Kassarock

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

"Mhmm, well Your Highness, I am glad that you have felt welcomed in our country thus far." Lady Cheldarine's amber eyes glanced over to meet the Princess's for a moment. Despite the inconsequential nature of her words, there was a seriousness to them. Her gaze broke away as a fillet of flaky white fish drizzled in a buttery sauce was set down in front of her. Bowls of steamed tubers and root vegetables accompanied it, along with a series of savoury pastries stuffed with spiced meats. She thanked the servers as they laid them out, waiting for them to leave before continuing.

"It is good that you are adjusting, I personally believe change to be a good thing. Though I hope you will soon have us making changes of our own, some are long overdue. This war..." She stopped herself, even though she had spoken softly so as not to be overheard. She glanced at the King, but he did not seem to overhear, still swilling wine and talking battle with Manawyndan, his plate barely touched. "Let me say that I am very glad you are here. Very glad indeed."

Lady Cheldarine picked at her food daintily with her fork. She had not broken her composure despite the gravity of her words, and anyone looking from the outside would only read polite sympathy on her face. She ate in silence for a moment, turning away to exchange a word with her elder son who sat next to her. At the far end of the high table, a peel of laughter broke out from the plump curly haired man on the far right. The man seemed to be sparring words with the elderly woman sat on the other side of Manawyndan. The severe looking councillor seemed unimpressed, whilst his young wife expressed amused disbelief at their actions.

In the hall at large, spirits were running high, four guards were restraining a pair of men who had exchanged blows at the bottom of one of the tables that ran length ways in the hall. One of the two combatants was dressed in the long robes and scarves of an Ashlander. The soldiers pinned the arms of the unruly guests behind their backs and marched them out of the hall. The fight did not seem to greatly disturb the merriment of others.

Ozragad broke away from his conversation with Manawyndan to listen to a whisper into his ear from the female guard captain with the shaved head who had been roving around the hall since the start of the feast. He paused, nodded at whatever she had suggested, and she too marched out of the hall in the wake of the minor brawl. As she passed behind Elise the Formori soldier shot the Princess a venomous look and turned up her nose. The King faced back to his right, and the Lady Cheldarine turned back to Princess Elise once more, an easy smile on her face.

"I hope we can become better acquainted in the weeks to come Your Highness, after all, we are to become kin soon enough if all goes as planned. Or did you not know that?" She frowned momentarily again. "I am not sure exactly what is known in Eorzia about our country. The length of the war, the difference in our lifespans, it makes things difficult to comprehend sometimes. I am cousin to King Ozragad, on his father's side, I have known him since I was a girl."

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

Ace, that's good to hear!

I'm alright, working on a post rn. Today was unseasonably warm, so for the first time of 2020 I could indulge my love of sitting outside in one or less layer of clothing. Praise the sun.

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

NPC list is done, though I have the feeling it'll never be 'done' lol. Is there anything more you would like to add to the character descriptions for your ladies?

How's the shoulder too?

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

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Notable Inhabitants of Morganyth

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The King's Council:

Manawyndan, Lord Steward and Marshal, Designated Regent, Spymaster

An old Formori man, thin and wiry, with closely cropped iron grey hair. His face is clean shaven, with a sharp chin and is set with narrow eyes the colour of dark bronze. He has a rasping voice that he frequently has to cough to clear and moves slowly and carefully, with very deliberate actions. Despite his age, the old soldier clearly still has a quick and agile mind.

Manawyndan is the King's right hand man and is perhaps the second most powerful man in Morganyth after the King himself. He is Ozragad's most trusted adviser in matters both military and political. He holds several important offices of power, being the most senior general of Ozragad's army, the King's designated regent, and unofficially his spymaster as well. What's even more surprising is that Manawyndan elevated himself to this position through merit rather than birth, he is not a member of the nobility in his own right. A talented soldier, Ozragad's mother raised him to a commander of her army and placed him on her war councils, and under Ozragad's reign his influence steadily grew to the position he occupies today.

He is close to the King and well liked by the common soldiers for his kindly though firm demeanour. However, the Lord Steward has those who envy him his position, especially amongst some of the nobility. He also has enemies amongst younger officers in the army and the strongly pro-war factions in the realm, who dislike his more cautious strategy and his role in formulating the recent cease to hostilities.

Lady Arwan, Lady Treasurer

An old Formori woman, of a similar to age to Manawyndan, and another veteran of Ozragad's mother's councils. Small, stooped, and arthritic, do not let Lady Arwan's frailness deceive you into thinking her senile or meek. The Lady Treasurer is widely regarded as having the sharpest tongue in all the palace. She does not suffer fools in the slightest.

Lady Arwan is the descendant of a noble family from Iron Town to the north who are heavily involved in the foundries located there. She is very wealthy woman in her own right and her family's fortune only grew under her stewardship. Her main responsibility is the management the crown's finances, a task she has excelled at for centuries.

Lord Urathon, Lord Justicar

Lord Urathon is a Formori man of middling years. He had black hair pulled from his face in a rather severe ponytail, a neatly trimmed goatee and a long pointed nose. He has a serious look about him and carries himself with a quiet sort of dignity. This facade cracks somewhat whenever he is accompanied in public by his younger wife, whom he dotes upon.

Lord Urathon is lord in his own right, ruling lands along the Bleak Coast. In his role as Lord Justicar he is the highest official of the Morganythian legal system, responsible for its courts, as well as the drafting, implementation and enforcement of its laws.

Iria, Lord Chancellor

The youngest member of the council, Lord Chancellor Iria is a young-ish looking plump man with dark brown hair that is elaborately curled and coifed. He dresses extremely ostentatiously with a fondness for extensive purple silks and heavy gold jewellery. He stands out at any social gathering as the person most likely either be laughing or making others laugh at any given moment and seeming always having a good time. He is a notable bachelor who has been involved in a number of minor, though amusing, scandals and is one of the principal source of court gossip.

Iria is the scion of a minor noble house from the capital itself, though he is yet inherit his lordship. As Lord Chancellor, he is responsible for Morganyth's diplomacy and maintain diplomatic relations. The functions of the office have withered somewhat over the years of the war with Eorzia, and Chancellor Iria mainly finds himself in charge of entertaining the occasional ambassador or diplomat. However, with peace on the horizon, this may be about to change.

The House of Ergyng:

Lady Cheldarine, Cousin to the King

Tall and possessing a voluptuous hourglass figure, Lady Chelarine is striking even for a Formori approaching her middle years. She has curls of auburn red hair that are artfully arranged into plaits and braids so as to frame her attractive heart shaped face. She dresses tastefully and fashionably in oranges and greens, with amber jewellery that matches the colour of her eyes. She has a soft, smooth voice, and husky laugh.

Lady Cheldarine is the King's closest living relative, first cousin, though on his father's side rather than his mother's and hence she is not directly in line for the throne in the event of Ozragad's death. Nonetheless, she is the matriarch of the powerful House of Ergyng and controls a large swath of good grazing land to the north along the Kazadun river. She is a widower, her husband dying in battle some twenty years prior when her youngest of her two children was only an infant.

Elethiomel

Lady Cheldarine's eldest son and heir, Elethiomel is a handsome youth just entering Formori manhood with long straight red hair. He seems polite and well mannered.

Peibio, Royal Cupbearer

Lady Cheldarine's younger son, Peibio serves as the royal cupbearer to King Ozragad. Diligent though perhaps easily embarrassed, he too bears the red hair of the Ergyng, though he wears his much shorter.

Nobility of the Realm:

Lady Blodwen

A plain looking older woman with grey streaked hair, she eats little and dresses soberly. Wife of Lord Belaphon, they are both powerful land owners from Greymarsh.

Lord Belaphon

A fat older man who nevertheless seems to have the bearing of a soldier, though he no older serves as one. He wears an eye patch over one eye and is grey hair is thinning though he does sport a luxurious moustache. Somewhat loud and verbose in his speech. Husband of Lady Blodwen, they are both powerful land owners from Greymarsh.

Lord Zakylwe of the House of Ahoraa

A powerful Ashlander noble who seems hostile to the peace and is currently snubbing Ozragad's invitation to court. His sister was Queen Liveuta, Ozragad's first wife. He was once a friend and supporter of Ozragad, but turned against him once Ozragad began considering peace.

The Princess's Household

Atarah, overseer of Princess Elise's household

A respectful older Formori woman with a seemingly kind disposition.

Ida, lady-in-waiting to Princess Elise

A young Formori woman.

Flora, lady-in-waiting to Princess Elise

A young Formori woman.

Courtiers, Soldiers, and Servants:

Rhiathon, Captain of the King's Guard

A young Formori woman with a shaved head and a somewhat brash attitude. She is fanatically loyal to Ozragad, but is also a notable pro-war voice on his war councils. There is some degree of hostility between her an Manawyndan.

Tiernon, Captain of the City Watch

An old solider of a squat and stout nature. He has limping gait from an old leg wound that left him partially crippled, the leg is secured with a brace.

The Seneschal

Overseer of domestic arrangements within the Palace. Nervous and eager to please his superiors, he is dismissive and contemptuous to those he considers beneath him. Has a high pitched laugh and is bald headed.

Other:

Queen Liveuta (deceased)

Ozragad's first Queen from before the war. She was Zakylwe Ahoraa's sister. Ozragad has forbidden her name from being spoken in his presence.

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

Hmm, it might be a little too soon for an assassination attempt, maybe give a couple of days/weeks in game?

I used to have a physical job until last year and I still have some lingering ailments from that, particularly my wrist, but for a while my right shoulder was all messed up. I hope yours feels better soon.

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

I look forward to meeting them. Btw, with the poison references in your last post, were you thinking of enacting an assassination plot at the feast?

And yeah I've been alright, working very late tonight, but its an exciting enough job so it shouldn't be too awful. Other than that I have nothing to complain about, my sports team has been doing well in the sports ball, working on a couple of interesting creative endeavours. Yourself?

The Arrangement [Suki & Kassarock]

Ace, I'm gonna work on that NPC list tomorrow I think

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@POOHEAD189 I think Nadia will be keeping an eye on Baldivar, she's a mercenary so she's gonna protect that paycheck.

The Witcher: Under the Shadow

@POOHEAD189

Do I count as outside the castle or with Baldivar? In the IC post you said for Nadia to keep close to you, but did that only mean until they reached the gates?

𝖨𝖬𝖬𝖮𝖱𝖳𝖠𝖫 𝖮𝖣𝖸𝖤𝖲𝖲𝖤𝖸

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The Room. The Table. The Knife. The Iron. The Pain. The Pain. The Pain.

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The last thing Karlus remembered clearly was looking down on the rent and smouldering armour of the guard who had tried to stop him, the rest was a blur of nausea and pain.

Everything had hurt, his whole body had ached, and his left arm had burned as if it was still aflame. That much he could recall. There were other fragments, trying to suck down the cool air down in panicked shaking breathes, the feeling of his head spinning as he had leaned over to retch and heave. He must have reached out to steady himself, but must there was no strength left in him, for the last fragment of memory was of Karlus crumpling against the side of the alley. The ground had rushed up to meet him, and with it came the embrace of oblivion.

Then there was stillness, quiet stillness. It wasn't too bad actually. After all the sound and fury and pain that had been existence, it seemed sweet, gentle almost. If death felt this, Karlus would not particularly mind meeting it. It was tempting, to just forget about everything, let go of his terrible past and hellish present that still trailed in its wake. The absence of everything would almost feel pleasant considering how horrible everything had been, if non-existence even felt like anything at all.

Karlus willed it then, to let go, to disappear into oblivion. And for a second everything seemed to fade away. The pain, the memories, even his own body. It just seemed to... drift... off... into...

_Fuck.

No, he was still here, still thinking.

Fuck.

Then he felt something, something other than his own confused mind in the void.

Coolness, coolness against his cheek... his cheek... his burning, scarred, and ruined cheek. The pain rushed back suddenly, arcing though every fibre of his being. How had it been possible he had managed to forget it there but a moment ago? He shrank away from that hateful coolness, it only served to heighten the contrast in the agony he experienced. There were voices as well, angry and discordant, but he shrank away from them too. Karlus tried to crawl back down into whatever blissful hole his consciousness had momentarily resided in before this, but he could not seem to find the way.

Then came the hands grasping at him, pulling at him. Something else touched against his cheek again, but it was not cool this time, it was warm. Warm and living. It was a hand. A rush of memories came unbidden. Rough callused hands wiping away his tears when he had skinned a knee as a child. Clammy hands slick with sweat caressing his cheek in the dead of night, reaching below the covers. Cold hands, most loathed of all, wielding knives and irons. Cutting. Burning.

The hand struck against his cheek again and he was there. Ten years and more had passed but still he was there. The dark cells beneath the college where there were no windows to see the sky, buried beneath earth and stone so no one would ever hear the screams. They stood gathered around him, cloaked in shadows cast from the brazer of coals that stood next to the table to was chained on.

"Shall we begin?" A voice in the darkness spoke. He knew that voice though he couldn't see its owner. Colndil. Master.

Chanting filled the room, one of the mages pulled a knife from inside the folds of their robe. Another stepped up to the brazer and drew the red hot branding iron from within. He tried to say something. That he was sorry that it wouldn't happen again. That he would be good from now on. Just please don't touch him. Please don't touch me. Please. Please Please Please Pleasepleasepleaseplea-

Then there was nothing except the pain.

And then, after an eternity, there was fire.

Green fire.

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Everything swam and moved for a long time afterwards. He floated in space, unsure of what was up or down. Lost in space and in time, half formed memories of people and places he had once known filled his vision. At one point he was sure he was on a ship. There had been a ship hadn't there? He had been travelling somewhere on ship, looking for something, no, looking for someone. Was this the same ship? Had it all been a dream? Wait, what been a dream?

The Room. The Table. The Knife. The Iron. The Pain. The Pain. The Pain.

No, that had all been real. That had all been real. He tried to push it out of his mind, find some other part of him, something to make sense of what was going on. Caracas. The docks at Caracas. The Brith, the tavern, the guards. That had all been real too. He had got off that other ship. This must be somewhere else. Somewhere else... Wasn't he just somewhere else?

The Room. The Table. The Knife. The Iron. The Pain. The Pain. The Pain.

Karlus went there again.

In the bottom of the dingy boat that travelled beneath the streets of the Caracas, the prostate figure of Karlus cringed inward on himself. He feebly raised up his arms as if to see off unseen attackers. A small whimpering noise emerged from the corner of his mouth. He whispered to himself, still within the terrible dream, barely audible over the dripping of the sewers and oars parting the water.

"Please. Please don't touch me."

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Now he was floating again. He could feel his aching body gentle sway, moving but not under a power of his own. Had she come again? Taken a hold of him when his own instincts had failed like she had done all those years ago? No... he was distantly aware of his limbs and none of them were moving. Strange, very strange. Another recollection tried to stir within him but it would not come easily. He struggled for a minute, the mage's bruised and tired mind searching to make sense of what was happening.

Carried. He was being carried by someone. His father, his father had carried him and his brother like this when they had been too tired to climb the ladder to the sleeping loft. They had both loved to stay up in front of the fire listening to the adults talk, they had never wanted to leave. But in the end they had made him leave. They had made him leave to the place where he had become the fire, not merely watched it burn.

There were voices here as well. None of them were his father's, but he felt like he recognised some of them. He wanted to pay attention to what the voices were saying, but he was so tired. He wanted to stay up in front of the fire and listen to the adults talk. Where was Mathias? He would want to hear as well. Where was his brother? No wait, he wasn't there, he was somewhere else. He had to leave. They made him leave. Made him burn.

The memory threatened to engulf him once more. The Room. The Table. He pushed back against it, tried to stay within the moment. Tried not to think about The Room. The Table. The Kn- NO! Stay with the voices! Stay with the voices. The voices weren't there. If they weren't there then he can't be there. They weren't in The Room. The Table. The Knife. The Iro- STOP! Stop. Please. Please just fucking stop.

It would not stop.

THE ROOM. THE TABLE. THE KNIFE. THE IRON. THE PAIN. THE PAIN. THE PAIN.

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When he came back from The Room (FUCKING STOP! FUCKING STOP! FUCKING STOP! PLEEEEEASE!) someone else was carrying him. He wasn't sure how he knew that, but he was sure that it was someone different. They held him differently from the last one. Another memory stirred, even older than from when his father had carried him to bed. His mother. Karlus was positive his mother had carried him in his arms like this when he had only been a babe. But that was impossible, he couldn't possibly remember that could he? Is it impossible? Compared to your other memories is it in any way shocking? He shivered in the strangers arms.

"Mama, please. Please don't let them cut me again. Don't send me away, I promise I'll be a good boy, I won't use magic anymore."

The mage muttered and whispered his incoherent delusions to the Tiefling that carried him until they laid down on the bed in corner of the sick room. Even then he did not stop tossing and turning, shrinking away from threats that did not exist, pleading with people who were not there. Sometimes he would cry out as if in pain, tears streaming down his cheeks. Sometimes he would mutter a mantra beneath his breath almost too quiet to hear.

"The Room. The Table. The Knife. The Iron. The Pain. The Pain. The Pain."