, the box testing its strength as it is lifted to the Marishu town giant’s shoulders. The trader, delivering fabrics and metal sheets, had settled to meet many yards away from the Marishu forge, not by choice but by the man’s old horse collapsing in fatigue and hot sun. Not many travellers are prepared to handle the extreme heat but the Salahari have come to love it, bathing in its stinging embrace. That does not mean that the Salahari do not complain about the heat, of course, so when George was told to retrieve the supply crate, he greeted the task with distaste. The crate normally would require the breath of two men’s reach to bring it around, but with the giant’s size, it was a simple task.

Salahari sandals and footwear gave the stability needed for people to walk on the land’s fiery, loose sands away from the packed sands of the urbanized cities and lands. His huge feet dug into the slope but he continued his tread. Passing by were the other busy traders commuting by horse and camel, each donning colours and styles unique to their origins: crisp, neat, different palettes and shades, contrasting heavily to the bright red, yellow, and orange robes, scarves, and turbans, loose and long that drag and crawl alongside their bodies in the sands, metaphorical of wild eagles that grace the lands. As George reached the top of the slope, he entered the wide avenue filled with life. By the distance and size of the sun, it was at its highest and brightest, and therefore plenty of time was available before sunset. To the side, stalls shaded with dark fabrics, tied with rope and strong wood, displayed their wares ranging from fantastic jewelry, pungent spices, handmade clothing, and even exotic pets. In turn, crowds from all over, local or not, huddled in packs under the shadows of self-maintained marble houses, each person shouting over each other. Hundreds of tongues and dialects echo the ears of many every day. To those unfamiliar with the languages, the Salahari speak in an almost offensive, rugged tone, rough in quality but strong in declaration - those unfamiliar would fail to realize its simple grammar, the intricate tonality, and the in-laid culture of respect and acceptance its vocabulary is derived from. George surveyed the area from his towering height to see that the regular people sold the same inventory, committed to the same way of persuasion, bargaining, and transaction. Local work animals were identifiable from the foreign ones as they were adorned with jewelry, garments, brandings, and tattoos that represented their quality of workmanship, and their breeders’ prides and effort into their lifestyle.

Upon seeing George, which was not a hard task at all, a group of children ran over to climb his legs and torso to see the view from above. The same children who played with their Salahari, dark-skinned, hairless but powerful mutts and with their games of marbles and strings, flocked to call in the chance to see their friendly town giant and to traverse his height, like achieving feats of an intense magnitude, or more really for jovial fun. People livened up to see George and greeted him as he passed. Fighting off the urge to wipe his sweaty brow, he smiled in turn to everyone. Far ahead, a group of musicians, sat on a bright blue carpet, were playing with their traditional instruments, busking and providing entertainment to passersby. When they saw George closing in, they nudged to each other and played a new tune, a slow, dissonant melody that told the story of the child born after a tragic event. Everyone knew George’s story, pitied him, and though they liked him, they knew that in many ways he was in a social caste lower than everyone, so there was that understanding of not being able to have the mutual respect. As George and children neared an intersection, he noted that people stopped in their tracks, making way for something. If there was any indication of the heavy presence of social division in Salahar, this was it: for a group of priests and nuns, accompanied by well-dressed tigers and servants throwing petals of desert wildflowers, dressed in white silks that covered their entire bodies, including their face, walked slowly but sternly in a steady march to their church on the other side of town. In this way, their pristine colour graced their people and their lands with the purity, elegance, and fortune of the Sultan Syjza of Salahar. Everyone watched the group as they passed, but the group paid attention to no one.

The forge was in sight, a simple marble building except it was covered in soot and from every orifice bellowed a trail of smoke, heavier and more prominent in the back where the actual blacksmithing occurs. George entered the room where sales were made, the doorway at the furthest back displaying the metalworks, working men, and scalding heat in the hearts of the forge, craning his head down to fit through the door, the earthen floors a sigh of comfort for his feet, and a large seat welcoming his aching back. He dropped the wooden crate and sat down, reaching for the jug of water and downing its contents in one go. Many jugs littered the table covered in papers and maps, all text and graphics either pertaining to order requests and receipts filled with details and destinations. The other table opposite him was the attention of the many master blacksmiths, the owner, and several apprentices including George himself.

He had discussed this with his family already. Though upset, this opportunity would be great for him to grow, to fit into the gloves and shoes of a blacksmith. Besides, with three other grown-up childrens to take care of the family, there was not much to worry - that, and the expedition was done before and was deemed safe, with travel lasting no more than a week, and the stay lasting no more than four to five fortnights, if there were no complications. With George being a young adult of his size and calibre, the family was confident he would be okay.

That said, with every meeting, tonight being the final with the crate containing the final few supplies they needed, George thought heavily of his family and how he would miss them. He would never look at the maps or listen to the minor details of the expedition, and instead look at the Mark that was on his wrist. He trusted that his seniors would know what to do and to take care of the young ones, but they had no answer for whether the tale was true for George finding his Destined. He met the upcoming journey to be fruitful in learning the blacksmith trade as well as learning the qualities it takes to be a man.

There was to be a forge open to their use in Orewyn, where they may brandish their Salahari flag, colours, and metalcasting for showcase and sales. George returned home one last time to feast and bring his own bag of necessities in ready for their journey, embarking from their forge to the counterpart in an exciting new land.

Before their departure, a temple nun visited the forge. The group of men and women gathered before her and resting on their one knee on the ground, head faced down, to listen to her prayer, to bless them good luck and fortune, for safety and health, and for good bodings and futures.

***

No horse, even a Salahari horse, would carry George for too long on his saddle, so for the past few suns George and a few young men and women stayed in one of many large carriages, trudged along by many strong horses, its cabin carrying one of many expensive batches of cargo. It was morning and the weather, very much cooler than the extreme heats of the Salahari sun they were used to, made them shiver, but their long robes served their purpose.

The foreman, in charge of navigation, spoke to the crew that it would be another few suns before they complete riding through the circumference of the impassable mountain. No risks or dangers had posed themselves to the huge company of ten carriages and over fifty souls, protected by six Salahari Knights, donning pristine white colours - very much like the blessed nuns and priests from the Sultan Syjza of Salahar - with long, sharp scimitars. Their company would be most likely feared and doubted upon arrival, but the people of Orewyn have conducted trade with the Salahari before. This mass voyage will be fruitful and eye-opening, as it will be for George.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Snagglepuss89
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Duncan MacArthur





The jingle of Duncan's coinpurse, almost inaudible against the noise of the busy streets, was music to his ears as he made his way through the Royal City. While money was technically of no concern for the length of his stay- what with the Royal Family's generous offer to provide for the needs of all the marked- it was still comforting to know he had something left over from the work he did in Prym. After all, he had no intention of staying in this city forever, no matter how grand it was. Cities were something his travels had shown him aplenty.

The streets too were crowded, even those who had no mark were using the occasion as an excuse to mingle, and he noticed many covered wrists amongst the crowds. It wouldn't surprise him if just as many people were pretending to be marked as the latter pretending to be normal. Merchants of course flocked to the streets as well, eager to make a profit while the festivities lasted. Everybody seemed to be taking the opportunity to enjoy themselves.

And I should too.

The voice in his head was a weak one, and it wasn't because he could hardly hear himself think through the noise of the streets. It was due to another, far greater reason.

I don't deserve to.

It was this second voice that was full of strength, confident on his own self assessment. Duncan had hardly arrived in the city and already his mood was beginning to turn sour, and the cries of mirth around him sounded hollow to his ears. Would he merely be pretending if he allowed himself to loosen up during his stay? True, he could enjoy himself with enough drink in him to forget who he was, but he had gone down that road many times. And if his Destined were unlucky enough to meet him?

I have failed so many people over the course of my life. Why add one more?

Realizing that he had stopped walking, the half blind man began moving once more. He debated looking for an inn, finding a room and getting cleaned up, but Duncan suspecting it would be almost impossible to locate even a stable to sleep in at this point if the crowds were any indication. While he could use his magic to quiet the crowd around him and get a little peace it seemed like a waste of the gift his gods had given him. They did not bless the marked with magic for frivolous reasons.

I have failed my father as his son.

Spotting an alley not to far off, the ragged man made his way there. Perhaps it'd offer a little relief from the crowded streets, and allow him to make a plan for what exactly he was going to do during his stay in the city. Most people he passed were polite, but Duncan could see the wariness in their eyes as he made his way through them. At best he looked like a beggar, and potentially something far more dangerous. Still, he couldn't blame them for their assumptions, the gods had gifted them with intuition for a reason.

I have failed our inn as its keeper.

When the former sailor reached his destination he slumped against the wall, more exhausted than he had any reason to be. Perhaps his travels over the past few months were finally catching up with him? It was possible, but Duncan had his doubts. At least with the sounds of the crowded street having quieted around him he could think in peace for a bit, even if the thoughts were less than pleasant.

I have failed my wife as her husband.

“Oi, Dennis, look at this cat-piss rag heap that's decided to trespass in our alley!”

“I see him, I see him. More importantly did you here what I heard?”

“I heard the jink-jink of some coins, sure as shit!”

“Not just coins, silver coins!”

Duncan trained his remaining eye on the group as they began to advance on him. Three thugs, practically boys, with the swagger of youth and a hunger in their eyes. Truthfully they did not look to be in any better shape than he was, and if their ages were the same, then the only difference between them would be that the three all had blades drawn, while he remained seemingly unarmed. If it weren't for their youth his anger would be rising rapidly, but at the moment all he could feel is pity.

I have failed Cunningham as his mate.

“Where did you get that jink-jink in your pocket, bum? Steal it from someone who actually has to work for a living? We'll just be making sure it gets back to its proper owner now, yeah?”

The Mother and Father gave you wisdom when you were born. Find it, before you make a mistake you regret.

With that the widower shifted his rags so that the sword at his side was visible. He had no intention of harming the boys if he didn't need to, but hopefully they wouldn't figure that out. Already he was regretting his decision to travel to the Royal City and take part in this celebration- though dying in an alley seemed like an oddly fitting end for him.

“Do you think we're bleeding daft, Cat Piss? Three on one and your blood is staining the ground while the jink-jink is in our hands. You can shove that wisdom back up your ass because you've made the mistake here.”

I have failed my crew as their Weather Master.

The three advanced on him with clear intentions, and Duncan half considered running. He didn't want to hurt these boys, but it would probably be best that they were taught a lesson before they ended up robbing someone far more dangerous than he was. With a sigh, he met their advance with a raised hand and fingers pressed together. As the rags he was wearing slid down his arm, one of the boys went wide eyed and stopped.

“Shit! That's a-”

I have failed the Mother. I have failed the Father. And I have failed Olwyn as their servant.

Snap!

As the sound echoed throughout the alley the three fell screaming to the ground, clutching their ears in shock and pain. Blood could be seen running down the sides of their heads, eardrums ruptured from a significant increase in air pressure. Five years ago he would have taken the opportunity to cut their throats- after all there was little difference between alley thugs and pirates when they were both on land- however, he instead just turned away and began walking back towards the entrance.

Sorry.

The thugs behind him couldn't hear the apology, but it was just as much directed at the gods for hurting three of their children. When he entered the streets once more the cries behind him became barely audible, and he doubted anybody had actually witnessed the commotion. For a moment he looked amongst the crowd for a guard, but quickly gave up in the fruitless effort.

If it be in your whims, please carry a guardsmen on your wind Olwyn, before these children recover to hurt another or themselves.

With his prayer offered, Duncan set off through the streets of the Royal City once more. In spite of the events that just transpired he was in a better mood than before, talking to the gods often did that for him. It was one of the reasons he had become a priest in the first place, even if it was not the path he was destined to tread.

Destined.

Almost humorously he finished his thoughts from earlier out loud;

And if the woman that the Mother and Father have paired me with is lucky, I will fail to find her as her Destined.
Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Juno
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It was far too early for Faolán to be awake. There was no justice in the world, he decided, since sleep simply would not come––even though he had no duties to attend to and was free to relax and slouch for the entire duration of the festival. He had tried everything to still his idle hands and force the restlessness away: reading a tome borrowed from the Guard-Captain's wife; sewing up the tear in his favourite tunic that had been damaged in a fist-fight; even just listening in to next door's familial dispute until the early hours of the morning, but the fact of the matter was that he just could not sleep.

He was still wide-awake when he heard the creaking of floorboards outside his bedroom door and the timidest of knocks. Faolán reckoned that was a good time to stop pretending he had any hopes left for even a cat-nap and instead returned to what would be his day and night for the forseeable future. Caring for his siblings; his younger sisters, who were young enough to need it, and his adult twin brothers, who were old enough to better but still required parenting.

“Mhm?” He leaned against the door frame, and though there was little light to see her by, Sorcha stood on the other side.

The first thing out of his sister's mouth was, “Faolán, you're injured!” It was only after the fact that she looked over her shoulder at their sleeping siblings, who didn't so much as grumble in their sleep. “When did that happen? How didn't I notice?”

Faolán had forgotten, too. His ribs were bandaged up and held stiffly in place, but he had refused actual healing. Wounds that were not surface-level required Cair's gentle touch, and he didn't want to tempt fate by accepting it. Though he hadn't tried to hide the injury from his siblings, it just hadn't come up beyond a wince during Culainn's bone-crushing hug and a shortness of breath that was much unlike him.

“The man I was chasing the night before you lot came, the...” Wife-beater, though an apt explanation for the crook, might not have been acceptable to use for a nine year old girl who still believed in tall fairytales and true love. “Er, criminal. He got in a good hit, right about here. I didn't expect him to fight back after I'd made him drop the knife.” If only he'd been on duty, wearing something more than just a tunic to protect his chest. Faolán poked at his ribs, still tender. Beneath the binding, the skin was mottled and purplish with a dozen bruises merging into one. He healed quick and always had, but for the moment every movement from breathing to taking a step jostled the bone-deep injury. His estimate was that he'd be fighting fit again in no more than three days, even though the healer said twenty after patching him up.

His sister chewed on her lower lip, distraught. Maybe losing her father to violence in the city before she learned her letters affected her just as much as it had him, or maybe it was seeing the aftermath of a fight without ever having seen anything like it. “It doesn't hurt or anything,” he lied breezily, an expert in providing comfort to others even at the expense of his own honesty. “It looks worse than it is. Now, why are you awake? It's still early.”

“Um. It's not that important. I'm sorry for waking you up...”

“Sorcha,” Faolán interrupted with some fondness. “I was already awake. What do you need?”

Sorcha looked over her shoulder at the room behind her. His siblings had commandeered the largest room in the house with makeshift beds taking up most of the free space and the rest of their belongings strewn about as if they owned the place. The hearth had burnt out at some point during the night without any of them noticing, extinguishing the last source of light other than the barest hints of dull blue filtering in from outside. It was near-impossible to see anything, but Faolán could hear the twins snoring away. “I can't get back to sleep,” she informed him, wringing her hands in her night-dress. “If I'm up earlier than everyone else, I usually light a candle to Cair and do my daily prayers, but...”

“But you can't find any candles.” It was true that there were a few burnt-out stumps of wax he had not bothered to clean up, but other than that, Sorcha could have searched high and low even in daylight and not been able to scrounge any up. Prayer was a tradition that Faolán was not interested in continuing. Before his birth, his mother and father only had a shrine to the Mother and Father in the back room of their house, but when one of their own children was blessed, a token service to Cair became a part of their daily reverence. Faolán didn't have a shrine, didn't go to temple, and though he did believe (as he would be a fool not to) he did not have time in the day to even pay lip-service to the gods.

Sorcha nodded. “Why don't you have any candles?”

He couldn't help but grin.

“I wonder,” Faolán said, one eyebrow raised in a perfect imitation of an old school mam. This was his house, however small, and these were his rules. Number one –– the most important rule of all –– was 'do not ask stupid questions'. He watched Sorcha's brows contort in confusion, waiting for the pin to drop, but it never did. Faolán caved before too long. It wasn't right to laugh too much at her expense when part of the blame could fall on him. Faolán remembered the years when he took care of her while his mother could not, but it was doubtful that his sisters, both of them, would ever recall entertainment in the form of flashing, magical lights when they were still in their cribs. There was a difference between hearing stories about and seeing for oneself. “Don't worry about it. I think I might have some packed away, if you give me a few minutes to look for them.”

Sorcha nodded, and her brother was dismissed. Faolán shut the door to his bedroom and was once more shrouded in the darkness of the early morning. It was easy to forget, when he lived alone, that normal folk had to spend money to light their home. They bought candlesticks and candlestick-holders and matches and everything else; expenses that he hadn't been aware of when he moved to the Royal City, so he did without. The box under his bed held leftovers from "house-guests" who had similarly complained that it wasn't right to live in the dark, and if they were going to sleep over, they'd bring their own. The rent was affordable only because the tiny windows looked out directly onto the wall of the massive boarding house next door, and they didn't even face the sunrise for it.

Faolán flicked his wrist, summoning a small orb of light into existence. It was intangible, warm in colour, and he thought it might resemble the glow of a hundred captured fireflies if he could stomach to look at it for more than a few seconds. Even using his god-given gifts for pragmatic purposes left him unsettled, like a cat whose fur had been petted the wrong way. With a small gesture, the light moved down by the bed and lit up what was underneath. Crates, mostly. Spare blankets for colder nights. A toolbox for fixing up holes in the ceiling. A loose plank of flooring which could be pulled away; the place he kept what little savings he didn't send to Claredarrow. He winced as he kneeled, reaching behind all of that to where he could find a few skinny candles, covered in dust.

He pulled on a clean shirt on his way out, greyish-white from wear and loose at the collar, and dashed his face with the little water left in a bucket near the door. The candles were swiftly deposited into Sorcha's hands along with a box of matches. She was lingering on the other side in wait, and stared for just a moment in awe at the summoned light before her brother let it dissipate.

“I'm going to head out to the market to pick up some things for dinner. I wasn't prepared at all for you lot showing up.” Faolán told her. It was true that his siblings had arrived out of nowhere, and had they been a day later, the guardsman would have followed through on his plans of returning to Claredarrow for a fortnight. What little bread was left had been used up in only one night, though that he had some coin left in the pockets of his trousers meant he didn't need to dip into his savings. “I think I'll be back before Conall and Culainn wake up, but on the off chance I'm not, let them know that there's a well down the street in the square, if they need fresh water. Do not go alone.”

The sun was rising as he stepped into his boots and left the house, ruffling Sorcha's hair as he passed her. The streets were slowly growing busier both with faces he recognised and those he didn't. Likely visitors here for the festival, and with any luck they wouldn't cause too much disruption to the endlessly churning routine of the Royal City. It was just a big event, and then at the end of it, everyone could return home and Faolán would return to his usual solitude.

Just a trip to the market, bright and early to avoid the crowds. It was neither the time nor place to appreciate the intense air of foreboding that threatened to suffocate him, but as with everything else, he could push those feelings away to deal with later.
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“There are too many people watching.”

“Everything’s better with an audience.” Rhea could feel Jovan’s disapproval radiating two feet behind her. She continued to ignore him, casually swinging her legs from a perch atop one of the three shipping crate still on the ship’s deck. It was wrong not to listen to Jovan’s advice, he was right too often. But Rhea’s breakfast of nothing but wine, and the excitement of unloading goods put her in too good of spirits for his negativity, no matter how warranted it was. There were people staring. Such was the risk when unloading in civilian towns, especially one as small as Solstied.

“We shouldn’t be doing this.”

Rhea sighed and pivoted to face her crewman expectantly.

“We can unload the spices and silks to any merchant heading to Royal City, already above normal price. We shouldn’t have brought the opium near Orewyn at all, get rid of it on the Salahar coast as fast as we can.” She listened patiently but Rhea’s eyes drifted out of focus as he spoke. The wind was picking up again, it would make a good day for sailing, and she was more than slightly tempted to agree with Jovan if only not to trap herself on land for weeks. She turned her gaze back to the docks, littered with a eight crates all topped with rolls of rugs and fabrics. It had taken over six months to accumulate it all, and she was risking it and more on a single stupid venture.

“We’ll take it a bit at a time, you, Tull, Connor come with me to the city first were we’ll get things settled. Half the crew take the ship down to Vagrant’s Rest, the rest take the goods halfway and wait for us to line up buyers.”

“We’re going to use nearly all the coin we have in the process. Why bother the risk?” Rhea didn’t want to answer that question, even to herself.

“The payoff will let me retire to a nice house in the country, gardens filled with clovers.” That eased the tension a bit, Jovan even grunted out something that could almost have been a laugh.

“Clovers are weeds.” Rhea shrugged in dismissal and hopped down from the crate as three other men came to carry it down the ramp.

“Roses then. You can plant them if you know so much.” Jovan only shook his head, but a tight smile pulled at his face as they left the ship.

----

Three days of travel on solid ground was a sure way to ruin Rhea's mood. The three men of her crew she’d brought along did nothing to help either. No one was ever quite as miserable as a sober sailor. But they had gotten into the Royal City, no one had tried to stop them, and The Libertine was safely tucked away somewhere in the Shimmering Sea. Traveling from the south had been worth it, if only for that.

Rhea didn’t get to the Royal City much; too far inland, too many trade laws to bother risking. But the quality and size of their goods were too good to waste on the usual coastal towns, or at least that was the excuse she’d told her crew. They’d be staying longer and would have to plan their deliveries carefully, an annoyance to all, but when it payed off they’d be more than satisfied. If she managed to find the damn merchant’s shop. They reached a dusty building with a faded sign dubbing it ‘The North Inn’, creatively named after the street it was located on, and she dismissed her men along with all of the coin she carried. It shut up their complaining, and her money would be coming from Donnelly, if she needed any.

The shop was closer to the river than she remembered, windows filled with more luxurious clothing than anyone living in such a place would ever be able to afford. A bell chimed when she entered the shop, empty of people except for the shape of a short man behind the counter.

“With you in a moment.”

Rhea ran her hands over every fabric she passed before reaching the counter, where she leaned on her elbows.

“Never good to keep your only customer waiting.” The man stopped, and whirled on her, face flushed with surprise and anger.

“What are you doing here? Get out.” Rhea only moved to fold one leg behind the other.

“My but your manners have suffered haven’t they? Relax Donnelly, I come with gifts.” Her empty arms proved otherwise, but words were enough to turn his attention.

“You stole my guard last time you came.” Rhea waved away the complaint.

“The man could navigate with the stars and draw maps. Wasted dragging you around the continent.”

“Took me two months to replace him.” Already the small man’s wrath had turned to sulking. The greatest virtue of the greedy was their lack of pride when they smelled coin.

“I have silks.” His eyes narrowed, and Rhea rolled her own. “Not here obviously. I wouldn’t have gotten past the guard looking like this and carrying goods. Which brings me to my first favour…” She gestured to her clothing, never in the best condition, it looked especially ragged from travel. Only her jewelry gave any hint to her being more than a peasant.

“I need clothes. For me and at least three of my men.” Three to pose as merchants bringing goods into the city, the rest would be bodyguards.

“For nothing? On your word? These goods may not even exist.” Rhea sighed, he was only drawing this out. Donnelly was too weak-willed and greedy to say no. She pulled off three gold bangles and a necklace, inlayed with emeralds, and dropped them all on the counter. Immediately he reached for them only for Rhea to stab a knife between his hand and the gold.

“Insurance. Until you get your cut, you can hold onto these for me. Worth twice as much as I should let you have, but I’ll be taking clothes and coin for myself now.” Donnelly was barely listening, staring as he was at the gold, eyes sparkling.

“What is it you need?”

“Contacts. I’ve been away from the city for too long and don’t know who the viable buyers are anymore. But you’ve always had sticky fingers in everyone’s business.” He was too distracted by her offer to notice the insult, if he would even take it as such.

“Fifty percent.”

“Twenty.” She said with finality, with full intention to not give him a cent more than ten. He made no further argument and reached for the jewelry in a sign of acceptance. Rhea replaced her knife in her belt, stood straight, and smiled at him.“Wonderful, the coin I’ll take now, the clothes you can send to the inn on North Street.”

--

“Here for the festival?” For a moment Rhea’s hand hovered over the innkeepers, heavy with coins for her room and bath. She’d forgotten about the mark, clear as day with her bracelets gone.

“No, I just came for all the jilted lovers left over.” The girl’s cheery smile only slightly wavered but she shook her head.

“Marked visitors aren’t meant to pay.” Rhea looked at the decrepit surrounding and dropped two coins on the counter anyways.

Clean bath water.” She intoned before turning to find her ensemble. Two were sitting at a table already covered with bottles.

“Enjoying yourselves? Where’s Tull?”

“Got in an argument and tossed out.” The words came with a strong smell of alcohol and unwashed sailor. Rhea swiped one of the bottles on the table. Passing them off as merchants was going to be near impossible; keeping them sober for more than a few hours on solid land was already more than a challenge. They may work for her, and on a ship, they would do exactly as she asked without question, but shore-time meant leisure time. Jovan was always the exception, but she’d need to get more men to stand in. She sighed and took a long drag from the bottle. Vile bottom shelf rat piss, but strong.

“Get him back in here when you can. I need you to start looking for old distributors.” Jovan nodded, suddenly returning to his usual sullen mood.

There was a bath waiting in her room, not much more than luke-warm and with a distinct lack of drying towels but Rhea had the coin and drink to compensate whatever else was lacking. She had finished washing and was drying herself when a knock came to the door. On the other side was a young boy carrying a crate. He showed no discomfort at the sight of her wearing no more than the blanket pulled from the bed; modestly wasn’t a common trait in this district. She thanked him and took the crate of clothing back to the bed.

Donnelly wasn’t half as stupid as he let on. The clothes where designed for the dessert. Plain trousers, much less faded then her own, and a thin cloth that when folded and belted at the waist made a sort of tunic that reached well past her knees, while plunging her neckline much further than any Orewyn woman would allow. For a Salahar merchant however, it was more than appropriate. She donned the clothes, using her own belt with its lockpicks and sheathed knife before making her way back downstairs. Jovan was alone waiting for her, and still drinking.

“Other two sobering up a bit, then looking for some old friends.” He answered her question before she could even ask, so she only nodded. “Might want to keep an eye out yourself. Worked with a man named Howell last time we were here, ‘least that’s what he called himself then.” There was a pause he poured two drinks from a clear bottle.

“And?”She took the offered glass and downed it without hesitation; he’d actually spent decent coin on that drink. Jovan mirrored her movement before continuing.

“He’s marked. With the festival going on, and the city being as it is, you can get placed we might not be able too”

“Oh? And if I happen to land myself a prince while searching?” Jovan let out one of his almost-a-laugh grunts.

“We’ll hold you ransom and rob ‘em blind.” Rhea lowered her glass to the table, placed a hand on her heart, and swooned dramatically as the sailor poured a second round.

“Who needs soulmates when I have darlings like you?”

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Anne’s father came alone to meet her at the Ivory inn. Only a handful of the merchant’s she’d traveled with remained, most had dispersed to less reputable locations, none sat with her. She was grateful he was alone, the journey had been long and the idea of her mother fretting over the appearance for the final leg of it was especially unappealing.

“Anne!” He was a short man, rather unimposing, and had to force his way through the crowd. There were no awkward greetings or forced physical displays of affection. They understood each other in that way. He offered to take her bag, and she accepted and they left the inn to a street filled quite entirely by a single, large black carriage.

“Your mother insisted. For the festival.” Anne only nodded in reply before stepping it. A stupid waste of money they didn’t have, but her father knew such already.

“I’m not here for the festival” She spoke only after he clambered in beside her. It was his turn to nod in understanding. Fellow victims to the will of Abigail Gress for the time being.

“I ought to tell you before we arrive… The body’s been burned, we tried to keep it for you, but two weeks is…”

“I understand” Anne cut him off, not particularly caring to hear how the smell of her brother’s rotting corpse forced the family to action. They lapsed back into a familiar silence that lasted until they arrived at the house.

It was smaller than she remembered, and seemed darker, but she attributed that to her reason for returning. Her mother was waiting in the entryway, and her sister Lydia came to loom in the doorway at the former’s first cry of joy.

“Oh Anne, it’s so good to see you! You look pale, are you well? Was the carriage ride alright? Come sit I’ve just made some tea, we have so much to discuss.” Anne stiffly allowed herself to be embraced, but kept her eyes on Lydia. Expressionless against her sister’s glare.

“I want to see Charles first.” That was enough to dislodge Abigail.

“Well, all right. We left his room just as. But do come down again quickly, I’m making you a dress appointment. That black makes you look so pale, and your hair…”

Anne began on the stairs before her mother could go on much more. Pointing out that they should all still be in mourning would be futile against her mother’s vanity, and she hardly wanted an argument in the first hour of their reunion. Of course, she could only be pushed so far, and it was obvious some disagreement was going to happen as a set of footsteps followed her own to her brother’s room. The bed was cleanly made, papers and books all neatly aligned on his desk. The only sign Charles Gress was anything more than out for the day was the unpolished, inexpensive urn resting between too still-new prayer candles and a box of matches on the flat chest at the foot of the bed. Anne entered to look closer, Lydia took up her place in the new door-frame, and wasted not time to begin her attacks.

“He wouldn’t have died if you’d been here.”

“I don’t know how to heal people.” Anne reached out and laid a hand on the urn. He’d been a full grown man when she’d left, but she still couldn’t envision him as anything but a spiteful twelve year old knotting her hair the bedpost alongside his twin.

“Yes, yes, spent all your time learning flashy parlor tricks instead. Then off across the world to study equally useless things.” Something in Anne’s chest swelled. It was an old hurt, turned bitter with time, and foreign with the distance from family. Her mother was an empty-headed fool, but Lydia was only contemptuous and stubborn in her envious hatred, and Anne never had the patience or compassion to soothe it.

“My being away is what has kept you all here and fed. You should have taken him to the temple.” Where Anne’s anger was cold, Lydia’s ran red hot, waiting for an excuse to strike out.

“It was paying for your damned education that got us all into this mess, and you want gratitude?”

“Yes.” Lydia moved, and for a moment Anne anticipate a strike. It was a tactless thing to say, Charles had been Anne’s brother, but Lydia’s twin. They’d been co-conspirators, mostly in torment of their younger sister, but it was a bond, and loss, Anne could never understand.

“Mother will be waiting.” There was acid in her voice, a warning. Anne would have to go to her mother’s dress fitting, or do anything but stay inside the house and rest as she’d planned. Lydia turned from the door to her own room. Anne sat down at the desk, staring at the urn.

It was nearly half an hour later when her mother came to check on her. In two steps she was beside Anne, pulling the pins from her hair until it fell to her shoulders.

“We really need to make you more presentable for the festival. So many families will be there…” Anne opted to ignore her mother rather than mention her appearance wouldn’t matter; she’d find her destined or not. There would be no choosing.

“Turquoise would look lovely on you, with long angled sleeves I think, and a high neck. My pearls…”

“I’m in mourning.” The hands fell away from her hair, and Anne had a clear mental image of her mother’s disdainful look without even turning.

“I’m going to find those pearls. We leave in an hour.” No sooner did she leave the room then Anne moved to light the two candles. She wasn’t much one for prayer, but it was her brother, and the only sign of respect she knew how to give.
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Elian Valent





In the tales, when a knight rides through the gates of the city, it's usually after some glorious quest to slay a dragon or save a noble girl. He (or she) returns victorious, armour shining, straight-backed and proud, on his grand white stallion, greeted by the cheers of the people.

Sadly, that's just in the tales.

The reality, Elian reflected, isn't at all like that. He might have the armour, but that was about it. His horse, Nyx, was certainly neither white nor a stallion. And he was too weary from his journey to actually sit taller on the saddle. And victory? Well... he had no idea. The stories are just Faerie tales after all. He'd only gone to deliver a message. No dragons were slain, that was for sure.

His gaze wandered down to his wrist, where his glove hid the Mark. Despite royal decree, he didn't use it as a ticket for free passage throughout his journey home. He couldn't, not in good conscience, exploit something that he'd been given over others simply by chance or by fate. So he'd used his own coin where it was needed, and more often than not, slept on the road instead of in a bed.

"Sir Knight! Sir!"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Elian looked around for the speaker - admittedly, at his own eye level at first, before looking down at the woman who'd caught his attention. Her cheekbones were visible, and her clothes were worn.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Please, sir, your assistance. Over here."

Dismounting his horse and following the woman over to the alleyway, he was met with the sight of three young men, roughly his age, clutching at their heads, dazed. Blood was dripping from their ears, had been for a few minutes at least.

"What happened here?"

"They... these boys are my son and his friends. I saw them follow after some layman or traveller, and I don't doubt what they were intending, but this is the result. Whoever that man was, he left quickly as come."

"It was magic, if you're asking me to figure out what happened." Elian told her. "This man you speak of is one of the Marked."

"So what am I supposed to do now? I can't well take them to the temple without losing my spot in the market, and I'll have a hard time finding a Lightsman what with all the tricksters out there."

Elian shook his head. "The injuries aren't all bad as that..." he dropped into a crouch in front of one of the youths. "Could you fetch me my waterskin, please?"

"Ah... yes, sir."

Tilting the boy's head sideways with a gentle hand, he tried to take a look at the wound... but had no idea how to treat it. He wasn't a doctor... yet, he could at least try to help. The woman returned with the skin, and then looked on. Elian tugged off his glove, revealing his Mark. Then, unstopping the cork, he held his hand over it.

Sighing, Elian closed his eyes, and called for the magic. He didn't use it often, and he wasn't the best, but he'd gone through training for it. And, when the power flowed out of him and to the drink, he made a silent prayer of thanks to Dolme. Holding the skin out to the young man, he spoke, taking care to make his lips as readable as possible.

"Drink."

The boy took the water almost apprehensively, before taking a tentative sip. With Elian's prompting, he then took a few more gulps. Elian then passed it onto the other two boys, before replacing the stop and turning to the woman once more.

"That might hold them for a few hours, though truly I can't be sure. You should take them to the Temple whenever you can so that someone better versed might check them. Until then, I don't think you should let them out of your sight." He cast a glance at the youths. "Just to make sure they don't 'follow' after anybody else."

With the woman's thanks, Elian then emerged back into the street and took Nyx by the reins. He might as well make the rest of the journey by foot. It would wake him up a little, at least.
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Edwyn McReid





“It’s a right misfortune that ya got that mark thing.” The farmer said, louder than necessary. His name was Olyvar, and it was his farmhouse that Edwyn was staying at. It was convenient, seeing as though his home was little more than a day’s walk from The Royal City. His hospitality was bountiful, and he served great food, but he did not possess an “indoor voice.”

“Why’s that?” Edwyn asked, swallowing a spoonful of stew. Olyvar’s dining room was small, but comfortable. His ever-quiet daughter and son sat at the table, but Olyvar and Edwyn spoke for them and then some.

“Why, if you were a normal fuckin’ bard, I’d ‘ave you marry my daughter, I would!” He said, cackling. Edwyn glanced at Olyvar’s daughter. She couldn’t have been older than fifteen. The bard chuckled, uncomfortably.

“Aye, sir. A damn shame.”

“A damn shame, he says!” Olyvar was practically wheezing with laughter. Though Edwyn didn’t find his statement particularly funny, he had to laugh. The farmer’s laughter was infectious. “I ever tell you that my wife’s sister was a marked? Or was it her aunt? I dunno.”

“Oh, wow. Did she ever find her Destined?” Edwyn asked, genuinely curious. He would not have taken this profession if he did not like stories. Stories he could relate to, stories of the destined, were especially interesting, as of late.

“Naw. Fever took her before a festival.” He quieted down, clearing his throat. Not exactly the sort of story he’d been hoping for. “Ran in the family, it did.” He glanced at the table’s only empty chair.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to-”

“Ah, don’t worry about it, lad.” He brightened up. “It was a few years past, anyway.”

And so they ate. Outside, the light dwindled. Edwyn had stayed with the farmer for two nights, now, and didn’t intend to stay a third. True to his word, when everyone had finished their food, he stood and turned to collect his things.

“You sure you don’t want to stay another day or two?”

“Oh, I’m sure. The Festival won’t wait for me.” Edwyn smiled. “Besides, you’ve been too good to me, Oly. I fear if I stay I may become properly spoiled.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Olyvar sat, smacking Edwyn on the shoulder. “Wait, Edwyn. You sure you feelin’ alright? You seem right quiet, compared to yesterday.”

“I’m fine, Oly. Really.” Edwyn said, giving a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing, really. I’m just...nervous.”

“Nervous? All the stories you told me, and you’re nervous?”

“Outrunning bandits and finding the pre-destined love of your life are different matters entirely, Olyvar.” Edwyn sighed. “I mean, think of how many Marked are going to be there. One of them, one of them, is my destined. The odds are tall, Oly, and I’m-”

“Edwyn.”

“Yes?”

“Do me a favor. Go to that festival and find a lady you fancy.”

“Isn’t that what-”

“Forget all that talk about odds and chances and unlikely-ness. If the Six will it, you’ll find yer destined. If not, you still get to meet some pretty girls. Oh-ho-ho, I envy you, lad.”

“Right.” He said, smiling unconvincingly. Olyvar had more faith than he. It was easy, to talk of trusting in the six to deliver him to happiness. In his experience, the Six rarely gave happiness. Edwyn saw his Gods, not in people who were living a fairy tale, but in people who found happiness out of misfortune. Edwyn had faith that he wouldn’t come out of this festival feeling jaded and cheated, but he still hoped he find his one. It was only natural, he figured. Romanticism was a part of his job.

“Listen. When that festival is over you come right back here and tell ol’ Olyvar about what happened, eh? Yer always welcome here.”

“Of course.” Edwyn slung his bag, and his lute over his shoulder. His horse was waiting in Olyvar’s stable. He bid Olyvar farewell once more, waved to the farmer’s children, and set off. He’d saddled his horse earlier. All that was left to do was get on his back and set off. He hesitated a second, looking at the old farmhouse. Edwyn had met all sorts of people, many he considered friends, some who didn’t like him so much, and a few he’d probably forgotten. He didn’t think he’d ever forget about the old farmer who opened his home, and offered advice of questionable merit. “C’mon Fritz. Yah!” He snapped the reins. The horse neighed indignantly, as though offended, but he started to move. The sun had set fully, by now. The road was dusty, and the wind was whipping. Edwyn sighed. Realistically speaking, he should’ve left Olyvar’s house sooner. By the time he arrived in The Royal City, the taverns and inns would be full to bursting. Still, he couldn’t turn down the company. Hopefully, he’d run into a caravan on the way. He wasn’t alone, he supposed, but Fritz wasn’t the talkative type.




“Pardon?”

“I said it four times already. We’ve got no rooms.”

“What do you mean you have no rooms?”

“I mean, we’re full to bursting. With paying customers.”

“I thought all the marked were guaranteed accommodations.”

“They are if they came from the official summons and on the coin of the king. For all I know, you’re just an enterprising minstrel with a lucky birthmark.” The imposing innkeeper had a presence about him that made even Edwyn feel the need to hold his tongue. A scarred face, hardened from years of dealing with rable far worse than penniless bards. Edwyn had been hoping that his mark would get him a free room.

“I’ll play here for free. I’ll give you all the money I collect!” Edwyn offered. It seemed like a fair deal, to him. Sometimes, he raked in a decent amount of coin. The Inkeeper, however, just laughed.

“Look, kid, I don’t know what it’s like out in the sticks, but bards are in no short order, here. I’ve got two staying here right now. You can’t throw a pebble without it hitting the head of some lute-jockey.” The Innkeeper sighed, and Edwyn realised that he must’ve looked pitiful. “Listen, I’ve got a storage room. It’ll be cramped, but I’ll rent it to you half-price. Deal?” Edwyn thought, for a moment. Half-price wasn’t so bad, and it wasn’t as though he needed a lot of space. Chances were, he’d slept in places far more harrowing than a storage room. He nodded.

“You have yourself a deal, sir.” Edwyn smiled.




Unfortunately, for Edwyn, ‘penniless’ was not hyperbole. He needed some coin. So, he exited the tavern and walked up the street. Even here, in the poorest part of the city, the streets were cramped. He’d been to The Royal City before, once or twice, but he’d never stayed long. It just wasn’t profitable. There was no money, not when there was a bard in every tavern, every night.

He sat down on his bag, finding a nice spot at the mouth of a dingy alley way. He retrieved a cloth sack and placed it on the ground in front of him. When he was satisfied, he readied his lute and strummed a bit. No one so much as glanced. He was not deterred. Though his lute was scarcely audible above the din of conversation and footsteps, he played on. When he found a rhythm he was comfortable with, he started to sing. A few people glanced, and one or two even stopped to listen. He tried to ignore the lack of coins in his sack. Eventually, someone would come along with a heart full of pity for him and drop a coin.

Right?
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Sterling
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Sterling

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It had been a surprise for Matilda when the royal decree came out. It surprised no one else for it was well known that the Princess and Prince were marked and Destined and these things had to be handled and of course there would be a festival because there was always some sort of to do with nobles and royalty. But it had never occurred to Matilda and so when the decree came out and her father mentioned that she ought to pack if she was going to make it on time the blonde was baffled.

“Pack? You want me to go?” She mused, looking around the printing shop uncertainly.

“It is not about what I want Matilda…” her father intoned as he started to turn the handle of the crank shaft that would roll the inked stamps across the clean parchment laid out on the table below. “It is an opportunity that not many have and you do. Besides… We’re not the type of family to shy away from exploration are we?” His daughter was already absentmindedly nodding in agreement. Quite right. Quite right.

“I suppose you’re right. I just …Well I hadn’t really given it much thought.”
She admitted, tidying a stack of papers ready for pick up. Her father grinned as he turned the press, the stamps pressing down against the parchment to leave their marks and words there forever. It was very like his daughter to pay little attention to the world in front of her, too busy looking at the past in her histories or at the matters of faith or the poetries of long forgotten wits. Her own life held little interest to Matilda.

“Well you’re thinking of it now. So you are going.” He commanded, although this was not an order as much a statement of fact. She had already agreed after all.

“I suppose I am. Well…I’ll go pack then…” Matilda finished with neatening the tables of books and pamphlets and flyers before heading upstairs where she and her father lived. Above the printing shop. As she started to prepare a bag she wondered over the festival, her wide blue eyes flicking to her exposed wrist as she folded a blouse and stowed it in her bag. Her Mark was sending her on an adventure, more than anything she had experienced before in her life. Suddenly Matilda smiled feeling gleeful. This would be a fantastic journey and when she returned home she would finally have a tale of her own to tell!

Never did she think she’d come home with her destined in tow.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Considering the bustle of the Royal City Matilda should have been alarmed or even nervous, she’d never seen so many people in one place before. And no one in her town was as loud or as pushy, or even as smelly as this lot but then… That was the point of an adventure! She had been fortunate, she found out, that her father had an associate in the city, letting her stay in their home because all the inns were filled up.

While it would have been quite something to have to find lodgings and meager protection, perhaps even sleep in the streets, Matilda was glad she didn’t have to find out if she had what it took. Instead she wandered the streets thoroughly getting lost and not noticing as much. She had a bit in the way of money to spend on treats and excitements as her father had put it, the rest of her budget safely tucked away in the shop of his associate as well as her belongings.

With wide blue eyes and blonde hair braided and coiled but ultimately a bit untidy she stood out. People jostled her and she apologized as they continued on their way without so much as a backward glance, the hem of her plain brown skirts becoming dirty with the city grime whereas in her town it would only have been dust from the road. Clearly a country bumpkin, Matilda noticed none of this as she was too engrossed in the architecture, never seeing building so tall, or in the vendors, clearly foreign and different, or in the marvelous wares they sold.

Soon she found herself in a large square filled with the commotion of trade. Matilda’s mind raced as she watched how quickly people bargained and bartered, finally handing over sums and hurrying off with their purchases. Her thoughts were interrupted by the grumbling of her stomach. She was hungry! This was a surprise, since she had eaten a hearty breakfast… A glance at the sky proved how much time she had lost track of, it was most certainly not early morning now.

Meandering around the outer circle of sellers in the Square Matilda was debating on what she should try. There was an interesting cart with various types of meat pies, some having things from the Ocean which she had never had before, but also a dark man who was selling something skewered through a stick and sizzling on his grill that smelled very attractive. Acting on impulse Matilda ended up buying both a pie and a skewer.

Looking around for a place to sit she spied the steps of a building that only had one occupant. Everywhere seemed so full that the blonde didn’t stop to consider why the man hunched there was being avoided. @Snagglepuss89

Coming closer she smiled vaguely and nodded to the spare steps. “Do you think it would be alright with you if I sat down here too?” She asked politely, one hand full of pie and the other of the meat on a stick. Before the man could answer she cheerfully gestured to the pie. “Have you ever had an…What did he call it? Eel? Yes. This pie contains eel meat. I’ve never had such a thing before. I hope it is good.” Realizing that it might be rude to flaunt her meal in front of the man Matilda blushed but recovered by finding a solution. “You could try some of it with me if you want Sir.” She smiled brightly at such a good idea. The fact that he was dressed in rags and dirt covered his hands and face, or that he was missing one eye seemed either to not matter to Matilda at all, or she was completely unaware of such things. It was hard at times to tell with the blonde.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Holy Soldier
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Holy Soldier Divine Justice

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The warm smell of baked bread mingled with the pungent aroma of smoke; the incomprehensible din of a hundred-thousand voices; the line of wagons from every trade road across the continent; the spring colors of pink, purple, yellows, and blues in the form of rippling drapes, gowns, and flowers; all of these things flowed out of the largest city in Orewyn. The hard cobble felt good beneath his armored feet. The wagon rolled audibly, the back-left wheel was wobbling, but she would hold. The rickety thing survived a week and a half trek, it would survive a few yards of bridge. Guards greeted every merchant wagon that desired to enter the city, men clad in silver, and tossing back the blankets which covered the jars, gowns, chests, crates, barrels, and sacks. Every merchant had brought supplies to compliment the occasion, and standing in two files parallel to each other were women eagerly waiting to throw their coin purse at whatever dress, necklace, ring, hairpin, etc. that they could rip from those wagons.

Boen’s eyes tensed a little as his hand subconsciously went to rest upon the bar at his hip. The women were more frightening than the highwaymen had been. The look in their eyes he had only ever seen in wild animals prepared to pounce and make a kill.

The old merchant who sat comfortably in the wagon chuckled at the sellsword’s reaction. “Don’t worry, boy; they don’t bite. They’re feisty this time of year, but I figured a lad such as yourself would like that.”

“Ah nae seen wi’men wit’ eyes like t’at,” Boen replied, his dark brows furrowing over his golden eyes beneath his helm.

Sym removed the tip of the long pipe he had been smoking to expel a gray laugh as plumes of smoke left from the thick, curtain of hair that hung from beneath his nose.

“Those are good eyes boy—especially when they’re meant for you!”

The city guard approached and Boen lowered his hand from his weapon.

“All right; let’s see what you got,” the guard muttered as he stepped passed Boen toward the wagon and flipped back the dusty blanket that covered dough-sealed jars, crates, and barrels. “What’s in the jars?”

“The finest chocolate you’d ever taste,” Sym answered.

“What’s in the crate?”

“An elaborate rainbow plucked from the fields of Galemara!”

“And the barrel?”

“The sweetest strawberry wine—from Elkwood.”

All of it had really been contraband. Sym’s items came from all over the country, but what the guards didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. With as much as the old man had talked the entire trip, Boen wasn’t surprised that a silver tongue hid behind that beard. Sym resembled a feeble, pathetic old man. He played his role so well that no one would have ever suspected him to be a professional liar.

“All right; go on through,” said the guard unenthusiastically. He hadn’t cared much for Sym’s colorful advertising—not when he had over a hundred more carts waiting in line. He hated this damn holiday.

Snapping the reigns, the brown donkey bobbed on, the wagon rumbled and bounced over every rock and pebble, and their journey into the city resumed. As soon as the wagon passed through the gates, a horrible noise assaulted Boen’s ears. The women immediately lunged at the cart, causing the donkey to hee-haw in startle. Their voices were an incessant flutter of giggles and squeals. Boen’s back met the wagon as he grasped his sidearm, his upper lip raised in disgust behind his face mask. It only lasted thirty seconds before the women realized that the items were well-concealed. They lost interest and turned toward the gates once more.

Boen sighed in relief, his heart calming. It took all of his willpower not to crack one of the bitches across the head.

“Sal’s dunes,” Boen breathed. The saying had been a Salahari one—one his mother always said. One might have imagined the dunes of Salahar when first hearing it when really it was a perverse saying involving a Salahari woman’s bosom. It was used as an exclamation of surprise, disbelief, or good grief.

“You restrained yourself this time. I thought you were going to club one and have us both in jail,” said Sym.

“Ah t’ought ‘bout it but ah dinnae.”

Boen opened and closed his hand, flexing his fingers that tingled with the lingering urge. He was going to have that urge for a while now. His knuckles were going to be hungry for someone’s face.

Sym guided the wagon to an empty spot in the market. Boen helped the old man unload the wagon—actually he had unloaded it all on his own—and stood guard while he organized his spot on the rug. The sellsword crossed his arms before his chest, watching the crowds move before him like river currents. His eyes lowered to two embracing hands—a boy and a girl younger than him with strange symbols on their wrists. Had they found each other in the city? Or had they found each other beforehand? Boen felt curiosity pawing at his cheek, and he was quick to dismiss it. Bulls balls.

The old man sat cross-legged on his blanket, a blanket that was woven in Salahar, and he happily waved with both hands at a group of young women who started to slow and linger as they took notice of the fragments of chocolate, the vibrant bouquets of flowers, and brass pitchers of wine for tasting. They crept closer, but then stopped to gaze at the warrior in black who was giving them a hard look. They felt threatened and disturbed, and Sym watched as they whispered to each other, tugging each other’s arms to take their business elsewhere.

Sym’s bushy brows lowered over his dark eyes and his nose wrinkled as he looked up at Boen with an angry expression. Boen’s eyes gradually rolled over to insensitively settle on the man, and for a brief moment the two just stared at each other.

“Aye?” Boen queried.

“You’re scaring away my business.”

“If y’don’ like it, ‘ow ‘bout y’pay me, an ah’ll be outta y’air.”

Sym huffed. “Greedy bastard. I was going to pay you after the festival. I might need you when I head back. If I sell all this, I’ll be rich, and I’ll be able to pay you more to take me back to Trade Wind.”

“An’ ah’m t’greedy basta’d,” said Boen with a wry smirk.

Sym unlocked a small chest with a key and removed the baseball-sized sack of coins. He closed the now empty chest and marched over to Boen to thrust it out at him. Boen uncrossed his arms and accepted the heavy purse from him. He then slightly bowed and simultaneously brought the bag close to his brow in what was customarily a thanks in Keld. He straightened and turned toward the flowing streets.

“Ah’ll be ‘round,” Boen told him. “Ah’ll return in a ‘morrow an’ check on ye…” He then added, his smirk stretching into a long and amused smile behind his mask. “Check an’ see if y’made some gol’.”

Sym fanned him away. “Yeah, get out of here you shit.”

Gripping the coin bag happily, Boen left the old man to his business. He hadn’t minded being the merchant’s escort. It had been the easiest job he’s had in a while. He recalled the highwaymen who he had to beat senseless on the way over. There hadn’t been that many of them, and he was certain the roads were going to be mostly clear for some time—at least until the thugs recovered. Food, a bath, and rest were calling his name.




Brackin’ Jack’s Tavern had been the chosen place. The name alone had drawn him in along with the 50 other bastards soaking up all the ale in the place. Boen stopped outside before going in. There was a horse slurping up water from a trough and Boen took a moment to unbuckle his face mask and slid his helmet free from his skull as a deluge of sweat rolled in dark rivulets down his nose and the sides of his face. The salt, water, and dirt were mixing together on his skin. His dark hair was matted against his head, the beard that covered his upper-lip and jaw twinkled with moisture in the sun. The sellsword hooked his helmet to his belt and took a knee next to the trough to splash cool water on his face. He washed the salt and dirt from his lightly-tanned skin and dunked his head into the water to rinse his hair. The tavern door was thrown open by a man who stumbled out into the street, swaying and crossing his legs in an unsteady step.

“You didn’t brack me Jack! No sir!” he exclaimed loudly. His tunic was torn in the front, descending down his hairy chest to a round pot belly that hung over his pants. The man’s blonde hair sat on his head like a cat and wide, slightly bulging blue eyes fixed on his horse that raised its head curiously from the trough. “BRACK!”

Boen pulled his head from the water and shook it, the water splaying from his brown bladed tips. He frowned up at the drunken fool who was trying to mount his horse. He managed to step into a stirrup and folded over the saddle. His own weight crushed down on his ale-bloated belly and forced a loud fart to burp from his ass cheeks, startling his horse. The mare whinnied and ripped the horn that held her reigns from the tavern pillar as she bolted into the street.

“BRACK!”

Boen stood, watching as the loud drunk and his horse wildly charged down the street, drawing the attention of several city guards who comically gave chase. He was liking the city already. It reminded him of home. The sellsword turned toward the tavern, glancing momentarily at the damage to the beam. There was music, laughter, shouts, and the noisy slap! of a hand meeting a rear-end. The wenches of the Brackin’ Jack were thick with breasts that probably were the bait that drew the male-dominant crowd. They impressively carried six mugs of ale per fist, keeping the patrons well-watered. Boen slipped by a few bodies and found his way to a surprisingly empty seat at the bar.

The bartender, Jack, was a big man with a bald head and a coarse rounded beard that touched his chest. He was filling two tin mugs to the brim with ale, spilling the foamy head over a little before he slid them to two locals at the counter. He faced Boen, his brown eyes eyeing his armor, before he asked, “What can I get you?”

“Some piss,” Boen said.

“Pardon?”

“Ale,” Boen clarified. “An’ some food.”

“We got rabbit stew and bread and not much else. The pot is going fast.”

Boen removed a gold piece from the coin pouch beneath his collar and placed it on the counter. Jack picked up the piece and turned it before his eyes. He inspected it closely before giving it a firm bite, and his face lit up with a joy that could have illuminated the entire tavern.

“You can have as much ale as you can drink and eat until you burst, friend!”

Boen raised his hand to his brow, bowing his head slightly, before lowering it—again, in thanks. He felt a pair of eyes on his face without needing to turn his head and look at their owner. He briefly glanced over to the band of minstrels@Sisyphus who seemed to be enjoying themselves before his attention was drawn to the metallic clink of an overflowing mug being set before him. Boen wasted no time in picking up the mug and bringing it to his lips. He closed his eyes as the strong, barley liquid rushed into his mouth. One of the big wenches, Helena, stepped from the kitchen with a steaming wooden bowl of dark stew and a boule of bread in her other hand. She stopped behind the bar before the sellsword, watching as he eased his head back, his neck muscles audibly pumping the liquid into his stomach. He didn’t lower the mug until not a single drop was left and set it upon the counter with a content gasp.

Helena smiled at him and bat her lashes as she set down the bowl of stew and bread boule for him.

“Long journey?” she asked.

Boen didn’t pay her any mind. The stew had looked more attractive to him. He drew the bowl closer and grasped the roll of bread, dipping it into the broth before taking a bite from it. There was a pleased smile on his face. It had felt like ages since he had a good meal. He closed his eyes as he savored the salty and gamy soup that rolled around in his mouth. The wench rested an elbow on the counter top and placed her curly head in her hand. The front of her blouse dipped low and for a second it looked like her bosom would spill free as she watched Boen scarf down his food. She waited for his answer, hoping the handsome knight—he had to be a knight of some sort; he was too good looking to be a merc!—would notice her naughty presentation. The man next to Boen had noticed and looked at her chest unabashed and with a wide smile.

Boen tipped his head back, scraping the meat and bones into his mouth before setting the bowl down. He swallowed the broth, meat, carrots, and potatoes and removed the rabbit bones from his mouth to toss them into the bowl. He pushed the bowl toward Helena and merely said, “’Nother y’mind.”

“You got an appetite. I like the ones that can eat,” she complimented before taking his bowl into the kitchen.

A second mug was set on the counter by Jack, and Boen cradled it in his hands. He was loving the tavern. Endless grog and stew; he was in paradise and he was going to eat and drink until he couldn’t no more. Those were his plans until the man who had been eyeing him decided to open his rank mouth (his probably didn’t smell any better):

“You’re not from around here.”

Boen didn’t oblige him with a conversation. He lifted his mug and gulped it down.

“I can tell because you got a funny voice. You not only got a funny voice but Helena was putting on a show for you and you ignored her. You must be an idjit or queer!”

Setting down his mug, Boen closed his eyes and smiled in content. He truly was in his happy place. Helena returned with another bowl and boule and she set it down before him. She leaned over his bowl—this time he had to have noticed!—and gave Boen a wink.

“If you need anything else, Handsome. Summon me. I am Helena.”

The angry man interjected, “He don’t want you Helena! He’s a queer one! He also isn’t from around here. He’s probably some Galinese swine!”

Jack turned his head, peering over his shoulder at the man who was trying to raise a commotion. Helena fearfully stepped back from the counter, sensing the hostile presence when the man stood from his stool to face the sellsword who had chosen to eat his stew rather than acknowledge him.

“You deaf too, Queer?”

No response.

The man slapped his hand down on Boen’s shoulder and shouted, “I’m talking to you, you deaf shit!”

Boen set down his bowl, his jaws still chewing the chunk of rabbit that was between his teeth. His amber eyes rolled to his right to gaze at the man as his tongue rolled a rabbit bone free of his mouth to poke from between his lips. He grasped the end of the small bone and flicked it at the man’s face. The man jerked back as the bone struck him between the eyes.

“YOU BAST-”

Boen’s hand followed as he rose from his stool, his armored palm smashing against the man’s face and fingers latching onto it. He forced the man back, walking forward as he bent the man’s neck. He released the man’s face after three steps and brought his left arm swinging around. His fist connected like a brick with the man’s jaw, sending him whirling into a table behind him where a group of rough-looking individuals had been sitting. The body that collapsed across their table knocked over their mugs, sending pools of ale dumping into their laps and causing them to jump out of their seats with curses. They glanced down at the unconscious man and then over at Boen with daggers gleaming in their eyes. Boen slowly walked backward toward the counter as the men started slowly walking toward him. He blindly patted about the wooden top for a mug of ale (not wanting to take his eyes off the thugs) and gave it a quick few gulps before he threw the tin at the nearest brute. Thunk! It was like a chain reaction. The bar exploded with a wild ruckus as chairs were tossed; mugs and soup bowls thrown; bodies went flying; and the minstrels carried on with lively music.

Jack frowned and sighed in exasperation as he watched the destruction taking place. It had been about time he closed the tavern any way. The barrels were running dry and the pot empty. He turned to Helena and ordered, “Go call the guards!”
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Sterling
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Sterling

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Intro for Eitenne And a Collab with Nora
@Panic

The journey to the Royal City was pleasant, comfortable, and unpredictable. Etienne could take unpredictable. It was easy, walking the roads by day and camping at night. He wasn’t the only one on the roads, and the closer to the Royal City and its festival the more congested things became. Not one to become claustrophobic or fearful of crowds the carter took advantage of the opportunity and people watched.

This was a past time Etienne enjoyed even in his small home village. The smiles, the frowns, laughter and raised voices in anger or alarm. It was all food and entertainment for the Destined Carter. Most of all he could feel the excitement in the air as if it were a physical sensation. Well for Etienne it was. Along with the bustling crowds jostling into him as he wandered about the Royal City, eyes wide to take everything in, as to not miss a moment. It was astounding, how big, how grand it all seemed.

Etienne had never been to the Royal City proper before. He had carted nearby but his father always took the jobs leading into the Actual City. Now the blonde knew why. It was overwhelming and electrifying all at once. Caught up in the crowds the carter allowed himself to be pushed along the currents of people until something caught his attention. Caught his nose actually.

Following his nose had never led Etienne astray before now and so he wandered the streets of the Royal City with an easy smile on his face and hands tucked into his pockets. Sauntering down the lanes until reaching a large square lined with vendors stalls and little shops alike. The source of the alluring scent was a pastry stall, fresh apple fritters sizzling on the griddle seductively.

Etienne actually groaned when he spotted the sweets and could see the vendor was a local favorite, with many hovering waiting around for the hot pastries. He’d have to wait a few batches but the smell alone promised the wait was worth it.

“They smell heavenly don’t they?” asked a woman to his left, standing on her toes to see over the crowd and towards the stall. “I haven’t had one of those since I was little.” Nora wasn’t one to make idle chit chat but she had spotted the mark on the man’s wrist. He didn’t seem like a member of the royal court, but she had made that mistake before. Some of the lords and ladies back home used to dress up and sneak around town, trying to blend in.

Glancing over at the woman who spoke Etienne smiled ruefully, bringing a hand up to tug on his curls. “I haven’t either…” He admitted. “I love apples. Probably the best fruit out there. By fair. Hands down.” He grinned all the more before gesturing to the crowds around them. “Are you from the City or here for the fair?” This seemed like a fair question as even if she didn’t have the mark surely anyone who was anyone would come to see the spectacle of brightly dressed peoples, all the fairs from far and wide being sold, and the masses hunting for true love.

“Well you must have never of had fresh blackberries then,” Nora countered. “I’m from up North, from a little fishing town called Bellmare. I haven’t had a chance to do much traveling, but with the Royal Family handling the bill, I figured it was a good of a time as any to see.” Nora purposefully didn’t pull up her wrist or mention outright that she had the mark. One of the many tricks she had picked up from some of her more well to do families was how much they did not like to flaunt their status. “What about you? Are you visiting as well?” she asked with a soft smile.

Laughter crinkled the corners of Etienne’s eyes and upturned the sides of his mouth. Blackberries were perhaps in his top five favorite fruits, but today Apples were number one. Not that it mattered, but it was nice to have a friendly disagreement.

“Yes most certainly visiting. I expect to eat lots of apple fritters, stay in comfortable inns and meet interesting people. Like yourself.” With a nod Etienne held out his hand to shake with the stranger. “Etienne.” He introduced, hair flopping over his forehead as he looked over to the griddle, the batch was almost done, but given the number of onlookers he’d still have a time to wait.

Nora wracked her brain trying to see if she could place the name. It definitely was not from the City’s family. She had memorized as much of the Royal City’s court as she could. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t royalty from elsewhere. “Nora, Nora Bellwood,” she said, taking his hand. She followed his gaze towards the griddle again and was growing tired of waiting. “Wait, here, I have an idea,” she said with a smirk, as she started leading him through the crowd, excusing herself as she weaved in and out of people until they reached the front.

He was surprised when she took him by the hand but never the type to go ‘against’ the flow, Etienne followed, curiosity peaking. She was bold, coy, and Etienne had a nagging suspicion that she wanted him to like her. Traditionally his nagging suspicions were right and who was he to argue with a pretty girl?

“Sir, I hate to bother you, but Jorren and Broana Costain are in that chariot over there,” Nora said, point to a random chariot behind the large crowd, “they smelt these delicious treats and wanted to stop. They’re afraid to cause a scene though. Do you think I could take them two so they can be on their way?”

“The King and Queen, out here in the festival just waltzing around?” the baker said incredulously.

“They’re just checking on some official business. Like I said, they don’t want a scene, you’re busy enough as is,” Nora said, offering a warm smile.

“Well,” he said, trying to glance over the crowd to get a better look. “Fine, just go,” he said, quickly handing her the next two pastries, much to the annoyance of the couple beside her.

“Thank you, the Costain’s will make sure to reward you for your kindness,” Nora said, pulling Etienne to the side with her. “Here you go, it’s no blackberry, but I’m sure it’ll be close,” she said handing over one of the pasties.

The conversation between the vendor and Nora Bellwood was quick and easy, as if it had been her plan all along. She lied so fluidly. Etienne was actually impressed. Taking the fritter which was warm and gooey he smirked and took a bite.

“ Mmm. MMMM!” He shook his head, chewing aggressively and eyes almost rolling up back into his skull with pleasure. It was fantastic! At this moment Etienne couldn’t recall a time that he had eaten anything that tasted as good as this.

“No matter how pretty or clever you are Ms. Bellwood you will not get me to admit that Blackberries reign supreme over the humble and clearly best Apple.”

Etienne took another bite with another groan. “Ummph! So good.” As Nora tried her own the blonde looked around at the crowds. “It must be nice for you to be SO close to the King and Queen.” He teased, brows arching, which would have seemed serious had he not stuffed the rest of his apple fritter in his gob. Instead he seemed inquisitive and comical, which was probably his intention.

Nora gave a little chuckle at the enthusiasm Etienne seemed to have. But, she did have to admit, the pastries were so much better than the ones back home. “Oh, we go way back. Good family friends,” Nora said sarcastically with a wink. “I’m sure we’ll cross pass with them soon enough. I can’t imagine they’d bring all of us here if they weren’t planning on mingling. I mean, if everyone is as charming as you, I’m sure the prince and princess are bound to find their true love.”

“Yes, bound to…” Etienne agreed, smirking at her compliments. “And if everyone is as sly as you are no one will pay for their meals.” He didn’t seem concerned about the theft, only observant.

“Well hey now,” Nora said, feeling a bit defensive, “I mean the bill was going to get back to them one way or another. I just helped stop useless paperwork. Saving the kingdom from bureaucratic waste. I’m really a philanthropist you know. They should write songs and epics about me,” Nora said laughing, flipping her hair over her shoulder dramatically.

“Yes yes, how could I have not seen it before now?” Etienne eyed Nora thoughtfully, taking a hand to stroke his chin as if deeply considering her. “It’s really just too bad that not much rhymes with Nora, Bellwood and Apple Fritter. I’m afraid your ballad might go unsung…”

“Well I guess I will have to continue my good deeds, but only the ones that are easy to rhyme,” Nora said with a sharp nod of her head as if to make it final. “Maybe you can help, although no stealing my spotlight,” Nora warned with a playful wag of her finger. “It’s a shame Etienne is so hard to rhyme as well. Perhaps you might have something else worth singing about? What makes you so special as to be marked?” Nora prodded.

Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Panic
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Nora and Etienne Cont.
@Sterling



The carter gestured for Nora to come along with him, easing out of the main flow of the crowds and towards a less populated (But by no means empty) street. “Well my mother says I was born ass first...So perhaps that is something special. Not many can claim such a feat.” Etienne chuckled at his own joke and fate. But he felt as he weren’t answering the real question. The unspoken one.

Licking his fingertips of the last little tastes of apple fritter Etienne tilted his head examining the interesting girl before continuing. “I’m not really special. I mean...yes I have a mark but really in this city, at this point that’s not special. So, my mark is the only particularly interesting thing about me… And of course my abilities but I’ve never really used them.”

Nora perked up a bit at the mention of abilities. She had only gotten so far with self-teaching, never having met another with the mark before. It was disappointing to hear that Etienne had not worked on his abilities before. Half of the reason she came to the Royal City was to learn how to improve and do more than the pitiful lightning pulses. “Well I find that hard to believe. I’m sure there are things that are interesting about you,” Nora said with a warm smile as she put a gentle hand on his arm reassuringly. “I’m still learning how to use my own ability. I’m hoping I can find someone at the festival who knows how,” Nora said as the pair idly walked down the street. “So you’ve never really used yours? Do you know what it is at least?”

Etienne frowned slightly, his face mirroring the remorse in Nora. “I’m the only marked one in my village so… I’ve not met anyone else to compare talents. I know I’m marked but…” He shrugged self consciously before nodding towards Nora. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. What is your talent then?” He asked, trying to steer the conversation back into more upbeat venues.

It was all Nora could do not to sigh or frown. It seemed she was wasting her time after all. The first marked guy she came across wasn’t from nobility and definitely wouldn’t be able to help train her ability. Despite her irritation though, she decided not to find an excuse to cut and run. There was no telling how many marked individuals there would be, and giving off bad impressions to someone who was so friendly could mean trouble down the line. No, she would continue to befriend Etienne, but she doubted that there would be much she could use him for. Maybe connections later on, but she had to be careful not to waste her time. The festival wouldn’t last forever.

“Oh you could never disappoint me,” Nora said with a cheeky smirk, nudging the man playfully a little bit. “I’m still learning, but I can play around a bit with lightning. Little sparks and such,” Nora said, more than happy to talk about herself. “I’d show you, but I’m afraid that might cause a bit of a riot.”

Etienne felt a wave of confliction before smiling. They could be friends surely. “Lightning? That sounds very exciting and dangerous…” He winked. “It suits you Ms. Bellwood. If I ever find out what my power is I doubt it will be as alluring as yours...As for riots…” He let out a breath looking around at the crowds of people pressing in on them, the city so full. “I doubt you need lightning to do that. Looks, charm, or vastly outrageous and untrue rumors should do you just fine.” He teased.

“How long have you been in the City? Do you already know some good places to steal a meal or just recently arrived like myself?”

“How quickly you can go from complimenting me to wounding me. Stealing? I’ll have you know that I’m not a petty thief. Stealing is for those not clever enough to get what they want through other means,” Nora said, feeling a bit defensive. “I merely convince individuals that they want to help a poor girl out.” Nora realized her tone had turned a bit harsh, and she gave a small chuckle to try to lighten the mood. “I’m afraid I took the last room at the Ivory Inn down across town. But, we already found the best place for food. I plan on living entirely off those apple fritters for the duration of my stay,” Nora joked. “I just got into town though. Took the most awful boat ride here.”

Touched a nerve. Etienne was glad that she was keeping things headed towards a better direction. “I had heard as much, about the inns all being full you know? I suppose I should have planned ahead more. Oh well…” He’d slept in worse places than a stable loft or on the road outside the city. He’d be alright.

“I’ve never been on a boat before.” Etienne admitted, glancing up at the sun before coming back to level his gaze on Nora. Looking closely at her clothes he wondered at the mixed messages. Attractive clothes but claims of no money.

“Well… If you know of a second best place for a meal Nora I would be happy to share one with you. I don’t have enough to pay for two full meals but we could share a plate. I’m skinny and you’re a lovely little thing...Surely we’d be doing well enough?” Brushing his locks out of his eye the carter smiled invitingly. This was a gesture of goodwill on his part for bruising her pride.

“Perhaps meet for a dinner or lunch or something?”

“I’d be honored to,” Nora lied, returning the man’s smile. In truth, Nora was feeling antsy, wanting to go find other marked individuals, perhaps one that could afford two meals. But she kept reminding herself not to be rude. She had to be smart about the friends she made, and her time. “Why don’t we meet for dinner tonight. Let you get settled in to find a place for the night. I can meet you by the pastry stand at sundown?” she asked. She wasn’t sure if she would return, especially if a better offer came her way, but a back up plan never hurt.

“Perfect.” Etienne seemed delighted by the prospect, offering his hand for Nora to shake goodbye. It wasn’t until he was walking away from the woman that he had a nagging feeling in the pit of his stomach. With no reason to explain this Etienne glanced over his shoulder at Nora’s retreating form.
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Hidden 7 yrs ago 7 yrs ago Post by Sisyphus
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The Bard

@Holy Soldier

It was an excellent night for song.

The tavern was full of patrons, and the ale was flowing like water. Why wouldn't it be? The festival was starting soon, and every young Marked romantic in the world was journeying to the city with stars in their eyes, eagerly awaiting their beloved. Of course, Ciara's mind was far more occupied with her coinpurse than her wrist - the Festival was a business opportunity, the best she'd get any time soon, and love songs would be at a premium.

Not tonight, however. Tonight was a night for freedom songs - loud and lively and toe-tapping. Ciara took her seat with the other bards, her lute already strung. Her reputation preceded her: she didn't even know this band of players, yet as soon as Ciara Keogh had walked into the room they'd been dying to play her songs for her, provided she show them the sheet music. Now if only you could eat a reputation. The inn continued to bustle, men attending to their ale and their conversation. Nobody was looking at her, but that would shortly change.

Ciara took a deep breath and felt a grin rise to her face. The quiet girl faded, replaced by the bubbly performer. She reached up and pulled her black hair out of its bun, letting it fall around her pale neck, a broad smile fixed on her face. She shifted in her seat, pulled the front of her dress down ever so slightly, and began to play, a loud and jaunty melody.

"Well, I went into the chandler's shop some candles there to buy,
I looked around the chandler's shop but no one could I spy.
Well I was disappointed so some angry words I said,
Then I heard the sound of a (knock,knock,knock) right above me head."


She sang loud and proud, her airy voice cutting across the noise of the tavern, stomping hard on the floor for the onomatopoeia of the knocking. This was as bawdy a tavern song as any she knew, and she rose from her seat as she continued, her hands still strumming the music automatically. A faint memory entered her head just then, of her mother being very angry with her father for teaching her this one, but she forced it away.

"Well I was slick and I was quick, and up the stairs I sped,
And much to my surprise I found the chandler's wife in bed;
And with her was another man of most gigantic size,
And they were having a (knock,knock,knock) right before me eyes."


Now she was walking across the inn, deftly jumping onto a table and making sure the taverngoers got a good look at her legs. In truth she didn't really care for the hungry gazes she was starting to get, but she knew that lustful men were always freer with their coin - she knew that very well. And if seeing a pretty girl singing about 'knocking' made them want to tip her generously... that was more than fine by her. And so Ciara flashed her smile and rolled her eyes at the men, giggling girlishly as the bawdy lyrics continued.

"When the fun was over and done and the lady raised her head,
And quite surprised was she to see me standing by the bed.
"If you will be discreet, my dear, if you would be so kind,
I'll let you come up for some (knock,knock,knock) whenever you feel inclined."


That sent up a massive roar from the audience. Already a few of the patrons were leading giggling barmaids in an awkward dance across the inn, and coins were clinking into Ciara's bucket. Toes were tapping, men were smiling, ale was being swilled, and Ciara smiled honestly this time. She loved that music could do this.

She was just drawing breath to finish the song when the mood changed suddenly. Some confrontation had turned violent, and it was only a brief matter of time before some huge man was knocking a drunkard on his ass. The bar exploded after that, all spilled drinks and smashed chairs and frenzied punches, and Ciara paused for a moment, her mouth hanging open, her fingers stopped, her mind near overcome with frustration. She hadn't made nearly enough to pay for lodging tonight - with all her money spent traveling, she had needed tonight to be a payday. Now...

Behind her, the other musicians were still playing, the song waiting for its mistress to finish it. Ciara shrugged - may as well salvage the night as best she could, she reckoned. And so she played, and stood on her perch atop the table, and sang in that same clear voice as the music mingled with the chaos below her,

"So, all you married men take heed, if ever you come to town,
If you should leave your woman alone, be sure to tie her down.
Or, if you would be kind to her, just sit her right there on the floor,
And give her so much of that (knock,knock,knock) she doesn't want any more!"
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by deyinger
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Dairmud had spent the last week squeezed into the carriage with five other girls. She thanked Olwyn for the cool breeze blowing on the countryside this time of year. It kept the carriage cool enough, though it still stank of sweat and perfume. It didn’t help that the inside of the carriage itself was lined with fine fabric, which picked up the dirt and musk of the countryside air like a magnet. Not that Dairmud could linger on it too much. The constant chattering of the other girls in the carriage kept her distracted.

It came to no surprise that the six of them had come to know a lot about each other. Candis was a fisherman’s daughter, and Imogen worked as a seamstress. They were a fire and lightning elemental, respectively, and from Prym, too. The two of them and Dairmud were the only Marked girls in the village, so they had a lot in common in terms of their treatment as pariahs by the village boys. At least, the ones without a Mark. Those that did have one, all eight of them, constantly courted them, hoping one was their Destined. In small villages like Prym attempts like these barely ever proved fruitful. The one couple that succeeded in the village’s memory – Dairmud’s mother-in-law, in fact – was in every way a rare occurrence. The whole village had celebrated it. But that was years ago. Now, the Marked boys looked to the Marked girls simply because they were also treated as romantic outcasts. No one could understand the heartbreak behind the mark better than two Marked.

The Royal City had sent a massive caravan to visit the villages in the Eastern region of Orewyn. Prym’s Marked took up three of them, separate carriages for boys and girls. They’ve been picking up others on their way, putting them in whatever space was available. The other three girls in the carriage were picked up on a village south of Prym. Their village was the last stop for the caravan, so they were now finally headed to the Royal City. Caravans like this meant business for local inns. It’d take up to a month to collect all the Marked youths around Orewyn, which meant multiple stops along the way. Dairmud’s mother, Heovan, had told her that when she was younger and the then-princess Brona held her Festival of Destinies, the Granger’s Plenty Inn had been absolutely packed. They’d made more money in a month than they usually made in three years. She’d been looking forward to the twin’s Festival of Destinies ever since they were born. A prince and a princess looking for their Destined meant both boys and girls were headed to the Royal City. It was twice as many costumers and even more business.

Dairmud thought of her home. She’d never really been away from them for too long, and now that she hadn’t seen them in weeks, she truly felt desolate. She turned to her newest carriage-mates. They were a talkative bunch, so the carriage was rarely ever quiet. But they were pleasant enough. Harlie was a metal elemental, a blacksmith, as most were. Marlow was a priest’s daughter and Raisa was a cook, both water elementals.

“Really helps with the cooking,” she’d said, “With the mixing and boiling and the like.”

Dairmud made a mental note. Odds were she’d end up being roommates with some of the girls here, so she wanted to memorize as much as she could about them. She didn’t know how long the Festival of Destinies would last. Could be a week, could be a month. One festival lasted two whole years until the prince found his Destined. A wave of fear hit Dairmud at the possibility of staying in the Royal City for that long. I’d run away, she assured herself.

“But that’s really as much as I can do with my magic,” Raisa continued, “I haven’t really had much formal training. I’m not very good. Not like Marlow.”

“The temple priests are always open to teach magic,” Marlow seemed defensive, “You didn’t learn, Raisa, because you never came to the lessons!” Raisa huffed in response.

“It’s the same in our village,” Dairmud said, “My father always made me attend my lessons.”

“Oh,” Marlow’s eyes lit up, “Are you very good, then?”

Dairmud shrugged sheepishly. Candis rolled her eyes with a smile, “Yes, she is. She’s one of the best healers in Prym, outside of the temple priests.” Dairmud felt her ears grow red.

The smile on Marlow’s face grew even wider, “I’m a healer, too! Are you an apprentice at the temple?” Dairmud shook her head, but the smile didn’t fade from Marlow’s face. “I am. Master Crastin says I’m well on my way to join him as a Master of Water.”

“Oh, yes. Imagine how impressed Byran would be,” Harlie teased.

“I am well out of Byran’s league, thank you very much,” Marlow said, crossing her arms. “With or without the Mark!” The way Marlow frowned and looked out the carriage window assured Dairmud it wasn’t simply Marlow having a superiority complex. It sounded like Marlow was trying to convince herself more than anyone else. Raisa’s giggle proved Dairmud’s point further.

“Must be nice,” said Imogen, who must’ve interpreted Marlow’s actions the same way Dairmud did. “Boys don’t really pay attention to us Marked girls.”

“Really?” Harlie seemed surprised, “The boys in our village flirt with everyone.” She and Raisa giggled knowledgeably.

“Well, our boys are shy,” Candis smiled, “They tend to stay clear of us.”

“Except Tomin, of course,” Imogen smirked.

Dairmud flushed at the mention of his name. She hissed at Imogen to be quiet, but it was too late. “Tomin?” Raisa’s eyes were saucers. The curious hunger and hint of mischievousness in her eyes had convinced Dairmud she was the village gossip. “Who’s he?”

“A boy,” Dairmud said, shooting daggers at Imogen. When Raisa didn’t take her eyes off her, she elaborated. “A really nice boy.” That didn’t satisfy Raisa either, who simply leaned closer to an uncomfortably small distance between her and Dairmud. Dairmud blurted her explanation as quickly as she could, “I liked him, he liked me, and I was sure we were to be married until news of the Festival reached Prym. He said he’d wait for me.”

Raisa, Harlie, and Marlow simultaneously “Aww”d, and Dairmud felt her face grow even hotter. Then a shadow fell on Harlie’s face. “So have you thought about what might happen?” she asked, “You know, if you find your Destined?”

Dairmud blinked and felt her throat clench. Of course she’d thought about it. She’d thought about how her Mark changing to match someone else’s, someone who’s not Tomin. Would her love for Tomin disappear then? Or not, and would she be with her Destined despite not loving him? She didn’t know which was worse. But she did know how unlikely it would be to even find her Destined. She’d found comfort in that, pushing her worries to the back of her mind.

“Not really,” she lied. She frowned, resting her head against the inside of the carriage, looking out the window. Her carriage-mates got the message: that topic was off limits. After that, Dairmud stayed quiet, though the girls didn’t stop chattering away. The remainder of their conversation revolved around Prince Lukas. The girls giggled, sharing some of the rumors surrounding his beauty, his silver hair and eyes like ice. They swooned for the next half hour about how kind he was, how talented, how smart, so on and so forth. Only Imogen found the conversation as tedious as Dairmud, finding solace in a small leather bound book. It gave Dairmud a piece of mind. When she finally drifted into sleep, she dreamt of dancing with him in a dress made from the night sky, a black star-studded silk that seemed to absorb all the light in the room.
Hidden 7 yrs ago Post by Ever
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Selice and Jamie


Selice let relief flood her as the Royal City came into sight. She had been riding her horse, Cerus, for a fairly long time and her body was not appreciating the bouncing of the trotting pace they were going. She turned her head to the caravan behind her. "We're just about there, sir," She called to the lord who was relaxing in his carriage. The Captain of the Royal Guard had been visiting the lord to address the frequent spats along the border between Galinas and Orewyn. However, since he was on his way to attend the festival of destinies, he had requested that Selice accompany him on the ride to the castle. She had accepted, but hadn't realized that they would be riding at such an agonizingly slow pace. Thankfully it didn't take long to reach the city.

The royal stables were bustling with activity, people unloading the carriages and tending to the horses as well. Selice took a moment to gaze over the organized chaos on top of her horse. She enjoyed the view from being tall and wanted to wait for a bit of clam before she left her horse in someone else's care. Dust flew around from the stomping of feet and a strong, unpleasant odor filled the air. As much as she loved her horse, the warrior wouldn't want to spend her time in this place. But, she supposed, there were some people willing to make the sacrifice. Selice could tell her horse didn't like the close proximity of the chaos, and did her best to sooth his nerves with gentle strokes. Smoothly, she slung her leg across Cerus's back and hopped off. She kept a calloused hand along his flank, waving for the nearest stable boy to come over.

Jaime was tening to one of the many stalls in the Royal Stables when he felt a new wave of fear roll over him like a wave. He'd been feeling the emotions of the horses in the stables all day, but this feeling was completely new. Stepping out of the stall, he latched the door and began looking for the source of the fear. It was then that he saw a woman, who oddly enough appeared to be a solider. She was waving for assistance while trying to calm the horse beside her down.

"Good day ma'am," Jamie said with a bow, making red hair sweep across his eyes. "May I be of any assistance to you?"

Selice gave Jaime a once over and, deeming him to be acceptable for the job, turned to grab the reins on Cerus. She lead the chocolate colored horse over to him and handed him the rope of leather. "I need you to take care of Cerus. He has a strict diet and needs a lot of exercise, he must be in top condition at all times." She began to list off all the instructions she had for taking care of the horse. It seemed a little excessive, but it worked. "With the festival of destinies coming up, I'll be busy and unable to check up on him. So I need someone to take up the reins, so to speak. If there is even one thing amiss, I'll know." The brunette warned. Her attentive posture seemed intimidating, but it was only a scare tactic. She needed this done right. "If need be, I can send a more thorough list to the stables at a later time. But for now, do you know what needs to be done?" Her dark brown eyes trained themselves on the dirty stable boy, and she quirked a brow up almost challenging him to say no.

"Yes, ma'am. He will be taken very good care of." Jamie took the reins from her hands and rasied one of his own up to the neck of the horse. The moment he touched him something seemed to change in Cerus. He instantly calmed down from his scared state of mind and leaned into his touch ever so slightly. Jamie smiled for a moment, happy to bring the horse peace with all the chaos going on around them. Though, being here in the presence of horses made him miss his own horse. Mystic was residing in the way back of the stables until Jamie was done for the day.

"You still may send a detailed list, if that would please you, ma'am,' he said, looking over towards Selice once more. There was confidence in his eyes as he looked at her. He could tell she wasn't one for weak minded people or people that didnt know what the hell they were doing. Thankfully for her, Jamie knew exactly how to treat her horse and wasn't one to disappoint. "He will be well taken care of either way." He gave her a quick bow of his head and waited for what she would say next.

"Great, I'll leave Cerus in your care then." Selice turned back to the stallion momentarily. She took a treat out of her satchel and held it up to his mouth. Her other hand stroked his neck while the horse consumed her offering. "Don't cause too much trouble." She mumbled to him. When he finished, Selice gave him one final pat before turning away and heading into the castle. On the way there, she began stripping herself of her riding cloak, impatient to get into more comfortable clothes. However, she did have one more duty to attend to before she could get to the good stuff.

Not long after Selice left, a man came jogging into the stables, out of breath. He took a moment to catch his breath, nose wrinkling at the smell of the place. His sharp brown eyes then scanned the area, clearly looking for something. His gaze locked on to Cerus, and he made his way over to Jamie. "Excuse me, is Selice here?" He asked, running his hands through his short brown hair, trying to put it back in place.

Jamie tore his eyes away from the beautiful horse in front of him and glanced at the man who had just entered. With a nod, Jaime pointed in the direction the stunning but seemingly cold woman went in. "Yes, sir. She should be right up there. She left him here not a minute ago."

Thank you so much," The man smiled while adjusting his rumpled clothes. Without another word, he walked towards the door to the castle, his long strides taking him quickly across the stables without causing him to become sweaty or disheveled. One of the men guarding the area elbowed the other knight next to him with a sly grin on his face, pointing to the rushing man as he disappeared into the castyle door. The two snickered, continuing their job and gossiping along the way.

Jaime watched the man walk out the door then, adjusting his clothes as he went. He looked more of a higher born than Jamie was and of course a lot cleaner too. That was one thing Jaime was hardly ever to pull off, being clean. Working in the stables as much as he did made it pretty hard to smell like anything other than horse and manure. Though he vowed to take a bath before the festival. As his mother had said, he was never going to find his destined smelling like he did. The thought of her saying that made him smile as he patted Cerus on the neck.

"Well, what you say we get you some water and grub," He said to the horse, leading him over to a empty stall. "Then maybe we will go out for a trot to keep your rider pleased.We wouldn't want to make her angry."

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It occurred to Jin, and not for the first time, that this whole festival was a silly idea. It was a nice enough day that she decided to walk, somewhere along the road from home to the Royal City. Her legs moved and her mind wandered, as she was free for work in the first time in weeks. How possible was it that both the prince and princess could find their Destined mates, among a crowd that would likely have hundreds, if not thousands of candidates? What if that person had fallen in love along the way, going to be the wife of a fisherman rather than a future queen? What if the Princess’s destined husband was someone who would make a horrible king?

It felt like people didn’t think about these things, or were so convinced that the Animar would just make everything perfect, that they banished the thought that it could go wrong. Jin often found herself just on the verge of such thoughts, but that was a toe too close to blasphemy. She might not honor the gods as much as she should have, but that was a line she was unwilling to cross.

As her boots crunched through the grass at the side of the road, she stared down at the discolored patch of skin that surrounded her Mark. Years of working with either a bandage or a glove covering her hand had left that part of her hand noticeably paler than the rest. She was so used to keeping it covered that it felt almost wrong to have it in the open. A few people back home knew that she had it, aside from her family. The first boy to bring her flowers had found out all too soon, his fondness for her fading as fast as a smile. The innkeeper’s daughter had found out about it too, in between secrets and stolen kisses; telling Jin that you didn’t have to love someone fully to enjoy them all the same. That memory just brought more thoughts tumbling through Jin’s head. What if the Princess’ Destined ran off with another boy, to live a happy and meaningful life not with the person the Gods designed him for? Certainly, their happiness wasn’t wrong, was it? Wasn’t it?

Part of her was wishing she hadn’t been convinced to go. Certainly, her family would have understood if she just said no. There was always work to be done at home, time that could be spent being busy. Besides, Jin was rather far from the kind of sparkle-eyed romantic who thought she’d meet one man and fall hopelessly, perfectly in love with him and never have any problems again. Although she could never say it out loud, Jin was deeply jealous of the sort of person who’d lived such a pretty, kind life to be able to dream that way. Jin had been too practical for too long to think that way. Not to say love didn’t exist. It did, of course, it just wasn’t perfect. Even her adoptive parents, who loved each other beyond words, had scathing rows every now and again. No matter what, they always held each other after, full of forgiveness and sweet nothings.

A faint commotion overrode Jin’s thoughts. She was nearing a tavern, now, and it looked like a party had gone out of control. There was arguing and cursing and crashing, and most stunning enough, music over all of it. “…well, that’s new.” Whoever could sing over what sounded like a hell of a brawl was either crazy, brave, or both in the same moment. Unfortunately, this place looked like the closest for a drink. Jin strode her way there, and opened the door with great hesitation.

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It's not as if I own the steps.

At least, that's what Duncan tried to say to the woman who had taken a seat next to him, if he had been able to get the words out before the conversation shifted to the food in her hands. Eel? He had heard those around the Royal City had a taste for it, and he imagined those in freshwater tasted similar to those taken from the sea. Still, they were a pain in the ass to prepare and not any better tasting than the abundance of other meals the sea provided.

When she offered him some he was about to immediately refuse- not being one to accept anything without coin or work in exchange- but the mark on her wrist stopped him. Did not the crown cover all of the expenses during this festival for those that were marked? If she hadn't personally lost out on buying her food, then he had no problem with sharing it.

“[color=FF7222]Aye, I'll share in a slice. I haven't eaten since entering the city, and eel isn't the worst thing you could stuff into a pie.[color]”

"So you've had it before?" She asked while passing the entirety of the pie to the man. With her hand free Matilda brushed some of her blonde hair behind her shoulders and then settled her chin in her hand, elbow on her bent knees.

"When did you come into the city?" she wanted to know, biting into the meat on a stick experimentally. It was tasty albeit a bit spicy and she was busily chewing away. Wandering around the city had made her ravenous. She had never been somewhere so large before and was studying the crowds around them with interest before coming to rest on her companion fully for the first time.

Are you testing me?

The thought wasn't directed towards his new companion of course, but rather to the gods. In spite of his aversion to using his gift for anything frivilous, he was being presented with a pie that he had no intention of eating the entirity of, and a complete lack of utensils in which to divide his share. That is, other than the sword at his side. Knowing that trying to divide it with his hands would be a fool's erand, he let out a sigh and divided it down the middle with a highly concentrated line of air. A very tiring technique, especially for how little it actually accomplished, but he wasn't too concerned at the moment. Handing half back to the woman he finally answered her;

I've eaten more eels than I care to remember, though they aren't the worst thing you can find in your net. As for how long I've been here- a few hours at most. Here for this festival that seems to have caught the attention of the continent.

"what?" She was clearly confused by the initial reaction of the man but quickly recovered, taking her half of the pie and inspecting it carefully before handing over the meat on a stick so that she could hold the pie in both hands.

Apparently she believed they were sharing the entire meal.

"I am here for the festival as well!" She proclaimed cheerily before sniffing the pie and taking a bite. The sauce was salty and the meat a texture ... That Matilda had no words for. "Mmm...Hmmm..." She murmured over the meal. "Did you say nets? Are you a fisherman then?" The blonde's eye brows arched with interest, hand coming up to cover her mouth so he couldn't see her food while she spoke with her mouth full. "I've never been on a boat before..." she admitted, a rueful smile curving her lips before asking "Do you like the meat on the stick?".

Duncan had barely gotten a bite of the pie into his mouth before the final question had left her lips. This was... a lot more than he was used to handling at once. He preferred a relaxed pace, in both life and conversation. With this woman it was hard to even answer a question before ten more were waiting in line behind it. They would never get anywhere if he tried to answer all of them.

The pie at least made for the best eel he'd ever eaten, although on-deck cooking was never good to begin with. For now he ignored the new stick of meat that was occupying his other hand, focusing on the conversation at hand and eating slowly in spite of his hunger.

No, although where I grew up there were many. My time on the sea was spent hunting people, not fish. I would pick the latter, if I could make the choice again though.

"How intriging..." Matilda mumbled before becoming distracted with the formation of clouds overhead.

She was quiet for almost a full minute before blinking rapidly and coming back to the man. "Did you decide to come to the festival to try and meet your destined then?" The blonde wanted to know, curiousity coloring her voice and her eyes becoming bright with focus. She personally wasn't all that fixated on finding the one person who would make her abilities stronger... Matilda had never used her own to much avail...The flower boxes outside the shop florished and that was about it. Still she had to admit the opportunity to see and hear and taste and smell so many things she had never experienced before was more than appealing. And the bill being footed by someone else? Made the possibility a reality.

Finally taking a bite of the stick, and giving an appreciative “Mm!” in response to the flavor that greeted him, Duncan appreciated the short silence that had fallen over the two. While he didn't particularly mind sharing details about his life, he'd still prefer to steer the conversation elsewhere, and at the woman's next question he took the opportunity.

I'm not here to find my destined, just looking for the start of my next phase in life. How about you though? I don't think you're a local if you haven't eaten eel.

"Most definitely not local. But I saw this an opportunity to see more of the world and expand my horizons. I know a lot of things within the pages of books but little of the real world." Matilda finished the rest of her eel pie, chewing thoroughly and glancing around the square appreciatively.

"My village is much smaller than this...I don't think I've seen so many people in one place at once... Have you?"

Perhaps her chattiness and excitablility was merely a reflection of her experiencing a novel situation and not a statement of her true and constent nature.

Books?

Duncan had never read a book outside of scripture. Sure, his father had enough wealth to afford him an education in reading and writing, but he had never sat down and actually read through dozens- no- hundreds of pages at a time. If he wanted stories there were always patrons at the bar to ask, and since leaving his life had granted him more experiences than he could ever divine from pages in a tome.

This is far from the first city I've visited- although perhaps the largest. When I lived at sea we never stopped long enough for me to become familiar with any of them though. Be careful though if you're not yet familiar with the 'real world'. I've already been set upon by robbers once since arriving here, some wariness might serve you well in this unfamiliar place.

"Robbers? Were you frightened?" Matilda's eyes widened at the thought, looking around quickly as if expecting to see the ruffians right there. Realizing the flaw in this thought she smiled sheepishly at her own self and dusted her fingers off on her skirts idly, not caring if it soiled the practical cloth or not.

Duncan hesitated before answering. He had no interest in denying fear, though in truth he hadn't felt any during the encounter. It bordered too close to boasting for his taste, and so he stuffed his mouth to avoid having to respond right away. He had no desire to look like a headstrong youth, too confident in his own abilities to feel fear- a fool. Even if he was one.

"They weren't much older than children, and none of them were marked. The only thing to fear for was their future if their lives kept to the same course."

Matilda thought these wise words over for a moment before nodding in agreement. "You must be braver than I, I think even threatening children would frighten me, but then it sounds as if you have had experience defusing such situations before...I read once that prepartion is by far the most important aspect when it comes to battle...I would think it would be the same for street thugs as well." The blonde smiled before glancing up at the sun. The day was trickling away and if she wanted to find her host's house again she'd probably need to start on her journey.

Now...Had she gone left or right when she tottled out of her father's friends house? What was the street name again?

" Do you happen to know where High Street is?" she wanted to know of her new found companion.

For his part, Duncan made no move to stand, still content to relax with the remains of the meal the woman had shared. After all, he had been walking for months on end at this point, and passing up the opportunity to sit for awhile was not on his to-do list for the moment. As for the question she asked, he had no need to stuff his mouth in order to buy time for an answer, he simply shook his head in response immediately.

"Sorry, I have not looked at the names of any streets since arriving, I've simply been walking with Olwyn's wind guiding me."

"I doubt Olwyn's wind was guiding me, more like my nose. But I'm sure I'll find my lodgings..." Matilda held out her hand to shake with the gentleman, he had been a good companion for the meal after all. "Next time I think I'll try something called squid. Perhaps we'll see each other again."

It seemed to the blonde she had come into the square from the left of the main fountain, so she tried that path, quickly and easily absorbed in the sights and sounds of the city again. Distraction was Matilda's main companion after all.

Duncan's one good eye watched the woman leave with mild interest. It had certainly been a more favorable encounter than the one he experienced upon first arriving in the city, but still...

She was a strange one, no question about that.

Still, he had seen stranger things at sea, and if his intuition was worth anything, he would see far stranger things yet during his stay in the Royal City.

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