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11 hrs ago
C͚̤͘O̢̹̟N̤͚͉̙̰S͙̞̱͎̯̩͘ͅÚ͓̪̺M͡E̱͙͔̘̖̜ͅ ͖̥̤ͅP͓̹̪͕͉̟̞͜R͎̯͎͇̬͓̮I̩LO͢S̡̬͈̫͉̯E̱̪̜̰ͅC̞
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3 days ago
Still, complaining about current roleplaying partners in the status bar has never been a good look. You can think what you like about compromise etc. Maybe just don't shout it from the guild soapbox?
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3 days ago
Remember when the status bar was for low quality shit posting? Pepperidge farm remembers.
5 likes
1 mo ago
Nuzzles Daddy Mahz, notices administrator access, OwO, what's this?
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Well, I don't feel too sorry for him, its his own fault - and he is colossal arsehole either way lol.

Will get a reply up tomorrow!
Damn its so nice slipping back into Ozragad again lol.

I feel like he's probably actually in a pretty remorseful state. I think he's the kind of person that generally listens to good advice when he hears it from someone he trusts, but all that pride and anger really get in the way of him making good decisions when he's on his own/being provoked. So he's probably cooled down a bunch and is now all like 'fuck, why did I do that? That was stupid.'
"That would indeed be my preference, Your Highness. His Majesty devotes his mornings to dealing with matters of state. And this is a matter of state, is it not?" The old Formori phrased the statement like it was a question, a single brow raising slightly as he did so. "After all, this is not some ordinary lovers quarrel, Your Highness."

As he spoke, Manawyndan's eyes lingered over the Princess's neck as she subconsciously stroked the marks from Ozragad's attack in library that had only occurred a few days earlier. He quickly averted them, and awkwardly coughed into his hand to try and disguise the movement. The very sight of them seemed to be something of an embarrassment to him.

If you wish, you maybe bring any number of your guard with you, to ensure your... physical wellbeing. It shan't be necessary, I assure you, but if it would make you feel more... comfortable... then, please. And please, Your Highness, forgive my earlier choice of words, it was to my intent to offend."

Carefully, the old man got to his feet and gave a slight bow to the Princess.

"I will await you outside your chambers."

He left the Princess's sitting room, quietly sighing as he went.



Across the palace, in the chamber in which his council met, King Ozragad was seated at the head of long polished table of dark wood. One wall was dominated by a series of high narrow windows that looked down on the city below. Opposite them, on the other side of the hall was a series statues stood upon plinths and set back in niches, all carved in the likeness of dead Formori Kings and Queens.

The King sat alone, save for the statues. The council dismissed for the morning in order to work on their own tasks while Ozragad continued to pour over the drafts of new documents, laws, and decrees they had been formulating. It was another part of the process of peace. How would Eorzia and Morganyth trade now they were no longer at war? What exports and imports would be subject to additional tariffs and taxes, which would be exempt from said duties. It was tedious. But it was necessary.

It certainly seemed easier to take it all by the sword. Frankly more exciting too. But no, that was all done with now. Well... for now. His councillors had impressed upon him that good trading relations with their neighbour would be one of the quickest ways to ensure his treasure was refilled and his people well fed. So swallow his pride he must, and write laws for Eorzian merchants. And it could all still be for nothing...

Ozragad set his quill down and rested his head in his hands, his elbows sitting atop the stacked parchments below. It was true, it could come to nothing. There was still no guarantee that the Eorzian Princess would have given into his threating demands. What would do then? Launch a war he knew he most likely couldn't win or reveal it was all bluff and beg for her forgiveness? The forgiveness of a child a fraction of his age, a child descended from those who had been the destroyers of his people. Gods, what a cruel joke.

No, he had to trust that she was just making a show of resisting him. Still at the time it hadn't felt like she had just been putting on an act, that anger, staring death in the face. Manawyndan had been furious when Ozragad had told him what he had done. Rightly so perhaps, it had been nothing more than pride, anger, and spite that had begun that quarrel. And how had he decided to resolve it? Through threats of violence and butchery. Not an auspicious beginning to a peaceful marriage and a peaceful age.

Is this really the sort of man you are?

Manawyndan and some of his other councillors had been trying to talk him into making conciliatory gestures for half the morning. He had resisted their calls thus far, but for how long? There was a timetable to this betrothal, and the longer this went on the sooner word would get back to Eorzia that all was not going well. In the end he had met them half way, he would send Manawyndan in his stead, that way it wouldn't seem as if he was wavering... at least, he hoped it wouldn't.

As the King mulled all of these problems over, he was surprised by the sound of someone knocking at the door to the council chamber. He wasn't expecting anyone until the afternoon when the servants would lay out a light repast before he took petitions in the throne room.

"Enter." Ozragad commanded.
Hey meant to get a post up today but ended up working later than I expected, will do one tomorrow instead!
In Gif the User 4 days ago Forum: Spam Forum
Though Manawyndan's face remained largely impassive as he listened to Princess's response, there was a slight rise to the older Formori's brow, a small sign of surprise perhaps. After all, did know what had occurred between the Princess and his King. He might have been expecting to martial his own skills of persuasion, or coercion, to bring her back into line with his and Ozragad's plan. In which case this would surely constitute a pleasant surprise.

"That is excellent news, Your Highness." The old soldier smiled again, and this time it reached his eyes, softening them from the hard flinty chips they had seemed moments before. "And I am glad to hear it. I believe you will find the King... receptive... such an audience. I can conduct you too him now? Or is Your Highness in need to more time to prepare?"

Despite his deferential words and the choice he gave, Manawyndan's body language told something of a different story. His eyes glanced to the door and he sat forward in his seat, he had already set down the china cup on the table before him. He was eager to leave. Eager to get this mess that Ozragad had made sorted out.

"It would of course, be a private audience. Just yourself, the King and perhaps a few of his most trusted councillors, if necessary. Such as myself."
I will join you all on the next cycle, promise, lol
Eli Redgrave

It was the rising rays of the October sunrise peaking over the trees and streaming in through his window that woke Eli Redgrave from his fitful slumber with a stomach churning start. He had been dreaming again. It had been one of those uncanny dreams that everyone has, set in an impossible mix of familiar people and places, all taken from different places and times of a person's life, but twisted and made strange. Even still, you know what places and people are meant to be. Even if the layout is all wrong of the places is wrong. Even if you know all people are all dead.

It had been nice.

Eli shifted beneath the covers and placed a pillow over his mop of messy curls to block out the light. He tried to find his way back to being asleep. Back to that dream world where everything made sense, even if it was all wrong. But no, he guessed he was awake now. The pillow shifted to allow his dark brown eyes to peer out into the slowly brightening room.

It was a mess. It was always a mess. The light crept over mounds of unwashed laundry that littered the floor, collections of half drunk glasses and mouldering plates accumulating on every raised surface. A series of fist sized holes on the drywall beside his bed. The window was bare, no curtains graced the rail that sat above it. When did that happen? Did he tear the down curtains? Why did he tear the curtains down? Still it gave him a nice view of the sunrise.

There's something mournful about autumn sunlight. Even the sunrises. Its almost as if the knowledge of the shortening days, the dying of the year, taints it. So even though its supposed to be a hopeful, happy thing, a new day, you can't help but shake the underlying sadness. No more than sadness, terror. The underlying terror of another sunrise of another dying die.

Wait, sunrise?

"Shit."

School. He was going to be late.

Eli leapt out of bed into the chill air of the unheated bedroom. He grabbed some clothes from the floor that didn't smell to badly worn and threw them on as quickly as possible. He went to open the door and as he did so caught sight of a pattern of mottled bruises that ran up his forearm. Can't go into school like that. He turned back to the floor of his room until he found a shapeless grey pullover that would hide the marks. Better.

Out of the bedroom door and down the creaking wooden stairs (always remember skip the third from the bottom because its too loud) and into the the hallway. Through the archway that led into the sitting room to his left he could hear snores and the white noise of the T.V tuned to a dead channel. Uncle Hank was still asleep. That was good.

Instead of going left he crept along the unvarnished boards to the back of the house, where the kitchen was. There was a door between the kitchen and the sitting room, it was safer. The kitchen smelled of cigarette smoke and of the scummy stagnant dish water that still filled the sink. From the number of fresh empty bottles stacked along the sideboard Eli judged that his uncle should be sleeping soundly for sometime yet.

He opened one of cupboards to pull out a half empty box of some cheap own brand cereal, leaving it otherwise bare. He rinsed a bowl and a spoon beneath the cold tap and filled it with his breakfast. From the rusting refrigerator Eli retrieved a carton milk, but as soon as he went to pour it he could smell the tell tale sour stench that it was long gone off.

"Shit."

He ate his cereal with water instead.

When it was gone, Eli snuck back into the hall to retrieve his bag. He was about walk out of the back door onto the rotting back porch, when something peaking between the empty beer bottles caught his eye. A carton of cigarettes, only a few gone, his uncle must have bought it on his way home last night. He hesitated at the door.

Eli knew he shouldn't, if his uncle realised, he would be mad and that was not a good thing. On the other hand, if that bastard had bought milk instead once in a while, maybe I wouldn't hate him so much. He reached into the carton and took a handful of cigarettes and shoved them into his backpack, save one.

On the porch he stuck a match against one of the faded and leaning white washed posts. He cupped the flame to the cigarette that dangled from his lips. In weed choked driveway there sat his uncle's truck and his own ride for this morning, a rusted and dented mountain bike. Eli mounted up and took another drag on the cigarette, puffing smoke into cold autumn sunshine.

It was only a few miles into town. He wouldn't be too late.
I think we should keep it vague for now. If the characters don't know who the one trying to be killed it fuels the paranoia, makes it harder to guess who was trying to kill who.
Nah its good, take as long as you want with it, I imagine they'll meet up again soon enough anyway.

And then onto the juicy stuff - assassination attempt time!
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