Shienvien

The Prophecy

@Rhae: Good; we'll see, then.

And yes, the "wiki" is still up. Been taking care of as much - theprophecycompendium.tk (link also in the OoC opening post).

The Prophecy

Thanks; I started wondering, though - do you (Jack, that is) recall the previous time I used the same character in a RP?

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Brow's nest should work just fine, I'd reckon. Could you describe the village population/structure/surroundings with a couple of sentences so I could better sync up Yanin's memories to what it's like?

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@Rhae/Merc: Hmm... Could probably still have Jordan spot Morgan ... but keep Ixion/Yanin close by, just in case he starts looking too much like a dinner (whether it's Ixion or Yanin who happens upon them first depending on how early into the next year Merc gets to posting, I suppose). Would at least get the three/four of them together. What do you two think?

@Jack: Should I just pick a random duchy and location name for wherever Yanin was stationed for his job? Also, how often do Reniam vampires have to eat, and how commonly they'd usually do?

The Prophecy

Domhnall, Iridiel and Angora

After a few seemingly too long moments (one could begin to think the poor fellow had managed to knock himself out on his way down), the probably quite humiliated squire slowly got up. “I’m fine,” he squeaked, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Turns out mud doesn’t care who you are, either. I...” He faltered, then sighed. Mud doesn't care who ... the what now?
"Dinnae know wha' were ya doin', lad, but I s'pose tha'd be one way tae obtain camoflage if ya don' have one given by nature," the forestfolk expressed, absently scratching one black-bearded cheek as the dark brown-green eyes in his brown-and-green splotched face confusedly took in the young black-eyes's newly modified appearance. "One'd figure ya ha' a crossbow aimed a' yer heed, but ain't more than a crow in these trees."

Oh dear. No sooner have I gotten clean than this one decides to take a mud bath. Angora's inner thoughts were a mixture of confusion and humour. This once-stoic defender of peace and morality, reduced to gibbering fits of ... what could only be described as palsy. Well, it was either that or he'd had a slight mental breakdown and probably needed a massage, a good stiff drink and lots of pampering, either one of them.
He was also decidedly less majestic-looking as a result of this misadventure; his once-brilliant white shirt and his breastplate, both of them were now [i]very[i/] brown ... as was the majority of his face ... and his hair. Angora bit back a laugh at the irony of his situation - no longer was he the knight in shining armour who pronounced sentence upon the accused! Now, he was in the mud and the blood with the rest of them...
Was he going to succumb to a spirit lurking in his sword too, and then have to have a foreign healer repair his own mind? Mmh. Perhaps not. Don't curse it, Angora.
The squire, for what it was worth, had wiped away the majority of the mud before attempting to speak, only for his voice to fail him. He squeaked out a declaration of wellbeing. Angora wasn't convinced. Her smile hadn't faded, for all this - she checked the mud underneath where he had, uh, 'fallen over', for rocks and any stony promonitories. No sharp edges. No blood. Good. Could have been hazardous to his health - even more so than the sight of her nude form. A cut in the mud like that would easily become infected, and though the aforementioned healer was somewhat awake, Angora would rather her abilities weren't immediately tested.
She heard the brown and green splotchy man - Domhnall, she quickly reminded herself - start talking in his coarse, rough speech. A crossbow aimed at the head? Crows? Oh, right. He had assumed that the squire had dived for cover from an unknown assailant! Perhaps not exactly false, given the circumstances, though the assailant was quite known, and she didn't need a crossbow aimed at his head. Angora shrugged and returned her focus to the squire, seemingly oblivious to his shame and his embarrassment.
"Well, uh ... you take care of yourself, right? That looked painful, and you're kinda lucky that you didn't hit a rock or something. Would have been quite the mess if you had, too." She picked up Jaelnec's hat and offered it to him, though the hat had also fallen victim to the seemingly ever-present earth.
And then, to compound Angora's shivering chilliness ... she felt the first few drops from the sky fall upon her head, trickling down her black hair and into her eyes. She could taste the water as it dripped onto her lips, as a drizzle slowly emerged into a torrent from the menacing clouds above. Rainwater ran in rivulets down Angora's neck, down her back, down her chest, splashing against her bare skin in the rents in her clothing.
"We... should probably get moving." It was increasingly difficult to hear oneself over the noise of the rainwater now pounding down on the leaves and trees around them.
At least the squire wouldn't have to worry about the mud for long.

Well, the very least his well-honed hunter's instincts were not off, Domhnall wryly thought to himself, now beginning to genuinely shiver rather than just briefly shudder from the abrupt change of temperature. It had been but a couple of minutes since he had assessed the threat of impending rainfall as the greatest threat over their heads, and sure enough, here it was.
"I'm won' tae agree with the lass here," the forestfolk agreed, half-speaking loudly, half-shouting over the rain and his own shivering. He'd probably die of hypothermia if he continued to stand there much longer. "So le's pick up our things an' get going, aye?" The things which, incidentally, were all over the place.
With luck, the rain would not be for long - sudden downpours like this seldom were. It was entirely possible it wasn't that expansive, either - the leader of this rag-tag group was probably quite right to take off ahead of them. Might have spared himself and the white-eyes a cold shower, for one.
Without further ado, he motioned Iridiel to come, and took off jogging to where most of their things had been left. The highlander woman, uttering an inventive stream of swearwords in her native tongue, followed after him.

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Jaelnec has yet to master the art of contemplating firewood.

Could I get a name for some small semi-rural town in any duchy which is big enough to have a dozen to two guards? (Otherwise I'll just pick and name one at random.)

Hmm. And how probably would Jordan get eaten if he were to spot Morgan before Ixion? @Rhaevnn Xeno The Viper himself should be mostly safe, not so sure about his squire (barring intervention from his master).

The Prophecy

Domhnall, Iridiel and Angora

Kings were there to keep the throne occupied? No, come now, she might be young, but Angora knew that was just naivete and folly to truly believe that the King, the undisputed ruler of Rodoria, was merely a figurehead. True, the Dukes spoiled and ranted and raved when the King had his back turned, but the King was the man in charge, surely. Surely? Now she doubted herself. Perhaps the King was just a figurehead, controlled by puppet masters behind the throne- she stopped herself before she went on. It wasn't the King she hated. No, not at all - it was the very institution of the monarchy. What right did one man have to rule over all others because of his bloodline? Why were the common people always ignored, nay, shoved to the side, when it came to government? Wasn't the government supposed to be taking care of the people? Surely... the people themselves knew what was best for themselves? Well, maybe not.
Angora herself was no politician. Iridiel, on the other hand, she could be a politician if she wanted to be one. A hot-headed firebrand she was, especially when it came to defending people and her own right to freedom. Angora remembered that Iridiel had said that she had been exiled for her own beliefs - or perhaps it was the killing of two officials who believed otherwise. Either way, surely she could understand Angora's point? If she understood it of course, which was not a given when speaking to a foreigner. Iridiel showed no real signs of interest in the conversation for her part. She looked to be simply enjoying snuggling up to her green-skinned friend. Which brought Angora back to the point at hand - the muddied cloak that currently adorned her shoulders.
Angora sat up, and attempted to lift the cloak over her head to present it to Iridiel. "You, er... you should probably have this back now. I'll be fine."
Iridiel shook her head. "I gave it to you."
As Olan was approaching the downed woman (“The fire didn’t do anything, you know? In any case I’m pretty sure it’d be better for you not to kick it. You know?”), Domhnall peered at the vague direction Jaelnec was supposedly in. As the forestfolk had been idly contemplating the firewood in lieu of inadvertently (or intentionally) staring at the above-knee parts of the very naked Angora (somewhat disturbingly, it now occurred to him that her lack of shame could have had at least as much to do with the "getting close to your target" part of her job description than the it she had been stuck with for over half a year), he had missed what exactly the young black-eyes had been up to; he would've assumed he merely jumped to his feet a couple of moments before Angora commenced with her assault on the campfire, but no, the entirety of him had disappeared from immediate sight altogether...
"Sorry... My uh, temper got the better of me," Angora mumbled embarrassedly as she took Olan's hand to help her to her feet. She had noticed the strange antics of the man who initially had been oh so confrontational towards her... he had tried to do a backflip... from a sitting position, over the log that he had been sitting on. Angora's mind tried to work out the logic in that as she rushed over after Olan had helped her up to check on the black-eyed one. Angora knelt beside him, shaking him by the shoulders gently, trying to conceal the broad smile on her face.
"Are you alright?" She fought the urge to follow up with, See anything you like? She wouldn't be that brazen. These were people of honour and morals... She'd already sullied that enough with telling them about the Firm.
Iridiel, for her part, was silent, rolling her eyes and finally detaching herself from Domhnall's warmth... albeit very reluctantly. She would have liked that cloak right about now, but the human likely needed it more, especially given the state of her at the moment. Her outfit, though clean, was still little better than rags. And likely adding to the squire's embarrassment, it didn't leave much to the imagination. She must be freezing still. Hussy.
Domhnall regretted the absence of Iridiel's warm weight resting against his chest even more than the highlander did the reverse; somewhat demonstratively, the forestfolk raised his shoulders and shuddered slightly as a damp gust of wind made sure to immediately remind him of the general ambient temperature. All good things come to an end, he supposed, finally begrudgingly getting back up to his feet to see what manner of fate had befallen their young black-eyed companion. At the very least, moving about should also give some warmth...
Well, the squire had not gotten far, as it turned out. Angora was poking at the poor fellow, who had somehow achieved a prone position face down behind the log he had sitting on. To the best of his knowledge, something like that could happen to a startled housecat, or perhaps a cub not quite in control of its facilities yet, rarely a larger animal, let alone a humanoid. Unless, perhaps, they just spotted a crossbow pointed at them a few trees away. That might have justified such a hasty taking of cover. But alas, the sparse trees around remained bereft of any life but them bigger than a crow. The only serious threat hanging overhead was that of it starting to rain again.
Angora would doubtlessly not enjoy it more than any other of them. Now that she was clean, it became apparent how poorly her clothes were, one patch of pale skin chasing another. Perhaps we should lend a fishnet for her or something - it would probably have fewer holes in it. Wisely, he withheld commenting on it loudly for the time being.

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I think I'll put Sir Yanin's family holdings down in Etlon. I'll still need some semi-rural town just about anywhere in the country where Yanin could have been for over a year (head of guard of sorts).

Keeping an eye on the people moving about in Zerul City, seeing whether there is a good opportunity for him to step in. (Unless, again, someone wishes to bother him or his squire first - Yanin's currently wearing the cloak atop of mail, for the record.)

Er... And am I to assume no one would try to stop Aemoten at the gates?

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Domhnall and Angora

It appeared that the young black-eyes was not particularly opinionated on the matter, Domhnall had to conclude. Either that, or he decided to keep his opinions to himself. Whatever the case, the current leader's placeholder grudgingly resigned to accepting Angora's revelations with just a single word, fine. Huh. The forestfolk's eyes flitted from Jaelnec to Angora.
It... wasn't the response she was expecting from the man who had so vehemently been crusading against her way of life. Angora smiled - at least he was no longer hell-bent on demanding that she turn her life away from the Firm overnight. Such a thing was simply not possible, not to mention she might have a visit from a Con or two over her defection away from the Firm... or even her father. Erik was a Captain-Junior in the Dramburgh family - a family that was built on the Cleaners... Erik himself was a rarity - an outsider who attained high status in a family despite lacking their name. The Kelenwyn group was not a large one, but they were efficient. Angora doubted that even she would escape with her life. Admittedly, the man had a point - her hands were soaked in the blood of those she had killed, though perhaps he and others like him didn't quite realise what a Cleaner did. No matter.
Angora returned her attentions to her clothes. They were still damp - not to mention freezing cold - but they could probably ill-afford to spend too much longer sitting in front of a fire. Next to the green and brown man, his companion with the shock of red hair and blue lips slowly came to from her nap. Perhaps a subtle clue from the gods, Angora thought to herself, giggling quietly. The Black Sword's glow had ebbed away to a dull smoulder from the bright fiery runes that had been showing earlier. Angora turned the blade over in her hands several times... it was warm, very warm to the touch. She laid the blade on her clothes.
“I suppose it isn’t important in the end, you know?” Olan piped up. “The Withering doesn’t care who you are or what you do. And that’s our objective, right? Getting rid of the Withering?” Though somewhat surprised, the young black-eyes seemed to agree. That was right, this was their mission... The group's, and now theirs by extension. Iridiel had said her goddess instructed them to join the group on their quest ... or something of the sorts. The gist was what was important here. Healer first and foremost... Seemed like the sort of thing that would fit the bill quite nicely, in any case. Speaking of Iridiel, she was certainly beginning to stir now.
"Yeah... the Withering." Angora's face fell. So that was their mission was it? To cure the Withering, the greatest plague that the mortal world had ever seen? Wonderful. "Funny thing, isn't it, disease? From King to common folk, you're just as vulnerable. Makes you wonder, doesn't it - what truly makes a King so worthy of respect and obedience, when they're just as soft and fleshy and mortal as the rest of us?" Angora shrugged and went back to poking at her clothes. Iridiel - at least Angora thought that was her name - seemed to have woken up fully by now, though she was still yawning her head off and murmuring something in her native language to her companion. Were they a couple? Or were they just very good friends? Angora didn't know, nor did she really think it was her place to know. They were foreigners, they could have banned marriage for all she knew... She looked around at everybody. Perhaps she could let the clothes dry on her body, using her natural heat...
"I should probably get dressed."
"Ya do that," figured Domhnall. The clothes were probably still damp, but then again, she could also just move herself closer to the flames... Probably had a lower risk of setting the clothes on fire than just moving the clothes by themselves even closer to the fire.
What really separated a king from the common man... Some agreement made by the majority? The woman was quite right as far as Domhnall was concerned. King, peasant, at the end of the day they were just all people. Did not mean one was more correct than the other, or that the majority was necessarily right, or fair. Iridiel was only here because someone decided that her intentions did not matter, after all...
"Good morning," he noted to Iridiel, who had now lifted her head from his shoulder. He kept his arm around her for the time being, though; the warmth was nice, and he'd been sitting still for a while...
"Hmmmh... morning, still? I can't have slept for long I suppose..." Iridiel yawned and gently placed her head back on Domhnall's shoulder, pressing herself into his chest slightly. The warmth was most definitely welcome ... and Iridiel watched as Angora was going to find that out the hard way.
Angora got to her feet, cursing quietly as she took hold of her clothes from by the fire and moved them away from the odd spark or two, before snatching them up in her hand and allowing the cloak to fall from around her shoulders, heedless of what the others might think of her naked form on show to them all. Shit, that's cold! Instinctively she drew her hands about her breasts, shivering from the chill wind biting at her flesh, but she forced herself to forget about the chill for the moment in exchange for donning her clothes - though she wondered quite how well they'd actually protect her, given their poor state of maintenance. She swore repeatedly as she dressed herself as hastily as she could, though true to what she thought... it wasn't much good. The rips and holes combined with the damp clothing to render her perhaps even fucking colder than before! At least she could rely on the cloak to keep her warm- the cloak that was on the floor in the mud.
At last, her temper perhaps snapped once and for all. "Fuck it all!" In her anger, Angora aimed a kick at the fire, which missed, thanks to her still-foggy state of mind, and perhaps the side effects of having been kicked in the face several times. She fell to the floor, lying there thoroughly upset, embarrassed and exhausted.
Evidently still drowsy, Iridiel took his comment as an invitation to snuggle closer to him (not that he had anything against it), whereas Angora, from what he knew, quite uncharacteristically to Rodorians, opted to just change her clothes in the full sight of them all. It might have been that living in the forests under the influence of some critter that did not care at all for the common manners of its host for ten months or so had slightly dampened her sense of privacy... If Domhnall had any further thoughts on the matter, he did not seem to show them, and instead seemed to be trying to figure out whether he could reach one of the nearby logs to toss it to the flames and not move himself while he was at it.
All was fine and good until Angora decided to ... kick their campfire? Whatever her intent, she missed her target and fell flat on her back, eliciting an instinctive jerk from Domhnall's free hand and shoulder before he caught up with the fact that there was little way for him to do much unless he removed Iridiel from himself and got up. For a moment he paused, looking at Iridiel, then back at Angora, then at the two black-eyes. Assuming that one of them had not moved already (or, in Jaelnec's case, made himself sink underground), he lifted his eyebrows at them. Well? Are you just going to sit there with your hands free?

The Prophecy

@yoshua171, @Rhaevnn Xeno, @Mercinus3: Just a reminder that I have a character (and an associated secondary) in Zerul City I'm as of yet unsure where to put, too.