[center]
[h1][u][b]Blood's Jewels[/b][/u][/h1]
[h2][u][i]“Terreille in Trouble”[/i][/u][/h2]
[hr]
[h3][color=Gold]Saetan Sa Diablo[/color][/h3]
[color=Gold]Location - Chaillot, Beldon Mor[/color]
[/center]

The carriage clattered over the cobblestones of Beldon Mor as the golden eyes of the Saetan stared out the window, one leg casually crossed over the other. His hand resting with a certain satisfaction upon his knee. It had been mere days from the little disaster after Dorothea’s gala. The ball had been marvelous, if one was of the same taste of the Hyallian Queen, but otherwise it was uneventful. Dances were had, gossip was spread, and alliances tentatively forged and brutally broken. Hyallian, Saetan noted with a small quirk of his mouth, were adept at the art of gathering in some celebratory manner and slashing at each other with words. Their mastery of the Craft was well done as well, for what twisted individuals they were becoming under the Queen’s influence. Petty and only interested in the pleasure they could squeeze out of anyone or thing.

So, Saetan had done his courtly duty. He had given Dorothea’s little court something to talk about when he had escorted Alanya away from the gathering. It had been a good way to get away from the stifling scent of all those twisted Queens and witches. The glee of the torment of others, and the hunting eyes that watched him constantly. A powerful Warlord Prince and the only one to wear the Black, he was the pinnacle of suitors a woman could dream of. But that’s all they got. Dreams of him. Thoughts and longing. Til they tried for more like Alanya did when she had lead him into his own chambers. The ire at what the daring woman had done rankled the Warlord Prince. Frost icing over the window for a moment, before he capped his rage. It wouldn’t do for this new Court to see a monster. Not yet anyways.

Alanya had been a lucky woman in the end. Dorothea’s men had arrived too late when the Black had been unleashed. They had not remained long after viewing the fate of the wretched girl. A different group had returned later to escort him to Dorothea, and to remain what was left of the witch he had the pleasure of escorting to the esquite ball. It was safe to say however, that Dorothea would need to replace the bed and practically everything in the room. Perhaps he would ask that his room be placed in a different room all together. It was unlikely that the Queen would allow it, but he had his ways of persuading her. Saetan studied his long black nails as the carriage bounced and rocked over a bridge. The chatter of others and smells form the various markets filled his cabin, marking their crossing into the village proper.

In the end it wasn’t worth it to ask anything of Dorothea, not yet. She had been forced to act, and since she was unwilling to harm him. She had to resort to other tactics. Mental ones, and punishments that were really no such thing according to him. The Black Jeweled Warlord Prince chuckled lightly at the thought that exile was to be a punishment. In fact it was a way for Dorothea to ease him of his temper and show the Realm the most powerful Warlord Prince that was at her beck and call. Though the irony was that it was hardly the case. So Dorothea had exiled him! Selling his services to a lesser Queen who sought power in Dene Nehele, but with no specification as to when he should arrive.

Thus he decided to do a bit of sightseeing. Urging a few of his own projects on their proper course so to speak. 

[@Torack]  Tristan stiffened as Lucivar nodded to him. Looking rather stricken as the Eyrien sat in a chair across from killer and Queen. The man behind Karlianne stiffened, insulted in how casual Lucivar was treating this. A flicker of rage crossing his face. The knife having drawn tighter against the Queen of Dene Nehele’s neck as the chair was drawn too close to the Queen for the Hyallian’s liking. Blood trickling down to meld with tears as Karlianne gave a small wince of pain. Only further cutting herself. “You dare treat this so casually?!” The man snarled, as he yanked the woman up from the chair and further away from the Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince. “Put it on him, already! Else this wretch dies.” A odd delight coming to the man’s face at that thought. Tristan hesitated for a second before approaching, a ring in one hand. Lucivar would know exactly what it was for a witch had tried to put it upon him before. A band of compliance glittered in the light as Karlianne stared in horror. She knew well what it was having outlawed them in Dene Nehele and often ordering smiths to release the captive males that had made their way to this shakey safe haven.

“Just do as he says, Prince, and we’ll keep our Queen.” Tristan whispered, looking desperately at Lucivar as if that would gain his agreement and cooperation.

[@Deos Morran] The scene stunned Belor momentarily, for in his heart the twin was an artist of sort who enjoyed the scenery of a good mountain top view. He had been curious as to where the Commander was taking him but the battlements made some sense. It also was to Belor’s advantage if he needed to attempt to escape. A hazard when friends with a woman’s who tongue was sharper than most warblades! Rustling his wings in slight nervousness, the Eyrien frowned. “A woman- a Black Widow- sent me onwards as she was indisposed to coming herself.” Belor’s words were chosen carefully as much to convey his meaning as to keep Faeril hidden. “The time draws close to when Dorothea- the reason behind why so many twisted Queens- will make her move. She has covered this realm with her taint and now seeks to place her throne on top of the very foundations of Terreille.” Casting a look out of the corner of his eye towards Rathe, Belor continued carefully examining Rathe’s reactions or lack thereof. “And she has seen a way to stop it.”

[@NanoFreakV2] The horse made it through the gate as the guards shouted and stumbled aside as the steed raced through. But Percyvallus’s attempt to antagonize them was his undoing as an arrow from one guard pierced the horse’s withers. Not bringing the animal down, but stunning him and slowing the beast. Their shouts could be heard from behind the fleeing Warlord. “Shoot down the horse, before he catches a Wind!” Nevermind that the horse would doubtlessly panic if brought through the winds. The Blood had created special livestock carriages for moving large amounts of livestock as well as horses, having learned the beasts did not care to be running one place then to be stuck with no sight, nor sound and appearing in a different area. It never ended well.

[@nohbdies]  The Warlord lowered his personal shields, looking rather annoyed about doing so. Lowering his shields put him as risk and with the attack on Greyhaven- the capital of Dene Nehele- his men and he were going through the countryside. Slaughtering Widows (what few were left) and Queens that would oppose Lady Sonya Thorne as they met them. It would not do for a potential ally of their Queen to rise to power only to be put down by a rebellion. So they removed the possible seeds. Unfortunately not all had gone well. The fighting was thick and fierce. For all that Karliene had been losing power over the last few years, her men were loyal ones. Making this a difficult task to do.

As Vaclav moved out to pick up the sword that laid a ways from the doorstep, two arrows pierced his body. One ripping straight through his shoulder and the other his leg. “Hyallian! You’ll die for what you’ve done!” Two natives of Dene Nehele stood looking furious, as they rode the killing edge. Each knocking another arrow as they stumbled from the brush. Bearing wounds of a beating and several cuts.