LadyRunic

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Location: Winton

Faeril considered the questions carefully as she traced a finger over her hand in a random pattern. "Any member of the Hourglass, any Black Widow who knows how could make another a Black Widow and train them. A dangerous process and not one anyone would undertake lightly. However, I will tell you now Mikhail. I do not believe anyone would create an army of my kind. Black Widows are dangerous and hard to control, especially if the Queens wish to remain in power." If it was only a Queen behind this corruption, though Faeril did not say such. There was no need to bring more worry upon the man. "I have no idea, where he would be other than where you saw him last Mikhail. Gen?" The large Eyrien Warlord shrugged in agreement. For all he was trying to remain impassive, he was worried about having to find the infamous Warlord Prince. The Black was the strongest jewel and would be a terror to try and force. Shaking her head, Faeril sighed and leaned in her chair. "I wish I knew more of what happened when Fatima did meet him. I should have questioned her."

The sky above Winton was peaceful and from the top down it looked like a child's dream. Colorful roofs that could use a fresh layer of paint from the weathering, but that was still pleasant to the eye. The roads winding towards the market cut clear out in their well used paths as they wound into the hills or trailed along the coast. The white sand of the beaches a pleasant border to the crashing blue-green waves. Winton was the picture of the idyllic life that anyone would seek who wanted a lovely seat by the sea. No one seemed to notice the pair as Sybl walked them over the city towards the darker cliffs that held a pristine white beach protected from storms.

The sand was a fine grain, but there were not the depressions of regular use. The sandcastles from children could be seen further from the small town. A good walk, but not unreasonable. This cove to Fatima felt slightly off. Something was unclean about it. As the waves gave their gentle song against the shore, Fatima couldn't see anything out of place. But the few poles sticking out of the sea which might have secured a dock at one time. The path leading up the steep slope was well cleared and neatly paved, but a smaller path wound out from it along the edge of the beach and cliff towards a small depression that was in the base. If she looked closer she might see it was a small cave made by the pummeling waves into the weakened rock. Around it was scattered boulders and slabs of stone that looked to have fallen from the slight overhang above.

Within the cave, Saetan stiffened. He felt a familiar presence and was torn between wanting to see what had come to the beach and retreating further into the cave. As it was, he was in one of the carved stone benches that some Queen had put in the cave for entertainment. When it was in use by one of those twisted bitches, it would be cleaned beforehand and softened with cushions. As it was the stone had been dried by this Craft and his coat, now ruined, was serving as the only cushion. Raising himself up on his elbows, he glanced towards the entrance before twisting to sit up. Wracked with pain he couldn't quite hide it from his Sending to Sybl. "Who did you bring?" The Warlord Prince certainly did not bother to hide the annoyance in his tone as he crooned, "Sybl... You know I do not care for Queens. I can smell her from in here." And he did not want to be found and betrayed while his back still felt raw from the beating and whipping from Laska. A distraction he had paid well for. Yet Laska had only grown more furious as he refused to accommodate her sick wishes and increased the torment til Saetan had been unable to bear it.

His chest and back was a mess of cuts, deep and shallow, some infected some not. His hands were bruised and cut from the guards, his wrists and ankles showing the wear of restraints. Old blood stained his skin, but most of it was hardly his. He had made sure Laska's court would be remembered. Their bodies twisted and ruined, while Laska sat with terror stretched across her face as she was twisted in the agony his poison induced. He had used all his skill to prolong her suffering, and he had reveled in it.

As Dareen followed the tracks of Dunny and Thom, she soon found the 'hound' leading the boy out of a dead-end alley. Spying the Pruulish witch, Dunny wagged his tail and gleefully moved to jump on her. Then he saw Jandar and felt the rage rolling off the Warlord. Pausing the young Sceltie looked a bit puzzled. *Dareen! We were following the strange 'in air' trail, did we do something wrong?* Jandar's anger was worrying the young Sceltie and Dunny was not very positive he wasn't doing something he wasn't supposed to. Thom looked between the three and remained silent, thinking better than to say something that might or might not confirm either way.

The Prince's Royal Guard

Zatana felt the rush of heat from the munition as she flung herself towards the wall. It wasn't the explosion that got her in the end but the debris from it. Stepping free from the shadow, she tumbled to the side as the explosion shook her. Shadowstepping was useful, but there was a level of issue when you lacked that extra thousand years of practice at it. Grimacing, Zatana paused as she felt the crowd around her draw back. Black eyes look bearly over herself and cursed, silently. Her armor and cloak were charred and marked, bits were cut away from the debris that had caught her and below she could see cuts that would tending and worse. Her own ashen grey skin. Zatana had a fleeting second to wonder if she might prefer the noose to her grandfather's ire over her stupidity.

A fleeting moment as she noticed a few figured appear amidst the crowd. The first was Acrius who was growling about the lack of care the men were giving. Well, the lad had a pair on him. Good. What wasn't good was the looming giant form of a fuzzy, adorable, soft-looking werewolf. The voice that came out was from a nightmare of the hounds of Darkness. "Manald?" It was the same color, different armor though. Very soft looking and perhaps she had a weakness for soft things she could call 'adorable'. It may have been the reason she rarely went after rabbits when hunting and preferred the far more dangerous boar. A hand invaded her vision as she blinked at the Merik before taking his hand. Her body hurt like the hells, but it was bearable. "Zatana can live without rest." She corrected, though there was a tight note in her voice that could have been pain. It wasn't. It was, however, panic. This soon and she was found out as a dark elf? Her mission was going bust and she would have to ride home- or run- to explain to her grandfather. Which was everything less than desirable. The mob? Oh, she figured she could outwit them. The werewolf made that harder, but she had dealt with wolves and dogs before. Ignoring Rudolph's hand simply because her own was gripping both daggers.

Gazing at the soldier, she considered her option and arched a brow."And of ten, how many reached the gate by failing of your men on this battlement? My accuracy with the bow is nothing compared to my knives. It was a logical step, and I am... half." She corrected, a lie if there was ever one, reluctantly. To admit half would lower suspicion, and if asked she could truthfully agree that the drow were horrible- save one she would never mention. Let them draw their conclusions. "Will you stand here like poxy fools while the goblins seize this chance of distraction to try again? I did think the vigilance of Bergkoff was in a better state of affairs. And you are correct to hate the drow, they are detestable creatures. If I appear like them, it is no fault of my own." Yes, because she could determine her parentage so well! Well, if she had been born to a better drow mother or better drow father perhaps she would think differently. Thank the darkness for her grandfather's intervention, and may she pull this off. Let them think her mother human and her father a dark elf. Let them think the opposite. Anything so long as she made herself appear less threatening than what she was. Zatana had always loved her lighter skin, it was a boon to her job as a spy and assassin. Now it would prove that she was only part, a sad tale born of a darker-skinned drow. True, save for some assumptions on their part.

The Prince's Royal Guard

Zatana had just twisted about while the two explosions rocked the earth, the gate cracking in protest as it took the force of the blow without shattering, for she had heard the sound of some green spawn running her direction. Ready to deal out what could have been fatal slash with her large dagger, the drow paused as the goblin ran past her screaming in terror. Well, that was something that she hadn't been expecting. Yet as he did, she saw the reason why and felt a sudden gut-wrenching fear. One of the sapper's explosive's was just a fraction away from exploding, and she was standing stupidly on top of it. One word fit the situation quite well as she felt it slip out in her disbelief that she had been such a fool.

Twisting, she stepped away with all the speed born to elves and all the skill born of an assassin who could shadow bend because her life- and her little secret- was at stake. If she died this way, her grandfather would raise her from the dead and kill her again. The only if was if she died. To the Murdoc, if something was possible did not matter. Something would happen as he wished it, it was just a matter of when and how he would achieve it. Whirling into the shadows as she breathed her chant she raced, if the goblins had only been orcs! She could have easily slipped behind or under a pile of their dead, and make sure they were dead while shielding herself! Now, she was using her skill, her magic, to dart for the wall and up ontop of it and gods be good she would make it. Most likely a bit charred.

The Prince's Royal Guard

Zatana ducked behind a balustrade as she heard a shout. Explosives? Twisting she perched in the notch between two stones and watched as ten sappers rushed towards the Western Gate with what as indeed something that could pose a problem. While she would have just loved to shoot the goblins, those explosives meant missing was going to be more of a problem and therefore it would not be acceptable. Grimacing at the ill-fortune and the even worse plan that was forming. She quickly slid her still strung bow into the quiver. Shouting to Merik she gestured. "Keep them off me best you are able." Any reply was not acknowledged, there was simply no time for it.

Standing Zatana twisted and began dropping from the wall as several soldiers about her shouted in alarm. Anyone going to the ground on the wrong side of the wall was facing a suicide mission. Grabbing the stone before she could build up speed, she repeated the process as she chanted. Thanking the darkness itself for her grandfather pounding the spell into her mind and the relentless drilling he had put her through. "A master of one is better than the 'adequate' of many." Shadows wrapped about her and she felt the ground under her feet, an embrace she welcomed like a partner in a dance. Alas for the green swarm of goblins. Hers was a dance of death. Drawing the larger fighting daggers, she slid through the goblins and lowered the shadows. There were shrieks of surprise as she twisted about, the thick dagger opening the sapper goblin's throat. Zatana's other hand raked up taking another in the stomach and spilling out the entangling mass to trip a third. Stabbing the stumbling third, another sapper, in the neck, she flicked her wrist to free the throwing blade and gave a shrieking cry of pain as a knife raked down her arm. Hurling the dagger into a fourth goblin- sapper or not she did not know- before she twisted to block a sword with the flat of her knife, Zatana yanked the spare blade free from the one she had stabbed. "Wretches... Would that your kind was wiped from the earth! Acrius is not going to be stilling his tongue... About this!"

Star Wars - The Lost Shipment

WIP
Name: Wilhelmina Laros
Race: Human
Age: 26
Appearance: Standing at roughly five foot and five inches tall, Wilhelmina is a tad bit chubby about the middle. With a thick head of curly brown hair that refuses to be maintained in a headscarf she often wears, she looks as cheery as she actually is. Complete with dimples, a button nose, and large hazel eyes. Innocent as can be one would think, not noticing the blasters holstered in her boot. Her clothing generally consists of the standard smuggler get up complete with oil, grease, and singer.
Bio: Born on Nal Hutta, Will was happy enough to leave the planet behind and refuses to mention her family or her childhood. Both of which were hardly pleasant due to the criminal elements. The good news was it gave her a solid trade as a smuggler, though she wasn't working as one quite yet. Which was good then the Empire took over in name if not in actual presence when the Jedi were 'wiped out'. Soon, the criminal element was eagerly hunting for these dangerous 'space wizards' and their 'twisted voo-doo'. Of course, hearing only negative things about the Jedi, Will's opinion is a bit skewered. It was short years later she began working for a smuggler and later bought her own ship. A HWK-290 light freighter she calls, 'PutterBuff'. Once needing a co-pilot, she lost about ten one way or another... Firing, death, fire, airlocks, blasters... Will finally hired a hopeful funny looking fellow who wanted to hire her.

Personality: The best way to describe Will would be cheery. Truthfully the smuggler can be bitter and dour on certain topics and is prone to moments of panic, but given the stress of her job thus is life. A cheery, tech loving individual, Will could care less for people so long as she makes enough to cover her ship's fuel and repair cost. The downside to this is that she has a greedy streak that is a lightyear wide, and a bit of a habit of drinking when under stress.

Equiptment: Generally she keeps a tool belt close at hand. Her blaster in her boot. Her ship however is a older junker which she bought with what credits she had on her. Over the years she had updated the interior to be far more interesting with plenty of places to secret away her not quite legal goods.


Skills/Abilities:
Skilled with a Blaster
Skilled Tech
Skilled Piolet
Shrewd Bargainer

The Prince's Royal Guard

"Merik." The soft voice returned with what most likely was a nod under the hood. Alas, Zatana's amusement at Acrius's reaction was short-lived as the peal of a bell sounded out. Bells, they told the stories of human lives. Life, death, war, alarms of fore coming disaster. The only time they did not ring was when things were quiet, sedated, and peaceful. The natural course of life within a city. Looking towards the two large boulders arching towards the wall, her arm shot out to grip a rampant while the stone beneath her shook with the impact. The other had hit and from the looks of things, there would be wounded and dead if anyone was unlucky. Twisting about she watched the goblins advance as Merik threw the poles down upon them. Reaching behind her, she flicked her cloak back from her arms the dark leather armored arm moving to pluck her bow from her back and string it.

Nocking an arrow, she sighed in annoyance hearing Acrius's comment. "I am far more likely to toss him or find a way down myself to slit throats. Goblins." She complained in slight annoyance at having to use the bow and Acrius's 'probably'. Her skill with archery was nowhere near where she wanted it, but that was one of the strong points of elves. They had all the time in the world to gain whatever skill they wished. It just took time, which right now was not something she had. Nocking one arrow after another she began to sight and release on any goblin she might hit. A good few of the horrid little beings falling as she plucked them off, but not all of them. Working her way along the wall, she tried to spot any of the leaders of the goblin and orc horde. The little known Waruk Shieldbreaker. Which was someone Zatana doubted she would fare well against.

To Claim a Starting World

Dallen gave a weary sigh as he grasped Arn's hand, his own looking diminutive in the larger man's grasp. "Deal." The owner's son agreed readily, though he was privately dreading having to go back into the Hall to inform his wife and sister of the agreement. Most likely they would not even hear him, or care, until this spat ran its course. As it was, Dallen was seriously considering pushing his sister to marry again outside of the village. Ryska had never been so vicious as a child, but such was the bitterness of lost beauty. With a large brood of children and getting wider after every one, Dallen knew there was a lack of love towards her sons and privately wondered how her husband had dealt with her. What he did not know was that Ryska and her husband had been a good match and now that she needed to find a new husband Ryska was at a disadvantage due to her brood of children and large size. "Anything else you can get from the forest before winter comes in force would be helpful. I'd give you an exchange of ale and whatever food we have about that isn't meat." In truth, none of the boys were good hunters and it was hard during the winters to keep them all fed, especially with another mouth on the way. Dallen's offer was one of necessity. He would have hunted himself, but the owner's son was often too busy dealing with repairs and the work about the hall with little help from his nephews and his own son too busy keeping a sharp eye on said nephews.

Across the way from the other side of the mead hall, Vosker was puffing on his pipe and frowning at the caterwaul sent up by Frenn's daughters, by blood, and by marriage. He still felt a bit shaken by Mira's appearance and seeing the black-dressed woman talking to the children unnerved him. Black was not a color most people wore all over like that, and old women did not travel alone and converse with crows without being a woman of some sorcery. He had tried to be polite and show hospitality to her, but he still felt uneasy. When the soft voice of Garin's adopted daughter interrupted his musings with an odd lisp, Vosker tapped the ashes out of his pipe. "Oh, just fine lass." Though in truth that was certainly not the case. The headman simply did not wish the strange crone to have unnatural hearing and hear him put any potential insult into words. As the headman of the village any curse done upon him would be done to the entire village. "Just fine, dear."

To Claim a Starting World

The update will be up tomorrow! I'm working out a few kinks.

The Prince's Royal Guard

As soldiers bristled at the word 'drow', Zatana followed the Prince and his retinue, which she was a part of, whilst listening to the passionate speech given by Leonidas. It was idealistic, she thought with a certain fondness that was often aimed towards a child who did not quite grasp the realities of life. The point of the matter was reasonable when paired to dwarves. The dark elves, however, were not dwarves. Theirs was a society that firmly believed the strong were the only ones fit to rule, while there were exceptions they were not disillusioned by the fact that the strong ruled. Even as she sat on the wicked mare, Zatana could see that fact very well. Prince Leonidas was a strong man, inspiring, and his strength was not only in the hammer he wielded. Power was ever in debate as to what the strongest was, or who it was. The mage could smite an army, but one assassin could kill that mage. Put the thinking of a dark elf that power was the way of the strong and that anyone weaker deserved to be trodden underfoot, for the most part, and she could well understand the blatant hatred for her people. The drow did not ask or form treaties unless it worked in their favor and they did that when their foe was so broken they would sign away their people to slavery rather than watch more of the brutality that the dark elves would visit. Then they would watch it anyway, unable to stop it because they had signed away everything.

Zatana Aleana, drowish spy and member of the Prince's Royal Guard, couldn't help but agree with those who hated the drow. Her mother had never asked for a child and cared even less for the one she had. In truth, Zatana couldn't really recall much of the woman besides a name and a family tie which she would never admit to it was so low in society. She hardly ever thought of the woman aside from the passing thought that if she was asked to kill her, she would. Anyone she admitted that to would be appalled, but why would Zatana care? Her mother meant nothing to her, and the word 'mother' in the role most considered it did not enter her mind when she thought of her. The truer translation of the word 'mother' when it was 'woman who birthed me'. Her father had cared even less, a slip of the tongue had given Zatana a life that was decent. Her grandfather had given her a life that was instructive, worth something. A life that could claim power and strength in its own way. Murdoc was a rare drow, he did not find interest in the power you could weild over others. It was the power within himself and his knowledge that he craved. Which was why she was riding along in the Prince's retinue, and why when Leonadis glanced her way she made no motion of discomfort. Though she was drow to her very soul, she was well aware of the perils and brutality that had been their past and present.

Balthazar rose the argument that forgiveness was well and good but one should still be on guard. Which was more than reasonable, and Zatana gave a wicked grin behind her mask. "Well said, Wizard." Her soft voice was certainly not heard, though Zatana as she dismounted her mare. Deciding to leave the horse who would not be of any use within the city. If it was a siege, then the walls were sure to be her new mount until the orcs and goblins broke or left. More likely the former, the latter was too much for them to consider. Hearing Acrius, she decided to join him. Listening in on a conversation like the Prince was having would be good for her notes, but checking Balthazar's mail was enough for one day. Let the wizard think what he wanted, Zatana though he would have made an interesting dark elf if he had been of the correct lineage. Maybe she could have coaxed him into working with her then.

Watching Acrius walk away she noted his track record. A hot-blooded young man, which in humans usually was a troubling combination. "I shall keep Acrius out of trouble, or attempt to." And so she did. Not that she let him know she was following him. A shadow amongst the soldiers, though they did notice her and she heard the whispers. Adjusting the Royal Guard symbol, those whispers only grew. Her brows knitted together, did they think her deaf? Apparently, Acrius thought a gossiping group was deaf as he roared at them. Stepping towards the current trio, she adjusted a glove, tightening it slightly. Careful to move directly behind Acrius with a fiendish delight, she tapped him on one shoulder and sidestepped up to his other side. "Assume that 'we' do not know. Assumptions are quite annoying when discussing information." She quipped in a soft voice. "You speak of maidens and not letting Merik about, but t'was it not you who was frolicking with a maiden?" She was certain that had nothing to do with anything, but she was curious as to why a strange girl had been waving at Acrius with a look that would warn a drowish man to run for the hills.

A giant List of Ideas and Potential Stories [High-Casual to Advance] [18+]

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