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Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: Winton, in front of Lauran’s home

The long week that passed was painfully boring and full of scouting around the town to make sure it was okay, which despite the presence of a few darker jewels seemed as safe a place as any. That is, unless they were found out. Their rag tag group looked a bit out of place, and the Eyrien Warlord prince had an air about him that was hard to disguise. Even if his darker jewel was vanished and he only possessed the sapphire, there was only so much he could do to hide his massive frame. Because of that he didn’t even bother with the cloak, opting for a sleeveless black tunic and trousers with his sword strapped across his back. It was much more believable if he just acted like a sword for hire.

After a bit of searching around he finally found the place he was searching for, and he got some glances but nobody dared approach him. There wasn’t a lot of people brave enough to ask questions, and it did him a bit of good if people were too afraid to raise suspicion on him. It has been a while since he last contacted the Warlord, but this was the last place he had made contact. Still a decent fighter, Gerold was more suited for self defense and keeping himself out of trouble, hence why he went into hiding as a rogue. He couldn’t blame him, but living like that was no place for Xandar. Quite frankly, he would be voted out of his skull.

The person who answered the door, however, seemed to be a brace one. The girl much smaller than he looked up at him, and although her eyes were wide her voice was firm. While it wasn’t inherently rude, it was clear that she had every intention to try and stop him if he tried to intruder, judging by her posture. She would hardly be trouble, only a opal, but he wasn’t looking for a fight. Which, usually was surprising,

”I’m looking for a man named Gerold.” Xandar said in a low tone, crossing his arms and leaning up against the door frame. ”The Reaper wishes to send his regards. Pleasure, not business.”

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

After hundreds of years on the battlefield, as well as living on his own, Xandar has done a lot of cooking in his time. Mostly for himself, but when he did have his own group of outcasts for a while, he did cook then sometimes. He mostly made other people do it for him, but, lately he never really had anybody to cook for him. When you were on the run, it was much safer to feed yourself than to go to a tavern for food. Besides, the meals tended to be overpriced and under cooked. When he assessed the cooking situation he shook his head, chuckling a bit. Bellinar had not a clue how to cook. But, he probably never did the cooking with these guys around.

Xandar has vanished his clothes, wearing a simple jet black apron, holding around his neck and tied in the back. It was tight, and didn’t cover much, considering he wore nothing underneath. It was more comfortable that way. As he started to prepare the meal, getting ingredients out, measuring them, adding necessary spices, it was clear the Warlord Prince knew what he was doing. Cooking had turned to be... one of his only non-violent hobbies, and he was good at it. The thick roast had been chopped up a bit, salted, with a glaze on it about to be carmelized. In a different pant he sautéed onions and peppers, only with some potatoes he had chopped. All of this floating with telekinesis as he hummed to himself, summoning and vanishing things rapidly.

He half listened to the conversation between the two brothers, not wanting to get in the middle of it, nor caring really. At least somebody was on his side though! He puffed up his chest proudly, nodding. His fellow Eyriens surely understood, it was the natural instinct in them. He could always count on his fellow man. Maybe they weren’t so bad after all, seeing them in combat as well as their usefulness off the battlefield. Although, it seemed Bellinar had been off with some women last night.

Xandar’s mind wandered, as it had been a long time since he himself had been with a woman. Although, the women in his group would not suffice at the moment. Dareen hated him after their... unfortunate meeting, which was a bit more rude than usual. Faeril was... Faeril, which was a handful in her own right, even if she was quite the catch. The most likely of the three, a fellow Eyrien. And there was his Queen, whom, he seemed to fall out of favor with ever since that last battle... And more so now, considering that man in the black that she had met. He could tell in her eyes, the way she spoke to Xandar now. She didn’t even look at him the same. That made his blood boil, oh how he wanted to rip that man apart after touching his Queen...

Xandar noticed he had bent one of the pans completely in half as he stopped, sighing. There was no use taking out his anger on his cookware. His job was a thankless one, and even if she hated him, even if the others in the group did too, he still needed to protect her and her people. Whatever the cost.

Vanishing the abused pot, he turned to see the Sceltie scampering around the campfire while he was cooking. He didn’t pay the dog much mind, simply confusing on with his cooking and humming before pausing, looking at the Sceltie who had made himself at home nuzzled against him. This dog... troubled him less than the boy, as long as it didn’t cause any trouble. But he raised an eyebrow when it started talking, and his mouth nearly dropped when it summoned several cooking supplies. Did it just... what?

Well, maybe he wasn’t such a bad dog after all, if he was this useful. And if he could vanish things for them and summon then while they were traveling? Oh that would be very useful indeed. Maybe he’d keep this one, as long as it didn’t cause too much trouble. Although, Xandar had failed to realize get that all this stuff was theirs to begin with, the sceltie had just planned on stealing all of it earlier.

”It’s not burning, it’s cooking, mutt. It makes it taste better. If you wait, I’ll prove it to you. And if you keep bringing me stuff like this, there’s more food in it for you.”

Before he got to say anything more he saw the dog bolt for building where Faeril was sleeping, and god help that poor dog. It would be dead in 7 seconds or less if it woke Faeril. Although she had woken him up earlier... maybe he would put a shield around the dog so he would be safe. Let the poor bastard tromp around on the Widow. Oh, that would be a sight, he smirked evilly. Although, it seemed Dareen had beat the dog to the punch, and instead was playing fetch with it. Huh.

”I’m surprised you didn’t stab it, Dareen. Maybe you do have a soft side after all. Somewhere in there. Did a boy fancy you in that dress?” He teased, actually referring to her by her name. If she had kept up with them this long, then he was more inclined to trust her and give her some respect. Even so, he wasn’t above teasing the woman as he continued to hum to himself while cooking, the roast close to being done. It smelled amazing! A few last minute preparations and it would be complete!

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

The Eyrien warrior was expecting a conflict, or at least a fight. Some scuffle going on. Why else would the whole camp be up? Making such a damn racket. But apparently, it was just a boy and his dog. And they were just... talking to them, like they had adopted the poor boy. Playing and ready to make breakfast. Did they not realize they were in hiding? On the run? Trying not to be seen?

He turned to Mikhail who was quick to give him a bit of attitude, saying that he wasn’t needed and throwing the blame to one of the others. He might have gotten more used to Mikhail, but he still didn’t like the attitude. ”I believe it was your shift, boy. I didn’t think an assassin was trying to feed stray children and dogs. I shouldn’t need to remind you our situation.”

He turned to his Queen as she scolded him and shooed him off like some child. These people were acting like gossiping girls at a sleepover for fuck’a sake. They were in a warzone! At least nothing was the matter. He didn’t trust the kid or the dog, but it seemed they were hiding behind the Queen at his presence. Of course she would take their side.

”The world is a scary place, Queen. Forgive me if I’m a bit agitated over little sleep being interrupted by some orphan street rat and their dog. But, as the Queen wishes.” His anger toned down a bit as his hunger enveloped him, and he stormed off to Bellinar who was cooking. Maybe he could eat and actually get some rest before they headed off. He came to the sight of Bellinar and ran a hand through his hair, sighing.

”I can tell you don’t do the cooking, and the others are too busy frolicking in the flowers. How about I give you a hand?”

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Xandar shook his head, stifling a yawn with his hand as he looked down at the equally sleepy Eyrien who looked like she was going to pass out on the spot. Man, she really did drain herself, even after the events at her home she was still pushing herself with these antics. There was no way he was going to convince her not to overdo it, but, maybe he could show her that it was okay to let others help her a bit. Although, to be fair, this was the pot calling the kettle black here. He would nearly break his own legs before asking for help.

”Well this is a surprise, you’re admitting your lower ranking? Making me go and take a gander? I think this is the first time, and only, you’ve admitted to such. I will see what’s the matter, but I won’t let you retract that statement. I’ll hold it over you.”

The Warlord prince cracked his neck, flexing his shoulder and back muscles as he summoned a black robe that hung around his body, covering at least his lower bits, the top a bit loose showing off his upper body. This is about as much as he would compromise, and it also made it easier for his wings to move about freely. Standing at the edge of the balcony, he bent his knees and leaned into the air, giving himself a gust of air with his wings to propel him further.

It was only a few moments later before he landed just outside the group of people, the ground cracking underneath him as he landed on his feet. He didn’t bother slowing down his descent with his wings, it was more dramatic to here the earth shake at his arrival. He looked up at the Sceltie and the boy, then around at everybody else.

”There better be a damn good reason for all of this. There’s a grave penalty for waking a Warlord Prince up from his slumber.”

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Xandar has insisted he took first shift, as he wasn’t very tired yet. Most of his day had been spent getting into trouble with the Widow, napping, and cutting down trees waiting for his Queen to return. And, now that she had, all she wanted to do was be alone. The Black Jewel has changed her... He now wasn’t the only Queen Killer in her life it seemed. He was angry. Bitter. Jealous. But even still, he was glad that she was back safe. He wouldn’t try to push her though. The Warlord Prince would leave the Queen alone as she wished, he had learned his lesson about trying to hold her hand through danger. If she was to be a Queen, she would do it her own way.

After the uneventful shift, he reluctantly gave his position to Mikhail, not exchanging any words but simply a nod as he left. After the bad blood with Mikhail he had brought his Queen safely back to him, even in the face of a Black Jewel. The man had balls at least, he already knew that. He started to respect him for that, one of the only people who would even try to talk back to him. He hadn’t seen Dareen much either, but, he would cross that bridge when he got there.

Since the Queen wanted to be to herself, he decided to sleep on a large balcony to himself, sleeping outside of where the Widow and the brothers slept. It was nice, actually being able to sleep and not have to worry about being the only one watching his own back. They were still on the run, being hunted, but at least they were on the run and being hunted together.

It didn’t take him long to fall asleep, however, it didn’t take very long for him to get woken up either. He groaned when he felt a swift jab to his bare ribs. He had vanished all his gear and clothing, only a light cloth barely covering his lower half. And, well, as the large Eyrien stood up, the blanket fell off of him and he stood up tall, yawning and stretching as he faced Faeril. He could see her pretty well now, his eyes adjusting to the moonlight.

”Widow. It seems you’re the racket, kicking in my ribs. If you wanted to bed together you could have asked a bit nicer.” he said dryly, half asleep, chuckling slightly before hearing some voices in the distance. He paused for a moment, listening. Some of the voices were familiar, but two in particular were not, although not hostile. But, whatever the situation was, it seemed to be escalating.

”For gods sake, as soon as I walk away, we have visitors, and they’re not dead yet. Pity.” He looked over at the Eyrien woman, looking into her rather bright eyes. ”Well, there doesn’t seem to be any danger as of yet. Do you suppose we investigate? Or, we could just lay here and let the others handle it. If there isn’t any fighting going on, I’m not particularly interested.”

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Xandar heard footsteps in the distance, and it didn’t take him very long to sense that it was Fatima and the others who had arrived back. A sigh left his lips, and his steaming body settled down a bit, the heat cooling off as a bit of his stress and concerned was relieved. It seemed like all of them returned, and relatively in one piece. As much as he would have rather been there to protect them, it was part of “fate” or some bullshit that kept him away, but it all ended up working out. At least, for now. ”Yes, as you said so hopefully. Things left to fate aren’t always so kind, Widow.”

The Warlord Prince vanished his ax and vanished the firewood as he overheard the conversations going on, slowly walking back to the group. The mood was tense, and the last time Xandar tried to be a comedic relief he almost got his throat slit for it. So he just listened, hearing what he already had known. They met the black. And although they say that he seems to be a candidate for a powerful ally, Xandar wasn’t too sure. He might be controlled, yes, but a man of that power could just as easily stop them in their tracks. Not even Xandar himself was confident about a fight with Saetan. People like that have a way of twisting words, wants, to lure and seduce to take advantage of them. Sometimes the person is more dangerous than the jewel. While Xandar wasn’t ready to trust him right away, he wasn’t completely against the idea if Saetan did prove himself an ally. Right now, in this war, he would much rather have him a friend than an enemy, or at least out of their way.

But is that the risk they’re willing to take for the safety of their Queen? Well, the decision wasn’t entirely his to make. But whatever decision was made, he would do whatever it took to protect those around him. His purpose, his drive, his new outlook on life. The proud Eyrien had a cause worth fighting for, which is just as dangerous as one with nothing to lose.

Xandar summoned some firewood into his hands and tended to the fire, feeding it more fuel and stacking it neatly to keep it contained. He had spent many a night making outdoor fireplaces just like this, keeping himself warm while trying to ward off creatures. Still, sometimes fires like this brought more attention than he wanted. He looked over at Fatima who looked solemn, speechless, visibly shaken from her encounter with Saetan. He didn’t want to approach her yet, but, when her eyes caught his, he offered a smile. A soft one, subtle, but enough to ensure he was there for her and everything was okay now.

”I might not have been there to greet the Black, but I would be careful about being quick to trust him. If he wants something from us, he’ll come to us and make that abundantly clear. But for now it’d be best to not give him a reason to change his mind. Leaving is fine with me, it’d be best if we continued before the locals get suspicious.”

Xandar shared his two cents, speaking in a low but firm tone as he fixed up the fire. Once he was done with that he stretched a bit, yawning, feeling the sweat glistening off his body evaporating from the heat in front of him. He sat down on a larger log around the campfire, content on sitting quietly by the fire. However, he was curious was Bellinar and Denvar were up to, noticing the absence of the one. But, you never knew what the brothers were ever up to, especially Gennar, who seemed a bit pissed off at the Widow. Maybe Xandar wouldn’t be so mean to her tonight, she looks like she’s had enough. As for the others, he was a bit impartial, simply glad they were safe and well.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

It'd been hours waiting for the rest of the party to return, and night fell on the empty town. The Ebon-Grey Warlord Prince grew ever restless, not so patiently waiting and growing ever more disturbed that the Black was running around HIS Queen like that and he was forced to wait with his thumb up his ass. He knew the Black had contacted her, as Faeril showed when she looked like she got the wind knocked out of her and he had to catch her. He carried her back to the caravan and dumped her off in Gen and the lot of them, not saying much as he left her in their care. He knew if he opened his mouth it wasn't going to be anything kind, he was too frustrated, so he left himself to his own devices as the rest of them inevitably argued about the situation.

Xandar left himself to chop some firewood nearby, summoning an axe to his hand and stripping off his shirt as he hacked away on the poor trees that crossed his path. The man seemed like he was literally blowing off steam as his blood boiled, heat erupting from him in the cold air as smoke rolled off his body. The swing of the ax grew swifter, more forceful, becoming less precise as he was more or less just beating the shit out of the trees in pure frustration now. "I can't wait around like this. This is bullshit. Fuck fate and destiny, I control my fate in my own hands!" The Eyrien yelled in frustration, swinging his axe and cleaving a tree clean in half, felling it as he sighed heavily, his chest heaving as he breathed in and out.

"If they're aren't back by the time the sun comes up, I'm dragging them back myself... That god damn Widow better be right about all this."

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: In the ruined town of Sharon, Shalador

Xandar stiffened up at the touch, but exhaled slowly. He knew the Landens were a gigantic pain in the ass, and their rebellion would only cause more of a headache than they were worth. Still, just disposing of this small lot wouldn't hurt, nobody would miss them or even know they were dead. He was just used to his days of being a rogue, hiding in abandoned buildings like this. He got real tired of trying to talk, persuade, and convince others. It was much easier to either stay hidden or kill anybody who could pass on word of his presence. If it was women and children he would think twice about such violence, but these seemed like a bunch of blundering idiots. Or, even worse, they could be spies for that Queen.

It was out of his hands though, as he nodded and let the witch slip past him, as the Warlord Prince simply stood in the doorway and listened in on the conversation. They were a bunch of poor and ragged men who were blabbering on about rebellion, and when they spotted the Widow, they didn't seem too pleased. It didn't take too long for them to think about selling her out, even at the risk of their own lives. If there was even a hint of some reward that they could get, they would pounce on it, anything to give them a glimmer of hope out of their mediocre lives. It seemed like it was a stalemate, and he wasn't going to let them simply wander off know that they knew one of them was here.

The Reaper walked into the open, firmly closing the door behind him and leaning against it. The group of five men went wide eyed, watching at the Warlord Prince played with his ring that held the Sapphire Jewel. He looked very disinterested in the conversation, but there was just a... terrifying aura about him. It was clear that he was with Faeril, and that he could easily make their lives a living hell in an instant. The moment he looked over at the group they shuttered, the cracked out individual covering his head and diving to the floor. Just a look, a glance, it seemed like those bright gold eyes were staring into their souls.

He didn't say a word though, as he looked back down at his ring again and mused over it, rubbing his thumb along the fine edges of it. It was only for a moment, but that glance tensed up the group, and the bearded one took a few seconds to compose himself before finally mustering up the courage to speak. "W-well, um. W-we d... don't have to tell the queen about nothin'! Nope, like we never even seen ya. J-just be on our way."

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: Smuggler's den in town

Xandar nodded, listening to the man as he spoke. He thought maybe asking him about what he had seen would be useful to the warlord prince, but it seemed he was nothing but a dead man trying to cling on to life. A sad existence really. He was going to be of no use to him, and while he had sympathy for those under an unjust Queen, it only got him so far. Besides, he wasn’t about to give the man any ideas.

”Well, I hope that the afterlife treats you better than here. You can die happy knowing that Lady Marthea is going to repent soon enough.”

As soon as those words left his lips, his hand shot out in front of him and his sapphire jewel glowed in the dim light. A psychic blast shot from his hand, landing in the heart of the undead man and practically vaporizing him. It was also a direct hit on the jewel, the most important part, as the thing shattered and bits scattered to the ground. Xandar sighed softly, turning to Faeril.

”Well that was a waste of time. All that for a sob story. Come on, don’t rip your dress this time. Unless you wish to be carried. Or thrown.”

”Carry or throw me and it’s the last thing you will do.” The Black Widow snapped at the man her temper frayed by the realization that one of the Blood’s mysteries was true. The demon-dead had been rumored amongst the Hourglass Coven before but now… Shaking her head the Eyrien woman snipped in annoyance. ”And I would hardly call his story such a thing. It’s a common one or are you so blind to what goes on?”

”Oh so angry all the time are we? It was a fair question. If you plan on climbing up yourself then get a move on, will you? It doesn’t smell great down here.” Xandar chuckled as he ushered her to the ladder, groaning as he heard her complain more to him. Why did the woman have to be this way?
It would be much easier if she coddled him and sucked his dick like the majority of women he met, ”Yes, the oh so common story of eating poor innocent people to save his poor miserable life. Charming. Maybe I should have let him eat you too, I don’t get a thanks for keeping you alive anyways. It’s just expected of me now.”

Faeril’s wings rustled as she glared dangerously at Xandar. Why in the name of Mother Dark did she have to be around this irritable male?! Her lads were well mannered if a bit overbearing and Jandar proved to be a likeable enough fellow. ”I am hardly angry all the time. I’m merely surrounded by muscle bound fools, most of it!” A underhanded compliment that Faeril would deny giving. ”The face remains he was the first demon dead that I’ve seen! There were things that I could have learned from him about that-” She grasped for the word finding the phrase ‘phase of the Blood’ unnerving as their own death was carefully courting them. A wrong move could bring their little resistance to the end and broken on the orders of the Queens desperate to keep their power.

”Yes, and if it wasn’t for this muscle bound fool you’d be dead or worse. Or, at the very least, without wings or fingers.” He muttered, his blood steadily boiling as he rustled his own wings, spreading them out long and wide and flexing them out. It was a natural habit and a show of dominance when in a squabble, showing just how large the Eyrien really was. There were few people who could simply get on his nerves that he couldn’t easily intimidated or beaten to submission. She was a rare case. Beautiful, smart, and important to stay alive. And also a bitch. ”Well if you so whole-heartedly wanted to learn, maybe I should have let you get eaten and you could have asked him yourself while he feasted on your corpse. Maybe you could have found out first hand, huh? Speaking of death, I’m much more concerned by the death trap you sent our friends in than some science experiment, frankly.”

”It’s not a trap.” Though Faeril didn’t seem quite certain of her own words. ”It was something that the Queen must do. If we cannot convince him, then all is already lost. Besides, I can handle a rotting corpse well enough- I deal with you do I not?” She brushed away her own discomfort with a snipped insult towards Xandar.

”Oh bullshit, that it isn’t… His words stopped dead before he heard the words… convince him? He got seriously angry, practically wrapping his wings around the both of them as he stood up close to Faeril, looking down upon her. ”You mean to tell me you sent them out their to negotiate with HIM? Of ALL people? That isn’t a death trap, that’s a death sentence. He works for the worst Queen of them all, they’ll be killed in seconds, or worse. And you want him on our side? I half half a mind to fly there right now and level that whole city just to get them out…” Xandar grumbled, turning away from Faeril and grabbing a large wooden beam that was broken off. He split it with his bare hands, ripping it in half and launching the pieces into the opposite wall. Burn marks charred the broken pieces, and it was clear the Warlord Prince was getting a bit heated.

Faeril glowered and drew her wings in tight as Xandar went on his tirade. As much as she wanted to argue, she couldn’t exactly say he was wrong. But there were things at work that she couldn’t admit. After all, the oversized brute learning he had been wrapped into a spell to gather a Court about Fatima. ”It is necessary. I told you it is not our place to intervene in that meeting. The web drew her forth, and Fatima must make the choice. I know my Craft.” Growled the Black Widow defensively, feeling the undercurrent of anger off Xandar. An angry Warlord Prince wasn’t to be trifled with lightly. Her wings flaring wide as he turned about to take his frustration out on a rotting beam. ”The pieces are moving.”

The angry warlord prince took deep breaths, trying to calm himself down a bit and not let his anger out. After all, they were in hiding. If he did anything too rash he would surely attract some unwanted attention. But still, this was an impossible situation and there was nothing he could do but sit around and watch it all unfold. He wanted to be the one making changes, doing the work that needed to be done. He felt… powerless. ”This… this better work out, for your sake and for mine. If I sense so much as a bit of trouble I’m burning that village to the ground and nothing is going to stop me. As much as I hate and don’t trust the majority of them around my Queen, I’ll need to trust them, I suppose.”

Xandar brushed past Faeril as he took a standing leap all the way up the ladder, landing inside the house as he took a few steps out into the open. He saw a wandering viper rat and walked up to it, punting it several hundred feet into the distance and out of sight, surely rupturing all of its internal organs. ”I fucking hate rats.”

The softer beat of Faeril as she slipped from the open trapdoor and landed before the hearth of the house where the demon-dead had sought shelter. A bit of spellwork would go unnoticed, she figured. Hearing the death cry of a rat, she huffed an annoyed breath. The irritating, puffed up… Turning she gave Xandar a chiding look. ”The mighty Reaper hates rats… Lovely to know. And yes, you’ll need to trust us. We all have the same goal in the end. Save for your obsession for courting death.” What else would he call cuddling her in that damn bed? Or the constant battles he got into? So typical of a Eyrien Warlord Prince! His mother probably wanted to rip his wings off when he was a youth!

”Yes, the Reaper hates many things and wishes to slaughter even more. But one of the things the Reaper hates more than anything is stuck up, know-it-all, quick-witted women like you who walk around and just bitch up a storm. Bitch at me, bitch about this and that, bitch about the world. I fucking get it, and it’s old. I’ve lived a long life, and I obsess over death because it’s all I know. It’s been killed or be killed. Strength or weakness. You killed to live, you killed for what you believed in, all problems ended in violence. I don’t care how smart or wise someone is, if that man wants them did he’ll make it happen. True strength is what runs this world…” Xandar said very angrily before his tone softened, and he turned away towards the horizon. He bit his lips, thoughts and memories flooding his head before closing his eyes.

”This… isn’t the life I wanted. Not by a long shot. I just wanted a better world for my people. For all of us. And I had to be strong for them. For me. But now? I’ve been running, hiding, for years from the likes of them. And now I get a bit of hope, and the one man with a darker jewel than me is face to face with her? What am I supposed to feel? Relieved? At this rate it might be easier to live out the end of the world on an island like my comrades. A few moments of peace.”

Faeril studied Xandar and gave a sigh, moving to pat the taller Eyrien on the arm. ”No one wants the life of a rogue, except those deranged or mad or totally uncaring of the Blood’s honor.” The words were practiced and soothing from Faeril’s years of mending hearts and minds, but there was an awkward stilt to her words as the Black Widow continued. ”I bitch because I’ve wrapped myself in my own armor. Our years are harder and longer than the short-lived races and I envy them their lifespans in these troubled times. I watched the Queen’s decimate the Hourglass and my own family. No one wants to see what Dorothea has been doing. And so I dream and call and weave. I doubt that anyone wants to be Hyall’s whore either, to a bitch whose tastes are more than the Queens we have met.” Turning she walked back towards the ruins. ’And you forgot ‘outdated’ in your description of me.”

Xandar stiffened up at the pat but relaxed a bit, the heat released from his body as he listened. He knew she was right, everybody had all their problems with this Queen, all had hardships, and it would take all of them to do it. He couldn’t do everything on his own anymore. Trusting and relying on people is what got him hurt in the first place, but, maybe it’s what would heal him after all. Only time would tell, and he would just have to wait to see how this all panned out. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he walked next to her. ”Perhaps that’s true. But, maybe I’m a bit old fashioned myself.”

”Oh, really. I couldn’t tell.” Drawled Faeril as she paused before the hearth again, pulling a small square of wood and a ball of string from a pouch at her waist. ”Do you require something, or can I do this without interruption? I doubt I need to give you the lecture that I do not require an escort again.”

”Yeah, funny. The last time I believed that, it didn’t end so well.” Xandar dusted off a rogue chair that was somewhat intact and put it against the wall, sitting down with a huff as he pulled up the hood of his cloak. ”Look, I’ll just nap peacefully here while you go about your business. You won’t even know I’m here.” said the warlord Prince, before pulling up a sight shield and effectively disappearing from sight.

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

Xandar Markov

Location: Smuggler's den in town

Xandar has chased after the shadowy figure to see it had hidden itself away in what looked to be like a smugglers den of sorts. Figures. Shadowy people gravitate towards shadowy places. He had all but shattered the table that was once hiding the entrance, ripping it from where it was and tossing it out of the building with a loud crash. This is probably what led Faeril to follow him, possibly.

”Nosey, are we woman? Why don’t you help Gen or something? I’m busy with our guest.” Xandar grunted, resorting to jumping off the ladder and landing softly, aided by his wings, in fear the whole thing would break under his weight. He looked up and gave a low whistle. ”Great view, but you may want to watch your step. It seems you’ve ripped your dress. Which actually may be a blessing in disguise, you were in need of new ones.”

Xandar turned towards the rest of the room, scanning the various crates and boxes, looking at the fresh dust where the figure stepped. He summoned his sword, clenching it in his right hand. “If you make me search this place, you won’t like the end result when I find you. It’d be best to give yourself up now. Or, better yet, I can burn the whole place to ashes along with you.”

Faeril was less than pleased at the Warlord Prince’s retort. ”Enjoy the view, it’s the only one you’ll get.” Snapped the witch, coloring at her own thoughtlessness. Peering through the darkness, she wondered how on earth he could even see. Her wings folding tightly to her back in the narrow basement, never mind her own workroom beneath her house was not much larger. ”And my clothes are perfectly fine! Perhaps I am not so enthralled by those cumbersome wing slits they cut into fashions now.” She muttered in their shared native language as she wrested with the snared fabric lest the dress tear beyond repair.

There was a slight rasping of a dry throat as a rusty voice echoed through the dark. “Give myself up to what? A Queen’s pleasure? She had her pleasure. I doubt she could take more.” There was a bitterness to the voice. ”Please, just leave me be.”

”Wing slits are very fashionable! And work very effective. Although I usually wear nothing at all.” he murmured back in the same tongue, before looking over towards the voice that called out in the darkness. Xander rest the blade on his shoulder, casting his gaze where the voice came from.

”There is no Queen here, only a Queen Killer. You are within the vicinity of me and my party, therefore I have come to investigate. Nothing else is here besides us and the viper rats, and they don’t make very good company.”

Xandar summoned a bit of fire in his hand, lighting up the area around him as his eyes adjusted to the light, making it easier for both himself and Faeril to see. Mostly her, as his eyes were very keen to the dark, having gone through long nights of pure darkness in combat. ”State your business, and if you have none, I suggest you find yourself somewhere else to hide far away from here.

”And where else can the dead go?” Growled the voice, the fire lighting up the room enough that Xandar could see the corpse. A Shalador man it seemed, wearing the Purple-Dusk. One leg was missing at the thigh, his hands were seared as though put through an inferno as well as most of his left side. HIs face, however, was covered in a hood, a blessing perhaps. The voice issued from beneath it and the gaping hole in his chest which the ragged shirt didn’t quite hide.

”What is it? Can you see who it is?” Hissed Faeril from behind Xandar, the bulk of the Eyrien warrior blocking the way as she hovered behind him. Eager to find out who their watcher was and if there was any potential damage meant to their little group. Blissfully unaware of the twisted remains that spoke to them. Xandar might recall the creeping tales of his youth about the demon-dead. Those of the Blood who lived on after death, feeding on the living. Devouring them. Of course, it was an effective tale to spin to a group of children on a late-night to warn them to be good. ”Must I do everything myself?!”

”The dead belong six feet under, but here you are. A dead man walking. Now give me a good reason why I shouldn’t personally escort you to the grave.” Xandar growled back, cautiously watching the purple-dusk demon dead. He was an ugly son of a bitch, and tales of these demon dead did not speak of them kindly. But either way, he wouldn’t wander all the way here for nothing.

He looked back at Faeril, stepping to the side slightly but still well standing between her and the Shalador man slumped on the ground. His sword was still kept firmly in one hand, pointing at the man, the other holding the fire. ”You may look for yourself, if you like, but you’re not going any farther than my sword. What do you make of our guest?”

Faeril glared at Xandar as he stipulated that she wasn't get closer than his sword to the burned demoan-dead. "I make that he was burned and staked through the chest. Really, what am I supposed to tell you with this lighting and at a distance." Despite her sharp words, Faeril made no move to get closer, her eyes slightly wide as she gazed upon the man.

Rasping, the demon spoke once more. But it was forlorn, tired almost. "What grave? This entire town is filled with the dead. No, not like me. They stayed dead. The Queen and her brat broken them down and slaughtered them for fun." Faeril winced, as those thoughts conjured an imagination of what the stone and wood might show her if she drew out their memories.

Xandar pauses for a moment, listening to the words of the man before vanishing his sword. However, his arm was still protectively covering Faeril. He didn’t think the man could do much or get far in his condition, but he wasn’t going to let his guard down completely. He didn’t know much about his kind, and the stuff he did hear about was bad. However, he would give him the benefit of the doubt. Any person who was wronged by an evil queen had at least a little sympathy from the Reaper.

”Fair enough. I’ve seen many places like this, shattered and broken by a Queen. Instead of making the land prosper they now burn it for their amusement. I’ve lived my life to fight against them… So if what you say is true, we have a common enemy it seems.”

The Eyrien Warlord Prince looked back at Faeril, rolling his eyes at her comment before looking back at the dead man. ”The fact still stands that you, despite the others, are among the living and have not stayed dead. This leads me to believe you have a purpose for it then? Maybe a grudge, if you will.”

”Oh, I got a grudge. Not that I can do much about it.” Rasped the demon, sounding forlorn and bitter. Faeril still glowered at the Warlord Prince for the arm in her way, though she was oddly grateful for it. As a Black Widow she was part of the Hourglass Coven, which had essentially gone underground if they wished to remain free of the twisted Queen. Mothers teaching daughters their Craft lest it be forgotten. Yet lines would fail and die out. Coven growing smaller. Their knowledge was vast, but they only had a limited time. Though she remembered a bit more about the blood she might offer, she kept her silence. Unsure if she wanted to offer something that might cause the demon to attack her. ”The dead aren’t staying about for a grudge. I’ve been along for some decade… I can feel my jewel running low, and ‘fore long it’ll run dry. Think that might as well be my Death.” The man mused raising a twisted hand to push back the cowl and reveal a face that had been melted by flames and a missing ear that had been cut off. ”Killed some as didn’t need killing. For the blood. A woman hiding out here. I shouldn’t have, but I was desperate. I didn’t want to go yet and I was foolish enough to think I might do something to stop those bitches.”

Xandar shook his head, realizing at least part of the rumors were true. The dead did feed off of the living to last a bit longer, but it seemed they weren’t as blood crazed as he thought. Even still, he couldn’t fault the man. He had killed dozens, hundreds, for worse reasons. ”Well in your state I don’t think you’ll be getting any revenge, no. But, revenge is more or less my speciality, and killing twisted Queens and their following is my calling in life.” Xandar looked the man in his hollowed face, taking his arm away from Faeril and crossing it over his chest, his fist on his heart. ”If you have anything useful to share, you can rest easy knowing the Queen that wronged you has a swift death coming.”

”We cannot risk discovery!” Hissed the Black Widow, her eyes narrowing in the dark. ”Killing the Queen of this place is not an option!” It would potentially put their own Queen at risk and she couldn’t do that.

”Did I say right now? No. Quit your bickering woman.” Xandar looked back at the Widow, patting her head with his hand. ”But, is it not our long term goal? To make things right? And even so, we could at least get information that might be useful to us if you play along here.” He said that last bit in their shared tongue, before turning back to the very grotesque looking man on the ground.

”Dead men usually tell no tales, but if you do, I’ll be glad to listen.”