LadyRunic

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Location: Winton

"The Band of Compliance has no latch. As soon as it is broken, Dorothea will know." Saetan's voice was cold as he stood stiffly. Wounded from his punishment at the hands of a Queen and insulted. Angered by the drop in the temperature. The air becoming chilly as the windows fogged and the candles dimmed. "The centuries have kept many alive who would otherwise be dead and I am loath to let the human hounds that Dorothea keeps as her personal army loose on the people of Dhemlan. Death would be a kindness, but a genocide? It would be a wrenching thing for a people so long-lived to watch their entire nation, culture, crumble away into nothing." For one of the Dhemlan people, Saetan felt a keen disappointment in Jandar's demand that his inaction had brought nothing to the Dhemlan people. Saetan wished he had something more he could offer besides the small, petty businesses that helped the Dhemlan people, the underhanded way he stole Dorothea's entertainment away from her. How he pranced and preened and distracted the Queens from looking too closely at Dhemlan. He yearned to escape and break free of Dorothea. To rip the woman to pieces along with the rest of her petty little puppets.

"I shall find some place where I can rest." It was Gen who spoke then, his wings rustling. "Take my bed. I'll stay on watch." The Eyrien offered, the Black Jeweled Warlord Prince inclining his head in acceptance of that offer.

Bellinar was weaving through the streets as he headed towards the edge of the town. A seedy tavern where a rough group of men hovered about the door. They stiffened at the approach of an Eyrien Warlord Prince, having fought such men before and knowing the bloodlust in them. "I'm here to see your boss."

"He's inside. You followed?" One man a Challiot fellow with a long face and a squashed nose answered around a cigarette sticking out the side of his mouth.

"No." The answer was short and tempered with rage at the insult as he stepped through the door. If Mikhail hung about the entry he would hear the whispers of 'fool', 'traitor', and 'winged bat'. The slurs against the Eyrien man an evil whisper as they seemed keen on some prize. Mercenaries. Thugs. If the Dea Al Mon followed Bellinar within the seedy in it would be a sight. The interior was large enough, but benches had been repaired several times, tables were nailed down, the floor was littered with signs of previous fights that had broken out. A man sat in a corner as more of the group of thugs spread out through the tavern, talking loudly and boasting about the Black Widows and outlaws they had rounded up. Bellinar seemed to ignore them as he approached the man. "We have a problem. The Widow I protect is surrounded by even more powerful people. My price went up." The Eyrien looked furious, frustrated as he thumped his first on the table.

Faeril sighed and departed Fatima's rooms. The herbs she needed were grown in the tavern keeper's small garden and she figured she would leave a small offering of marks for the fresh herbs. They were always better to work with. Plus, it would give her a bit of breathing room from a inn full of sharp tempers and problems. Gardens always had a calming effect. 'Just like weaving, but I only get to do it half of the year.' Faeril thought absently as she stooped to gather up the herbs. Gen and Denvar must be within watching the Black. Meaning Bellinar was being polite and watching from a distance most likely. If not? It wasn't like she couldn't defend herself. Pulling her sleeves up she looked about for a small towel as she spotted a weed that was going to strangle one of the necessary herbs. A shed lay in the shadows of the stables, approaching it carefully she felt for the latch and sighed. The woman, the innkeeper, really needed to lock up her belongings better. In a town going through trouble... Looting would start if Alice turned out to be as cruel as she was thought to be.

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

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To Claim a Starting World

The wolf-man finally went still. Struggling had gotten him no further to freedom and only caused more pain. Now, panting heavily the slimmer man was still, limp in Arn's hold. It was an old trick that was common among any smaller animal. Pretend to give up then fight all the more viciously when the guard of your attacker was dropped. Yet, that was not the case here. The two would find that the wolf-man truly had gone limp, not to deceive but rather from weakness. He had lost too much blood and fought too hard.

Brow eyes looked pleadingly at Gwendolyn as Arn tried to pry the man's mouth open. The jaw, that of a man's, refusing to budge as he twisted his head this way and that to avoid the larger man. His whines twisting almost to words of denial. "Nrrrr!" The wolf ears pinned back and the tail tucked as the wolf-man tried to look utterly pathetic. It was a very good picture to pull the heartstrings to be sure, but his leg was streaked with blood. The skin about his jaw pale as he whined hopelessly.

The Prince's Royal Guard

Zatana had been dozing, one ankle resting on her other knee. Her cowled face leaned back against the wall, before her eyes opened at the noise of feet moving across the stone. Wary about why someone might be coming to the war room, Zatana pulled herself towards wakefulness. It was not easy, the dark elf needed her rest after the battle and her little stunt. So upon seeing that it was Merik, Zatana wanted to sigh in relief. The lizard did not seem to have sought her out with news as he seemed rather more interested in where Balthazar had gone. "He went to his rooms." Which she would need to find and search at some point, but not now. For all she wanted to excel, Zatana was all too mortal. Her needs were just like any other, despite what the citizens of Bergkoff might think. They most likely had all sorts of fanciful tales about her kind. Rolling her shoulders to keep them from stiffening up, Zatana was about to uncross her legs when she saw the loaf of sweet bread Merik had placed there.

The offering shocked the dark elf, though she thought herself a fool. Merik was a simple creature and did not seem to possess the innate distrust that certain others had towards her. An unwise thing, but she could not find it in herself to dismiss the bread and thus spurn the lizard. Her fingers moved and picked apart the loaf, eating it greedily. She had eaten here and there, but a full proper meal was not something she wanted at the moment. In battle, a full stomach could lead to complications. On watch, she had seen soldiers content and lazy. Hunger was a fine sharping stone to the attentiveness of those who needed it and Zatana was officially not on watch.

Her surprise was soon turned to stunned disbelief as Merik nuzzled her head. Mussing the locks of pale hair, her hand fluttering up to fix the slight vanity she had after the lizard was done making a fool of them both. Watching him circle the chair, she frowned in disapproval. "You do realize I may have to get up in a hurry? You are altogether entirely too friendly for your own good, lizard." Her voice was stern, an attempt at being disapproving. Yet there was a softness to the clipped delivery and gratitude in the words. "I do appreciate the food." Absently, she wondered if he had drugged it. She looked over a piece of bread in her hand and then ate it. Merik, Zatana thought, had no reason to drug her or try to poison her. Plus, the lizard was in an incredibly odd mood. One she would ride out and use. The dark elf considered the lizard man. Her training would have had her use this time to attempt to pull Merik closer to her in his loyalties. Zatana was sorely tempted to heed her natural state as a spy and do her duty. Yet, where would that duty be if she was too tired to act in a situation where she was needed tomorrow? Merik was a simple being and a useful one. If she moved too quickly it was likely that Balthazar would notice and the old wizard would take issue with it.

That wizard was nothing short of trouble and as much as Zatana wanted to, getting rid of the man would be next to impossible. Worse? She had the suspicion that if she did get rid of Balthazar she would get a reaming about her grandfather losing a potentially interesting opponent when- if she returned to the Dread Coast. That was the problem when old men liked to play games where their kind was rare.

To Claim a Starting World

The update will be out in a few days, my computer is having a few issues that I need to sort out. (Writing on my phone is atrocious. I misspell so many words.)

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

Bump

To Claim a Starting World

@Cyrania
We're in a more action oriented scene to be fair. You can't really be expected to write an essay about applying a poultice. You are hardly Tolkien!

To Claim a Starting World

@CyraniaAnything I can do to help on my side of things?

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

@SilverPaw @eclecticwitch @Zoey Boey @13org Post is up, sorry for the wait! Good news is that we can keep discussing or timeskip to the next day. I just want to make sure everyone is wrapped up

Blood's Jewels (High Casual Fantasy Revolution)

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Arc I - Terreille in Trouble

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Location: Winton

Faeril nodded to Sybl before she rose from the chair. There was hardly any point to saying much to the man, she had seen the hatred in his eyes and the fear, yet the Healer in her had to offer. To try to ease some of the pain. "I could try to heal that for you, if you would like." She offered in a soft voice meant only for Sybl's ears as he retreated. Not bothering to wait for an answer, she swept up the stairs and into the room where the Queen waited. Pausing, she made sure the door was tightly shut behind her before she turned to face Fatima. "I will not apologize for what I did. I spun a web to draw power to save the Realm. It is one of the reasons that I am so weakened." Her chin was stubbornly set as she gazed with a challenging look at Fatima. "I asked for power, for a Queen. Witch pulled your threads to me, but you could have walked away." Witch, was the soul of the Blood. She was akin to a goddess, yet was tied to humanity and the Blood. The Kindred and humans. She was what awaited those who became Whispers in the Darkness after their bodies died and their jewels gave up the last of their psychic power. To many Witch was merely a tale, a story.

Fatima watched the black widow with wide eyes, allowing her to finish her rambling rant before she responded. "Oh, I don't care about any of that. Nothing to do with me really. You were trying to tell me something earlier about Dareen before I got caught up with Sybl."

Faeril blinked. Her wings drooping as she gave a small laugh. A wane smile crossing her features, relief. Then the woman became impassive again, made of ice. "She has killed Black Widows and others among her band of mercenaries. Innocents." True it was by the manipulation of the Queens, but Faeril still felt the traces of anger for Dareen's actions.

"Oh," she replied simply. How was one to respond to such a statement? The relief the Black Widow experienced at her lack of interest in meddling in the dark places did not go unnoticed. However there were other things to consider. "And how did she explain this to you? And why you?". It pale gold eyes studied the woman carefully. Nothing would go unnoticed

"I do not know why me. Perhaps because I am one of the caste she hunted." She sighed, looking perplexed and slightly angry. "I cannot absolve her of her actions in the past. You know we hid ourselves well if we did not wish to bend before the Twisted Queens. Must I say they killed some innocents for money?" The woman was pacing with such a mix of emotions. "I cannot fault a child for their ignorance, but I cannot forgive murder, Fatima. Dareen wanted to know why she had been brought along. Why she was still with us. Why I did not rip into her mind- unclean doing that..." Faeril shook her head. "I do not feel she is a threat, but I cannot... forget."

Fatima listened patiently, stroking Dunny's fur. Her eyes followed the pacing woman. She felt oddly calm in the face of Faeril's distress. "Has she asked you to forget?" Fatima inquired?

"No. Rather she seems to think my decision on her actions is a fulcrum."

"I suppose in a way you are the one shed sinned against." She sighed softly and said, "she has been a good friend to us and has helped us. She deserves than chance to be better. What do you think?'

Faeril sighed and ran a hand through her dark hair. "I cannot forgive the killing of innocents, but she has done no wrong to us and the chance is... reasonable." She did not wish to say fair. Faeril had seen 'fair' and it was a pyre of witchfire.

"mmmm, I'll talk to her after I sleep. I don't have the energy for that now but I trust her enough not to murder you all while I rest. One last concern. I am low on herbs I need to brew a certain potion I need. Now is not the time to put my men further in edge. My Moon Time can come once we are safe in Kaeleer." Wearily she sighed and scrubbed her hands over her face. "Do you think you can help me?"

"I have the herbs." Faeril sounded relieved almost. "I will brew you the potion."

"Thank you, it is much appreciated." After a long pause in which she studied the woman she asked, "are you okay? He didn't do anything to you right?"

Faeril gave a humorous chuckle. "He was ruthlessly through and knows my mind better than I know myself."

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Saetan studied Dareen through narrowed eyes. He did not particularly trust the woman or any woman in general. Though her idea was not an overly bad suggestion, though she seemed unaware of what exactly a Band of Compliance was. "It is not as simple as making a simulacrum of myself and remaining in Terrielle." His long fingers touched the band about his throat. "When I remove this it will drain a portion of my strength and lash out at the one wearing the controlling ring. The leash to my collar, so to speak. That will let Dorothea know I have broken our bargain and the genocide will begin." His eyes were hard and the air in the room was chilly as he studied the group. He had never wanted to make the deal, to begin with but he valued the lives of the Dhemlan people. That they would find suffering because of him? It pained Saetan a great deal more than any torment Dorothea had heaped upon him. "I am hesitant at the thought of leaving the Dhemlan Blood to death in Terrielle. There has been enough blood spilt, yet you are eager for more?" The look he gave Jandar was one of cool disapproval. Saetan was a man of honor. Perhaps he was ruthless and left a trail of bodies at times, but he was a Warlord Prince and one who had ruled over the Dhemlan Territories in Kaeleer and Terreille. Simply leaving his people did not sit well with him.

"We have until tomorrow. Then it's a luncheon with Lady Alice." Denvar noted sourly as he stood and made to leave. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I say we rest and think. It's been a long enough day." Thom, the young lad, was looking nervously about the group as one would when tensions were high with so many Warlord Princes involved. Bellinar shrugged his large shoulders and moved towards the door, Mikhail would notice there was an especially fat wallet on the man's back right pocket. Something Bellinar did not have before.