[color=f7941d][u][h1][center]Aedyt, Heiress to the Throne of Ceril[/center][/h1][/u][/color]

Getting trussed up and carried out of her own home (exile though it may be) was definitely not how Aedyt imagined her day would be going when it started. 

The day began as boring as any other, and she had dressed casually, not really expecting any visitors. Aedyt wandered the yards for a bit before making her way into the kitchens and talking to the servants for a while, helping them with their cooking a bit to assuage the boredom. She heard one of them talking about news from a friend with another friend who knew someone who worked in the castle (the usual rumors, in other words) that Lord Arad was planning to claim the throne for himself relatively soon – and was certainly already doing a lot of the day-to-day things a king would do. Another brought up a rather interesting topic – apparently there was an entirely orcish mercenary squad in Ceril. Nat mart cord ish, or something like that. They all talked about who could possibly trust that sort of thing, and what kind of person would hire orcs to do their bidding.

Certainly not good ones.

She then moved on to reading, this time some histories on the relationship between the dwarvish kingdom and Ceril, trying to play catch-up on international politics - something about which her mother knew nothing, and her father never bothered to tell her (not that he ever did much talking to her). It was around this time, though, that things started to go to shit. Multiple wall guards dead from arrows – almost all of them, actually. Already. Of the already thin numbers. Immediately, they moved to barricade her, escape seeming unlikely, especially since these looked to be orcish tribal arrows. You don’t out-run an orc. 

But. Buuuut... she was able to get a good look outside her window before shuttering it, and then securing it more firmly with the help of a guard, and she definitely saw multiple... humans? And she knew. She knew immediately. This was Arad’s doing. That fucking double crossing little bitch of a man, to shameful to challenge her rightful claim to her face.

She would die here. So she would fight to the last, and egg her troops on. Mustering all the powers within her, she began shouting words of encouragement, egging them on “for the glory of your Kingdom and its princess!,” her words deeply honeyed with the magic innate to her. It definitely seemed to be working pretty decently, but they were still falling: magical morale boosts only get you so far. So she worked further on the barricade, shoving a dresser towards it, and moving her bed in its general direction, before a rather painful pop in her shoulder told her that was probably a poor idea. [i]too fucking heavy,[/i] she thought, frantically stripping the barricades she had made on the window, and preparing a final run for it.

The screams were different for a moment though, and there was another chant reverberating through the halls - "VRAS! VRAS! VRAS!" it sounded...

It sounded like orcs. 

Aedyt was momentarily confused, and stopped to think for a moment. [i]humans... attacking us with orcish weapons... ambush type scenario, almost certainly Lord Arad’s bidding... 
Almost certain, yes. Don’t believe any other family knows exactly where I am. Other group enters... clearly orcish... think that’s their language, actua... THIS IS A SET UP FOR THEM[/i] she realizes, showing a bit of excitement at the prospect, stopping her pacing. It had gotten quite. Eerily quiet, for just a moment.  
Then, it got very loud, and a different, stronger pounding came at the door. Too late to escape – and if she did, to where? If these orcs were smart enough to not kill her immediately (and she [i]was[/i] potentially willing to give them that much credit), they might be useful. But this was [i]not[/i] going to be pleasant. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t avoid pissing herself a bit when the orcs broke through the door.

One traumatic life experience on the back of a giant war-dog later, and another giant, ugly beast (slightly less green than the others, it seemed), was demanding from her a story. She was mildly confused [i]which[/i] story he wanted, but assumed it was the one about the attack, so she gave him what he knew, name dropping Lord Arad a few more times than was necessary to try and get the hint across – and seeing a small glint of surprise when she did so. [i]knew it,[/i] she thought; and this information gave her what she needed to reply with relative confidence to the inevitable demand of "How much is your life worth to us? How much is Lord Arad's death worth to you?"

“As you are aware, I am a princess, and the rightful heiress to the throne of Ceril.” She observed, pouring magic into her words – better safe than sorry, even if she was already pretty exhausted. “I am indeed worth quite a lot, and will happily triple whatever offer you were given from Arad – and unlike that slime, I. keep. my. promises.

You should also consider,” she pondered after a short pause, “That if you choose to murder me anyway, Arad will invest all of his resources into hunting you down – It’s a simple way to unite the kingdom around a common enemy, and avoid much of the squabbles over the throne that would otherwise occur. Arad has forced both of our hands: the only way you and I both live through this is by working together – you get me on that throne, and you will not only get your reward, but you will be the heroic defenders of my rightful claim, and finally be treated with respect.”