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[h1][u][b]Blood's Jewels[/b][/u][/h1]
[h2][u][i]“Terreille in Trouble”[/i][/u][/h2]
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[@Torack] As Lucivar knocked upon the heavy oaken door, there came a shaky and terrified voice from the otherside. “Enter, Prince.” Karlianne, Queen of Dene Nehele, sounded worse off than usual. Her voice had been holding that nervous shake for the past week or so. Her eyes often having bags under them from the strain and burden of holding together a facturing land. Provincial Queens had been gnawing at their tethers for years, and more than one of Karlianne’s court had fallen on the killing field to put down the renegade women and their ill founded courts. 

But that was neither here nor there, if Lucivar walked into the room he would see his Queen seated upon a large chair. A man of dark hair and gold eyes standing behind her and a dagger at the pale and quivering throat. Tears were bright in Karlianne’s eyes as she looked pleadingly at the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince who swore her fealty, to protect her against this very thing. Off to the side was the Master of the Guard, Tristan. His back stiff and his face a mask of shame and humiliation. He had served his post honorable and with good intentions for years. Yet he stood there not daring to move to try and defend his Queen or the people as a screaming started outside. Someone had gotten up the nerve to attack, and worse, they had agents already inside as a man servant came running down the hall to fall with an arrow in his back as two natives to the land appeared at one end of the hall. “You may want to step in and close the door, [i]Prince[/i].” The Hyallian sneered perhaps thinking himself safe behind a shield of green that Lucivar could sense. One that also covered the knife and Queen. Nothing would stop that blade if it didn’t get through the Crafted shield first. “I believe we need to discuss your position in the new Court of Dene Nehele.”

[@Deos Morran] Belor moved slowly and carefully inside the fortress of Helios. An Eyrien eyrie that had been a hunting camp where youngster would normally prove themselves. It had been steadfast and turned into a eyrie for a war camp, then later a more permanent fort. They weren’t many of the sort in the Realm. But Helios was one of the few, especially in these dark times. Having gathered his weapons and rearmed himself, the smaller Eyrien made no moved as to draw or even acknowledge the fact he was armed. His golden eyes studying the Commander of Helios carefully. This was not a matter to take lightly and the wrong words would put him, his brothers and Faeril at risk. None of which the younger twin was fond of. “Perhaps if we could speak in private? My words are not lightly carried nor lightly said.” Tapping his Rose in acknowledgement of Rathe’s Ebon-Grey, the fellow Warlord Prince continued in a softer voice. “I would ask if you still follow the Old Ways of the Blood, and how you view the Black Widows?” His words were carefully pieced together as he studied Rathe with close scrutiny.

[@NanoFreakV2] Rainer’s eyes narrowed at the Warlord, his jaw tightening as the Prince fought his temper. Rainer was not a fighter, he didn’t even know how to. His family was the sort that made their point with a pen. But it rankled the man that this stranger would so insult his child and their mother, his wife. The two men next to him gripped his shoulders, giving Percyvallus hard looks as they closed ranks about their table. Shutting the stranger and his problems out of their lives. Though the Prince could hardly help but mutter. “You’re under the same boot as the rest of us.” Something that Percyvallus would hear as the door shut behind him.

[@nohbdies] The day moved onwards with little issue, til a shadow darkened Artemis’s stoop. A Hyallian man stood there, leaning heavily against the door frame. A deep gouge in his side bled freely as he gripped the wood under his hand. Blood staining the once neat paint. His Purple Dusk jewel on his chest fueled a weakening shield as the blood loss started to affect the Warlord. At his hip was a empty sword sheathe and behind him laid the weapon where it had fallen from his fingers. “You there. Healer! Help me.” The golden eyed man snapped sharply, his face a twisted mask of anger and pain.