Legion02

Ocean Rescue

Elizabeth Camwell

Name: Elizabeth Camwell
Age: 34
Occupation: Camwell Conglomerate CEO
Brief history:

Elizabeth grew up surrounded by nannies and people who told how great her mother was. When she was old enough to think for herself, she found that her mother was nothing but an uncaring woman she has to share a last name with. When her mother was struck with cancer, she took over the company and vowed to destroy every icon of the previous CEO. She’s rather successful at it and now she has turned her eye on Haven.

Anything Extra:

Full History

The story of Elizabeth began with her mother, Miriam Camwell. Miriam inherited a decent sum of money from a deceased family member and used it to setup a business. Through clever business decisions (and constantly being underestimated), she could built her small company into a nation spanning business in just a few years. It was around this time she also got Elizabeth. Though nobody knows who the father is, nobody seems to particularly care. Miriam continued to built her business and branch out into other industries. One particularly was the energy business. She made good money from drilling for oil. However, when one rig exploded, killing several workers and polluting the sea around it, Miriam got a change of heart. She began to focus on sustainable energy. Through her effort massive solar farms and wind parks were constructed. Supplying green, clean energy for everyone.

Miriam was often praised for ‘saving humanity’ as her initiatives in clean energy, electric car construction and donating literal billions to charities. Yet in saving humanity, she forsook a single human: Elizabeth. The girl, early in life, always heard how great her mother was. While simultaneously never seeing her. In her younger years she wanted to be just like her. Though a certain resentment grew inside the girl. She never got the acceptance she so desperately craved, not did she get the attention a child should receive. This bitterness grew inside her and it grew only stronger when she started working for Camwell Conglomerate. She became the best executive onboard. Yet still she only saw her mother during meetings. At which she acted as if Elizabeth was just another employee and not, in fact, her daughter. To Miriam’s credit, she only did this not to upset the other executives. Making it appear like she was not putting her own child before others. Her fast rise on the corporate ladder did not make keeping those rumors silent. So Miriam often acted as an ice queen towards Elizabeth.

Which, obviously, made things even worse. Right until Miriam collapsed during a fundraiser at Milan. She was rushed to a hospital, where they diagnosed her with cancer. Knowing this was a sign that she should stop, Miriam declared that she would leave the company. But a Camwell would always rule and so, the only gift she ever gave Elizabeth, was Camwell Conglomerate.

Elizabeth did not sit still. Publicly she thanked her mother and swore she would continue to spearhead sustainable technology. In truth though, Elizabeth was beyond herself. She even threw a yacht party to celebrate her mother’s departure. See, Elizabeth had grown dark in her bitterness. The original executive team at Camwell Conglomerate were all cut from the same wood as Miriam. People willing to improve the world. Often times they sacrificed entire year bonuses for this goal. Beneath them though, newer people did not remember the conglomerate’s start and only saw the money. Amongst the younger generation, Elizabeth had found her kind. Now they would follow her everywhere. The next two years were marked by ‘trimming’ the old executive team. Elizabeth raised her own minions to the top positions. When that was done, Camwell Conglomerate changed.

The focus shifted from renewable energy to the big money makers. Oil, coal, iron, gold, diamonds. The many wind farms remained but were never expanded. Only used to keep the front and hide the truth: that Camwell was no longer the driving force behind sustainability. Elizabeth was especially vicious at this change. Her bitterness has changed to hatred by this point. She swore she would destroy every icon her mother had raised. As said, as done. Elizabeth tore down every statue, gutted every fund, fired every employee that raised the wrong questions. Those loyal were rewarded with obscene bonuses. Now Miss Camwell has set her sights on one of Miriam’s last icons. A hidden jewel, Miriam rarely talked about it. If not for her dutiful minions, she may have never found it in the bureaucratic nightmare that was becoming the archives. But she did and when she got her hands on the first pictures, she knew she must have it. But for what? How would she tarnish such a perfect island? Then she noticed the report sticking behind it. A survey. The land and sea was sitting on top of an entirely untapped oil well. Elizabeth ordered her mega-yacht to be prepared. She would pay a visit to these brave souls of Haven.

These Dark Stars

Interested

Super Football Dream Team

This seems pretty interesting.

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Keregar

_{Warlord of Kereg-Kor
Interacting with: The Warden of Harand Kor@ClocktowerEchos}

“Raise your arms!” The elder Warlord yelled at his youngest. The child was barely holding the shield before him. He struggled clearly. But that was to be expected. Especially with a solid iron shield. “Raise your arms!” Keregar repeated as the second youngest child was slamming down upon his brother with both swords. In the makeshift pit at Keregar’s estate, the metal ring of iron could be heard long before the sun had risen. His children had been fighting and training, voluntarily, when he arrived home from a hard night out. He grabbed a few hours sleep and when he woke up, the warm-up was over. “Defend! Counter! You’re giving him too much time!” he ordered. His youngest tried to throw his brother’s sword away. It only opened him up. His axe was not fast enough and the sword almost ripped open his belly. Though he could dodge it right on time, the edge still cut away some skin. Making the young Drakkan bleed from his chest. Exhausted he dropped his shield and sword and fell to his knees. Clutching the bleeding wound. His brother, only older by a mere 50 years loomed over him with a sword high up. Ready to strike him down. “That’s enough!” Keregar yelled. Dutifully the second youngest stepped away. Giving the youngest a chance to get up. “Varzar! Why did you drop your weapons!” Keregar asked in a forceful manner as he entered the small arena.

“It hurts, dad.” The little cub said, biting away his tears. “Pick it up again!” The child could barely understand it. Only when Keregar yelled it at him, did he bite away enough of the pain to move. Wounded, exhausted and suffering, the child picked up the shield and axe and got back into position. His face made it clear he was hurting. Yet his older brother stood with two blades crossed at his feet, ready to fight again. “Can you fight?” Keregar asked. “Yes father.” “Louder!” “Yes Father!” “Harder!” “Yes Father!” The kid screamed as he charged for his older brother. Tears ran from his cheeks. Vengeance were in his eyes. For a second the pain numbed. With a surprising amount of force, he slammed down his axe. It took two swords to block it. When the sharp edges were entangled, the kid pushed his shield forward, throwing his brother to the ground. Now he loomed over him with his axe still high. Though the pain returned to his face. “Stop. Good.” Their father said. Once again the little one collapsed. But Keregar did not yell at him this time. “Hitvich. Herstvich. To the middle.” He commanded. His twin sons, both 152 (one a minute older, Hitvich never let Herstvich forget it).

Both had inherited their father's bull-like physique. Hitvich held up his Warhammer. It was so heavy most could not carry it with one hand. Though sometimes Hitvich managed it. Herstvich preferred bow and arrow. He was a hunter, like his father. But right now, when he had to fight in a melee, he opted for two axes.

The two went at each other with a viciousness akin to that of mortal enemies. In a way, brotherhood could forge the greatest form of hatred. Those close to you can become your worst nemesis. Keregar knew that much. As metal rang from the arena and Herstvich was flung around after a hit of the hammer, one of Keregar’s friends approached him. “Keregar, you are summoned to the pits. The tourney.” Keregar nodded and rose from his chair. “Watch the younglings. Herstvich has bloodlust in his eyes.”

Keregar was soon out of his house, heading for the pit. It was tradition really. Behind he him, he could still faintly hear the metal clashing. For the first time, he smiled at the thought. Some wouldn’t believe it. But he loved his children. Even the smaller ones. He loved them enough to be hard on them. He loved them enough to yell at them. He loved them enough to make them bleed. Gems would smother their children. Give them everything they want. He could pick those out in the Reapening. They were just spoiled brats with an attitude. They thought everything was bound to a deed or a price of gold. Many Drakkans would believe that they were stronger and more powerful than the Gems. But looking around in the capital, Keregar thought it was more and more the opposite. Gems’ notions of civility were taking over. It was why Keregar lived at the edge of the wilderness. It was why he was so hard on his children. Everyone became sheep and Keregar was raising wolves. Deep down he would hope one of his children would eventually take up a blade against him. To die by your own child’s hand, yes that would hold honor. To have raised someone stronger than you and feel the proof of it. Though none of his brood so far would be capable. His youngest were yet too weak and he knew there was too much Gem in them that had to be burned out. Another two centuries and they would be forged just right. But Keregar did not have another two centuries. His eldest then would surely be capable. But they suffered another grievous flaw. One Keregar blamed himself for. Loyalty. It was undying in the both of them. He saw it time and time again. The bond they had with him and worse, he had with them. Neither would ever think of killing their father.

Keregar was sunken deep in his own thoughts as he pushed his way through the streets. A Drakkan of his size could easily plow through the narrow roads. Yet that was not what the warlord was doing. Instead, he opted for the small, hidden alleyways. A few steps on those dark paths and you were miles away from the bustling city streets. However, he was not alone. It would appear that someone else had the same idea in mind. A familiar face no less! Or rather a familial mask. The Warden of Harand Kor! “Warden!” he yelled, not using his real name. The ancient Warden was one of the few people Keregar thoroughly respected. “Warden! What a luck to see you here!” Keregar greeted as he put a hand on the prison guard’s shoulder. “Drun be praised, you must be heading for the pit as well! But that must mean you’re finally getting a bride! About time! It’s damn right two hundred and fifty years too late! A Drakkan of your repute should have gotten a bride so much sooner! The Warden line of Harand Kor should continue, don’t you think!”

Blood Debt - Medieval/Fantasy

If there was ever such a thing as an ill wind, then now it was blowing. The grey sky rolled overhead like giant waves. The weather had been horrible for days now. Petty peasant folks would believe it to be a bad omen. Yet Ellisandre quite enjoyed it. Most people stayed off the streets lately. Bosfyrd has not been the same since the civil war. The situation only worsened with a Nightborne roaming the streets. Ellisandre was dressed in a large black cloak with a white fur trim. Her somewhat revealing, bright green dress made her stand out even more from the other women in the town. The golden chain necklace continued to accent her features as she walks through the streets in her heeled, leather boots. The men were either too afraid to look or couldn’t tear their eyes off her. Some women suffered the same fate. Though others managed to look her in the eyes, immediately realizing that they were her most striking feature. As red as rubies, they seemed to look straight through anyone who dared to look her in the eye.

Everywhere she went the people fled inside. These days, complete strangers would open their doors should the Witch (a local, poorly chosen nickname) walk the streets. Today they did so again. As soon as they could hear the clicking of her heels the market crowd opened like a sea at the command of a god. Ellisandre greatly cherished the effect she had on a mob. The real victims were the few merchants on the market. Who had nowhere to go. Though today, she first had some other curiosity to satisfy. A few days after the local baron was killed, she had arrived. Her first point of order was to carve a rune in the marketplace, where the poles would be raised around. Over the course of weeks, since she arrived, she heard more whispers about a supposed Ranger of the Nightwoods hanging on those poles. Rather intrigued she decided to visit his corpse. It was a rather macabre scene. Ellisandre got quite used to how much a corpse could stink. But still, she was almost begging the thick, grey skies to break and rain down to wash away the filthy flesh. Though the gods have denied her that little favor for now. A guard, or rather a thug who pulled the shortest lot, stood guard with his halberd near the pole on which the Ranger’s body was chained. When he saw the Witch approach, he tried to get into a more disciplined pose. It didn’t fool her.

“Is this the body of the supposed ranger?” Asked Ellisandre, barely gazing over the ill-equipped man standing guard. “Y-yes, my lady.” The man barely managed to say. At times like these, she wished the people here were more professional. But top mercenary captains were smart enough to ask coin in advance. And well, coin was not something the king had on him. Deeds, on the other hand, were much easier to acquire. “I will assume you are local.” Ellisandre asked with an ice cold voice as she let her eyes descend upon the poor man. Who could do little more than nod. “Tell me about him.”

“He was a ranger from the Nightwood. His name’s Brand. Not much is really known about him. It’s said he kept the kids of Baron William safe. Or at least, he tried. They say he could talk to trees in the woods and be in seven places at once.” Ellisandre had to grin at the seven appearances. Not entirely impossible but as she saw him hanging here, it felt highly improbable. “He guided me through the woods once, when I got lost. Didn’t say much. Though bandits hated him. Delivered a fair amount of them to the Marshall. Dead and alive.” Ellisandre liked the story. Seemingly sunken deep in her own thoughts, she whispered to herself: “What I wouldn’t do to have your soul added to my collection. If only I got here a week earlier.” She pressed a finger against the dangling leg, the touch seemingly exhilarating her. “Oh what I wouldn’t do right now…” she whispered again before she realized the guard was looking rather strangely at her. Without saying anything more, she turned around and walked back to her rather large house.

On the way, she cherished the many sights of a formerly besieged town. Though it seemed to have been spared from the worst of it. The last of the dead not on display were thrown in the mass grave outside. She would not have valuable resources burned. The ground itself had been cursed to eat away the dead flesh faster. Skeletons were so much more moldable. The first week she arrived the smell of charred wood had dominated the air. Though now it was more a faint aroma hanging in the streets. A kind of incense that could only be enjoyed by the foulest of people. Ellisandre loved it.

When the Dark Elf first arrived at the town, she made short work of a local and claimed his rather large house near the main square. Where promptly no market was held after her arrival. She didn’t levy the taxes or anything and mostly let the thugs do their thing. The Witch was far too busy renovating her new house. As she entered through the door, the many candles ignited in an ethereal, purple light. In the corner of her living room stood a girl, chained to the wall with an empty bowl next to her. If not for the chain, one could mistake her for a simple servant as she was clean and well dressed. “Wake up.” The Witch said with a rather irritated voice. The little girl shot up, looking rather afraid of Ellisandre as she unclasped her cloak. She just dropped it on the ground. “I have a message. Summon the bond.” The little girl just nodded and went to meditate. Ellisandre went to grab a kettle and cup in the meantime. When she returned the girl wasn’t ready yet, so she just decided to make some tea. The kettle was raised off the wooden table by four stone legs. With just one finger she touched the side of the iron. After a few counts, it began to glow a bright red hot. Satisfied, she let the water inside heat up to a boil before she poured it into her cup. After which she added the yellow and green herbs.

“What message do you have?” the little girl suddenly asked. “The king said he would arrive soon to hand me the deeds.” Ellisandre said. “Though it would seem he still has need of my services. A few barons surrounding the Nightwoods are rather tardy when it comes to swearing fealty to the king. As well as deliver the war compensations.” For a moment the girl was quiet, then she began to speak again: “What is that state of the rebellion?” “Non-existent,” Ellisandre said full of confidence. “I am about to ruin the body of the last local martyr.” There was a wicked happiness in her voice. Outside, the caw of crows could be heard. “Some thugs might be annoyed by the lack of coin they’ll receive. But I’ll make short work of them when the time comes.” Once again the girl remained silent for a minute before she once again spoke: “Try to accelerate the acquisition of the deeds. The Nightborne would very much like the possession of Bysford and the surrounding lands and woods. Report when your signature is on the deeds.” Ellisandre gave a mere nod. The girl, in turn, dropped down on her bright red coach again. Asleep. Satisfied with her report, Ellisandre went upstairs to her balcony.

In the market, the carved rune flickered with a pale, green light for a second. The protective spell, keeping the bodies mostly together, began to falter as the faint light died. The Dark Elf knew that after months of exposition, they had finished their job at dissuading an uprising. Especially when the young boy was raised up. Ellisandre felt it’s magic fall. The crows had been picking up on it too. From the nearby Nightwoods she could hear their cawing. Suddenly a dozen corpses were ripe for the taking. If there was ever such a thing as an ill wind, then now it was blowing.

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Kyrena

_{Bride of Unknown and Sister-Bride of Unknown
Interacting with: Nadia @Vesuvius00}

Kyrena had no idea what was happening around her. High Prince? She had no High Prince. Were there even High Princes? She took another bite of the apple in her hand. Trying to get warmer by the hearth fire. Her mind was still dazed and numb as she barely registered what the Drakkan was commanding. Bow? Was she supposed to bow? All around her Gems stood up. Some did nothing more, others went to their knees and let their head almost touch the floor. Then it dawned to Kyrena. The person before her and the other gems was someone important. The High Prince of Drakka? Did Drakka have High Princes? In her dream they did, apparently.

Slower than she should, slower than all the other gems, she stood up. The bench painfully scrapped across the floor. As if everything she did required more attention. Kyrena first thought was to not go on her knees. It would soil her dress! But she realized that it could be seen as a grave offense. So swallowing what little dignity she felt she had left, she went down on her knees and bowed.

Deep inside her heart was racing even if her mind was not. Her body was registering everything around in crystal clarity. It was in danger. Bowing down only made her more vulnerable as she was only looking at the stones below her. Any Drakkan could come up to her and do whatever horrible things they would no doubt do. Her body was firing off fight-or-flight signal after signal. Finally, it began to drill into her mind. Which was keeping Kyrena in a dazed state of disbelief. But now she began to believe and it did not help her situation. Her breathes became labored and deep as her heart was pumping like a madman. A sense of lightheadedness blew over her and it felt like she couldn’t breathe enough air at times. Which only led to her breathing harder and harder.

However, her state did lift her senses up from the dazed state they were in. At least enough to see the Gem next to her was not sounding quite right. As if she had trouble breathing. Realizing she was not alone in her state, Kyrena began to calm down. She would survive this. She didn't have to do it all by her self. As silent as she could she whispered: "It's okay. We'll get through this. You're not alone." It were words she would have wanted to hear herself. She looked up as she said it, trying to see who shared her state. For a moment she was surprised when she did. The Gem's hands were glowing! There was no fiery passion. Just gentle warmth. It soon spread to her whole body. Kyrena was close enough to feel it. Her warmness was calming down the Air Gem.

Blood Debt - Medieval/Fantasy

Name: Ellisandre of Arelith
Race: Dark Elf
Faction/Unit: Mage of The Nightborne
Location: Court of King Harold
Synopsis of Role: Mysterious mage from an infamous dark elven warband: The Nightborne, Azirel is a mage specializing in direct combative magic, necromancy and hexes. She commanded part of King Harold's troops with brutal effectivity during the Civil War.

Heirs of the Dark Lord

It is said that the older a vampire becomes, the more tempered they become. After their fledgling phase, they fully understand what it is to be a vampire. After that, they may have their bouts of animalistic feeding or overly human-like compassion. But it often balances out. Not so with Mirabella. A True Vampire of high renown, she is known as the Savage Princess to some. She never lost the fighting spirit some say she had long before she became a vampire. Though she herself could not say if this is true or not. Alas, it did not matter as she was riding with haste towards her own fortress. Unlike many other vampires, she had not given in to the vainglory of age. Instead of a massive mansion casting it’s long shadow all the way to their governed villages and vineyards, Mirabella kept to strong walls and an open courtyard. Where a handful of Fledglings and Neophytes were training. They were part of the Order of Fangs and direct disciples of Great Knight Mirabella. “My lady.” A servant approached her as she dismounted her black steed. The vampires of the Sanguine Alliance have long been proud vampires and rarely shared their blood with any creature. However, the horses here were fierce and loyal. And thus they were given the gift of the blood.

“Hesarim. Gather everyone in the main hall. I have an announcement.” She said as she removed her riding gloves in a delicate manner. “An announcement, madam?” Hesarim asked with a slight tone of delight in his voice. A shine came in his eyes the likes Mirabella hadn’t seen in years. “Yes. It would seem that the higher Lords are finally listening to the lessers’ pleas. Gather the people.” She repeated as she passed him and walked towards the keep’s main door. An hour later she sat in her chambers. Not dressed in her crimson, silk dress but in pitch-black armor. With her helmet on a stand next to her mirror. Armor or not, she did like looking pretty. It confused her enemies. So she sat there, quietly brushing her long, blonde hairs in the mirror. They flowed over her shoulders, putting the accents on all the right places. When you have lived several human lifetimes, you learn to master a few things. When she was happy with the result, she stood up, took her helmet under her arm and walked towards the door leading to the main hall. Though when she opened it, she did not stand on the same ground as the lessers she was ruling over. No, she was on a balcony. Right looking over her kindreds as her most trusted and oldest advisors stood next to her. Elevated amongst the common dredges of the bloodsuckers. “My children!” she began. Her voice echoing through the hall. Demanding all attention. “I bring joyous news.” Even her oldest friends hung on every word she spoke. “My guardian and mentor, Lord Ersten, has deemed it necessary to show the world once again that we exist. That we are not some fleeting annoyance. No, he wants to show that we are eternal!” The entire hall erupted in a roar. Mirabella basked for a moment in the uproar, delighted that her dutiful minions were so happy to die for her. For obviously, a lot of them would perish. However, after a minute she wanted to continue. She only had to raise a hand and the entire room fell silent. “Soon we will march upon the fortress of Rotwatch. Which guards the lands to the south, as well as Justinian’s ground. Shall we remind them why they fear the night!?” Again the roar and cheer broke out. Though this time it was silent a lot faster by the Lady. “My kin, I bid you. Write your friends and make them join us. Write your sire and make them lead us. Write your enemy and challenge them! This raid will be a chance for all of you to prove yourself! To feast upon human blood and indulge in the spoils of war! Now drink, feast, fight! For tomorrow the preparations begin.” The hall below broke into chaos as everyone did as their lady bid them to do. Above it the older vampire merely whispers. No doubt gossiping as a court loves to do. She turned to Hesarim again: “Prepare the Fallen Keep crow. I have more duties to attend to.” She ordered. Though Hesarim was hesitant. “The Sanguine Alliance does not correspond with the supposed brides of Daigon.” He remarked, trying to divine a reason why she wanted the crow prepared. “Well, I am not acting as the Sanguine Alliance. I am acting as Lady of the Order of Fangs.” Hesarim gave her a curt nod and went on his way.

---

To the Widows

I contact you with a proposal. Soon you will learn of the activity in the Sanguine Alliance. Lord Ersten has called for a raid on Rotwatch. As you may or may not know, these raids are far more brutal, grand and bloody than a human raid could ever hope to be. Though I loathe the loss of good vines. Therefor we offer you the almost unique chance of a joined venture. I, personally, will guarantee the safety of both your people and the refugees that will no doubt come from this adventure.

In return, I ask a few simple things: information on Rotwatch and the surrounding lands and aid in covering up our approach. A lesser request could follow during the march. Also, I expect a blood tithe. One-fourth of every adult refugee, his or her spouse and children. Our preference lay with those from more distant lands. Though I suppose we could negotiate which ones will join the Sanguine Alliance.

Lady Mirabella of the Order of Fangs

---

Elizabeth could believe her eyes when the local burgermeister read the letter to her. A raid!? Against Rotwatch!? Humans were not used to war. It was the one blessing of living around the Black Water. They were blood bags and blood bags worked best when alive and reproducing. Sure, there were sacrifices. But war was rarely one of them. Still, the local vampire Lady had demanded that a third of all boys above 18 were to present themselves within the next 3 weeks at her court. She also decreed that all normal activities for those boys were to seize and they would, henceforth, start training. Sure, Elizabeth was somewhat ready for a war. She had her makeshift armor. Made from all the gifts every blacksmith of every village she visited gave her. The pieces didn’t fit together as well as a vampire crafted piece of armor. But it offered more protection than any other human could beg for. Though she was not asked by name, she knew she would have to show up for this raid. If only to lead the humans. She was their hero after all.

Elizabeth fell back on her wooden chair, looking out the window at the full moon sinking. She was living more and more like a vampire these days. Awake at night, sleeping during the day. She had to, if she wanted to represent the humans in a council populated by almost only creatures of the night. In a way, she hated the job. The tyrants would never listen and the people believed she could bring change. Still, it was better than the farm life she lived a few years back. “My lady. The lads have a request.” Diedrick said as he entered her room. Several men, no boys, walked into her room with their hats in their hands. “Mi’lady-“ but Elizabeth was already up and held up her hand to stop them: “I am not a lady. And whatever you will ask, I am afraid I will have to refuse. I have matters to attend to.” But the guys were steadfast. “Mi’- Miss. We heard the rumors. A march for Rotwatch. We would ask you to stay here for a bit longer. ‘Tis closer here to Rotwatch. We’ve already received ravens from nearby villages. Our humble settlement would serve as a gathering point for the people.” Elizabeth remained silent for a moment. She was supposed to go eastwards. Yet still, what vampire would really hate it if she wasn’t coming? “Very well, I’m staying. And I suppose you want me to train you?” She said. The boys just nodded, all at the same time. She had figured as much. She and her warband were one of the few humans who could actually fight. And fight was a big word. Ever since she killed the Accursed, her and her people were permitted to slash hay with a sword. Still, it was more experience than most others had. “Tell the men to make shields from lose planks and grab strong sticks from the woods. It will do for the training of today.” The two lads she looked at nodded and vanished. Then she turned to several others: “Tell the smith to start forging axes. As many as he can and then some more.” A few more lads vanished. “I want hay dummies up before daybreak.” The last of the guys went to work. When they were out the door, Elizabeth collapsed on her bed again. “You think they stand a chance?” Diedrick asked. “Not at all.” Elizabeth admitted, looking at her pile of armor in the corner. “They’ll be slaughtered like pigs. The best I can do is make sure they might actually die with a sense of glory.” But Diedrick looked rather grim at her. “There is no glory in dying. No matter how many you take with you. When you see your blood make mud under your boots, glory is a far away thing.” Elizabeth, tired, closed her eyes. “I know, Diedrick. I know. It’s just, it’s the best I can offer.”

CANCELLED.

_{Location: Mythology Class
Collab: Savannah @melissahart and Jacob @Legion02
Mentions: Trevor @Silent Observer}

---

---

Savannah walked on air through the hallways; the redhead was in a fantastic mood and nothing was going to ruin that. She had woken up early enough to have breakfast with her father before work, got a great parking spot, had gotten a decent grade on her Calculus exam, and was even going on a date with Trevor tonight. All of those things piling on top of eachother made this Tuesday better than most. She thought nothing could top yesterday’s exciting events, but boy was she wrong.

Walking into Mythology, Sav greeted the teacher with a smile and wave and then proceeded to sit in her usual seat in the second row, third aisle. This course was one of her absolute favorites, as Mythology was writing based, and as most people knew, she loved to write. Learning about different myths from greek and roman eras was fascinating to her, and she couldn’t wait to delve into today’s lesson, whatever it may be.

Jacob was heading towards class alone. After all his friends gave their less than educated opinions on his elective. He said he would just do Mythology for the easy A and appear deep towards the chicks. It somewhat satisfied the pack, who each went on their own paths. The truth was that he loved mythology a lot more. The heroic tales, the sorrowful tragedies. It was about beings greater than humanity itself. For the longest time, Jacob never understood how someone could believe in a god. Until he drove his bike through a thunderstorm. So for once he walked through the hallway with a smile.

One that vanished swiftly as Jacob saw one particular hair color. “Shit.” Was the only thing he said. Because, as fate would have it, Jacob came in last. Meaning there was only one more seat available. One right next to her. Just ignore her. She can’t possibility know about yesterday already. He thought to himself as he walked past her and took his seat, keeping his eyes focused on the empty board. His smile was gone.

Savvy was so busy leafing through her textbook that she failed to notice the person who took the empty seat next to her. However, as the teacher began to speak, she looked up from her book and found her gaze shift to see who it was. And, just her luck, the one person she didn’t want to see in the slightest was situated at the desk directly to her left. Just seeing him seated there, not suspended after his actions yesterday, made the redhead’s blood boil. Detracting her attention from him, she directed her eyes to the teacher, who was beginning to assign the next assignment.

“Your new project for the beginning of the term is to pick a myth- any myth- from your textbook, and analyze it with a partner-” The teacher, Ms. Langstrom, began to speak, but was interrupted by the student’s loud chatter- everyone was trying to find a peer to work with. The students always got incredibly excited at the promise of a group project, since that meant they would get to work with their friends. But, Ms. Langstrom shot down these hopes from the get go. “Not so fast guys, I will be selecting groups for this. You need to learn how to work with people other than your friends. And besides, by working with someone new, they may become a friend. Now let’s see… how about John and Kate, Rory and Erin...”

Savannah never got anxious about picking groups. She was a very amiable person, and got along with most everyone. But today, the redhead was praying to every single greek god that she would not end up with the boy sitting to her left as a partner. Closing her eyes in fear, she took a deep breath and hoped everything would be fine, but her heart dropped to the floor when Ms. Langstrom announced the next pairing.

“Savannah and Jacob.”

Jacob shot up from his chair. Jacob couldn’t care who he would be partnered up with. Half of the people here were freeloaders in his eyes. In the end, he’d have to make the report and do all the work. He was hoping the class was uneven. So he could just do it alone. Then he heard his name, combined with the girl next to him. Right then and there he wanted to jump up from his chair and just yell. But he stayed silent. It wouldn’t help. Ms. Langstrom was notoriously stubborn over her decisions, especially when it came down to groups.

So, surrendering to his cruel fate, he turned his desk a quarter to face Savannah. “Guess the Moirai need to punish me.” He somewhat mumbled.

Sav, begrudgingly turned her desk to face the blonde boy, giving him a look that could have cut through glass. “Yeah, I think they should.” She replied coldly, opening up her textbook to the index in order to pick a myth for the assignment. “Let’s just get this over with so that we don’t need to talk to each other more than we have to.” Sav looked back up at Jacob. “You got anything in mind, Hades?”

Faking a pained face, he said: “Oh, god of the underworld. That hurts.” Though inwardly he took it more as a compliment. Hades was so much more than just the king below. He himself turned to his book as he threw it open on a random page. He wasn’t going to start having a discussion about which myth they’d take. There were hundreds, each with their obvious lessons and hidden teachings. Something he would love to do, just not with Savannah. “What do you think, Hera.” He rebutted then. “The contest of Poseidon and Athena?” The book had opened on that very myth. It looked short, but looks could deceive.

Savannah gave Jacob a fake smile at his nickname for her; she was more of an Athena than a Hera but beggars can’t be choosers. “Sure, that works.” She stated, trying to get a glimpse of what page he was on, but couldn’t see for the fact she was trying to stay as far away from him as she could. “What page are you on? And don’t do it for me, I don’t want your punching hands all over my stuff.”

Well, he could either mope and suffer, or he could make it a little more entertaining. He wouldn’t make a friend here anyway, so why even bother being nice? Instead of just telling her what page, he reached over and threw open the book, leafing through a few pages for her until he recognized the picture upside down. “There, the page. Do you want me to read aloud for you as well or can you handle that?” He said tauntingly. Yeah, this would keep him somewhat entertained. Though he still hated that he had to share the class he was looking forward to the most with someone that would ruin it for him if she could.

Sav glared at him, daggers even sharper than they were before. “Don’t, you, dare put your hands anywhere near me.” Noticing that Ms. Langstrom was making rounds, Sav jumped into character, pretending that she and Jacob were getting along famously. “So the myth goes that both Poseidon and Athena wanted to be the patron deity of a new city state, what we know today as Athens…” As soon as Ms. Langstrom turned in the other direction towards different groups, Sav let the front disappear and spoke to Jacob as she was before. “I don’t know what the hell happened on the field yesterday, but I know that tackling someone like that during a tryout is anything but normal.”

Jacob only spotted Ms. Langstrom a second later. So Savannah suddenly talking all friendly confused him. Why was she suddenly so nice and focused on the myth? Then he saw the teacher nearing. Ah, well that explained. Jacob joined in, fake smiling as he read the story. Despite Savannah’s presence, he still wanted a good grade. That seemed to be an odd middle ground though. Then, when the teacher turned her back she shot her question about tryouts. Jacob’s smile vanished instantly. “What do you even know about normal at a tryout?” he dodged the question as he kept looking down at his book. He had to. If he gave an honest answer, he would just be digging his own grave. Once he liked Trevor. But the guy was in his way to so much more than just Captain.

“I know enough to realize that something was definitely off when you and Trevor started attacking each other in the middle of the field.” Savannah stated, raising an eyebrow in his direction. “What is your deal, Jacob?” She begged the question as she began taking some notes on the myth, at least attempting to get some of the work done.

Jacob remained silent for a little too long, contemplating on what he should say. What he could say. “Maybe Trevor couldn’t take a hit on his ego so he attacked me.” Another deflection. But he was running out of them. “Can we please get back to the damned myth?” he asked a little more forceful than he wished. He still kept his head down, not looking Savannah in the eyes. Why would she just let it go? For once he didn't want to talk about football. It was just a means to an end. A way to get where he wanted to be. He couldn't deny liking the game. But he also liked the Greek myths and right now, he preferred to talk about them a lot more.

“I highly doubt that.” Sav replied, rolling her eyes when he demanded to get back to work on the myth. He started it, after all. Obliging, the redhead took a look at the text, not acknowledging the fact that her partner was refusing to make eye contact. He was hiding something for sure. “So in order to become the patron deity, Ceclops ordered both gods to present a gift that would be valuable to the new city.” Sav glanced up- still no eye contact from Jacob. What was this guys deal?

“Poseidon came first: he struck the earth powerfully and created a well with his trident. Immediately, streaming water shot forth, but the water turned out to be salty and not very useful for the population.” Jacob continued reading the myth, trying to distract himself. She had a journalist's nose, or so he thought. She would try and try again to drill deeper. Like a pitbull, she seemed to be clamping down on it. Why does she even care? But that was a stupid question. It as obvious why she cared. The interview, her current ‘interrogation’. She had feelings for the Center player. The memory of the interview made him realize an uncomfortable truth. Damian and Trevor, they were nice, kind and well-liked. He would never have that. And that was part of why nobody would ever ask him for an interview. Not even if he became captain. He didn’t want to resent that reality but it still stung.

“Next, it was the turn of goddess Athena. Athena stepped forward, struck her spear into the ground and then she kneeled and planted an olive branch in it. This way she created an olive tree, as a symbolization of peace and prosperity on earth.” Peace: something Jacob was clearly not well versed in. Sav was tired of his bullshit, so she didn’t say that out loud for him to hear, although she really, really wanted to. Summarizing the last paragraphs, she looked up at Jacob, who was still avoiding her gaze. “Athena was made the patron deity since she was more impressive, and Poseidon was bitter and angry, so he cursed Athens and made it so they never got enough water again.”

Jacob kept his eyes on the paper. He felt somewhat sad for Poseidon. Who just did what he could do. Peace, however, seemed just a thing weak people ask for. His father was a warrior and he felt like he was too. Peace, calm, it was good in small doses. But it makes people content, soft. “You really want to know why?” Jacob said, looking up from the book. His eyes burning with determination. “Just put aside whatever you feel for Trevor.” Well that was going to be impossible. Yet he could still try. “He’s a nice guy.” No argument against that. “Do you really think that, after losing Damian, we need a nice guy as Captain?” the defense team alone had a disproportionate amount of assholes. They were animals. “He’s a good person but he’d make a terrible captain. So I need to be captain and he is in my way.” While Jacob was many things: rude, harsh, inconsiderate. He was also spirited, confident and driven.

“A ‘nice’ guy as captain is much better than an asshole trying to be someone their not.” Sav replied, brushing some of her hair out of her face. Yes, she liked Trevor, and that may make her a bit bias in Jacob’s eyes, but he certainly deserved the position much more than the boy in front of her did. “What kind of captain pushes down their teammates? A good leader supports their team and doesn’t bring them down- A concept that I don’t think you’re too familiar with.” She stated coldly, looking back down at her textbook.

“Then educate me. What do you think a captain should be?” He said as he leaned back in his chair. Jacob felt like the girl had some really misguided ideas about leadership. It wasn’t all holding hands, making a trust circle and reading eachothers dairies. When you screwed up, you get yelled at. When you do good, you get a pat on the back. In sense she was right that a captain pulls them up. A real captain can make his team do things they themselves did not thought possible. But that did not mean it happened with a soft hand. It happens through tough training schedules, being pushed physically to the edge and to be willing to silence every voice in your head just so you can do what has to be done.

“Well,” Savannah started, slamming the textbook shut since they weren’t even remotely discussing the gods anymore. “A captain needs to be someone who you feel comfortable going to. Someone who’s approachable, but constructive at the same time. They have to be nice enough to lead a group with compassion, but also strict enough to tell the team to buckle down and suck it up and-” She would’ve kept going, but was interrupted by Ms. Langstrom walking over and beginning to speak to the pair.

“Savannah, Jacob, I would hope you two are staying on topic?” The elderly woman raised an eyebrow at the two of them.

“Of course ma’am, we’re discussing which of the gods should have been the rightful patron deity to Athens, based on the qualities they possess and the attributes they brought to the table.” Savannah spun something up real quick, and it worked, as Ms. Langstrom walked away seemingly satisfied.

Jacob couldn’t help but snort at ‘compassion’. Leading defense? With compassion? The defense brought the pain. Made the wall everyone broke themselves on. There was no compassion there. “A captain also needs someone that can whip you into shape.” Jacob added, as he picked up his book pretending to read. “You think people will follow you because you’re compassionate? They will follow you because you’re the strongest.” he turned a page, seeing the creation story of the Greeks. “Even Zeus became the king of the gods because he was the strongest.”

Prized Bride (A New Beginning)

Keregar

_{Warlord of Kereg-Kor
Interacting with: Several NPC Drakkan and an NPC Gem}

It didn’t take long before Keregar found his choice bar. One could simply follow the commotion coming from it and sooner or later you’d find it. In Keregar’s case, the sun was already setting as he found the place. Which was, for some reason, avoided like the plague by many other of his kind. Happy, he marched up to the place. Outside there was little that marked the place. No chairs or tables outside, nor a plaque to mark it. The only special thing was the lack of windows and doors. Though it soon became obvious as to why. As a Drakkan fell screaming from the second floor. Only to get up again, look sad at the broken bottle he still in his hand. After which he just stumbled back in.

Keregar grinned. The place hadn’t changed a bit. He walked inside as well. Two hearths were warming the place as stone tables and chairs literally nailed to the floor were filled with Drakkan young and old. All drinking. Some to drown their misery. Others would just laugh and toast. Most were far down the rabbit hole. A few old friends of Keregar yelled a greeting at him. Which prompted several drunk strangers to also raise their tankard, yelling a half-understood greeting. The Warlord knew he’d have some catching up to do. Behind the big, granite bar an older Drakkan stood cleaning a tankard. His white beard and curling horns a testament to his age. “A tankard of Northern Diver!” he yelled and The bartender dutifully filled a tankard. After the first one, Keregar began to drink the various kinds of mead and beer like it was water.

People next to him were taking on entire bottles. “Hey you! Yeah you” One yelled, getting Keregar’s attention. “You’re… you’re that one guy!” Keregar just raised an eyebrow. “I think you’re mistaking me for someone.” But the strange Drakkan was adamant as he walked towards the Warlord. “No! No I know ya! You’re from that ‘euhm. Circus! Yeah!” Keregar did not take the offense lightly as he slammed his tankard on the counter. “No! No not the circus. The ‘auhm-“ a friend of the stranger, equally if not drunker, joined in. Throwing himself over the shoulders of his mate as he yelled: “The blood games!” The first stranger shot up as he heard it. “Yeah! Like, a hundred years back! I had good coin on ya!” And Keregar had won. “Here, lemme pay for your drunk. Horrac! The strongest, most expensive drink ya got for me friend here!” The drunk stranger yelled. Though the bartender did not move until he saw a very full coin purse. Soon after he took it, he placed an expensive looking bottle before Keregar’s nose. “Enjoy it mate!” the stranger once more said, and Keregar raised the bottle in a toast and gave the Drakkan a curt nod. It tasted absolutely delicious. A vicious burning taste ignited Keregar’s throat like never before. He took a second gulp from the bottle, when a stone whistled before his face. Destroying the glass and spilling all booze on the ground. Keregar looked up from where it came. Some idiot from outside threw it in. Thinking he’d hit some random Drakkan he was arguing with now. Inside the bar. Keregar, angered by the loss, threw the rest of the bottle onto the ground. The band that was playing, fronted by Drakkan playing an exceptionally small piano with a particular talent for cheery tunes accompanied by flutes, drums and even a violin, stopped mid-play as the glass shattered.

“You broke my bottle!” Keregar roared. The thrower, clearly as intoxicated as Keregar was, just turned to the Warlord and yelled: “What you gon do about it, eh!?” Keregar already felt the influence of the alcohol taking a hold. He loved it. Not knowing better he just broke into a charge. He pushed a chair away, breaking the legs off the nails. Soon enough he had slammed the thrower against the thick, stone wall as Keregar roared straight in his face. Behind him, pandemonium erupted as the band began to play their tune again. Soon enough some fool tried to throw a chair on Keregar’s back. The wood shattered, but the Warlord barely felt anything. In anger he just turned around, seeing the chaos unleashed. People everywhere were fighting, slamming each other’s head against the stone tables or throwing fists. The nailed down chairs were quickly ripped off. Sometimes a piece of the floor came with it. Some Drakkan, in flames, screamed passed Keregar, trying to get outside. All the while the band restarted their cheery tune. Glass shattered against the ceiling as a Drakkan was flung from the second floor’s balcony into the mayhem below. Even two female Drakkan in the corner joined the wrestle. Keregar, rather annoyed by losing his drink tried to get back to the bar. He had to push away several idiots. One almost flew against Keregar, though he quickly got up and jumped back into the fray. Not even caring he nearly hit the larger Drakkan. Suddenly a greased, filthy pig ran before his feet. Chased by two other Drakkan trying to capture it.

Eventually, he reached the bar again. The chair he wanted to sit on was ripped off the ground by some angry Drakkan who threw it towards a corner. So Keregar just decided to stand in its place, ordering another tankard. The bartender was seemingly not even aware of any brawl. Even though a glass bottle was flung at him just as he ducked behind the bar to grab a tankard. After he filled it from, the barrel he filled it from collapsed as someone fell on top of it. Some guy was thrown from the floor up. A scream came from an unusual place. One heard above all the mayhem around. It came from above. Keregar looked up and saw someone handing on the chandelier.

In between the chaos was one person who did not belong. She was dressed nicer, was smaller and looked infinitely more frightened than everyone else. Above all else, she was also soberer than any of the gods could want. She panicking as she crawled over tabled, under chairs and through a fight. But she wasn’t scared of the many Drakkan in the place. She just kept looking at the door. She reached the bar and pulled herself up on it. “Hands up.” The barman could barely be heard. But she still did it. Everyone else just raised their glass, tankard or bottle. Half a second later someone was sliding across the smooth, polished stone and everyone set their containers back down. “A drink. Something, anything!” the Gem yelled. The barman gave her tankard of mead and she took one giant gulp from it. “Eh missy!” Some drunk Drakkan yelled as blood dripping from his knuckles. “Give me that mead! I need it more.” Though the Gem had none of it. Rather aggressively she turned around right when he tried to grab her arm and slammed the tankard into his face. Sending him towards the ground. In instant, every fight and tune stopped. People were halfway into landing their firsts but just stood, look stunned towards the Gem. Who raised her tankard yelling: “I’ve always wanted to do that!” A cheer broke the silence as everyone carried on with their brawl.

The brawl carried on still. Neither Keregar, the Gem or anyone standing (the chairs were now all very much reduced to splinters) cared much for it. They just kept drinking. The Gem clearly drank a lot harder, as if she was drowning something. Though eventually a big, though but young Drakkan busted in with such bravado that the fights once again all stopped to stare. “I’m looking for my mother!” The Gem beside Keregar suddenly jumped over the bar. Still, the bartender did not appear to care much as he continued cleaning the same tankard he was cleaning when Keregar came in. “Need some mommy's milk, Oepikan!?” The entire room broke into a laugh, as the insulted Drakkan grew red-faced. Even the guy hanging on the chandelier laughed. Though it made him lose his grip and fall down on a stone table.

From behind the bar, one could very easily hear the Gem yell though: “I want one night, ONE NIGHT to enjoy myself!” Soon she appeared again from behind the bar, crawling on it. “I have been cleaning, washing, cooking and picking your warts- “ everyone, even Keregar, cringed at that. “-for years now! It’s so bad that I now literally dream of having a night out! Is that so much to ask!?” But her apparent son would not have it. He marched himself through the stopped fights and grabbed her by the arm. “You’re coming home, now!” But the Gem protested. “Let me go!” Soon Keregar intervened, grabbing the younger Drakkan’s arm. “Let the lady stay for a night.” He said rather menacingly. “Oh yeah, what are you going to do if I don’t?” he hadn’t finished his last word or already a hundred blades were pointed inches away from his face. Keregar never knew where all that metal came from. It was as if it all came from thin air. “Okay…those are some… excellent points you raise.” The Drakkan said, releasing his grip on the Gem. “You-“ he then turned to the Gem, trying to sound threatening but his body language failed him. “I will expect you to come home tonight-“ the blades were pushed a little closer. “-next morning!”

Summary

Keregar found his favorite bar and proceeds to experience every single bar fight trope I could find short of a musical number.

_{Disclaimer: The provided link is only for the reader's mood when enjoying this post and is not reflective of the music being played.}