Current
i dont recommend getting a pinched nerve, especially in your leg
8 yrs ago
Just a few more hours and i get to dissappear for 10 days. The place we are going has some wonderful views.
8 yrs ago
wow talk about nostalgia. Things to do while your bored, look up "the cluefinders."
8 yrs ago
bored
8 yrs ago
what? its already been a year here? *looks around* well other than loseing a bunch of wieght not much has changed.
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Bio
Sup im sword just got here and am getting a feel for things.
Well i got a feel for things and i think ill stay... also recovering from spine surgery sucks but is better than ending up in the emergency room again.
The conversation at the table slowed, allowing him to take his time with his drink and merrily listen to the others talk. The only response he could think to give Kazu after his question was a shrugâat first. However, he eventually explained a bit more about the ice worms: how they latched onto the old leviathans in the North Sea and drank their blood, and how you had to wrestle the slippery, eel-like creatures to the shore by their circular mouths edged with claw-like teeth. Some of it was exaggerated, sure, but thatâs where all the good stories came from.
The beer in his hand was still just about as full as it was when he sat down; every feigned swig or small gulp hadnât added up to much just yet. The others didnât seem to notice too far gone in their own drinks to worry or bring it up even if they did.
For a moment, he sighed. For a moment, he thought the rest of his day would be okayâthat he could rest knowing the worst was behind him. Yet the Seidr spin their strings of fate and Lordisa guides the weave. For Roman, this meant an unfortunate encounter that was sure to spoil the delights of the evening.
It came with the sound of wood on steel. It came with a shout. It came with violence, and it came with a shot. One, then two, then many began to silence the tavern. It was a rather well-put-together bunch: a good mix of strong men, bowmen, and what looked like a few capable leaders to keep the others in check. Still just bandits, he thought, before the shadows in the room came alive and the windows were darkened with magic.
If it was just him, this would be fine. He would let them carry on with their act; aside from being a coin pouch lighter, he had little on him for this exact reason. To be honest, he was expecting the odd pickpocket, not highwaymen.
Fate had other plans. With the others of nobility here, he couldnât just let it slide. They would do something, as it was their kingdom and they had a duty to act. He couldnât cast a frenzy spellâthat would just kill everyone here. Illusions were out of the question; this bandit mage looked like they had a good enough handle on their magic to notice. And Roman couldnât fight them physically even if he wanted to.
His best bet was something to enhance his strength if he could, to keep his mind his own. To get any trace of alcohol out of his system.
The fire, he could tell, was obviously part of the spell, being used as a medium, or perhaps the mage was manipulating the shadows it created. There was nothing he could do about that for now. Instead, his eyes quickly glanced to the others around the roomâa quick look at a couple of his men who had found themselves in this same tavern. The glare they received from him, however brief, spoke a simple order: Do nothing.
At least he was able to get a good look at these bandits, etching their faces into his mind, repeating the names that were said quietly to himself. He locked eyes briefly with what he assumed was their leader. Roman feigned a look of surprise and a bit of fear, hoping the determination in his eyes didnât give up his act before it started.
This man, this Garran Holst, began to take everyoneâs attention and drum out the rules. This gave Roman the opportunity he was looking for. With hands spread in front of him, Roman dropped his head, forcing himself to shiver as if frozen in fear, mumbling to himself in his native language.
He knew the spell he was trying to cast, and he knew the effect it had on him the last time he used it. It was a long time ago, part of their trainingâone of many spells drilled into their minds.
"Tenn Ären, svi mitt skinn, Brenn ut rÄten dypt der inn."
A whisper of a spell that he could feel surge through him like drinking boiling water. Sweat dripped off him, his face turning red, his body shaking as a sudden, short-lived fever burned through him. An awful thirst consumed him, and he drank down the beer he had been nursing all night. He could only hope that the fever plaguing him tonight would be merciful.
Now he had no fear of breaking his orders; the poison of the alcohol had been purged. It should keep him free of it for an hour or two. Still, he knew he could not do this alone. Someone else needed to be able to stand if it got down to it. His eyes shifted over to Stratya. His breath was ragged, and adrenaline flowed through him. Casting it again would be much worse, but he could see no other option.
Roman pushed his knee into hers and again whispered the spell. He was pretty sure it would work, but if she pulled away or broke contact, it would fail, and he would still have to deal with the cost.
The repercussions were immediate. He wasnât sure if Stratya would feel some of it as well, but that was not his concern. Right now, he could feel every nerve in his body firing off at the same time. What was seconds felt like minutes; his vision narrowed and blurred. Beads of sweat fell off him onto the table. He coughed into his sleeve and tasted blood.
His mind was nearly lost to him; far distant laughter threatened to overtake him once again. Roman steeled his mind, reciting the Way of Balance to center himself and not give in to the pain. The words echoed in his mindâthe Nine-Fold Path, the foundation of their magic.
Strength. Power must serve purpose; strength without cause is destruction. Wisdom. Knowledge is earned, never stolen. Seek the truth, but do not hoard it. Honor. Oaths are sacred, and to break them is to break oneself. The Hunt. Nature provides, but only to those who respect its gifts. Sacrifice. Magic demands cost. Pay it willingly or suffer. The Warrior. Strength and skill must be tempered with discipline. The Hearth. Community and Kinship are the foundation of all power. Death. All must return to the gods. To defy death is to defy balance. The Raven. Walked only by those who embrace both shadow and light, wisdom and war, life and death.
Shaken and shivering, eventually the pain and heat stopped. His body ached, every breath threatening to set off his fried nerves. He knew he had messed up; he knew he had rushed both casting the spell and not waiting long enough between uses for his body to recover. He would definitely be sick for the next couple of days.
It was sloppy.
So sloppy he didnât even notice the man standing between him and Ari, or whatever else these robbers had to say.
His breathing was deep and shook him with every inhale. He could see the others at the table, watching their faces, their eyes. Olivia seemed to understand the situation a bit quicker than the others, at least where the mage was concerned. That curiosity should be explored later. Charlotte looked like she was going to vomit or pass out; clearly, she hadnât seen pain and death like this before. He could understand itâhe was in that situation a long time ago.
Drake and Kazu both seemed up for the task of pulling attention off the others in the room. It looked to be just enough time for him to look over to Stratya to see how she was handling the spell, and to mouth a few silent words towards her. Simple and brief, his lips said only three words:
Time: 2nd of Ignis - Evening Location: Tough Tavern Interactions: everyone at the tough tavern who is at the table in the back. Mentions: outfit: comfortable fit nothing fancy
The last few days were, as some would say, quiet for Lord Roman Ravenwood. To most, it would seem he simply wanted to stay out of the public eye since the rumors being spread about what happened between Violet Damien and himself. Those rumors, however, were dwarfed by the accusation of witchcraft against the Queen by her son at the very same banquet.
This did nothing to soothe the rage he felt in his very bones. He was harsh, cruelâcrueler than he needed to beâto protect a woman he had feelings for, a woman that likely didnât want anything to do with him. So Roman did what he always did when he wanted to run away from his feelings: he got lost in his work. As the gods would have it, he had plenty of work.
Their teams were getting more and more information regarding the comings and goings of the Black Rose Trading Company. Through trailing, eavesdropping, and secretly inspecting shipping documents of other businesses that worked with them, they were able to start seeing the patterns: patterns of which shipments were regular and which were not.
Specifically, they noted four shipmentsâone coming into the city and three leavingâthat were not usual occurrences. The fact they were moving on Drunkardsâ Day raised even more suspicion among his leadership that these shipments may be something more nefarious, given the lax attitude of local law enforcement in the area during these times.
With this in mind, Romanâs leadership decided that they would intercept these shipments while they were still outside the city. Doing this midday would never be his first choice, but orders were orders. As he had been shown time and time again, orders would have to be carried out. The plan was simple, though it had its own nuances.
At least they had a day to plan and set up. Four teams would hit each caravan simultaneously, with emphasis on a quick bandit-style ambush. To put pressure on the Damien household, they would be dressed in crudely made uniforms that looked similar to the Iron Wolves. The leadership decided that it may be worth it to play that game with the rumor being spread of Cassius being injured by something recently.
Roman did not dare speak his objections to that plan. Quick and clean, sure, but during daylight and to poke at a family he knew were technically his enemies now? None of it sat right with him, but he was under a magnifying glass now, with his loyalty to the mission and his oath being in question. He was well aware of the positioning and care he would need to take to play this off.
They had stashes near where the teams had decided to ambush the caravans. Smoke bombs, flash bombs, and non-lethal weapons were authorized and preferred, with the use of lethal force only to be used in an emergency. What Eric stressed the most was being quick, grabbing everything of value and what looked like could be important, then vanishing into the forest moving away from town.
These details circulated in Romanâs mind while he waited for the shipment to come down the path. Roman found his mind couldnât stay on task and constantly wandered back to Violet, the look of pain, how he broke her. He didnât deserve her; he shouldnât get close to people like that when all he can do is only repay their love and kindness with pain and misery. Several names and faces flashed through his mind: Alexander Deacon, Calbert Damien, and his father among them.
âThatâs right, brother.â A sly, quiet voice flowed through his mind. âYou donât deserve her; you will only end up hurting her, or worse, having to kill her. You were never good at relationships anyway. All of yours are just fake imitations ofââ
Romanâs head twisted sharply to his left. âShut up, you donât know a damn thing!â he said in a harsh whisper.
The voice continued, venom laced in every word. âBut I do, brother. I see everything you do, I hear it, smell it, feeeeel it.â The voice slithered like a snake through his head and concentration. âI can see how they look at you with their fake smiles, their knives aimed at your back when you turn away. You shouldnât trust them.â
âI said shut up.â he spoke again through clenched teeth.
âSir?â the bush next to him spoke. Clearly the man hiding next to him had heard, and his voice sounded concerned.
âI wasnât talking to you,â Roman retorted.
The man shifted uncomfortably but went back to his task of watching the road.
Roman could feel the satisfaction from the other presence in his mind. Normally its words were barely above a whisper, but certain happenings had given it strength and weakened its seals. Again, the voice surged in his mind, making him remember a face he didnât want to see right now: a memory of dancing in a field of summer flowers, laughter, and someone who was just out of armâs reach.
âSir,â the soldier snatched him away from the memory: âThe cart.â
Sure enough, two carts could be seen just down the road. They were moving, but not quickly enough to signal trouble. The wagons were simple, and even from here, the symbol of the Black Rose Trading Company could be seen. There looked to be two men per cart. Nothing that stood out so far.
Roman gave a quick whistle of a certain bird, and on cue, one of their men stumbled out of the bushes into the road, looking drunk and reeking of old ale. Tripping into the path of the carts, then trying to stand. The place they chose was a spot in the road that narrowed due to a hill, forcing the carts to either run the man over or wait till he moved out of the way.
âOi!â the lead driver shouted and began to slow down. âGet out of the way, ye mangy dog.â
The drunk simply rambled on, approaching the carriages until they stopped. He was uneasy on his feet, swaying back and forth with over-exaggerated movements. ââEy, you seen any barely-dressed girlies runninâ around âere?â He was able to get close enough to the carriage to pat the horses on the head.
âWe got a delivery ta make, out of the way.â The two drivers were bickering about who would get off to deal with the drunk when they heard the crack of branches breaking and two trees falling at the same timeâone in front and one behind. It spooked the horses, but they had nowhere to go.
The carts were quickly surrounded. All four men surrendered with arms raised. Romanâs men, dressed in poorly made Iron Wolvesâ uniforms, quickly descended on the carts with practiced efficiency. Crates and kegs were tossed and searched, carts stripped apart, documents checked. With all their effort, nothing was found for what they were looking for.
What they did find was that this shipment was late due to a stomach bug from the driverâs son in the rear cart. The shipment was for the celebration: alcohol, food, and shop supplies. Their information was off, but Roman wasnât believing it.
He had the four men bound and gagged on the side of the road while they watched what could very well have been their livelihoods being broken apart on the road. They didnât have much time left before someone would inevitably interrupt them.
âThey are lying to you,â a whisper of the voice echoed in his mind.
Roman approached the oldest of the four and ungagged him. âWhat do you know about the Black Rose? What are you hiding?! We checked the wagons, we checked the barrels. We even tore up the floorboards. There's nothing. I know you're hiding something.â He pulled the smallest of the four out and onto the ground. "See your son? Nice kid. Looks a lot like you. I'm going to start with him. You tell me what I want before the knife touches his throat, or I keep going until you're the last one left to watch."
The fear and shock in the manâs eyes told Roman the man didnât know a thing⊠but that voice, that insufferable voice, slammed into his skull like a block of ice. The only thought Roman could muster was: They are hiding something. The man's fear was a lie, a performance. It had to be.
âYou... you have to believe me! We're just carrying ale and food to the celebration! Ask me about the weight, ask me about the sealsâthat's all I know!" The man was begging, with tears of helplessness in a situation he could not control overwhelming him. âPlease. Look at him. He's a child! If I knew anything, anything at all, about what you're looking for, I would tell you. You can take my life right now, just let them go!â
In his right mind, Roman would have believed him; he would have stopped himself far before this point. Yet that urge, that voice, that presence pushed and kept pushing. âKill the boy,â a straightforward order to his subordinate standing next to him. Only now did he see that his men had stopped and were looking at Roman with concern and fear in others.
âSir? We were ordered not to kill unless it was necessary.â The words were stammered out but firm.
âAre you questioning my order?â A faint yellow shine rested in his angry eyes. The carriage drivers all frozen in fear and crying.
âYes, Sir,â the soldier repeated, his voice clear despite the tremor. He shifted his stance, his hand resting over the grip of a loaded crossbow. The defiance was quiet, but unmistakable.
The rage-filled glare Roman gave the other man resembled that of some kind of demon, and the yellow that burned in his eyes did not go unnoticed. Several of the men even took a step back, ready to run rather than fight what threatened to come next.
His eyes flickered back to the bound man, who was trying to get between Roman and his son. âI believe you,â were the only words he spoke. His hand movedânot a lunge, but a quick, surgical blur. The father's throat opened, then the son's, then the two others, all in a matter of heartbeats. The thin blade dripped red, an unnecessary, terrible punctuation mark.
âTake anything valuable. Burn the rest.â His glare stayed on the man that dared to defy his orders, only turning to leave once the other man had looked away. The yellow faded from his eyes.
âSee, brother, I knew you could do it. Donât you feel so much better now that you got your hands bloody again? Doesnât it remind you of that village, the one thatââ The voice was quickly cut off again with a few harsh words.
Roman didnât walk; he stumbled. He clawed his way into the thicket, collapsing out of sight of his men. He retched, tears burning tracks down his face for what he had just allowed to happen. He had let the voice take over... again.
The journey back to the city took some time, moving in a soldierly fashion toward the southern city, away from the capital. They changed out of and burned their disguises, then headed back in along the main road. It was well-practiced and well-executed. Still, no one spoke, no one laughedâjust quiet stares at one another and quick glances back at Roman.
Roman kept his cloak hood on, distantly locked away in his own shame. The laughing voice taunted him, just out of reach. What was wrong with him? He hadn't lost control in over three years, and heâd been here for less than a month and nearly lost it. It must have been Violet. It must have been his ordersâŠ
âThis land is cursed,â he whispered to himself.
It was nearing dusk when they finally arrived back at the warehouse. It was expected; their target had been the furthest out. Some of the men exchanged hollow laughs and fake smiles from both sides, a silent acknowledgment that issues existed for everyone.
Inside, the building was a hub of activity, mostly the white, silver, and bronze smiths trying to finish up the day for the ongoing celebrations rampant in the street. The back room, however, was encased in silence, even if he knew why. In the silent bubble stood Erik and Sylvi, talking to his second-in-command, Demitiri. His subordinate, who had rightfully questioned him earlier, was enthusiastic with his arm movements in whatever conversation they were having.
Erik locked eyes with Roman and spoke a few unheard words as Roman approached the edge of the sound bubble. The artifact isolated all sound from coming and going. With a sigh, Roman stepped through the threshold.
The atmosphere shifted instantly, changing from the hustle outside to the stern, commanding presence that filled the room. Roman had said he oversaw this operation, and for most purposes he did, but Erik? No, Erik answered to one man, and it was not Roman. He was the eyes and ears of Roman's father while out on deployment. Nothing spoken ever remained just between them. Erik was always watching, always judging, waiting for missteps like today.
âI expect everythin' to be where it should be in your report, Demitiri. You're dismissed, now.â Erikâs thick Irish accent did little to hide the anger in his voice. It wasnât just anger Roman could pick up; disappointment and annoyance were there, too.
Demitiri glared at Roman as he left but didnât say a word.
âCare to explain yourself, young lord?â Erik stood up straight with his arms crossed. âDemitri explained the finer details, but I want to know why you thought my orders were only a suggestion, aye? Or maybe you just think you're above 'em, eh?â
Roman couldnât look Erik in the eye; he could barely lift them high enough to acknowledge Astriâs arrival. âHeâs in my head again. Pushing, gnawing, laughing⊠in a moment of weakness he⊠he took control andâŠâ
He didnât get to finish.
âA moment of weakness? Ah, come on,â Erik said through closed teeth. âHow d'you expect me to believe that, and not that it was some kind of way for you to try and get back at us for the other night, huh?â Erik raised his arm and motioned for four guards to move into the bubble around Roman. âLetâs just see for ourselves if you're tellin' the truth, lad. Restrain him.â
The guards moved with drilled precision to disarm and pin Roman into a position on his knees in but a few moments. It made it easier that he wasn't resisting.
Astri approached, taking a moment to unbutton Roman's shirt and expose his chest, then began chanting whispers of magic. Roman grimaced and clenched his teeth at the feeling. Slowly, lines began to appear across his chest as if being pulled to the surface. Lines became letters, became runes, became words. Eight runic chains crisscrossed from a circular pattern in his chest. Five of them looked to be missing runes; they appeared shattered, with only three remaining intact.
Erik tightened his jaw and ground his teeth in thought. âHmm three left, so. Looks like you were tellin' the truth.â Erik sat down and began writing. âWe'll have to send for the specialist to try and mend his bonds, then.â
With a flick of his wrist, the guards left. Astri was left catching her breath before eventually going back to her other duties. The look she gave Roman was one of worry and apology.
Roman stood and began buttoning up his shirt. At least that process never hurt, but it was always uncomfortable. He tried to turn and leave; a strong drink was what he wanted right now, something he could waste the night away with.
âWhere d'you think youâre off to, lad? Didn't sound like you were dismissed.â His words had venom in them, a quiet enjoyment suddenly sprang into him as Roman froze. âRoman Ravenwood, you are hereby ordered to be a coward. You will not intervene to aid another, you will not try to save anyone else who do not call Varian home. You will only protect yourself if someone tries to kill you, and you will run.â He could see the near horror in Romanâs face; he wouldnât let the boy get off with no repercussions.
âYou are ordered to drink and be merry, but not to get drunk. You will spend the evening at the⊠Tough Tavern. Thatâll teach you a lesson, now.â Erikâs smile could have frightened anyone with how vicious it was. âDo you understand these orders as theyâre bein' given to you?â
âYes, sir,â was all the reply Roman could muster.
âYou're dismissed.â
2nd of Ignis, Evening Tough Tavern
Roman walked out of the warehouse and into the open city, the noise and color assaulting his senses. It was the night of Drunkards Day, and the city was mad with celebration. Drunken laughter, booming street drums, and the smell of spiced wine and grilled meat choked the air. He pulled his collar up, hoping to be just another shadow in the festive embrace.
His clothing was a quiet declaration of his dual life. While the cut of his tunic was clearly of finer woolâa deep, muted indigo that spoke of quality dyes and expert weaveâit was entirely unadorned. There was no embroidery, no precious metalwork, and no puffed sleeves; the tailor had prioritized ease of movement above all else. Over it, he wore a waistcoat of dark, supple leather, sturdy enough to deflect a stray spark from the forge or the clumsy shove of a reveler, and belted simply with a wide strap of heavy, unbuckled hide. His dark trousers were tucked into tall, well-worn boots that had seen both the workshop floor and the muddy roads outside the city. They were impeccably clean, as a nobleman would demand, but clearly cared for by a man who respected the function and longevity of his tools, not their ornamentation. The only hint of his true station was the gleam of several rings across his fingers on his right hand, one of them being a signet with a cleanly etched, minimalist family crest and the easy, confident stride of a man accustomed to having space around him.
The Tough Tavern was just as rambunctious as he expected. He elbowed his way to the bar, ordered two stiff ales, and downed them quickly, one after the other. The bitter numbness was a welcome shield against the chaos in his head, a temporary truce with the shame. The tavern was packed, and the air was thick with smoke, salt, and sweat, but the noise of a popular drinking song currently being roared by a group of patrons pulled him. He found himself singing the chorus, letting the loud, mindless activity consume the edges of his misery, obeying the "be merry" part of his orders. He had to look the part of the character he created.
He straightened his spine, forcing the familiar, careless mask he wore day to day. His face muscles ached with the effort of stretching his lips into a wide, unnatural smile, the infectious, charming grin that defined Roman Ravenwood. He pushed the cold shame and calculated obedience beneath this synthetic cheer, taking a deep, theatrical breath. He was ready to face the crowd and play the part of the happy fool.
At the very least he didnât have to pretend to smile at a familiar crowd of people gathered around a table towards the back. The friendly company he was sure would lift this burden on his heart. He picked up a few more mugs and weaved through the crowd with considerable grace and ease given his size. The group seemed caught up in their conversations but he greeted them all the same.
âBy the gods, such a gathering of beautiful faces. Never would I have thought to see so many of my friends in such a place.â Roman laughed louder than he needed to be. Kicking over a vacant stool to an empty spot on the table between Ariella and Stratya, âroom for one more?â he framed it as a question but it clearly wasnât, joining the others at the table.
His smile never faltered through it all, the threats, the phrasing, the looks of disgust and anger, he smiled through it all. A shit eating grin meant to infuriate and challenge. This was what he wanted. To antagonize Count Damien, annoy the king, and show Alexander a taste of what he is up against. Offering up the relationship he had built between Violet and Himself on something akin to a funeral pyre. It was all going to plan, and the consequences would be far reaching indeed, but it wasnât his plan.
No, he hated himself for this.
Hated those above himself, hated that he had to smile at someone he cared for as they were breaking apart at his words, hated he had to put an even bigger target on his back. A target that would continue to grow. Thatâs why precautions were being taken, items moved, stories changed, personnel shifted, items enchanted, and spells weaved and cast.
His own self-loathing and pain didnât show through his smile, he wouldnât allow it. Instead, it was shifted to malice. He had to do this before; he couldnât slip there were too many lives in the balance. His path was set, and he could not change its direction. Only march down the path one step at a time.
Erik's parting words lingered in his mind; He tried to convince the man again not to have him do this before he left for the banquet, but he knew it was a lost cause. âLook now, Iâll only be tellinâ ya this the once. Chariot appreciates the information youâve gathered from the former king of sapphires, now the ten of spades. And yet, theyâre concerned about her, ye see, and the possibility she might be able to influence or corrupt ya.â
âYou will do this. Burn her and your relationship with her right there in front of everyone. Make dead sure thereâs no mistake, no misunderstanding at all, that the two of ya arenât friends or lovers. Fail to make that point, or try to rebuild this relationship even a little, and the very next orders youâre given will be to put her down for good and make certain thereâs no chance in hell she can be brought back again. Weâll be watchinâ.â Erik's retort was sharp, like a slap, and left no room for argument.
With those words fresh in his mind his eyes flickered to Violetâs, a look in his eyes just for a moment of something akin to resignation or fear. It was quick, then his gaze shifted to the others as they spoke. Violets words struck deep and almost sounded as if they did not belong to her. Striking, direct, efficient⊠pained. His heart ached, not just for her but for a long distant memory, one that was very similar. A slight tremor in his hand threatened to betray his inner turmoil yet he tried to hide this by taking another drink from his wine.
Still, her words did show him that he didnât have to push any further down that road. The damage was done, the reputation and favor he had gained destroyed. No point in adding a few more sticks onto a wildfire. He had nothing to say to her, therefore he decided to say nothing. Only the flexing of a clenched jaw under his smile
His eyes locked onto Alexanders, Roman could tell there was nothing more to be gained from goading this man, but the others were still raw and open. For just a moment the look in his eye showed just a hint of that of a predator, then shifting again back to the smug smile of a man who seemed to be blundering through life ignorant of the damage he was doing but enjoying it all the same. The harsh words from Calbert elicited a slight chuckle but nothing more, his words were expected and if he had to be honest warranted. But another poke wouldnât hurt.
The kingâs response, however, prompted him to take a moment before continuing his tirade of sparking blood feuds between himself and others. It did not, however, stop him from taking a few more bites of a very well-presented dessert. With a slight nod of his head Roman spoke, âAs the king decrees I acquiesce. I shall not pursue courtship with Lady Violet Damien until it is otherwise allowed by the powers that be. Am I of the understanding that these wishes apply to Lady Crystal Damien as well?â a question meant to clarify but could easily be taken as something more nefarious. More importantly, an answer without an apology.
Roman knew a few things, rumors mostly about the new Lord Cassius, the Iron wolves were rather well known but some of their rumors were not. Those men did have more than a few stories about their young officer, holding a mountain pass with a dozen half dead men for a week, sieging a fortress and destroying it from within, the stories went on. Some even saying he is seven feet tall, launches fireballs from his eyes, and lightning out his arse.
Still some rumors are more distasteful than others, rumor he could use. Seeing Alexander try to calm Cassius rage with a simple gesture like that was laughable. Roman may be daft in many things but rage was all too common with him and yet it seemed to work. More than a little strange. Keeping Cassius in this fight would only help his cause so Roman attempted to Prod the man again.
âCareful young wolf, you wouldnât want the fine folk of this table to hear aboâŠ.â His words died in his throat. The first time tonight heâs seemingly been caught off guard, not by Alexander, or Calbert, or the King. The sight of Charlotte wrapping her arms around Cassius made him hesitate and ultimately choose not to speak ill of the boy further. His war after all was not with Charlotte or her father, and like Violet the boy was simply a means to get to their father and mother.
Wulfricâs words cut in to his thoughts, it was a fine idea indeed, a formal duel. Something he could use whether it happened or not. The way Cassius deflated and turned his attention to charlotte made his decision for him, âA duel is a fine idea, yet it may be wasted on me. I find my skill with a sword to be lacking as I am but a blacksmith at heart.â
The outburst from the princess brought his attention back to the matter at hand. It was funny how she used that turkey leg and used a threat that seemed childish but still heartwarming for reasons he couldnât really put together right now. Adorable was the first thought that came to mind. It reminded him of when they were children, before they knew how dark this world could be.
Only once so far did his smile falter, his presence remained cheerful and smug, either from arrogance or ignorance of how the coming trial was to be played out. Acting as a fool for all to see except for those few who could see through his act as something far more calculated. He could only keep telling himself this is what he wanted. So, with a glistening smile he continued to do as the king said, eat, drink, and be merry. Especially if Lorenzo was going to get in on the action too.
âIf you're going to make backhanded compliments, you should put some more power into it⊠Like when you slapped Violet in the face.â He let the reveal of the information hang for only a second, only allowing time for a quick glance at Violet. âPerhaps using your palm is your strong suit. Careful Mina. If he's bold enough to strike Count Damienâs daughter, I doubt heâd hesitate to do the same to a niece⊠and to answer your question, Roman. I don't think Iâm too good for His Majesty's generosity and food but⊠I know I am better than someone of your ilk. Enjoy your freedom while you still have it, Lord Ravenwood.â
Roman didnât miss a beat and couldnât help but to give a hearty laugh in between bites of food and gulps of wine. It was to him quite humorous to think this âadvisorâ would already drop the facade after one prod. This did tell him that he wasnât there for diplomacy, he would have handled it better.
A commotion towards the doors pulled his attention away from Alexander and he couldnât help but laugh again at the circumstance. He didnât recognize the girl, but he did recognize the man he had an enlightening conversation with at the arena, Sjan-dehk. This one he would have to reach out to again see how the envoy was received with Eric.
Now it was time to round on the man see how far he could poke him, see just where those sensitive buttons were. He knew just where to start.
Roman gave a polite nod and a smile towards Wulfric and Callumn for their comments, he had to stop himself from taking a second glance at Callum though. He was different in a way he could not question right now, something about his perceived confidence and posture. This he would be sure to bring up to him later at their next secret meeting.
âTheir royal highnesses honor us with their words as their wisdom in these games far exceeds our own.â His gaze turning back to Alexander with a glance to Mina and Violet, âHere I was expecting for the two of us to exchange in thinly veiled insults like gentlemen, yet you skip right to accusations.â He took another bite the food really was good and his reactions to every bite said just as much. âTruly though you must try some of these dishes they really are to die for.â
Wiping away crumbs and grease with his napkin from his face, âAs for my freedom? I have faith in this great kingdoms' courts that they will be as just and fair as his majesty king Eden Danrose himself.â He continued with his smile and cheerful tone, âNow then onto these accusations, which I might add is an interesting course to take, a real punch to the gut.â Again, he chewed through another bite of food just as carefree as before, perhaps it was misplaced confidence.
He shared a glance at Sebastian at his words but didnât give the slightest reaction to it other than that acknowledgment. âThere is some truth, that I can lose some finesse with my movements when Iâve been drinking, and we were drinking.â He gave Violet a wink as he finished another glass of wine to emphasize his words. âYou could say that something meant to be a gentle caress out of passion could have been a bit faster than one would like sometimes, but thus is the effects of the poison we know as alcohol.â
Now to try a different angle, "On the topic of⊠passion. Itâs quite admirable, the devotion you show to your wife. It reminds me of the traditional virtues we hold so dear in our kingdoms. A wife's place, protected and cherished... though one does sometimes wonder if such... zealous protection might inadvertently isolate her from events such as these." Taking yet another bite of his food.
"It's a delicate balance, isn't it, Alexander?" He said with a seemingly thoughtful expression. "Maintaining a virtuous image while enjoying the...â His shifted darted between Violet and Mina for just a moment. âPleasures life offers. One must be exceedingly careful. Rumors, like wildfire, can spread quickly in court. And sometimes, the most well-intentioned gestures can be... misinterpreted. For your sake, and your wife's reputation, I trust you can navigate these waters with the utmost discretion." He said with a smile unsure of how this would work out but sometimes theatrics and false embellishment could be fun.
Roman, his mouth full of roasted pheasant, swallowed and chuckled, a hint of amusement in his eyes. "Lady Mina," he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin and a slight reddening on his cheeks from the unexpected kiss, "you flatter me." He spoke with a smile and a glance towards Violet. "And Alexander, I appreciate the offer, but I'm quite comfortable. Besides," he gestured with his fork, "I wouldn't want to disrupt the... delicate balance of the king's table." He gave a subtle, almost imperceptible glance towards the head of the table where the King and Queen sat, taking in for a moment the plates of food the king had already gone through. He had a lot of ground to make up if he was going to give the king a challenge.
"And what of you? You haven't even touched any of these delicacies the royal chefs prepared. I understand how nerve-wracking it must be for someone of your..." He trailed off in thought while idly restacking more delectable meats and veggies onto his plate. "...bloodline to be in this place, surrounded by so many nobles and royalty. Unless, you think you're too good for the king's generosity and food?" A quick jab with a smile, he would continue this ploy of seeing Alexander as beneath him and play this ridiculous mask he'd built for himself. All so he could keep his eyes and ears open for more information, usable or not.
He once again glanced at Violet with a smile, "Lady Violet, I must say you look stunning tonight. I do quite admire the choice of attire." He spoke with confidence and joy, drinking and eating merrily while continuing to devour the large plate of food before him. Roman may have been eating quickly, but he was still maintaining his manners as best he could. Still, the comment Wulfric made just a few moments before had not slipped his notice. In time, he would find out just how much the prince knew of their common enemy.
The air in the warehouse was still thick with the subtle tang of industrial byproducts. A more neutral scent of aged wood and canvas permeated the space, mingling with the faint, metallic tang of tools and materials. Evening sunlight filtered through tall, arched windows, casting long shadows across the room. Candles flickered, complementing the natural light. The delicate chime of a hammer against a small anvil, the heavy thud of a dropped crate from the storage areas, and the low murmur of focused conversation from the front of the room filled the space with a subdued symphony of industry.
The rear of the building is dimly lit, the storage more organized, with neatly stacked crates and equipment covered with heavy canvas. The makeshift meeting area only had three occupants, Astri, Erik, and Lord Ravenwood himself. the two helping the larger man get dressed. Erik wasnât wasting the chance to drill into the lord what to remember to say and do.
âSo, a review then, lad. What are ye not gonna do, eh?â he asked not hiding his accent while tightening down and aligning Romanâs jacket.
He rolled his eyes with annoyance but continued, âdonât unnecessarily piss anyone off, donât make it obvious, donât diffuse the trial, donât start a war.â flinching when Astri pulled the jacket over his bandaged arm. âOw hey! carful thatâs still sensitive from earlierâ
âThat's a wee lassie's sound, that.â she said returning his glare with a smile.
Erik didnât acknowledge the two bickering, âAnd what are ye gonna do?â
âPiss off the king and Calbert, try to see who pushes, stay on taskâŠâ he trailed off his mind elsewhere. âDo you really have to send those pictures of Violet and I to him? I... I donât want to use her as a pawn in this.â his tone was pleading.
Erik's jaw tightened, his eyes narrowed as he gripped Roman's collar and brought the giant down to his eye level it wasnât far, but it spoke volumes on its own. âWe're here to do a mission, boy, one that WE will not fail, so we won't. She doesn't love ya; she'll never love ya, only that mask WE so carefully crafted. So, get your head straight, and out of your trousers.â He released him straightened the now ruffled collar and continued dressing the man.
Silence filled the room for a time until they were done. âAstri.â Erik spoke stepping back away from the other man to get a good look at him. âCheck his seals and Aura.â
She didnât hesitate just to do as she was told. a whisper barely audibles slipped from her lipâs pupils dilating and eyes growing bloodshot. "There's cracks and flickers o' black in his aura. The seals are holdin', but they're deterioratin' faster than expected, aye." she didnât blink, she didnât move, just looking through him and into him. âThe bondâs strong but the other yin will be loose within the month.â Astri broke eye contact and dropped to a knee catching her breath.
âDammit.â Erik said his glare still fixed on Roman, âif we find out you tampered with your seals again...â He didnât finish his sentence; he didnât have to. Roman was aware of the consequences for such an action or attempt. His counter parts attitude was understandable. Erik was here to keep him in line, if he messed this up, all his advisors would pay for it just as he would.
Romanâs father has made it very clear, either they all failed, or they all succeeded, and they all had something to lose. He could only speculate that the last conversation Erik had with his father about their progress did not go well. It would explain why Erik was back to his more uptight and serious attitude just like he was when he was training him as a young boy.
âKeep in mind my Lord.â Saying the last part with a sneer, âWe donât have any decorations that can hide your aura. That crate has suspiciously gone missinâ.â One last looks over was all he needed to do.
With the raise of his hand, two well-dressed guards came up in unison wearing kilts with the tartan pattern of the Ravenwood house, well-kept and straightened jackets with matching berets. âMake sure our Lord here doesnât get lost and arrives at the dinner late but still on time.â The duo saluted then stepped to the side paying no attention to the glare Erik received from roman as the trio made their way out to the carriage
âNow presenting Lord Roman Ravenwood of Emberstone.â
Tall and muscular, with a clean-cut beard and close-cropped hair, Roman strikes an imposing figure. His stoic bearing is accentuated by a forest green jacket that ends just past his knees, crafted from a luxurious blend of fine linen and wool. The jacket's shoulders are adorned with delicately stitched round metal disks bearing his house sigil: two ravens facing each other, an anvil, axe, and hammer between them, and a crown above.
A fine leather belt with an ornate buckle cinches the jacket at his waist, while gold and black inlay cuffs extend from his wrists to just below his elbows, each depicting traditional tales of great beasts swallowing the sun and moon. His fingers are adorned with rings, some featuring insignias and others set with finely cut jewels.
Around his neck hangs a clear crystal pendant, subtly refracting light into a myriad of colors that dance elegantly over his silk undershirt. His pressed, but loose-fitting dark blue pants are paired with polished leather boots that rise just below his knees. The deliberate choice of attire by Roman and his advisors underscored his noble status and the rich heritage of his house.
The sea of red, gold, and orange did not go unnoticed by him. He understood the semblance of it. A show of fashion and of unity to the people that called this kingdom home. But it seems he wasnât the only odd one out. A few outliers with different or similar colors to his own were spread out. Still, he was here to represent his family, his home, and by extension, his kingdom.
He walked with a practiced purpose and a smile on his face. Many other nobles were whispering about him, if the whispers reaching his ears were to be believed, the rumors they started sending out just a few days ago were already starting to make their way through these social circles. Rumors of him just relying on his riches and buying his way to his position, rumors that made him out to be greedy and selfish behind closed doors.
He gave both the King and Queen respectable bows but addressed them a little differently, âYour resplendence.â He smiled to the king then the queen, âyour majesty.â His gaze shifting to some of the other familiar faces at the gathered tables, then politely moved to take his seat.
âAlexander Deacon, Lady Violet.â Spoken with a smile and calm demeanor. âA lovely evening with a feast that would rival the ones we would have back home.â Eagerly yet politely, he began to stack his plate with just about anything he could reach with an interest in the fine selection of meats. âI am famished.â Glancing momentarily from his plate to Alexander with a smile.
Time: 11am Location: Sorian Gallery of Fine Arts Interactions: Violet @Tpartywithzombi Mentions in order: Mina @Tae, Rohit @Helo, Milo@PapaOso outfit: Uncomfortable fancy metal clothing.
This gallery was magnificent. Its works rivaling if not out right exceeding some of his own works, something Roman begrudgingly admitted to himself. Painting was not his strong suit, but sculpting was, the masonry and sculptures on display showed a level of expertise that he would find hard to manage in even his own craft. This Milo St. Claire really did have a better handle on the finesse required to complete these works then he did. Perhaps if he had a different life, he could devote more time to honing his own skills but that thought was fleeting.
Violet expertly maneuvered the two of them through the pairings of other Finley dressed individuals. Polite nods and quite murmurings of the art pieces were shared. Yet, these events held something else just under the surface. The masks of everyone, even himself, were on full display, he detested this but still wore his polite smile occasionally excusing himself if his towering form ventured to close to anotherâs personal space.
His eyes occasionally flickering over to Violet watching her gaze, how she admired the works in front of them, how she stared at the others they passed making subtle notes of those whose eyes she lingered on more than others, was she hunting in a place like this? Her sudden pull towards a particular portrait caught him off guard, her next hushed words even more so and to be looking for charlotte of all people, âIâll keep an eye out, why exactly are you looking for her?â he asked keeping his voice hushed while gesturing at the painting like they were discussing it.
After his question their attention snapped to a flourish of movement, his eyes catching the distinct look of Mina falling towards another duo. Then just before she would have hit the ground one of them reacted with speed and grace, catching her and twirling back to her feet. A better look at the man didnât look familiar but the other man in the duo was the man of the hour himself, Milo.
His attention turned back again to Mina who was looking quite faint. A look he recognized as one of her episodes of being overwhelmed by something otherworldly as she described it to him before. Hopefully it wouldnât render her unconscious like it has done in the past. He did glance around for a moment but didnât see Munir around, this would be the exact kind of situation for the man to be showing Mina off unless something happened. It was a matter to investigate later.
A glance back at the two guards that were also paying attention to the two then back at him told Roman that they two were worried but would not leave his side unless asked. Something that a slight raise of his left shoulder told them not to worry. âThen let us continue our search. Maybe towards that hall of mirrors?â he asked quietly but something tugged at the back of his mind. A sensation that had only grown stronger since arriving in this kingdom. His other half growing restless in its cage.
Time: 11am Location: Sorian Gallery of Fine Arts Interactions: Violet @Tpartywithzombi Mentions in order: outfit: Uncomfortable fancy metal clothing.
The whispers of his guards kept Roman entertained while he waited. The duo stood a few paces behind him speaking quietly in their native language. They were having a debate about what kinds of alcohol they have found and tried in the city so far. Both disagreed if that beverage was a local spiced rum that had a hint of apple or the hot cinnamon liquor, they found in one of the more spendy and proper locations.
Both of which slowly fell silent as they noticed someone before roman did, the beautiful visage of Violet Damien adorning some fine pieces of metal with her outfit as well. It held her figure well and was not shy to reveal those scars she always tried to hide. Scars that his eyes lingered on for a touch longer than appropriate.
âLady Violet Damien. A pleasure as always.â A polite nod and an offer to take his arm was what she received in turn. âYour dress does look wonderful on this fine day. I hope you have been well since our last meeting?â he asked politely. His attention breaking away from her to the art gallery proper wondering what exhibit they should enjoy first.
Time: 11am Location: Sorian Gallery of Fine Arts Interactions: Mentions in order: outfit: Uncomfortable fancy metal clothing.
The ride over to the art gallery was uneventful. If it wasnât for what he was wearing Roman would have walked, yet he was a bit too flashy for even his liking. The decision was made, and he was outvoted to the type of attire he was to wear for this outing. He understood but he still didnât like it.
What was decided was some of the more eccentric and complicated attire they had made. A pauldron wrapped itself around his left shoulder and covered the magic caused injuries on his left arm down to his fingers. It was a wearable puzzle, an intricate piece of several thousand cut out shapes of different kinds of metal each in a different unique shape and size. Polished to a near mirror shine, the unique material could move like normal fabric but could also be just as sturdy as real armor if twisted the right way.
The next part of his walking art piece that he wore was a bronze-colored jacket with hundreds of carved and shaped scales layered over one another. Each scale was etched with designs, some random designs and shapes others depicting ancient sea monsters or legends. A scaled wire coiled around his torso and right arm ending in the head of a snake at his wrist, it looked like it was intertwined and made into the suit. Yet, it moved like it wasnât attached to him at all.
The last part of his ensemble was the cascading scales from his jacket past his knees. The colors of his house checkered dark blue and black poking out from under the long jacket. For him it was a fancy rendition of their culture. The kilt being part of it, as part of their artistic style metal and armor was typically worn as ceremonial wear of some kind.
These were the kind of things roman didnât enjoy, being a walking advertisement was one thing but now he had to put on a fake smile on top of it. He should have gone to that theater at least there he wouldnât have to wear this, this uncomfortable garment that pinched and pulled hair. At least it was protective and not meant just for looks.
There were two others in the carriage with him, two of the guards Sven and Erik assigned to him. They were wearing matching outfits, loose formal clothing that professionally hid the body armor underneath. One noticed his lordâs uncomfortable movements, âat least you look nice my lord.â A snicker escaped the other guard. Roman replied with a sneer, ânext time you two can wear this.â They all smiled the other guard spoke up just as they were arriving, âId rather eat a bowl of Astriâs mystery meat stew.â Silence for just a moment then All of them laughed together.
The Carriage rolled to a stop in front of the gallery, the door opened and Roman stepped out his guards following close behind. He took it in for a moment before entering, the sights, sounds, smells, mostly the building. The architecture of this place was a little much, but it was to be expected given the current ruler. The trio stepped up and through the main entrance and met with a kind receptionist that quickly made name tags for each of them. It was nice but roman was here to meet someone and ultimately decided to stand to the side so that both him and his date could explore the art works.
Sup im sword just got here and am getting a feel for things.
Well i got a feel for things and i think ill stay... also recovering from spine surgery sucks but is better than ending up in the emergency room again.
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Sup im sword just got here and am getting a feel for things.<br><br>Well i got a feel for things and i think ill stay... also recovering from spine surgery sucks but is better than ending up in the emergency room again.</div>
AuthenticTomb
princess
SilverSpring
CitrusArms
Not a Sayan
Tae
Fetzen
