Kassarock

hey

CYMRU AM BYTH! 42 - 0!

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

Right I swear I will actually make an NPC list before I post next. Although that might not be tomorrow since I'm working pretty much all day.

I also added the map to the 0th post on the CHAR tab.

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

The King watched as the Princess drank the wine that had been poured for her, the delicate motions of her throat working as purple liquid passed her lips. He pulled his gaze away and tried to focus on something else, the serving of the soup, the breaking of the bread, anything really. He felt suddenly and deeply uncomfortable. He realised now just how long it had been since he had sat like this, entertaining a female guest who wasn't already married or a relative. How long it had been since had courted someone. He pushed those thoughts away as she replied to his question.

"Good." Ozragad shot a glance over to his dining companion and spoke stiffly. "I am glad you are not displeased with it."

The soup was served to their individual bowls, the platters of freshly baked rolls were left on the table alongside pots of soft golden butter. Ozragad reached out and took a roll from the centre of the table, his long slender fingers breaking it in half as he deposited it onto his own plate. This evening did not have to be painful for either of them, he reasoned, it was only small talk after all. I just need to keep my mind off things best left alone.

Then she asked him about how he had slept.

He thought about last night, about the dream he had. The same dream he had been having now for almost a century.

The King did not answer her straight away. Instead he took one of the pieces of bread from his plate and dipped into the steaming bowl set before him. He raised it to his mouth and blew on the morsel once before he consumed it. It was rich with the earthy taste of mushrooms, but he hardly noticed.

"Do not thank me. I am hardly doing this for your sake." The expression the King wore on his face was neutral. But his restrained low voice told a different story. The words were spoken through clenched teeth, ice cold and dripping with venom.

Ozragad lifted his goblet and drank deeply before he turned away from her. He looked to his right and began to make low conversation with Manawyndan who sat beside him. They started to trade war stories, but whenever the old general tried to inject some levity into their discussion, he found himself shot down by his King. Ozragad seemed only want to focus on the bloodiest of his battles and the brutalities he had once inflicted.

---

The first course was really just to whet the appetites of the guests and to settle them in amongst their peers before the real feast began. The beer and wine was flowing and the hall was getting increasingly merry. Even some of the stony faced Ashlanders seated at the head of one of the four long tables were grinning. Serving men streamed through the hall in order to clear the empty bowls and the remove the ravaged platters from the tables. The smell of cooked fish wafted in from the open doors that led down to the kitchens, the next course was already on its way.

"Excuse me," The woman sat to the Elise's left spoke to her. So far she had been in quiet conversation with the young man beside her, but now she turned towards the Princess with a cautious smile.

Tall and possessing a voluptuous hourglass figure, she was striking even for a Formori. Her hair was a brighter shade than most of the others in the room. The majority of the guests had dark brown or black hair, but this woman had curls of auburn red that were artfully arranged into plaits and braids so as to frame her attractive heart shaped face. She dressed in oranges and greens, the cut of her clothing was elegant, tasteful. Around her neck was an impressive piece of jewellery, several long strings of amber beads that wrapped around her throat several times. The beads were the same colour as her eyes.

"I do not believe we have been formally introduced. I am Lady Cheldarine of the House of Ergyng, and this is my eldest, Elethiomel. She gestured to a handsome youth behind her, flame haired like his mother, still making polite conversation with the older couple sat beside him. "My younger son, Peibio, I believe you have briefly met? He serves the King as the royal cup bearer."

Right on cue the adolescent who had poured wine for Elise before leaned in from behind to refill both her glass and the King's. He too bore that striking bright red hair, though kept much shorter than both his mother and brother. Lady Cheldarine gave him a wide and warm smile as he went about his task, the boy did his best to ignore it. She let out a soft husky laugh at his reaction.

"He takes his duty at court very seriously, he does not like his mother distracting him. So diligent." At that she quietened herself, regarding Elise her bright and keen eyes before continuing. "I am sorry, I cannot help but boast about my children to everyone I meet. But I must apologise if speaking of family is difficult for you, so far away from your home, surrounded by strangers."

Gunther's Grammar Guide

Nice guide, just one small issue with your eighth point.

Also, when showing possession, please do not forget the apostrophe. "This car is hers" should read, "This car is her's."

@Gunther

The example used here is actually grammatically incorrect. Hers is the possessive of her as opposed to her's, this is because of how pronouns function differently when it comes to possession and never use apostrophes. Same is true for its, ours, yours and theirs.

What Are You Listening To?

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

The day wore on and Ozragad did not seem to find a spare moment for himself amongst the madding crowd. There was always seemed to be someone who needed to speak with him. Another noble that just had to ingratiate themselves. Another petitioner that had to present their case to him that moment. Another adviser whispering some word of intrigue into his ear. None of this would ever be straight forward, they would never be direct and answerable with a simple yes or no. Instead they would draw out the agonising and irrelevant small talk, dance and allude to whatever it was they really wanted.

It was draining as it was infuriating, but he knew it was his duty as King, so it bore it with as much grace as he could manage. What he wouldn't have given to be out on campaign with his army instead. An unlikely proposition for me for the foreseeable future if all goes as planned.

Before he realised how late it was getting, Ozragad heard the clash of a gong from the wide corridor that led from the throne room to the great hall of the palace. The feast was already upon them. He made his excuses and marched off in that direction, leaving the half circle of sycophants around him scurrying to catch up in his wake. It almost drew a smile to the King's grim face.

The great hall was not as long as the throne room, but it was wider. At the far end, beneath a series of arched windows, was a raised dais and a long table facing the rest of the hall. The high table was set for twelve, five to either side of a pair of high backed wooden chairs taller than all others, the two seats reversed for the King and his guest of honour. Beneath the dais were four even longer sets of tables and benches that ran the length of the hall, a space cleared in the middle of them for whatever entertainment would be occurring during the feast.

There were ushers waiting at the doors to show guests to their seats, the arrangement for upper ends of the table having been pre-arranged. If he recalled correctly, as the guest of honour, the Princess would be sat immediately to his left. After her would be other highest ranking guests, his cousin Lady Cheldarine and her son Elethiomel, the Lady Blodwen, the Lord Belaphon, and a conspicuously empty seat. It seems that Lord Zakylwe will not be accepting my invitation in the slightest. On the other side of the table were his most influential advisers, Manawyndan to his right, then Lady Arwan his Treasurer, Lord Urathon his Justicar and his wife, and finally Iria his Chancellor.

Ozragad stood at the centre of the high table waiting for the hall to fill. Etiquette demanded that the highest ranked individual at the feast sat first, as King that was his prerogative here. Well, these fools have been wasting my time, its only fair I waste some of theirs in return. He allowed for the room to fill and grow quiet before he finally seated himself. The hall followed the King's lead and sat down.

Sound returned as the atmosphere relaxed and his guests began to talk amongst themselves once more. The first course began to be served, some kind of soup was brought out in a silver tureen along with platters of freshly baked bread. Ozragad signalled to his cup bearer to pour wine for both him and the Princess beside him. I imagine I will need a drink before this night is over.

"So... " He trailed off, letting his words hang in the air as he took a long sip from his goblet. "I trust your accommodation is suitable for the time being?"

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

The Lands of Eorzia and Morganyth

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

I was thinking that there should be an assassination attempt at some point, been laying some of the groundwork for a plot in my posts, but didn't have any concrete ideas in terms of which one of us would be the intended target and what what would be the ultimate outcome.

I'll get working on a post then!

Also added to the map, I think that's all the named locations thus far? I'll edit it as we flesh out the world a bit more. Did you have a name in mind for the capital of Eorzia? I can't remember seeing one in the IC yet. Let me know if you'd like anything moved/changed or if you have stuff you want to add for Eorzia. I'll add it to the 0th post on the CHAR tab on the next draft.

Map 2

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

Nah a set time limit works fine, in fact I think I'd prefer it since it makes it more likely they're antagonist and wary of each other in the early stages of the marriage rather than being fully on board with the whole thing. How long do you think it should be though? A month? Two? Longer? Obviously we can time skip some of that though.

Speaking of time skips, do you want to stay with the current scene or move straight on to the feast?

I also started on a map, any pointers, corrections, suggestions etc?

Map

RPGC #26: All That Gitters Belongs To Me - Prompt and Entries

The Dowry of Böðvildr

I awake to the pain of your absence in my bed, that cold and empty space beside me that should be warm to the touch with you. Moonlight spills in from the open window, the sill is white with snowfall and bright beneath its silver rays. I hear the fluttering of wings and my heart surges with joy. But you do not come, just a nightjar searching for milk to suckle. It knows... I breath to myself before it takes flight and disappears into the night once more.

My hand reaches down beneath the coverlet and traces the curve of my belly, the swelling sign of the love that we had once shared. I feel our child press against my skin, reaching out to me, reaching out to grasp the golden ring that you had set upon my finger. I know he shall be strong and quick and clever like you, though thinking of who he shall be makes me weep, for I also know my father shall take him away from me even after I have already lost you.

I am discarded by him. I am discarded by you. My sorrow is only eclipsed by my hatred.

My consciousness climbs out from the languid pit of despair I have wallowed in since you tore our world apart. Why should I linger here after all that has been done to me? Why should I accept the fate laid out to me? I am the heir of Níðuðr the cruel and I shall not be subject to another man. I make my decision, it shall be tonight. Tonight I shall claim the dowry my father has laid out for my husband to be.

I rise from the bed and stretch the last of my sleep away. I do not pick up the mourning rags hanging from the back of the chair by dressing table. Like a sleepwalker still in a dream I walk naked to the door and pull it open. Dark tresses sway against my milk white body, I feel our child kick inside of me, he already knows that I am about to do.

The hallway outside is dark and empty. My father's guests and servants all sleep. His guards keep their wary watches outside to study the sky with fear, watching for you, they will not see me stir from my bed. Silently I pace the shadowed stone halls, searching for the place where my father stores the treasure you made him. It is hidden in the farthest reaches of his palace, well away from the rest of his gold, for he cannot bear to look upon and my mother could not bear to part from them. I know the way already. I go there to look upon the things you made. Sometimes I go there to speak my brothers.

The stone floor is like ice and my bare feet grow chilled against it, but I do not stop. Through the half closed doors I hear the snores of the suitors come to claim me as their damaged prize. I let them sleep on, blissfully unaware of me, the ghost that stalks King Níðuðr's halls tonight. It gets colder and colder as I leave the last of the warm hearths behind until I finally stand before it, the mean stone cell where my brothers sleep amongst gold.

The door is not locked, all except my suitors know the secret of the treasure, and who would dare steal treasure with secrets such as these? No man would want such cursed things in his home. But I am no man, and they are my kin. They lie there, my brothers, in a chest of oak and iron. I kneel before them and lift the lid, feeling our child stir once more as my thighs press against my abdomen. I reach into the chest and draw them out one by one, my brothers and all the precious things that you made for us, made for me.

I pick up your goblets first. Silver set wide shallow bowls I had once seen my father and mother drink wine as red as blood from. Neither was regular or perfect in their design, but instead their contours followed a natural, almost organic, flow. Their stands were splays of silver struts that grasped around the cup, you had them bound together with silver wire, before having spread open again to form feet. Metacarpals and metatarsals cradling craniums, all used in your savage and beautiful craft. My brothers bones made beautiful.

Next I take out your necklace. I stare at them as they stare back at me. Golden chains linking four sapphire blue globes. Your art and magic turning my brothers' eyes to crystal stone. My mother had wept when you had told her what she had been wearing. I do not weep now as I take your gift and drip their sightless, tear-less, eyes around my pale neck.

Then there is brooch that you made for me. I am silent while I consider it, conglomeration of gilded ivory plucked from the mouths of princes. These teeth would never play with cheek and jaw and tongue to form tender loving words ever again. They would hold their silence forevermore - I do not mind, even silent they are my family still. I go to pin the brooch to my clothes before I realise I wear none. I drive the pin through the flesh of my breast instead and let my blood tickle down onto the other relics I have gathered against my skin.

He reaches out for them. Your son reaches out for them.

My brothers. My dowry.

His uncles. His inheritance.

But there is one last thing at the bottom of the chest. One last treasure you had created for us. The magic golden sword you had used as your lure to draw my brothers to your smithy on your lonely prison isle where you had suffered so long, tendons cut and bound to earth. I draw the sword from its sheath, feel the weight in my hand, touch one edge of its shining blade to a finger and watch as the blood wells up. This is your twisted Weregild. Blood for gold and gold for blood, shed in its own creation.

I shall make one more visit tonight.

I gather them up, the remnants of my family that you left me. The goblets I cradled against my side, the necklace I draped around my throat, the broach that pierced my breast still, and the sword, the sword I clutch in my fist. I take your final gift with me under my skin, hidden inside my womb.

Back out through the door, I retrace my steps in the pre-dawn dark. I know the door I seek now. My father's door, Níðuðr's door. I know that this will be your final revenge upon him, it shall completes your ruin of our family, but I do not care - I will not let him take my brothers and my son away from me.

Dripping in your gaudy treasures I push open the door his chamber and approach his sleeping form. I raise the sword above my head and bring it down into his belly. The bed fills with his blood. I have killed my King, killed my father. I crawl into the bed and lie next to him among the butchered and brutalised remains of our kin. This is the craft that you and I have worked together. This and the son I carry within me. Viðga I shall call him.

When I finally sleep again, I dream that you are there with me. You have finally come, your wings of beaten bronze holding you aloft at the tower window, your eyes like fire gazing into my soul. Mighty smith, maker and breaker of all things. I call out your name:

"Völundr!"

And then I awake.