[b]February 3rd, 477 AFK (After the First King)[/b] A young male human stands in front of a stone obelisk bearing Elven runes with immense power. The moon is full and at its highest. The obelisk’s runes start to shine the same hue as the moon itself. Then, some start to change to a blood red color. A red mist starts to permeate from these runes and begin to take on the form of monsters. In an instant, the moon itself sends down a beam of magical power, destroying the red mist and cleansing the runes of their evil color. As if by reaction, the clear sky above turned black and rain starts to fall. A high elf approaches, already equipped with a raincoat. She said, “I told you it was gonna rain” before offering him a poncho. He accepts the poncho and says, “I know.” They silently walk together toward the lights of the city that aren’t so far away. A security checkpoint briefly barred their access to the parking lot where a car was waiting for them. They hop in and are taken to the city. The silence was placid despite the heavy rain. After a while, the car stopped by a bar of sorts. The human softly says, “Thank you” and opens the door to leave, but is paused by a small hand grabbing his soaked arm. The elf looks at him with stern, yet pleading eyes. The man smiles and says, “I’ll be alright.” He leaves, tugging his arm away from her grasp. Inside, the sound of jazz permeated through the halls. “It’s always nice to hear the blues” he comments. A fitting song it was, ‘Round Midnight. [i]'Round Midnight[/i] [url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zre0u5XyNfY[/url] He climbs upstairs, enters his room and changes out of his wet clothes. The room is nicer than what would be expected from a place like this, but the high elven people have a tendency to maintain their homes and have better living conditions in general. The floor is slightly damaged in one spot from the movement of furniture. The bar owner asked to repair it before, but the human asked that it be left that way because the music could get through the floorboards easier. Whether it was true or not, who knows, but he concentrates deeply on the tunes that come from downstairs while he lies in bed. It helped take his mind away from what he experienced two months afore. The elves were kind enough to let him into their society, but now he feels like a leech, one who is taking advantage of their kindness. He decided this would be his last night in this bar, in this city, in this land. It was not his right to live here any longer, yet he can’t help but feel a yearning toward something greater. To accomplish it however, he also feels that his best chance is to start here with these elves. He sits up from his bed, unable to sleep. The musicians downstairs were about to play their final number. He walks down and asks, “Could you play Blue in Green as your final number?” The elf frowns and says, “I’m sorry sir, but we don’t know that one.” The pianist raises her hand defiantly. “Okay, only one of us knows how to play it.” The human shakes his head and says, “Here, these are the chords.” He takes a napkin and writes out the chords with the bartender’s pen. [url]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/509557974784671767/521786486790815776/Blue_in_Green_Chords.pdf[/url] “I’ll take the lead and then you guys can fall in and do your own solos if you’re up for it.” The elf looks at him quizzically, “Do you know how to play sir?” “Indeed I do,” he replies. “It’s been about a year since I’ve last played Jazz, but it’ll be just like riding a bike.” The human beckons the trumpeter to give up his trumpet. “Don’t worry, we can switch out. You have two mouth pieces, right?” The elf nods, pulling an extra one out from his case and attaching it to his silverine trumpet. [img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/509557974784671767/523007138700984334/Bach_trumpet.jpg[/img] [img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/509557974784671767/521795738489847810/Bach-Standard-Series-Trumpet-Mouthpiece-800x200.jpg[/img] A 5B mouthpiece, the standard in most cases, though Jazz tends to want to switch it up. “Oh, and do you have a Harmon mute?” The elf once again nods and sifts through a nearby box of different mutes. He pulls a lonely Harmon mute. It seems unused and it’s missing the stem, but it would work. [img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/509557974784671767/521795650099085313/Harmon_Mute.jpg[/img] [i]Blue in Green[/i] [url]https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FEPFH-gz3wE[/url] The piano introduced the tune with an eloquent introduction while the bass started up the chord train with drums supporting the beat. After several measures, the human began with a loud squeal, demanding the attention of the room. The people fell silent. The Harmon mute proved to be enchanting, creating a noise often unheard of from the trumpet. He took his time, feeling no need to play at times. Sometimes silence is better. He wanted everyone to recognize his sorrow and his pain. For the past two months, he’s been wallowing in a hole of guilt and self pity. He constantly remembers the trauma, and wants to forget, but can’t. Now, with composed determination and somber tones, he’s facing this with his own sad tune. The sad notes flowed into the souls of the audience, invoking a sadness like no other. Then, when he had his fill, the human gave an open hand to the pianist, gesturing her to take over. The pianist only took the reigns for a short while, imposing her own beautiful melody. She bears no sadness, yet the response of her music says she understands. Then, the alto sax player beckoned to be let in on the fun. Though it may be a sad sound the group produces, the pleasure of producing such beauty is beyond measure. The saxophonist was on a completely different level from most that have played Jazz. Though the human hates to admit it, the saxophone is the instrument of the blues. Despite his ability, the solo was cut short when the elven trumpeter waved his hand lightly, wanting to hop in. The pianist gave a stern look, bading him not to enter. She looked to the saxophonist with signalling eyes. He returned a sad look, but knew his turn was up. After a few more measures he stopped and let the pianist take over to build up a transition. She gave one last look, signalling the trumpeter to enter after her chord. He started playing, trying to match the beauty produced by the human, and succeeded. It was as if his own sorrow had taken form, though it’s hard to say what is truly going on within the soul of a musician. This is what Jazz is. The production of music that speaks to one's emotions and purveys it upon the audience. An escape from the reality that is life. Sadly, we must return to reality at some point. The pianist finished the tune with a somber tone masking the exit when, in most cases, the whole band would play a certain chord for a short amount of time. When the tune was done, the room was silent for a brief time time. The bartender started clapping, waking up the patrons from their trance. The whole room started clapping. Though a small crowd, applause from a bar is unusual. The band members looked to each other, pleased with their performance, only to notice the human already exiting the room. He walks outside wearing his trench coat, expecting to be met with a downpour only to find that the clouds have disappeared. He pulls a single cigarette from his inner coat pocket and a flip lighter from his pants pocket. He lights up and sucks on the orange end of the carcinogous implement. He coughs out the smoke, having never smoked before. “So this is the shit you’ve always enjoyed, father? Well, I promised you that I would at least try one of these.” He lets out a sigh, “I guess it’s time I moved on.” He drops the almost full cigarette and stomps out the tiny flame and throws it away, returning to the warmth of the inside. [b]February 4th, 477 AFK[/b] Inside Castle Ashintol, Lord Asgrave tends to some paperwork. It’s mostly complaints about heavy taxation, but if he didn’t do it, his secret rearmament wouldn’t have gotten as far as it has. Asgrave says, “It has been too long since war has struck Endaria. It is time to remind them of the rightful ruler of this land!” Aideric Cassell, Asgrave’s royal attendant, interrupts him by saying, “If we rise up now, we would likely be crushed.” Asgrave looks at him wildly, stands up and replies, “What makes you think that we will fail so easily?” “It’s not that we’ll fail easily, but more like we will fail eventually.” Asgrave sits down and asks, “Then when are we rising up exactly?” Aideric shrugs, “It is likely that Olarth and Ecruir will ask the Viceroys for military support. If they send some auxilia to fight the war, that’s our best chance. Not to mention, we haven’t even asked the other factions if they’re willing to go under your rule.” “THEY HAVE TO!” Asgrave barks. “It is my birthright to claim the throne that my grandfather left empty a century ago. I will NOT be denied it.” “Then perhaps you should check the reality of the world around you.” Aideric tosses a stack of papers onto Asgrave’s desk. “These are the official opinions of the rulers of each faction, including even the mighty Clan Cadrin.” Lord Asgrave sifts through them, his eyes growing angrier with each page flip. “NONE OF THEM WILL SWEAR FEALTY!?! DAMN THEM!” He throws all the papers from his desk onto the floor. “I think you didn’t read them thoroughly enough.” Aideric says, unafraid of the angry old man. Asgrave looks to Aideric once again, his eyes now more sinister. “Very well,” he says, “who exactly is willing to swear fealty.” As if expecting his raging tantrum, Aideric handed him a single piece of paper dictating certain parameters for loyalty. From Azuria, they ask that if they send all of their forces to secure their northern border alongside a legion of Sentinels, they will swear fealty to Lord Asgrave in the months following. From Clan Cadrin, they demand that the auxilia surrounding them be slaughtered and routed.Only after that will they join Lord Asgrave in his conquest for the Throne of Endaria. “So this is it? A band of berserking dwarves and a city state with no military value. That’s all I’m getting, and they DARE to demand my aid?! What is this nonsense about the northern border? And can’t the dwarves just break through on their own?” The frustrated lord puts his hands through his hair, unable to handle the sheer “stupidity” of the situation. “Well, if you’re looking to increase your odds of winning,” Aideric continues, “I would suggest working to reclaim your land from the local legions and then freeing Clan Cadrin from their hole. Their suicidal attitude could make them a useful asset in the battles to come.” “But we should wait first…” Lord Asgrave pauses for a moment, his eyes glazed over with a flicker of purple. He stands up from his seat and walks over to a table with a sprawling map of Endaria. He bears a grim but calm face, a contrast from his earlier tantrum. He points at Azuria and says, “They may have no military value, but their economic value is beyond that of any other faction on this island. The Viceroy of Azuria has a great deal of influence over all of the other factional viceroys. He may not say it publicly, but he appears to act as though he’s the Viceroy of Endaria. Bearing that in mind, a potential alliance with the state will either be a huge boon to our cause, or a detrimental trap. I doubt the Imperium is blind to our existence either. If we don’t act now, then when, Aideric? Even if a legion or two leaves, the enemy is likely repositioning as we speak to quell our efforts. I am eager to enter combat, and I understand your perspective, but if we are to move forward, we need to take this opportunity of surprise and stand against the Imperium while we still can.” Aideric stands in awe, having never seen Asgrave act or speak intelligently on any subject during his few months of service. He silently nods in agreement and asks, “What should we do then, sir?” Asgrave grins and replies, “Deploy the WARNO’s (Warning Orders) and have the legions prepare for combat. I will distribute the OPORD’s (Operation Orders) to each legion with their objectives by the end of the week.” Aideric nods and leaves the room, ready to carry out his royal duty. Before he rounds the corner, Agrave says, “I will reclaim my throne, Aideric.” The royal soldier stops for a moment, and then continues, thinking it better to not say anything. Alone in his office, Asgrave says to himself, “My tendency to fall into madness has always been a detriment.” He pulls out a small tablet bearing a Quentalian glyph from under the table. “I hope this purchase will suffice to bring me victory.”