Goldeagle1221

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

The Cenél stepped out from under the shadow of the forest’s canopy. To Darragh it felt like stepping out of a completely different realm back into the wretchedness of the real world. Behind him, on a highland stag as well, stepped the young woman carrying her gnarled staff. Her raven hair and tanned skin marking her as outsider. Yet somehow she had come attached to Darragh. Part of his retinue.

In front of them was a hill on top of which a single lonethorn grew. The tree had long ago been struck by lightning. Splitting it open, but it failed to kill it. Now the split tree was the mark of the elsewise insignificant hill. In total only five stags walked out of the forest, but throughout the forest, spread laid the Cenél. Ready with both the tithe promised, and bows and arrows should the meeting turn sour.

“We’re early.” Keyleigh said, looking up at the sun and then at the split lonethorn tree.

“Best to be early for dealings like these.” Darragh said. His eyes were affixed on the horizon as they walked up the hill. Trying to see the Čeleviak. The tension felt far too similar to meeting the Dûnans for the first few times. As the hill began to peak, Darragh got his wish: the dark line of an army spreading far to the left and the right. It was an impressive sight, with more soldiers than he had ever seen in one spot - and deathly quiet too. It stood as a silent forest of spears.

Breaking away from the army and stealing Darragh’s attention was a chestnut elk, a massive man riding atop it. He alone approached and mounted the hill, a heavy metal circlet on his head. He wore thick quilted clothes dyed red, and had a dark black cloak thrown over his left shoulder. In short time the tall man was already at the meeting tree, dismounting. Keyleigh grinned from atop her stag. “He’s ambitious.”

“He is.” Darragh said as he dismounted as well. He tasted something bitter in his mouth. Still he walked up towards the tree. Alone as well. “Hail Jjonveyo of the Čeleviak.” He said as hit his own chest with a fist.

An immensely thick accent rumbled from Jjonveyo, "I am glad we are speaking." He mimicked Darragh's salute. Reaching under his cloak, Jjonveyo procured a copper flask, corked. Without explaining it, he continued, "I apologize for bringing an army behind me; your message found me already marching - though if this meeting goes as we both want - you have no need to fear your own army, or shall I say 'our'."

Darragh faked a smirk. Though it confirmed both his greatest fear and deepest joy. The Čeleviak were already marching for Ha-Dûna. A lesser leader would’ve offered the tithe and started marching with him. “Before we start saying ‘our’, I need to ask you a question first. Why are you marching for the Dûnans? They’re blessed by the gods. Many times over.”

"So are we," Jjonveyo said simply, "but what's more, is we are marching for a better life for all; to end suffering in this life through unity and charity. The Dûnans stand in the way of this great reform."

They weren’t the same words but they carried the same sentiment. Boudicca had almost told him the same. No more suffering. Unity. Charity. That charity now paid a tithe and an ally in a time of war. Life and time had suddenly turned into a very small wheel. For a second Darragh looked behind him. Towards the four other stag riders and the forest beyond. Which itself became part of a greater woods which housed the Cenél. Last time he accepted those words, war followed less than five years after. Yet the same words kept floating in his mind. You don’t have a choice. His people were already spread too thin.

For a while he kept quiet. Weighing options. Feeling out ideas. “I offer half the tithe.” He finally said as he turned to face Jjonveyo. “In return to let us keep the other half I offer up myself and the Fakir for your war.”

Jjonveyo sniffed and slowly, very slowly, sat down onto the grass. He placed the flask in a gnarled tuft to keep it standing and looked up at Darragh. "Sit with me."

Darragh did as bid and sat down. Keeping a distance that might be seen as either respectful or safe. Jjonveyo kept his stoic feature, but something in his eyes glistened approval. His voice grew low, as if the words were meant just for Darragh, "Why are you offering me a tithe?"

“We’re not deaf. We know what you ask from your subjects. Those who don’t, get the rod.” And the Cenél weren’t in a position to get the rod.

"So you are my subject?" Jjonveyo raised a brow.

"As hard as it might be to believe, some in this world know their place in it.” Darragh said.

"Then that makes me your Tsar," Jjonveyo lifted the flask, "and the Cenél, Celeviak." He pulled the cork from the flask, "Keep your tithe this season, use it to enrich your people so you may give a full tithe next season. You are the Tsardom, every appendage must be well." He offered the open flask to Darragh, "And as yTsar I request that you and your Fakir do accompany the march west."

Generous or pragmatic? The question stayed on Darragh’s tongue but he never uttered it. They’d find out soon enough. Darragh took the flask and took a swig. He wasn’t a stranger to the beverage. Some years ago – something that felt like a lifetime ago – the two people used to trade. He handed it back to Jjonveyo. Who sealed the deal with a drink of his own.

“The Fakir you will have.” He said. His words gaining an edge. “But you always had me.” The fire he hid in his eyes shined through now. This was personal for him. “You’ll always have me if you promise me one thing.”

"Speak your wish," Jjonveyo commanded.

For a second Darragh remained quiet, looking the ground. Clearly going over the words. Then finally he looked up. His eyes intense, yet his body calm. “No mercy. No peace.” he said, his voice that of Ynea, the ice-queen herself. “Thirty years ago I cast my vote to spare them when they were still small.” Now look where that got me. “I chose peace after their civil war again. Now I’m sitting here.” Selling my people so they could survive. “They’ve done enough to this land. To my people.” And to my apprentice. “I come with you if you promise to raze Ha-Dûna to the ground.”

Jjonveyo rolled his jaw, eyes dark and calculating. After a pregnant pause he spoke, "No." It was a simple reply, "It is not the way of the Celeviak to make oaths they are unsure if they can keep. Those who stand in the way of the Tsardom will perish, though I take no joy in massacre and give life to the deserving." He paused, and began to stand up, "You are the leader of this Boyardom of the Celeviak Nation, you must set an example away from blind anger. Fear, sure - punishment, of course - I as any leader will not spare those deserving of it, but I shall not mark a soul I have yet to discover as one way or the other." He paused again as he now stood tall, voice grim, "And know that your wish is possible many times over and has been granted to those who have stood in the way -- this is why I do not agree lightly."

The Fakir and now Boyar remained sitting. It was a mistake, to refuse it. Darragh was already thinking about the war that would come after again. The third one. Would he still be around to see it happen? Would he want to? “Then I will make my peace with that, my Tsar.” He finally said as he rose up as well and looked straight into Jjonveyo’s eyes. “And I’ll sate my thirst on the blood that we can spill.” It wouldn’t be enough but it would be a start. In truth Darragh had no real interest in leading his people after the war. Malgog remained silent to him but Ynea’s whispers were upon him.

“My people will start joining you in the next few days. Look for stagriders coming for the forests.” With those words Darragh extended his hand towards Jjonveyo. The Tsar gripped it, his hand rocky with callousness.

"Good." Jjonveyo said, "Ha-Dûna will capitulate be it under a new name or fire. Then, let a new covenant with the gods be struck in its place." He released Darragh's hand, "I will see your riders shortly." The Tsar began to turn back to his army.

Prestigen

Jjonveyo = 15

Summary

Jjonveyo arrives at the land of the Cenel, where Darragh is ready to meet him. Darragh is surprised at the massive army with Jjonveyo but finds out it is meant for Ha-Dûna. Darragh and the Cenel become a part of the Tsardom, now the Boyardom of Cenel and pledge to aid in the war as requested by their new Tsar. Darragh requests Jjonveyo completely obliterate Ha-Dûna but Jjonveyo declines on making that decision so early. He also hints at making a new covenant with the Gods after the fall of Ha-Dûna.

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Juniper and Shae and Boudicca

It was still the middle of the morning as the two women walked through the flows of Ha-Dûna and towards the former Hall of the Weary, now Hall of Chiefs. Unlike before though, the day had enough time to settle -- meaning the honest and healthy were off working or studying. It was peaceful, or would be if it didn’t remind Juniper that she was skipping out on her own work to be out doing this. Scrunching her nose, she broke the growing silence between her and Shae.

“Did you ever hear the story of the spider and the apprentice?” Juniper asked, eyes stuck on the glare of someone who definitely recognized her (and recognized her out of place even).

“No, I don’t think- oh, no thank you Maera, I’ve had apples today- I don’t think I’ve heard it.” The song waved at friendly passersby and patted curious childrens’ heads as they walked. It was quite difficult for helgens to be subtle in Ha-Dûna. “Though it sounds like another one you might have made up.” Shae smirked and gave the other woman a sidelong glance.

Juniper squinted her right eye at Shae and continued through the comment, “The apprentice was a gifted student of a well known painter, but as gifted as they were, they had to follow the instructions of the master painter.” Juniper looked at Shae, “Simple enough. The master painter would inspect a room and then give the tools to the apprentice and have them work on it while they themselves worked on more difficult tasks... or so they say.” She waved a hand, “But that isn’t that important -- what is important is that one day while the apprentice was preparing to paint, they came across a spider. Now-”

Juniper paused suddenly as she lurched forward, nearly tripping over her own feet. Pretending that didn’t happen, she continued, “Now as the apprentice was scraping and cleaning the old corners of the room, he came across a spider - wait I already said that. Shit.” She paused, “Right! So anyways the spider was directly where the apprentice needed to work and eventually paint... it was quite a simple issue -- if the spider were to remain in its cozy little home, it would be destroyed alongside it by paint and scrapes and what have you... so in kindness, the apprentice picked the spider up and removed it from its place, destroying the web in the process. The spider obviously was scared and worried and horrified, but the apprentice paid that no mind as he knew he had saved it from much worse trouble than the trouble they themselves gave the spider.” Looking forward, Juniper finished, “So the apprentice went about their day, finished the job, and left. No human was any the wiser of what had happened and the spider, though deeply troubled that day, was spared a worse fate that it didn’t know was even possible, and still doesn’t.”

“Well, that was an incredibly thoughtful apprentice. Perhaps if he could communicate with the spider they could have come to some kind of agreement and any misunderstandings would have been avoided, but seeing as that was the next best he could do…” she pursed her lips and exhaled, “but the poor spider would just go on living thinking that humans are terrible and arbitrary things. If it was made to understand why it had to be moved, then perhaps there would be greater harmony between humans and spiders - perhaps spiders would not bite as often, and humans wouldn’t kill them.” Her melodious sigh came long. “Oh anyhow, it seems that no human was the wiser about all this… other than you. Did this noble painter’s apprentice tell you the tale himself?”

“It’s an old story,” Juniper used her usual defense, “Just to say that when you don’t know the perspectives beyond your understanding, even a positive can seem like a negative.” She scuffed her boots and stood still, the Hall of Chiefs only a few steps away from the pair. “Maybe you should trust in the wisdom of things greater than yourself, or maybe not -- who really knows.” Juniper dropped a corner of her mouth into a frown, “I don’t know.”

“I, for one, think wisdom might be a tad bit overrated. Sometimes you just need to live a little unweighed by grumpy wisdoms and their needless mysteries.” She said easily. “Everyone manages well enough either way.” She stood by the great bearskin curtain and listened in for a bit, then raised her hand and knocked on the doorframe. She did not seem to strike too hard at all, yet the knock came unnaturally loud and somewhat off from where she struck. The usual murmurs inside quieted, then approaching steps heralded the arrival of the doorman, who pulled aside the curtain and unleashed the rolling avalanche of pipe smoke out of the entrance. He regarded them with groggy eyes, though was quick to recognise Shae and offered a small bow with his free hand cupped over his head.

“W-welcome, good helgen of the Dancing Théin. What brings you to our humble house?” The man made quick efforts to straighten out his shirt, plaid and kilt, and tugged at his beard to keep his hands in action.

“That’s a good question,” Juniper said, realizing she didn’t really have a good answer. She looked over at Shae for support.

Shae stood up tall and any childishness she may have exhibited before seemed to melt away. “I must speak with the sanndatr,” she intoned dolefully, “on a grave matter.” The pipeweed air seemed to tighten, her voice darkening what may have been a light and merry gathering before.

The man blinked as realisation dawned upon him. He stuck his head a little further out of the doorframe, looking left and right, and then ducking back inside, pulling the curtain with him. “Alright, come on it. Boudicca! The Song has come to see you.” The inside of the longhouse seemed permanently stained with the tangy stink of pipeweed, though the smell fought bravely against the musk and rank of cows and sheep; foreign and local carpets decorated every wall and the floor, not arranged by colour and pattern so much as by place of origin; exposed parts of the wooden walls held imported shields, weapons, jewelry and artistry. Despite the overflow of wealth around the room, however, the central hearth around which sat three figures seemed most humble - the most precious object being a bubbling ceramic pot at which the faces of the figures had been looking before they shifted to the newcomers.

“Ah, Shae, Daughter of the Dancer. Come on in,” the sanndatr’s voice called and the shadow of her beckoning could be seen against the light of the fire. “Brought a friend, have you?”

The song cleared her throat and nodded as she made gracefully for Boudicca and, removing her cloak, seated herself by the hearth. “Yes,” she spoke, placing a hand on Juniper’s arm and nodding for her to sit by her, who with wide and uncertain eyes, did. “This is Juniper the Twiceseven’s daughter. Orator and storyteller of great renown, purveyor of wisdoms and knower of ancient truths.” Shae bit her upper lip and maintained an altogether serious visage. “And witness to dire happenings that may only be spoken of in strictest secrecy.” She glanced at the two figures sat by Boudicca, then back to the sanndatr.

The shadows on Boudicca’s face danced with less vigour as her chewing mouth came to a stop, turning to regard Juniper with a small squint, who sunk in her seat. “The Twiceseven’s daughter, you say?” The sanndatr placed her spoon back in her bowl of porridge and set the bowl on the floor. She looked across the fire at the two other figures and then over at the doorman. “Brian, would you take Materix and Zelda outside?”

“Mother, can’t we stay and listen?” Materix asked with a twinge of what almost seemed as surprise.

“When mother asks us to leave…” Zelda started. Materix’ stare shut her up.

“Oh! Materix,” Shae exclaimed, “my, you’ve changed quite a bit since I last saw you. When did you get back?”

The young théin offered her a polite smile. “A month and a half ago or so. I’d love to tell you all about the journey, but…” She gave her mother a frown. “... It seems that secrecy will be taking priority.”

“It most certainly will, young lady,” Brian said soothingly and took both the girls’ bowls, setting them aside, before shepherding them out of the house. Shae gave the young woman a knowing glance, an I’ll find you later. With the young women gone, Boudicca gestured for the bench upon which they had sat and mumbled, “The heat’s better on that side if you’re cold. Today’s a cold autumn day, after all…”

“I have my cloak,” Juniper tugged her white plaid as if showcasing it, “But thank you.” She leaned slightly to the side and behind Shae’s ear, whispering, “What am I a witness of?”

Shae seemed completely relaxed now, all seriousness gone. “Oh Boudicca. If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were avoiding me,” the song pouted as she took up Zelda’s bowl of porridge and picked at it with the spoon. “When did I see you last? It was when you… ah, that nasty business with Hilda.”

Boudicca’s eyes darkened. “... Yes, and we both know well not to speak of that day. Our city has hardly recovered from the terror…” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “... I have hardly recovered… Thank the gods farmwork keeps the people busy...”

Shae sighed, little inky moths fluttering out and dying on the flames with audible fizzles as the flame licked angrily and hissed at them. There was a heavy silence for a few seconds, and then Shae looked up, “anyhow, Boudi, I’ve got a little problem. Or rather, we’ve got a little problem. Probably more you than me… or maybe just me, I don’t know.” She sat back and put the bowl to the side. “It’s those bald druids.”

“The Seekers? What about them?” Boudicca rubbed her hands together over the flames.

“I don’t know how to put this but… they don’t seem to like me very much. They’ve been following me around for months talking about my ‘serial untruths’ and how the ‘stench of falsification echoes in the footsteps of your mind, so-called Macsaldatr’. Juniper here saw their latest bout of creeping on me. We were minding our own business at the college this morning, sharing songs and stories as you do, when they came along with their blue stares and continually constipated countenances.” She huffed and grabbed at her cloak, “isn’t that right Juni? Tell her how we had to escape through the window and nearly got caught by that smelly… whatisface.”

Juniper blinked a few times and sat up straight, "Uhm." It took her a few seconds but she managed to push through her nervousness and into a storyteller’s mood. She found her smile and nodded, "Yes! A group of older men had burst into the courtyard of the school looking for Shae. It was apparently so dire a situation, we needed to take an alternative route through one of the professor's private offices and through the window. Not only that, but we later had to convene outside the limits of the town to plan safely our next step."

The sanndatr squinted. “If that’s what happened, it is concerning that I was not informed until now. Were you seen on your way here? By them, I mean - were you followed?” She got up, walked over to the doorway and tugged gently a piece of the curtain away to glance outside.

The song looked back at her and shook her head. “No, I don’t think so. But they’ll find out soon enough, I’m sure. The people make it quite hard to be discrete.”

“Ever since that horrid day, the théins have been breathing down my neck… Tensions haven’t been higher since we retook this city.” Boudicca continued, and Shaeylila rose and came up beside her, placing a hand on the other woman’s shoulder.

“Things would no doubt become even worse if these Seekers were to uncover our little... “ she paused, “repurposing of the truth.” She turned away and sighed. “What can we do? I can’t go on with them following me around like a second shadow.”

Juniper cocked her head, "Repurposing of the truth?"

Boudicca turned and made hard eyes at the Storyteller. “You didn’t tell her yet brought her along?”

The song raised an eyebrow at the sanndatr. “It wasn’t my tale to tell. I brought her along because storytellers know things - I thought she could help us deal with this in the least damaging way.” Turning away from Boudicca she looked at Juniper with a slight frown. “But maybe I was wrong.”

“Ouch,” Juniper squinted her right eye at Shae.

Boudicca heaved a slow sigh. “Forgive my frustration… I haven’t slept well of late.” She gave her nose bridge a comforting rub as Shae moved softly by her and looked out of the small window. “So, daughter of the Twiceseven, you ‘know things’, is that it?” She hunkered onto her elbows and collected her fingers in a twine under her nose. “What do you know of Macsal’s promise?”

“The curse, you mean?” Juniper pinched her chin.

“If you’d like to call it that,” the sanndatr responded and shrugged passively. “What do you know of it?”

“War and death, or peace and art,” Juniper replied simply, “That’s the word around town at least, no?”

“That’s the gist of it. Did you see Shae’s performance that day? What did you think of it? Convincing, right?”

“I wasn’t there,” Juniper scrunched her brow, “But I obviously heard the stories -- where is this going?”

Boudicca spied over at Shae by the window and studied her distant expression. Then she heaved another sigh, eyed the doorway and whispered, “What if I told you that it was all an act?”

“I’d say you have great foreshadowing,” Juniper arched a brow, “And now I’m hooked.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, eyes staring intently at Boudicca, “Tell me the story?”

Boudicca shrugged. “Not much to tell, if I’m being honest. It was Shae’s plan, in truth - I needed public support for our city’s shift to peace and diplomacy after years and years of war and battle. Our solution was to depict it as a divine imperative - Macsal’s imperative. If we went to war, there would only be death and abandonment - we would never become the cultural capital we dream to be.” She heaved yet another sigh. “We gained their support that time, but then those cursed Scawicks rioted and then the Clennon Fen purists and then…” She shook her head. “I’ll be frank, Shae, I have lost faith in our lie - lost quite a lot, in fact. It has all but faded already, anyway - what will the Seekers hunt you for if what you are accused of is no longer a reality?”

“It’s a shame that things happened this way.” The song sighed and turned back to them, leaning against the window sill. “But it would reflect quite poorly on you if it’s discovered that our bout of creative output was misinterpreted by the people. You could just say you were misled by little old me, of course. That would work. But then what will become of little old me? Living here has grown on me.” She turned her head to the side and looked out of the window again. “And I don’t get the feeling that those bald druids would be satisfied to just unveil my ‘falsifications’ as they say. They seem to have taken it all awfully personally.”

The sanndatr didn’t answer. Her face harned and she hammered the bench she sat on with her palm in frustration. “Why did everything go so wrong? Why? What have we done to incite the gods’ wrath upon our city time and time again… War, threats, terror. For what? We want peace, same as everyone, and not even the Seekers will allow it.” She hung her head in defeat. “... My hands are tied - if I do something onto them, they will suspect me, too, and sending you away is…” Her voice trailed off. “... You could go into exile for a time, just until I can send the Seekers away.”

Shae was silent for a few seconds, a stillness and terrible silence hanging about her. And for all the crackling and flickering of the fire, there was suddenly a coolness to the place. She glanced over at Juniper, her eyes seeming to glisten with liquid ink. “Y-yeah.” Came her dirge. “I…” inken eyes turned to the ground, “I’m sorry Boudi. It was my stupid idea.”

“Oh, don’t apologise. Had it not been for that idea, this town would’ve been on the warpath again months ago. It’s… It’s like Hilda said: We’re a warring people. Maybe it was foolish to think that we could keep them in check with a lie.” She tugged sniffingly at her nose with her hand. “Either way, you aren’t safe here. I cannot protect you against the Seekers - not anymore. My support from the people has been replaced with suspicion and skepticism.”

“What are you going to do? Are you just going to…” Shae approached the sanndatr, looking into her tired eyes, “give up? Are you going to let it all wear you down? You stood before them like a mountain once and bore the full brunt of the heavens, and when their waves crashed against your steep cliffs you batted them aside and put them back down - that was you, Boudi. You tamed them and directed them, not the other way. Isn’t that what being sanndatr is all about?” There was no bitterness in her melancholy melody, only a plucking at the strings of Boudicca’s morale, a gentle blowing into the embers of her great flame.

Juniper squinted her right eye and looked between the two. Finally she wiggled her nose in thought before speaking, "I'm going to be honest: this is extremely uncomfortable. So what you're saying is that you two lied about divine punishment to keep the city from going to war, and now a bunch of old men are out to getcha?" She looked up at the ceiling before shifting to Shae, "I did say leaving was your best bet, remember? It sounds like a web of politics that has no winner." She pauses, "Then again Boudicca has a point.. What's the lie if war comes anyway?"

The sanndatr shrugged. “I can sway the druids by saying Macsal is with us in this war - they will no doubt agree under the circumstances, but… The Seekers are of a different circle - I don’t understand them like I understand the Long Strides.” She paused. “All I know is that they are pursuers of the Truth, whatever that means to the servants of Fìrinn--” She halted to lift her hands to the sky and whisper a short apology, likely for uttering the god’s name with insincerity. “... Shae’s targeted because she claims to be a messenger of Macsal, unless I’m mistaken. In truth, she’s just a Song, after all. I beg forgiveness that you need to hear all this Juniper; I trust you will keep this secret in good confidence, yes?”

"Well wait," Juniper held up a finger, "If you don't understand the Seekers, why are we hashing out these thoughts? I say we should learn their story and how they tick before trying to counter their plays." She leaned back, "You're a strategist, no? You are in my stories."

“Taking an interest in them now of all times will raise suspicion, especially if I lead the initiative… However…” She pursed her lips. “You said you weren’t seen on the way here, correct? Twiceseven’s daughter - could you learn their stories on our behalf, perhaps?”

"I dunno, I've never been very good at remembering stories," Juniper said deadpan. A silent moment passed and she frowned, "It's a joke - of course I can. Oh! But work..."

“I don’t know if you can learn things from them the normal way.” Shae spoke out. “They just…” she looked around and exhaled with a frown, “they know things. Their song is full of other people’s songs, it’s really weird. When they come near me, I’ve heard my own song in theirs. It’s like they can… look into you, siphon your song.” She convulsed in disgust and took a few steps towards the fire, holding her arms in silence. Before either of the two could say more she raised her head and looked Juniper dead in the eye. “I think you were right before. And I think it’s the answer we’ll arrive at in the end. I need to leave.”

Boudicca sighed and stood up, pacing thoughtfully between the heart and the doorway. “Then so be it. Whatever provisions you may need for the road, you shall have. I will make certain none of those Seekers follow you, and my daughter will guide you to the river and have a boatsman take you southwards--”

Suddenly, stomps thundered on the doorstep. Within the following second, the pelt over the doorway was pushed aside, revealing the face of Brian, pale with shock and red with warmth. He was panting, having much exerted his full body’s ability to sprint. Boudicca frowned over gritting teeth. “Gods, Brian! What is it that brings you here with such speed that you can’t knock first?”

“Iss-...” He caught his breath just barely and held on with a feeble grip. “It’s Aifric!”

“Of Sûr-le-Mont? What happened to her?”

“She--... Ugh…” He leaned forward and retched. Boudicca groaned and stormed over to straighten him up.

“By the gods, hadn’t you been my brother I would have had you whipped for wasting my time. Now spit it out! What has befallen the théin?!”

“She-she killed a man! Three men!”

Boudicca recoiled and blinked. “She killed three men?”

Brian nodded. “She and her constables - it was by the South Gate Hall. They, they were Chelivyak, a young lad and two older men. They, they made some odd demands for tribute to their ‘zar’ or something and then drew blades when the théin told them to leave!”

The frown of Boudicca’s face hardened with every word and her eyes slowly shifted towards the doorway. She walked over, pulled aside the pelt and looked outside. “Chelivyak, Chelivyak…” She closed her eyes and turned back to the others. “Mountain clans, correct? Like the Uirda?”

"[C]eleviak," Juniper corrected.

They both ignored her. “More or less,” Brian agreed. “However, I stopped by the Hall of Pilgrims on the way and consulted the visiting Kaer Hrothgi, an expert on the eastern clans, explained that that part of the mountains is the home of death worshippers.”

Boudicca raised a sharp brow. “Sigerans?”

“Very similar, supposedly,“ Brian agreed. “Sister, what should we do?”

"Not close at all," Juniper said under her breath.

Boudicca pursed her lips in annoyance, tossing a glance back at Shae and Juniper. “Have Aifric come here this afternoon. She will be given a stern talk and then go free. As for the Sigerans, you will have them sent to the Temple of Sorrow to be properly burnt in sight of Naya so their spirits may pass properly into the afterlife. They will not be returned to the worshippers of death, for their own sakes.”

Brian blinked. “D-do we dare do something like that? What of their families? What of this supposed ‘zar’ demanding tribute?”

Boudicca scowled. “We do not deal with Sigerans, and according to my daughter, the mountain peoples of the east have heard nothing of cavalry, tactics nor food other than goats. If they are foolish enough to challenge the might of Ha-Dûna, then all they will prove is how fond they are of death.”

After a second of silence, Brian nodded slowly. “Yes, sanndatr…” He then hurried back out the doorway.

"With respect," Juniper piped up again, "The Čeleviak's aren't Sigerans or death worshippers."

Boudicca turned and raised a brow. “Come again?”

“My mom was a Čeleviak,” Juniper explained, blinking her eastern brown eyes, “They revere the process of life and understand death to be the equalizing end of it, and as such show reverence and respect to their God of Death. They bury their dead -” Juniper suddenly paused, “Usually in the soil near where they were born.”

“So they worship death, then?” the sanndatr replied stubbornly.

Juniper looked helplessly at Shae. The song pursed her lips. “This is the first I hear of these mountain people - uh, Čeleviak, Uirda? Are they the same thing? Anyway, from what you’re saying…” she opened her palms and and two jets of ink arose, one bright white and the other obsidian. They curled around one another, forming a bi-coloured circle. “Death and life are two parts of a circle. They complete each other. Without death,” the black side of the circle slipped away, “life would be incomplete. And so, like life, death is not evil and is to be honoured and worshipped.”

The white circle transformed into an idyllic scene, with little figures running around and enjoying life’s delights. “But here: life is honoured and loved and worshipped because there is good in it, pleasures and delights and goodness to be had.” The black ink arose and swept the white scene away, leaving nothing but darkness there. “Why would anyone worship or honour death?”

"It's easier to admire the stars than the backdrop that contrasts them," Juniper pointed out, "Or the words on the tablet rather than the tablet, but without the negative, you can't perceive the positive. One reason to honor death is as a reminder that you're alive, the other reasons are to ensure a good one, to prepare for whatever comes next. It keeps you humble, as well, knowing your fate isn't different than any other creature."

“Fine! Fine! So they differ from the Sigerans, to the extent that acolytes of death can differ from one another.” She rolled her eyes and approached Juniper with arms crossed over her chest and shoulders squared authoritatively. “Our objective right now is to get Shae somewhere safe before the Seekers find out - afterwards, you’re invited to tell your stories about these people over midday meals. For now, though - Shae, when can you be ready?”

The song looked thoughtfully to the side, glanced down at herself, and then smiled wistfully. She picked up her cloak and wrapped it around herself. “Before that question left your lips, Boudi, that’s when.”

"Then where to?" Juniper dropped her arms, "I know plenty of fabled sanctuaries." the song shrugged in response.

“Wherever those Seekers aren’t, I guess.” She looked at Juniper. “So you’re coming? What about all this mountain people stuff?”

"I figured that's why you snagged me here in the first place," Juniper admitted. "Besides, I'm sure I know some places of legend that the seekers wouldn't think to look, or even know to."

Shae smiled. “This mountain people stuff seemed like it had shaken your resolve for a second, just making sure.”

“I will go find Materix, then. Wait here. Pretend you’re not here if anybody knocks.” With that, Boudicca exited the longhouse. The song sat back down and stared into the flames.

“So, what places of legend are these that you’re thinking about?” She asked.

"Ever hear of the Fortress of Yalin?" Juniper crossed her arms.

“Nop,” the song said simply, stoking the fire. “Where is it?”

"I'm not entirely sure but I have a good idea -- either way that's another reason the Seekers wouldn't even think to go there." Juniper nodded.

“Well, I guess if we don’t know where we’re headed they definitely won’t.” Shae chortled, though there was little mirth there. “So your mum was from these mountain people? No one mentioned that - always the Twiceseven’s, never the mountainwoman’s, daughter. Did you ever live among them?”

"No," Juniper said simply, "My mother ran away from the mountains to be with my father. Stole her heart really."

There came stomps at the steps leading into the house and in came Boudicca once more, followed by her daughter Materix, who in truth took much more after her father, slenderer in the face than her mother’s broad jaw. She was already fully armed and armoured, and Boudicca clapped her on the shoulder proudly.

“Materix will take you to the river - there, you will meet with Grum Ferryman. He has been paid to keep quiet, so we only need to make certain you, Shae, stay hidden. Now hurry - the Seekers have no doubt sensed that something is happening.”

“We leave when you are ready, helgen,” Materix said dutifully.

Shae rose and brought her hood up, darkness enshrouding her face. She was still for a few moments, and then she approached Boudicca and looked her in the eye. She took her by the hand and rubbed her finger across the back of the sanndatr’s hand, leaving behind a small flame of ink on the back of her right hand. “Be well, Boudi. Don’t let your flame go out.” She stepped back and brought her hand to her chest as she had often seen them do, and then followed after Materix without a backward glance. As the two of them left, the sanndatr raised a brow at Juniper.

“What about you? Staying or going?”

"Going," Juniper didn't hesitate, "By the gods I'm going."

Boudicca nodded and thumbed at the doorway while she walked over to the dying embers of the fire. “Well, better hurry if you want to catch up. I told Materix to keep a high tempo, and Grum’s not the easiest fellow to find.” She tossed another log on the fire.

"You don't have to tell me twice," Juniper nodded thankfully, "Good luck with everything!" With that, she was gone as quickly as Shae.

• Summary

  Yo so basically we open with Junjun and Shae talking stories as always and then they find big Boody herself and talk about how Boodilicious and Shaeshae lied about the curse of Meg. Juniper is a little judgy but otherwise open to helping them out. In the end they decided that Juniper is going to being Shae to some far off place where the seekers can't find her. Also Bood learns about the dead Wojeck and orders his body burned.
• Might

  Meghzaal
  

  Consecrate Juniper with Traveler I title (1 DP): This person can comprehend all languages, and all who hear her understand what she is saying.

  
  
  0MP and 1DP remaining.

[*]

Prestiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiige

Boudicca 27 + 5 = 32
Juniper 5 + 5 = 10

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Dadomu, Capital of the Burgeoning Čeleviak Tsardom

Inside the great hall of the Tsar, loud drinking strumming bounced off the thick walls alongside dense laughter and the clinking of cups. Musicians with far from sober eyes played with lids half closed, and scantily dressed dancers could barely walk straight. The Auspices themselves, the wizened elders and the eager youths, both alike were soaked in the festivities. A bounty of food laid picked and nibbled on the messy table, and booming chants of old Čeleviak songs ricochet everywhere.

Over the noise, one of the young Auspices -- a man named Niamy -- tugged on the sacred beads of his friend, another young Auspice named Dmitri. Wine dribbled down Niamy’s white woolen robes, matching the red tattoos stark on his pale skin. “Hey... HEY!” He tried to get his friends attention. Dmitri sounded a sleepy hum with his lips on the rim of his drinking horn.

“Wha?”

"Look," Niamy said conspiring, eyebrows bouncing in the direction of the Tsar's seat. It was empty, plush with feather down and carved out of a gentle wood. It sat on a dias overlooking the feasting table. Without waiting for Dmitri, Niamy made his way over and slowly sat in it. He let out a groan of relaxation as he sank into the cushions. Dmitri nearly spat out his wine and laughed, shambling over and nearly tripping on the flat floor.

“Man, you’s in-SANE! Shih, we gonna get caught!”

"Caught by who!?" Niamy nearly shouted, "I'm the Ts..Tsar, you can tell by my seat, what I say guh-goes." He burped. Dmitri’s nose and eyes were running like rivers over his laughing face, the guffaw overpowering him to the point of collapsing to the ground, where he rolled around on his back, fumbling for his spilled horn.

"Concubine!" Niamy shouted at a nearby dancer (who scowled), "My feet are sore and require a rub!" He shifted "Muh-misewell get my back while yer at it too, this chair isn't as comfy as you'd-"

The doors to the great hall wafted open, slamming against the metal door stoppers with a massive bang. All color drained from Niamy, Dmitri, the dancers, and all the other party goers as the sight of Jjonveyo filled the doorway. His height alone made him look like a giant, but the terrible glare in his dark eyes made him look like a fragment of the god of death himself. His retainers, terrible and powerful as they were, seemed meek behind him.

Niamy fell flat on his face scrambling out of the chair, but it was too late, he was seen. Jjonveyo remained silent as he slowly walked through the scene. He picked up a cup off the table as he walked towards Niamy, spilling its stale contents to the floor with a look of disgust. Walking by a stunned dancer, he pushed the empty cup into her hands and continued. A scowl grew on his face as he stepped over sleeping drunks and out of commission Auspices, until finally he stood towering over Niamy and his friend Dmitri.

Niamy immediately stood up, suddenly frozen by Jjonveyo's booming voice. "Kneel."

Niamy fell back to his knees and bowed his head. Jjonveyo walked behind him. "Do you think yourself Tsar?"

"No-"

"I would hope not," Jjonveyo growled, "To use the tithe and resources of this hall for your own pleasure while your kith and kin pay for our salvation with their very lives. Chest bared to swords and axes, while your mouths gape at wine like thirst driven fools. Worthless fish, snapping its lips at any and all - even undeserved." Jjonveyo put his boot on Niamy's back. The Auspice squirmed but Jjonveyo barked again, "Do not move!"

The command bounced around the fear struck room, a cold adrenaline in everyone's chest as the moment stood still. Very slowly and almost gingerly, Jjonveyo pushed his boot against Niamy, slowly toppling him to his side - the Auspice daring not to move during the whole ordeal. As soon as he was on his side, Jjonveyo scowled and made his way to his throne. He sat with a heavy fall, now once again facing the scene from his chair of leadership. Eyes snapping to Dmitri, Jjonveyo pointed a finger, "What is your name, Baby Auspice? - I said do not move!" Jjonveyo slammed his fist against the arm of his chair, Niamy flinched but otherwise remained toppled over on the floor like a gutted pig.

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d…” was all the boy’s stupidly inebriated tongue could force out when faced with such terror, the rest of his body looking halfway ready to sprint for the hills any second, standing about halfway facing the exit.

Jjonveyo's stony frown was unwavering, "It is every brother's duty to ensure that their sibling does not stray from the path of charity and care for our people. Can you do that?"

“Yuh-YES! Yes, Zz--Tsar!” Dmitri thus hastened to kneel down and reach out to help his friend back to his feet. “W-we won’t do it again!”

"Don't move!" Jjonveyo roared. Niamy fell back to the ground, a wet spot forming under him. "If you hold the loyalty to the people in your heart and are unwavering to the cause..." Jjonveyo stared directly at Dmitri, "Strike your friend, beat him. Realign him with punishment, since you forgoed prevention through advice and council. He will not move or protest his punishment."

Dmitri blinked down at Niamy and held up his hand. “B-b-but I can’t! H-he’s m-m-my fr--!” Words came even less easy to him now as fear began to overman the alcohol in his body.

"Do you insult me? Was Alexseij not my own brother?" Jjonveyo growled, "Your hesitation to commit to your words of loyalty is disturbing." The Tsar waved a hand, "Piotr, drag the fallen fool out of here and strip him of his place as Auspice." The old retainer nodded before roughly pulling Niamy to his feet, all but lifting the whimpering man as he hauled him out of the hall. Jjonveyo turned his attention back at Dmitri.

"So not only have you drank the tithe for yourself and failed to stop your brother, but you spoke of loyalty and then refused to act upon it once it became unfavorable to you personally," Jjonveyo sat back in his chair, "From your perspective, how valuable of a unit is that in the sum of the whole?" The other Auspices and the retainers all looked at Dmitri in anticipation.

Dmitri was almost flat on the floor at this point, facing to the ground and holding only up his folded hands. “F’give me, midy Tsar! W-we just--... We didn’t mean anythin’ by it! Jus, jus don’t hurt my friend!”

Jjonveyo reached into a pouch tied around his waist, procuring a small deck of copper plate cards tied together by a ribbon. Printed into the metal were different symbols. The Tsar tossed them at Dmitri, the deck landing in front of him. "Divine." The young man squealed and covered his face to defend himself from the threat that never reached him.

"My Tsar," An older Auspice protested, "He isn't yet experienced-"

"Oh there will be punishment for you as well," Jjonveyo said, "I have not forgotten the elder Auspices here doing the same as these youths." He looked at the older Auspice, "Your young kin must have some use, no? Let's give him a chance to give back to his people." Looking back at Dmitri, Jjonveyo's dead serious eyes focused, "Tell me of Wojeck and Ha-Dûna."

Dmitri lowered his hands and licked his lips nervously. “I-I-I’ll need--... I’ll need--...” His eyes locked with the Tsar’s and one could practically see him weighing his options. Slowly, he gathered up the cards and shuffled them into a deck, light metallic scraping sounding between his fingers. He closed his eyes, heaved a deep breath and began laying five cards out face-down in a circle, in the centre of which he placed the fifth one. While he did, he nervously whistled a tune that seemed to reverberate with the fabric of the world, and through the walls one could hear sparrow song. He opened his eyes again and took the card furthest away from him, turning it over.

“The M-Messenger - Wojeck’s journey to Ha-Dûna went swiftly and with-without issue. He might have gotten there earlier than usual - the roads were most likely clean, thank Wandering Fsyot…” He turned the next card, frowning in surprise.

“The Jester…” After dismissing his surprise, he continued, “... He-he and his men ran in-into someone other than who they were looking for, or maybe someone like that person, or someone pretending to be them. The-the cards aren’t, aren’t…” He shrunk as he looked back up at the Tsar and continued. The following card hastened his breath.

“The Brother. There arose some kind of argument. I, I think he didn’t find the right person and, and something, something happened.” He turned an ear to the ceiling and nodded slowly. “The sparrows, they… They say something happened to the west.” He flipped the fourth card.

“The Warrior - weapons were drawn.” Impatiently, he turned the final card, gasping at the result, though nodding with silent understanding.

“The Snake…” He paused and looked back up at the Tsar. “Wojeck and his men didn’t make it out alive.”

"If this is true, baby Auspice," Jjonveyo seemed unmoved, but the keen eye could see a flicker of anger on his face, "Then Ha-Dûna has committed more crimes than pride and circumstance. Demtri will be heartbroken." Jjonveyo stood from his throne. "We march west. Piotr!"

The old retainer poked his head in from outside, "My Tsar?"

"Keep to my hall and overtake administrations, I wish to personally collect the body of Wojeck." His eyes wandered to Dmitri, "Living or dead." Piotr nodded and Jjonveyo waved another command, " Send correspondence to Demtri."

Pointing a finger at Dmitri, Jjonveyo said, "You're coming with me." Fumbling while picking them up, Dmitri ended up leaving the cards behind on the way to his feet as he hastened to keep up with the Tsar.

The newly acquainted pair stepped from the hall, an amazing sight facing them both. Through the streets of Dadomu, Jjonveyo’s host awaited their Tsar. Like a flood of metal and warriors, the newly reformed Čeleviak army stood. To the left, Dmitri saw the almost solid formation of spearmen, to the right -- a forest of archers, and straight ahead the dreaded cavalry that made waves the day it smashed through the tribes of Alexseij.

“We will rain the fury of our kin upon all who stand in our way to salvation, boy,” Jjonveyo said with a sense of pride in his voice.

Summary

A party is being thrown at the hall of the Tsar by Auspices who had snuck away after the conquest of Alexseij. There we meet Niamy and Dmitri, two young Auspices. Niamy begins to mock the Tsar by pretending to be him and using his throne -- just as Jjonveyo arrives. Jjonveyo indeed instills enough fright into the young man to make him wet himself and lose his ranking among the people. Dmitri is then lectured and given a chance to prove he isn’t useless by giving a card reading to the Tsar. He predicts Wojeck’s death, and we end with Piotr taking control of the Hall while Jjonveyo begins his march west -- a massive host alongside him.

Prestige

Prestige = 7+4 = 11

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

The Village of Skan, home a minor tribe

The sounds of battle were already dying, the small village of Skan already buckling under the ferocity of Jjonveyo’s forces. Every house had a busted down door, pools of blood painting the entrances of the more resistant Skanians. Jjonveyo himself stood before a violent man far past any notion of reason. The Skanian man held a copper bladed axe with both hands, fury burning in his eyes. They stood between two homes, a cowering boy not even in his double digits was hiding in the shadows, tears running down his face.

With a roar, the Skanian swung his axe. Despite his enormous size, Jjonveyo moved like liquid out of its way, angling himself for his own hefty swing. His own axe swung quick, cleaving into the man’s skull and knocking his corpse off its feet. The body bounced off the wall of the house before folding to the ground. Jjonveyo gritted his teeth, dark eyes falling on the cowering boy.

Jjonveyo’s footsteps seemed to shake the boy’s world with each impact until finally the giant of a man was towering over him. The heavy axe head thudded into the ground beside the boy, Jjonveyo kneeling until he was face to face with the sobbing child. The boy’s cheeks were stained red with tears, snot dripping from his nose. Jjonveyo met the sight with a hard analytical glare. The boy was breathless with sobs, so Jjonveyo seemed to talk for him. The Tsar’s voice rumbled, shaking the boy’s attention so they stared eye to eye.

“Do you want to live?”

The boy nodded quickly.

“So do we,” Jjonveyo slowly offered a calloused hand. Scared, the boy slowly gripped the man’s fingers. With a ginger pinch, Jjonveyo grabbed ahold of the boy’s hand and slowly lifted him to his feet.

“My Tsar!” Piotr’s voice found Jjonveyo, and the dark man turned to his retainer.

“Take census of the village,” Jjonveyo commanded quickly, “Let the survivors know I prefer peace.”

“Yes my Tsar,” Piotr nodded, “But I hold news.”

The Tsar’s eyes darkened, glaring deep into Piotrs. The Retainer tipped his head to avoid eye contact, “The Village of Jren refuses to give tithe on account that they aren’t Čeleviak.”

A deep hum growled from Jjonveyo, his eyes flickering over to the boy then back at Piotr, “They insult their Tsar and kin?”

“I’m afraid so.”

Jjonveyo exhaled through his nose, “What is their census?”

“About two hundred and fourteen individuals.”

“The Tsar prefers mercy; execute every tenth, hang their elder, and inform them that they are now Čeleviak.” Jjonveyo stood perfectly straight, eyes flickering once again at the boy. “We are all in this together. To tithe is to ensure your kin and kith live, to deny the tithe is a grave crime against all.” He flicked back to Piotr, “Demtri will be boyar of Jren in place of their elder, inform him of my desires.” Jjonveyo kicked his axe up and over his shoulder, walking away from his most recent victory.

“My Tsar?” Piotr’s voice came again. Jjonveyo didn’t stop, a simple “Hm?” Coming from him.

“Wojeck still hasn’t sent word.”

“Mm...” The groan came, “No doubt the proud and greedy of Ha-Duna have done something vile. What do the Auspices say?” Jjonveyo turned to Piotr. Piotr shrugged.

“They returned to your hall after your victory over Aleksiej.”

Jjonveyo frowned deeply, “We will head to the hall of the Tsar, then, and consult them.” He paused, “No doubt they have grown lazy on my pillows and drunk with my dancers.” Disappointed he let out another rumble, “They will march with me after they give me the reading I know they will.”

A shortie

WE visit the village of Skan where we find the end of a tiny invasion by Jjonveyo concluding. He lectures a scared child briefly and passes judgement on a rebelling village nearby known as Jren. After requesting census to be taken on Skan and punishment on Jren, he is reminded about Wojeck’s absence. He requests the insight of the Auspices but is informed that they left his company for his hall after his campaign against Aleksiej and so he decides to head home to gather them before marching on Ha-Duna.

Prestige

5+2=7, Jjonveyo

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

HMMM

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

The Great Hall of Chief Aleksiej -- Last holdout of the Čeleviak tribes

Tables were toppled, chairs were split, wooden bowls and bone carved cups were strewn about. The walls were spattered with a mixed mess of a now unidentifiable concoction, and the great door that led into this pine log hall was crushed into the floor, a single metal hinge squeaking against a growing wind outside. By the foot of the Chieftain Aleksiej’s wooden throne was the Chieftain himself, eyes open wide in terror and a gaping cut nearly cleaving his head from his neck. Under him laid his wife, her eyes closed as if she resigned peacefully when her chest was split open. Jjonveyo, the man who sat on the throne, knew that wasn’t true.

A bloodied axe lay across his crimson died pants, one calloused finger tapping against its ivory pommel. Specks of blood flaked in Jjonveyo’s deep black beard and moustache and his dark eyes stared thoughtfully at his slaughtered nephews and nieces. Their bodies littered around his brother Aleksiej’s, bloody and broken. A dense circlet weighed more on his head than his thoughts, though - he felt no remorse in the massacre.

“Is it done?” A voice called from the fallen door, the long grey beard of a man named Piotr poking in. Jjonveyo simply looked up from his deeds and narrowed his eyes. Piotr gulped and took a step in, but as his first footfall hit the wooden floors, Jjonveyo’s voice rumbled from his gruff throat.

“They dwell in the caves of Thaa, now, as cowards.” It was a decree as much as a statement, and one that Piotr didn’t dare question. His old eyes looked as if they desired to ask a question, but instead his lips waited. Jjonveyo waved a hand and Piotr tilted his head.

“You are Tsar.” Piotr announced.

“I am,” Jjonveyo’s voice was certain and without any doubt in the fact, “Čeleviak united...” There was a dense pause, and Jjonveyo stood up a whole head taller than Piotr. He looked down at his loyal retainer, “What of Wojeck, has he returned from Ha-Dûna?”

“No,” Piotr said, following the Tsar who was now on his way out of the hall. Silence overtook the pair again as they crossed the threshold to the outside, where Jjonveyo’s warriors were still picking loot from the dead warriors and people who lived under his brother Aleksiej. Jjonveyo’s glare seemed to follow the scene and a low rumble hummed in his throat as he thought.

“Leave your trinkets!” He suddenly barked, his words freezing the scene, “We will not take from Čeleviaks, they now know who is their Tsar -- leave their wealth so they can multiply it for the tithe.” The warriors blinked at Jjonveyo, but quickly began to drop whatever they had looted to the floor -- survivors huddled in the shadows of broken yurts and a-frame homes watching on desperately. “We already have so little,” Jjonveyo confided in Piotr, voice a low grumble.

“You’re a generous leader,” Piotr remarked, mouth hanging open as if wanting to say more. Jjonveyo frowned.

“But no word from Wojeck?”

“No.” Piotr reminded.

“Then we must wait longer to see if the people of Ha-Dûna will find the caves of Thaa in death, or the mountainside above.” Jjonveyo rolled his jaw in thought, eyes glued to the dark grey banner hanging from the ruined great hall -- the image of a devouring snake upon it. Flicking his eyes back to Piotr he spoke, “Collect my warriors.”

Ha-Dûna

The autumn harvest was approaching its end, and sleds, carts and farmers with baskets and haystacks on their backs filled the mud-path streets to the brim, flowing in and out of the city gates like the tide. Druids patrolled every resthouse, silo and storehouse, scraping down the amounts on oak and birch tablets. Overseeing the peace were leather-armoured constables armed with whips, ready to punish any who dared short their taxes or sneak handfuls of grain and vegetables. Children zoomed between the legs of adults and animals, playing with sticks. By the largest resthouse, the South Gate Hall, théin Aifric rubbed her groggy eyes, hardly paying attention anymore to the masses of ethnicities from the southern farmlands that came with all kinds of taxable and untaxable goods. She had to kick herself awake several times - it may have been the last day, but she had beheld this very sight for weeks now. The responsibilities of a théin weren’t always as exciting.

“Théin Aifric?” asked the druid tallying the goods. Aifric instinctively took the whip off her belt and slowly rolled it out.

“Alright… How many?”

The druid blinked and shook her head. “No, no, no - it’s not a criminal this time.” Aifric frowned in surprise and looked up to see the line of farmers and herders shiver as one at the sight of the whip. At the head of the line, though, stood a man. He was dressed in thick woolen clothes hardened with a leather chap. A great serpent was stitched into the chest of his coat, mouth agape and eyes clearly gouged out. The man himself looked rather young, but held experience in his sharp dark eyes. He was flanked by two similar looking men of varying ages. They all wore the same dark beard and moustache.

“You are an official?” The middle man’s voice was thick and groggy with an accent that could only be described as Čeleviak. It was as if speaking Dûnan words made his tongue swollen and slow. The théin blinked.

“I am,” she replied curtly. “What’s this? Uh… Chelivyak, right - there’s no mistaking that accent. You are very far from home, man. You’ve got goods to tax?”

“No,” The man, Wojeck, said sternly, “I have come for tithe to the Tsar.” He pulled a wooden circle out of his coat and pushed it into Aifric’s hands. On its sanded surface were surprisingly well written Dûnan characters and numerals. It almost looked like one of the inventory reports for the post-tax season, but the way it was written and the context made it clear that it was a list of demands. The théin hardened her eyes skeptically.

“First of all, it’s ‘fithe’. Second of all, we have no such law. What even is a saar, anyway?” She turned the plate around in her hand before giving it back. “If you’ve had your fun, stop wasting my time, son.”

The plate was shoved back at Aifric, narrow black eyes glaring from Wojeck. “Jjonveyo the Great demands his tithe under threat of annihilation. Your law is now under his, your time is now under his. Jjonveyo the Great is a man of mercy, and wishes a simple transition of the tithe.” The two other men grunted in agreement. The théin snarled and shoved him back forcefully.

“Back off! I don’t know what you’ve eaten today, but you are far out of line. Go home to your saar or whatever he is and tell him to send a better joker next time.” She flexed her hand around her whip. “Do not make me repeat myself again.”

The three men looked between themselves. Wojeck slowly grinned menacingly, “What is your name, that you speak so cocky against Jjonveyo?”

“What is my--” The woman looked to not know whether to laugh or snarl, standing dumbfounded before the men. The tax line had at this point stopped, and the druid and the constables were paying close attention. Aifric uncoiled her whip. “I wouldn’t give a damn about this Joanveyoh even if I had a damn to give. You can go right home and tell whoever that even is that Aifric, théin of Ha-Dûna and daughter of Clan Sûr-le-Mont, sent his loon of a messenger back home with those words - and if you even open your mouth right now, I will give you as many lashes as it takes to get you to leave. You are wasting my and everybody else here’s time with your games.”

A roar of laughter erupted from Wojeck, and he turned to one of the other bearded men -- explaining something in Čeleviak. The other man started to laugh with Wojeck, the latter following last. All at once they turned to Aifric, Wojeck pointing a finger, "I had no idea I was speaking to an ignorant, indeed I have wasted time. Pray tell, where may I find an official?" He quickly added, "Capable of diplomacy."

That was the last drop, and the théin lifted her whip, cracking it furiously at the three men. More constables hurried over to help, taking out their own whips. “Go! Get out of here, you slobs! Back to your dirty caves!”

The whip lashed across Wojeck's chest, but his ears perked at the mention of caves - pushing him through the pain. He gritted his teeth and barked something in Čeleviak. The other men narrowed their eyes. Wojeck and one of the others whipped out daggers from their coats, murder in their eyes.

"Stop!" The oldest of the three suddenly shouted, voice dripping with a foreign accent thicker than Wojeck's. Wojeck and the other man hesitated.

“He’s pulled a blade!” shouted one of the constables. The crowd of people who had come to pay taxes screamed and scattered, and the théin and her warriors pulled their own weapons, most of them axes, but Aifric’s, a long dagger. They then jabbed and lunged the Čeleviak, trying to get a good stab in, the first stab puncturing the hesitating Wojeck. The blade sunk deep into the base of his neck, a rough gurgle spattering out.

The old man's eyes widened with fear and in a moment, he had his own blade drawn and deep in the leg of Aifric. He pulled it out in time to dodge an axe swing from a constable - the same constable shrieking in pain as the last Čeleviak stabbed his blade into their heart.

An axe came crashing down into the man's back, and before the older man could retaliate and avenge - an axe slammed into his own. He fell to the ground, bone crunching against the axe blade. The constables stood panting over the corpses until one of them turned to the théin, shouting, “The théin! She’s wounded! Kaer Samwyn, do something!” The druid, shocked by what had just transpired, hastened to action with healing Aifric’s leg. One of the constables took the head of the one whose heart had been stabbed and lifted his torso onto her lap, tears filling her face.

“Ron… No… Oh gods, not Ron…” She looked pleadingly over at the druid, who looked back and shook her head slowly.

“There’s nothing I can do for him… I’m sorry. He’s in the afterlife now, being welcomed by his mothers and fathers of yore.”

The constable broke down sobbing.

---

MP Summary

Thaa Start: 4 MP, 3 DP
-2 MP, 3 DP Consecrate Hero
End: 2 MP 0 DP

Jjonveyo

MP 2, DP 3, 2 Free Titles

MP

Regeneration II: Jjonveyo can regenerate from most of any normal wound within minutes.

DP and 2 Free titles due to Undying port

Undying V: Jjonveyo can survive wounds and even can slowly heal that which should have killed an ordinary man. They won't go into shock or otherwise be debilitated beyond the physical debasement, an arm cut off means that they can't use that arm, not that they have been declawed. Their soul is tied to their body by bonds stronger than that life ordinarily permits, as such even when they should be dead, they remain tied to their body as it tries to heal to whatever extent it can.

Summary

We open with Jjonveyo sitting on the throne of his brother Aleksiej, who he had just killed along with the entire family. Jjonveyo is one of six Chieftains of the Čeleviak ethnicity that lives in the harshest mountains by Ha-Duna. With the murder of his brother, Jjonveyo had now successfully killed the other five Chieftains of the Čeleviaks over the course of a year. Being the sole ruler of the Čeleviaks, he is named Tsar and begins to amass an amazing army.

Back at Ha-Duna, Jjonveyo’s nephew -- Wojeck -- arrives to demand “tithe” for the great Tsar. He is continuously mocked by the Thein receiving him, Aifric. Wojeck returns the mockery and then suggests talking to a more diplomatic official, but is met with whips. Insulted, Wojeck and one of his lackeys pulls blades to kill Aifric but are stopped by a third Čeleviak emissary. Unfortunately Aifric and the other constables are already descending on them and Aifric kills Wojeck. The other two Čeleviak are quickly dispatched, with only one constable dying and Aifric suffering a minor wound. It is assumed that without Wojeck’s word ever reaching back to Jjonveyo, that Ha-Duna has chosen war.

Prestige

Jjonveyo 0+5=5

Divinus: The God RP, Mk. IV

Juniper and Shae

The sun only just started to rise. Its murky golden rays cut over the red roofs of the surrounding buildings and spilled into the half open window of Juniper Twiceseven’s room. She laid on her back, big brown eyes wide open as they sucked in the new light. There was a dryness on her face, having been awake for at least an hour. Her breathing didn’t change much with the realization that it was now properly morning - just a small knit in her brow recognizing that this was starting to become a habit.

Reluctantly she kicked the wide bed’s covers away from her body, revealing an acorn laying ontop of her chest, a cheap silver wire tying it to a thin silver lace about her neck. Her fingers were already toying with it, as they had been since she woke up. Tucking a slant into her cheek she looked down at it and slipped it under her collar. Rising, much as one would imagine a creaky corpse might rise from a coffin, she sat up -- fluffing a hand through her messy nest of soot black hair.

Rolling the rest of the way out, she looked at the clothes folded on a chair in the corner of her room. Quickly she started to count her fingers, sure she didn’t see more than three people she knew yesterday. She raised her chin and looked to the ceiling as a thought started to form -- no it was four.

“Still in the clear,” She said without much enthusiasm and snagged them from their resting spot.

The process was quick and punctuated with an angry brush cleaving through her hair up until she gave up on it. Tying it up, she walked into the only other room her little home had -- the kitchen. There she stared at a bowl of oats and a cold hearth. She tucked another slant in her cheek.

“Later,” She promised, “I’ll eat twice what I missed.”

With her oath settled, she slipped on some beat up boots and threw her trusty grey and white checkered cloak over her trusty burgundy tunic. Snapping a smile on her face, she made another oath, “Today will be a good day. Tomorrow even better, and the day after that...” She fell into her mantra as she slammed her front door behind her.

It was a cold Macsalsday morning - as all Dûnan mornings were - and the first thlénn had not set in yet. These summer days were long, but if one wanted to be up with the sun - as Juniper did - then you just had to sleep less. People were already stirring, and the odd, “mornin’ ta yeh, Jun,” piped out. The particularly energetic Kala was already making her Macsalday pie, and she popped her head out of the window and called her to join them.

“You look like you’ve had nothing but oats again,” the motherly woman said with a smile. “Come on in now, the college can wait.”

Juniper scrunched her right eye at the sun, the left peering at Kala. A thought buzzed just for a moment -- more of a mental wince -- regarding Kala’s observation. But with a brilliant smile, Juniper managed to ward off the rest of the thought. “Sure,” She replied, mustering what morning social energy she could find.

The little woman hummed to herself as she let Juniper in, pulling up a chair for her. “And how are things going at the college? Learned any good morning ditties yet?” She asked as she placed a slice of pear and apple pie before her. A pair of feet could be heard scrambling about, and a little brown-haired boy came dashing from the only other room the little home had, making himself comfortable in one of the seats. A grumble followed, and a big bearded man came lumbering in after him.

“Gods, where do you find the energy so early,” he half-growled, walking up to the pie.

“No! No, sit down Feidlir,” Kala rushed over and just about caught the bear’s hand, pulling him away.
He sat down and looked tiredly at Juniper, muttering a low, “g’mornin’.” Calloused hands tapped at the wooden table and he stared out of the open window for a few seconds. “Can ye shut the damn thing, it’s freezin’.” Kala drew it shut and stoked returned to stoking the fire.

“Well you better start seeing to our wood stores, you’re burning through it and it’s not even winter yet.” The woman gave a frustrated glance, and he growled something incomprehensible in response. Soon enough she sat herself down and they all tucked into the pie.

“Akh, it’s bitter as dog shite.” He muttered, but Kala just sighed and smiled at Juniper.

“What was I saying? Oh, yes, the college.”

With one finger poking into her slice of pie, Juniper finally looked up. She blinked twice before slippering her arm back under her cloak, “Oh right.” Her thoughts returned to the conversation at hand, “Well you know how it is -- I go in, I recite old stories, the kids recite them back” Sucking in a breath she recalled the most recent, “Lately it’s been mostly histories regarding the local area.”

“Well, your job is even more important now. Everyone has been terrible worried about Macsal’s cursesong - if you don’t teach ‘em well and make good art who knows what’ll happen. And all this business of war, I’ve never understood it. Anyhow, are you going to come by again afterwards? I’ve been dying for you to finish off the story of how you got away from those Sigerans. And I know my little Callfir has too.” The brown-haired boy looked up from his pie. “I think he has the makings of a bard, if you ask me.”

"Maybe I will," Juniper lied with a flash of guilt, knowing all too well she'd likely be isolating herself in her room later. Turning her attention to Callfir she smiled, eyes squinting as they do, "I can see it. He has the energy." Poking a chin at Feidlir, she continued, "Don't let the hairy one take that away, even if he groans."

“Oh, you know I never,” Kala laughed, then she leaned in and put a hand on Juniper’s forearm. “Oh, and just so you know, Herla is back from the north and hasn’t stopped gabbering about what she saw out there. She’ll be here tonight, so you be sure to come by now.”

"I'll do my best," Juniper offered, following the weak tone with a strong smile. Standing from her chair she held onto the smile, "Thank you for inviting me to breakfast, I really appreciate it. I'm sorry I don't have much to say this morning but hey I'll try and stop by later." She eyed the door, "But work awaits."

The Bard College was in every way a magnificent structure. It’s smooth brown walls rose like cliff faces into the skies of Ha-Dûna, the many red roofs juxtaposing beautifully against the brown beneath. Perhaps in days past the mere sight of it would have been enough to whittle away at any doubts and fill her with energy, these days it did not quite cut it.

Moving over a great stone bridge, through a gateway, and into the main courtyard, Juniper allowed herself to pause a moment before the great statue to Eoghan that commanded the centre of the plaza.

As if talking to the frozen face, Juniper whispered under her breath, "What?" She waited long enough for a response that wouldn't come. She exhaled through her nostrils, "Figures."

“I’ve seen plenty of people talking to those old rocks up in the circle, but no one’s been talking to this one.” Came a euphonious voice, and from behind the statue came a woman, her cheeks flushing in the cold morning air. “Which is really quite a shame, because this old hunk has a lot to say.” She flashed her a small smile, more alluring than nature allowed.

At first the words entered Juniper's ears holding a familiar feeling that caused the woman's chest to tighten and face to heat with emotion. There was an itch behind her eyes that's swelling only stopped upon recognition of the speaker. "About twenty-nine years of stories, even," Juniper managed with a sputter, her surprise splashing over her face. Shaking the slouch off her shoulders, Juniper forced a smile through her sudden conflict of emotion. Her eyes cringed as they met the Song's, seeing a certain beauty she wasn't hoping to see, "I'm sorry, you reminded me of someone else for a moment." She paused, "but it's Shae, right?"

“If you like,” the song intoned, trailing a finger across the base of the statue. “I was told you like to be here early - ‘if you’re after good stories, it’s the Twiceseven’s daughter yer after’. Complain enough about the stories going round any resthouse and that’s what you’re bound to hear eventually.” She glanced at the other woman, “but you probably already know that.” She reached into the folds of her clothes and emerged with an apple hued with pinks and yellows and reds and greens. In her hands it seemed quite unlike any apple that grew from a tree. “An apple for a story, if you like? Tell me who you saw in my eyes.”

"That story doesn't have an end," Juniper shook her head, "But really, I have any other story you could like - oh!" Juniper's smile forced her to squint, "That actually reminds me of a story regarding a young druid that went out into the mountains in search of something precious." Juniper paused, "Have you heard that one?"

Shae looked across the courtyard to the great gates of the college, the smallest knot in her brows. “I know of a certain druid who seems to be looking for something, but I don’t think this is the same one.” She stepped away from the statue, drawing her tartan cloak about her, and sat back on one of the benches. “Go on, I’m all ears.”

"Likely not," Juniper pressed on, putting herself before the sitting Shae as if she were on a stage. "You see this druid's name isn't as important as his story. It's simple enough though, you see he took it upon himself to travel high into a far away mountain range in search of something precious. He toiled and traveled and walked and grew weak. For days he did this, rising with the sun and settling with the stars, until he lost count of how many days and nights passed on his journey." Juniper shook her head as if dismissing her own tale, "But you see, one day this druid came across an insurmountable obstacle, his goal just on the other side."

There was a pause.

"So what he did was he took his knapsack and threw it over to his goal." She tucked a slant into her cheek, "And now he knew he was going to reach his goal, this way or that, the obstacle would be surmounted or circumvented and he would be reunited with what was precious." Shae fiddled with the apple, her thoughtful eyes on Juniper. She rose and handed her the apple.

“Mysterious, I can just about make out a homiletic pinch to it.” She leaned in and looked Juniper in the eye with a curious smile. “Only question is, which bit did you make up?”

Juniper rolled the apple in her hands and shrugged, "None of it, it's an old story belonging to... Well everyone. It's like the story of change: how the only thing that never changes is change and that with time, even the face of a mountain can change." She put the apple on the armbar of the bench, "Could even turn an obstacle into something else if not nothing."

“Now that’s wisdom right there. But what use is a story if it needs explaining?” She let the tune hang in the air then reached into her clothes and emerged with another apple, biting into it.

"It incites thought." Juniper defended and took a seat, "Not everything needs to be understood right away." She pointed a finger as if scolding a child, "As they say to the students: there is a difference between telling a story and sharing one."

“That a story should incite thought and provide insights is a noble goal, no doubt - but if that is all it does then it’s not a story at all, just a lesson.” Shae countered with a small smile, her eyes twinkling. “Shouldn’t a story teach you while you are unaware of that fact? Shouldn’t those thoughts and insights emerge unconsciously as you go on living your life?” She cocked her head and took another bite from the apple.

"Speaking of the two," Juniper snapped a finger, "Didn't you ask me for a story and now you're giving me a lesson?" She drummed her fingers on her lap, "Not to sound rude, of course. Why don't you try telling me a story instead? I promise I'll steal it." Shae chortled melodiously.

“Hey, don’t blame me if all your thought inciting worked!” She glanced at the other woman, then scratched her nose with a finger. “Ah, a story. I don’t think I could do one as thoughtful as you.”

"Then don't," Juniper offered her untouched apple back to Shae, "Who says there needs to be thought, reason, or rhyme?" The song looked up to the sky for a few moments, then rose and took a small breath, loosening her tartan cloak and standing before her in the cold. She swayed from side to side, humming to herself with eyes closed. And then her crooning voice came like a gentle wave, a wave that slowly but surely rose with the tide until it became a cascading deluge of sound and harmony.

When hale Caden to Naya wed
The gods from far all came
And meats were lined and all were sat
And all their furies tamed
And all was joyness for a while
There at the godly feast
And all hostil'ty was forgot
As palms became full greased
For food and joy is, as oft said,
The path to any heart
So eat ye gods and drink full draughts
Forget the deadly dart!
Rose Boris, stone full-flushed with drink
And raised the hearty horn
'To ye, my friends an famalam
'To wee gods yet unborn!
'To yer endless beauty, Naya,'
Then, 'wat'ry Clar!' he said:
'To yer ugly gob, ye fat mutt!
'I wish that ye were dead!'
Well then the feast became a fray
The guests raised spears and bows
A furious moon rose bright and cold
Beneath it battle rows
And all on earth below them cried
And like took up to war
The gnashing rat struck here, and there
Trolls, men, cut deep and tore
And on the mount and on the shore
And 'neath the darkest wave
The clash of gods quicked mortal hearts
All got as good they gave
And when the feuding gods all stopped
And put aside their jibes
Hale Caden paused and looked on down
At all the warring tribes
'Why do you fight, you down below?'
Said he with growing frown
And all of them looked up in thought
As all the gods looked down
'We fight down here, you gloried one
'As you must surely know
'As up above among the gods
'So too it is below!'
'Not so! Not so!' Cried Reiya's light
'Not while yet here I shine
'The gods may fight their endless wars
'Their blood the sea of brine
'And yet below let peace still reign
'No heart by rancour torn
'Praises to Boris, too to Clar
'Raise ye to both the horn!
'The feuds of gods are their affairs
'And not for you below
'So go off home, ye warring tribes
'And till the earth and grow!'
And there by Caden and Naya
The gods all shared a meal
And all on earth was a long peace
And wounds and hurts did heal
And though the gods still clash above
And though they fight and cry
We mortals have no need for war
'tis vain that we thus die
The fight of gods is fought by gods
The fight of men by men
And better yet fight not at all
And let peace reign again!

The song’s hums and notes continued for a time after her poetic lay was concluded, and then she stopped at last, opened her eyes, and looked at Juniper before taking up her cloak again. “By the Lady, I can never get used to this cold.” She shivered.

Juniper clapped, "And there you have a story -- which I'll keep my word about." Juniper's eyes opened wide with sudden panic, "I'm late!" She shot to her feet and turned to Shae, "I'm late!" The song looked around in confusion. Students were just about beginning to stream in and she knew that lessons were not due to begin for a while yet. She glanced back at Juniper.

“Late? Late for wh-” she stopped abruptly, her eyes wide and fixed on something behind Juniper, lips pursed. She cleared her throat and moved slightly so that the other girl was between her and whatever had caught her eye. “Actually, I think I should get out of here too.” She whispered.

Juniper's panicked face raised a suspicious brow, "Story?"

Shae grinned and took her by the hand. “If you like.” And with that she hurried to the side of the plaza, disappearing between the pillars and the growing tide of students. “Is there a back exit or something?” She glanced at the main gate, where a number of bald druids were staring intently in their general direction. “I’d prefer not to go that way.”

Juniper frowned, "I don't think so-" She made a sudden face, as if resigning to a dumb idea. Gripping Shae's arm, Juniper yanked her into the closest building. They flowed with the influx of students until Juniper tugged Shae once again, the pair slipping through a thick oaken door.

Inside, the office they snuck into a room reeked of mould often associated with scholars, plus the stench of pipeweed and other smokables. The entire place was otherwise immaculate, with everything neatly coordinated and labeled. "Cleanliness is unique among bards, I know," Juniper cracked as she yanked on Shae's arm once again - pulling her over to a shuttered window that stood about shoulder height on the wall. "I boost you up, then you me?" She said, nervously looking at the door to the room. Shae nodded, glancing out of the open windows to see if there was anyone waiting there. Assured that there was nothing beyond the odd student or passerby, she raised her leg gracefully and lithely lifted off Juniper’s readied hands.

Finding her balance quickly, she held onto the side of the window and extended a hand to Juniper. “How did you ever last in this smelly old place?”

"By being smelly." Juniper grabbed Shae's hand and began to yank herself up to the window. At that moment, the door began to open -- a wispy haired old man tottering in. He gasped at the sudden sight. Before he could grumble a word beyond a scoff, Juniper pushed Shae out the window, toppling after her and straight into a generous bush.

They were in the shrubs outside the college walls, nicked and stuffed with leaves. A big adrenaline smile was on Juniper's face, fading quick into worry. "Before he looks out the window!" She hissed, jolting back up to her feet.

Red-faced, grinning, and leaking ink where the small twigs had penetrated her thin skin, Shae leapt spryly from the bush and went flowing after Juniper. They were soon safe between the houses and Shae slowed to a dignified walk as people bowed and generally showed their deference for the helgen. She soaked in the attention and weaved her way through them with relative ease. “Know anywhere we can sit away from all…” she glanced around at the hustle and bustle, “this?”

"Yeah," Juniper nodded and tilted her head in the direction of the farms, "I know a lonely white pine surrounded by brush." Shae glanced at her with a raised eyebrow.

"It's a thinking spot," Juniper shot a defense.

“Must make for some very happy thoughts,” Shae chortled. “Show me to it, my lady.” She half bowed and gestured for her to lead the way. Juniper shook her head but walked on regardless.

Within a short amount of time, the pair skirted a mostly empty field plus a few orchards, and found their way to -- as Juniper described it -- a very lonely white pine, the only in the surrounding area in fact. Pushing through the brush that grew in its periphery, the two were soon shaded from all.

Inside this little secret land, a good amount of old dried grass and leaves bedded up against the trunk of the tree, giving its otherwise gnarled base a sort of comfy sitting spot. Juniper motioned to the tree, a flash of sadness briefly behind her grin, "As the guest, you get sitting rights."

Shae shook of her tartan cloak, looking up into the tree’s canopy while descending to her knees. “I’d prefer to…” she lay down, her eyes fixed on the canopy, “lie down.” She paused for a few seconds. “Have you ever looked up at a branchless tree against the sky? It’s most striking at night against the moonlight and stars.”

"Is this the start of a story?" Juniper leaned a shoulder against the tree and looked down at Shae. The song glanced at her and shook her head.

“No,” she crooned, “just an odd thing I noticed. No trees where I come from, no night, no stars, moon, sun. You notice those little things.” She exhaled and was quiet for some time. “So, uh. I might know somebody who told a little lie and might be in a pinch of trouble.” She turned to her side and leaned up against her hand, looking at Juniper.

"Is it me?" Juniper asked ridiculously. The song narrowed her eyes, a smile playing around her lips.

“Now I’m suspicious.” She pursed her lips. “Let’s just say… the name isn’t important for the story.” She looked at the tree trunk, her gaze drifting upwards. “The people here are obsessed with the gods. I’m not complaining, I love the attention. ‘Macsaldatr, Macsaldatr,’ it’s great. And it’s not like I’m doing anything nefarious. But see, there’s somebody who might have told a little teeny tiny lie about one of the gods… and everyone believed it. Except a few tuneless boors who have been giving this friend of mine a hard time.” She ran her free hand through her hair.

"Uh oh, lying about the gods. I hear that makes their ears itch -- imagine the ear infection from a whole city doing it." Juniper waved a hand, grin in her face, "Go on."

The song half-grimaced at the thought, but could not contain a grin of her own. “I guess it must be a pretty bad infection - the god in question hasn’t cast his punishment down upon us all yet. But anyhow, this friend of mine - she’s getting pretty tired of these fellas following her about. I’m no expert in these things, but surely somebody who's heard it all like you knows a trick or two, right?”

"Depends," Juniper mentally catalogued a few similar stories, "Who exactly your friend is evading, which god... The goal of the protagonist." She tapped her chin, "Genre."

“I wouldn’t call my friend the protagonist as such - more like a single-purpose character. Like the old man who sits by the cross-roads and tells the protagonist which way to go. The protagonist is after the great treasure - peace - and the old man took him to the side, told him not to take either route, and pointed out the short-cut, that’s all.”

"Aw, well that isn't very fair to your friend to picture them merely as an old man at a crossroad." Juniper pointed out.

“Oh I doubt it’ll be any skin off their nose. The point of the old man is that he doesn’t get stuck in adventures - and now he’s being tracked down by angry hooligans. It’s not what he signed up for when he walked into this story, I can tell you that. Or at least, not that kind of adventure.”

"Well, what do you wa- er you're friend wants.. Does? What does your friend want." Juniper knitted her brow, "Yeah, what does your friend want?"

“Oh, I don’t know,” Shae sighed, “maybe losing the hooligans would be a good start. And if they tell everybody that the protagonist took a shortcut it would be disastrous - that hard-won peace will be shattered.” She looked at Juniper with sudden realisation. “We need to warn the protagonist.”

"You calling me an old man?" Juniper frowned, "Can't say I can't blame you... Okay sure, this is very roundabout but I'm already likely in trouble with the professor I assist under so why not pull this a little longer? Makes for a good story at least. What's the details?"

Shae sat up and tapped her fingers against one another. “Uh, I’m not sure if this is my story to tell, really. We should go to the protag- uh, Boudicca.”

"B-Boudicca?" Juniper stood up straight, "Are you sure that's even okay!?"

“I mean, unless you can think of some covert way of getting rid of this bald druid problem.”

"Other than just leaving town?" Juniper shrugged. Shae frowned at the suggestion, curiosity lining her brows. "That's what I would do- but I'm biased... Suppose you could go the pushed to the edge murderer route that favors some horror stories..." Snapping back to reality Juniper sighed, "But okay, going to the top is probably the best and most reasonable option." Stretching away from Shae, Juniper covertly gave her cloak a sniff and briefly cringed before turning back, "You know her though, right? This won't just be a surprise - 'here I am with a random college assistant'?"

“I mean, she’s been all busy recently, no time for little old me I suppose. Or maybe she’s too guilty to be in the same place as me or something. Who knows.” She forced a smile. “I guess leaving…” she pursed her lips, “ah, but I like it here. The people love me, everyone is nice - no grumpy Saluna, that’s for sure. I don’t really want to leave.” She looked at Juniper, curious once more. “Why would you want to leave?”

"If you don't want to leave, then don't - simple as that," Juniper sighed, suddenly feeling very guilty, "Sorry to project my own stress on you like that..." She paused, looking intently at Shae, "Did you ever hear the fevered stories about the land of Limbo?" Shae shook her head in response.

“Lim Bow? I’ve never heard of any such land existing on Toraan.” She paused and leaned forward. “Is that why you’d want to leave? You’re after this Lim Bow?”

"No," Juniper let out a single laugh, "it isn't real -- it's a way of feeling metamorphed into this fictional land... For example," Juniper cleared her throat, "Limbo is a strange land with no ground and no sky, no front and no back -- it's just you floating in a meaningless existence doing tasks that neither progress you or give you substance or meaning. There, your only company is the shadows of what was. It's said the dead can't learn anything new, so I guess it's a lot like being dead, but still alive enough to hate it." Juniper tapped the ground with her foot, "I hate it here, and I want to leave."

“And what lies out there, which is not here, that will give you this substance and meaning?” Shae asked with what appeared to be genuine curiosity.

"I don't know yet," Juniper answered, voice devoid of it's previous wit and silly humor. "I'm sorry, what are we discussing again?"

“A bigger adventure than mine, it seems.” Shae murmured, rising to her feet. “So, shall we go pay old Boudicca a visit?"

"Yeah," Juniper nodded slowly, "yeah, and maybe she could write me a note or otherwise I'm not sure work will believe this.”

“Or maybe it’s best she not.” Shae countered with knotted brows as they emerged from the underbush. She pinned her cloak back into place then wrapped an arm around Juniper’s shoulder as she emerged, bringing her head in close. “Maybe this is the excuse you needed to escape the land of Lim Bow. Or that smelly old place, at least.” She whispered, then released her and walked on ahead.

"Could be..." Juniper seemed skeptical, "But let's give it a go."

Shae cast a grin over her shoulder, “heh. Sure, if you like.”

Summary

We meet Juniper Twiceseven, and her very lackluster morning routine. She is then pulled into breakfast with old family friends, they discuss the Bard College where Juniper works as an assistant. Later she gets into a storytelling fit with Shae, then the two end up escaping some druids and fix to see Boudicca.

[/hider]

Just a test

Due to the incredible tenacity and pure metal of the real title, we instead present to you...

The Beefiest Roleplay that the Guild has Ever...

SEEN

If you’re here it is because you’ve had it with the flood of grimdarkness, the scourge of deep thinking and the frilly so-called-edge of the newest spawn of fantasy. Instead you want the beef and pure brawn of the classic fantasies often screamed about in the ballads of power metal; you wan’t the barbarians, you want the brutality, you want the corded muscle straining in your faceness of the epics of the late 20th century -- and you want them in a loin cloth and holding an axe. Korgoth, He-Man, Golden Axe, Conan, and so many others had that hard ripping funk -- the real beef, and we are bringing it back with this simple roleplay.

You’re a champion of the Mountain King, a stone cold elder of throbbing mass and wise hard hitting words. Your loyalty to the King is what netted you this most sacred of missions -- to retrieve the vial of the Rainbow Warrior from his eternal crypt so that you may save the Mountain King himself as he lays on his stone cold bed of throbbing headaches, dying of a mysterious illness.

This macguffin won’t be so easy -- if it were, why send a beefy champion such as yourself? NO! You will have to cross the crawling deserts, cut through scrawny wizards, climb the tallest peaks, find your way through the kingdom in the clouds, find the land of light, and best the grave protections of the Rainbow Warrior’s crypt -- and then do it all again on your way back. Are you up to the challenge?

The Missing Goddess - A Hero's Journey

Yeah uh, same here.

The Missing Goddess - A Hero's Journey

@MagratheanWhaleYou still doin this, bud?