Prince of vengeance

Discussion in 'THREAD ARCHIVES' started by Caligari, Feb 13, 2014.

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    OOC ^

    The country of Derega, a land of green fields and blue seas, is in turmoil.. Civil war rages across the land and blood soaks the fields all because of two men: The king and his son. For the past several years many believed the young prince to be dead and once he returned to the surface he brought an army with him in his march to the throne. The broken and forgotten followed him; deserters, murderers, thieves and traitors... to the point where he received the nickname "the prince of the damned"
    Only a few know the true story behind the mysterious past of the damned prince, but many prefered to ally themselves with him rather than the old king. This was because for the three decades the king sat upon the throne he has waged countless wars with the barbarians of the northern mountains, the sea raiders of the Western islands or the horsemen of the eastern steppes. The people have grown tired and weary of endless battle and ceaseless suffering but still stand ready for one final struggle for peace and rest. Something the prince promised in exchange for a throne.

    The land of Derega is surrounded by mountains to the north, east and south, while the entire western border is water. Only a handful of passages allow entrance to the country by land and these are heavily defended by strong fortresses and thick walls. While the wester border has many fishing villages and ports, there are three coastal cities which are most important of all: Clearsilver Bay, the most northern of the three and named after its clear water and rich silver mine.

    Crescent moon bay, the one in the middle of the three and named so after its large bay in the shape of a crescent moon. This one is the largest of the three and holds the largest import of trade.

    And lastly there's Hibernia, a city of sea raiders, mercenaries and other scum and villainy. All the money that comes from this city comes from its bars and brothels, which in turn get it from warfare and plunder.

    In the center of the land lies its capital, Anor Respin, Literally translated "the Golden city". A city of golden stone and high rising towers. While it seem rich and plentiful, Poverty strikes the streets and the gap between rich and poor is immense.

    To the north are the wildlands, mountains filled with barbaric tribes who live off of scraps and rocks voluntarily as they believe that the harshness and coldness of the land will break them down to their true self and give them strength. Something for which their gods will reward them. Some say they would be able to conquer the world if they would just stop fighting each other for long enough.
    To the east is a mountain range protecting the land from the nomadic horseman of the eastern Steppes. The mountains are littered with crumbling forts and hidden underground fortresses from the days of old. Many believe the mountains to be haunted with the souls of lost warriors and prefer to avoid them causing many veins of iron and gold to remain untapped. The prince now hides in these mountains with his forces, in hard to conquer forts and even harder to find caverns.
  2. Rikard's horse raced across the open fields of Derega, it had been for some time now and it was obvious to even the smallest child that it could not keep this pace up for much longer. The handful of frumentari at his back could hardly keep up with him and their horses were about to drop dead from exhaustion. Rikard on the other hand was too preoccupied, his mind to busy with past events and new issues he had to deal with. This new assignment would be a blessing to him, something to clear his head. After all, what was more relaxing to him than killing and burning?

    The western ports and the supply lines of the loyalist army, how marvelous they would look when destroyed and broken. Rikard pulled the reigns left, drawing them more south. He planned on going to Hibernia, the mercenaries and other scum there would provide a decent cover while at the same time give him and his men a good, close base of operations. Perhaps raiders could be paid to attack more merchant ships and mercenaries could be used to cover more roads.

    One of the spies rode up beside him.
    "Sir?" He asked. There was no response, Rikard was too far gone, too deep in his own thoughts.
    "Sir?!" It sounded again, this time louder, but the result was the same: silence.
    The man rode up closer and reached out. "Sir!" he yelled as he placed his hand on his shoulder.
    Rikard movement was harsh and jerky as he moved to look at the subordinate. "What?" A short answer, not uncommon.
    "The horses, sir, they need rest. WE need rest."
    "tss, puny weaklings." Rikard muttered under his breath "fine," he pointed at a body of water, to big for a puddle, too small for a lake. "We'll rest there and continue as soon as you are able."


    Far more to the east, Laurentius had different concerns; with the war reaching new peaks he had to step it up and hire mercenaries to reinforce his army of rag-tag warriors. Laurentius never truly trusted mercenaries since men who fight for gold have neither honour nor loyalty, but he knew they could be trusted to kill if they were well paid. And with the new gold ore vein discovered in the mountain, he could pay them well.

    He ordered his recruiters to send the sellswords to fort Snowpeak, a cold and crumbling ruin of its former self, but it still stood strong enough to be worthy of defending. On the courtyard he waited, sitting on a wooden chair with a small table on which wine and a glass stood beside him. Snow covered the area around him, his feet were ankle deep in the white powder, yet he failed to care. He could no longer feel cold, so he had no trouble.

    #2 Caligari, Feb 16, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 16, 2014
  3. Of course, one sellsword that Laurentius had was one that, thankfully, would not betray him. He at least had a measure of honor, and a measure of loyalty, moreso than the average scum who sent themselves out to die every so often for a taste of a better life. That man stood as if he was naught but a visage of horror, a grim reminder of the death that awaited all men. One hand rested upon the pommel of his sword, the other laid at his side, at ease. His impenetrable armor was a constant when dealing with the man. It seemed like he even slept in it, although he obviously took it off sometime during the day. During those times, he was often afforded some measure of privacy, be it through his own request, or by simply the fact that most men simply didn't want to bother him.

    He similarly seemed like an edifice of stone against the snow and chill, unfazed by the grim coldness of the wintry hold. After all, he had served out here before when in the King's Army, holding the line against a variety of foes. He didn't speak. He didn't have to.
  4. The mercenaries rolled into the icy fortress and stood in the courtyard before the young prince. They seemed a strange bunch, some were obvious veterans carrying old military gear that has long been removed from service as well as a decent beard, others seemed unblooded and nervous in the presence of both the prince and his men. Most on the other hand were more afraid or wary of the beast of a man that Locke was. There was rustling in the crowd, whispers of disbelief or mockery toward the damned prince. He heard, but kept silent, he'd send them to the front lines soon enough. The dead, after all, cost nothing.

    Laurentius turned to him, "What say you, Locke? Any thoughts on these ones?" He said before he poured twe glasses of wine, one for him and one for Locke. He picked one up, the glass freezing in his touch and a thin layer of ice appearing on the surface.​
  5. As for the wine, he didn't touch it.

    While in armor, he was pure professionalism. He was a man that did his job and did it well, and drinking heavily was a pursuit that could be done when danger was not close. "Let me see.", was the only response from the Hound Knight, his voice muffled and distorted by the helmet's shape. It was yet another effect, made to make him seem less like a man, and more like a creature, even if it was but a man inside of the armor. He took a step towards the gathered group, drawing himself up to look at each man through the visor holes of that great helmet. He stared down each man, searching for that weakness in the eyes, that shard of cowardice that, when tested, would break like poorly-made steel.

    He, at least, knew how to pick out bad steel. It was one of the things he'd learned over time. Each one, he stopped in front of, saying, "What are you afraid of?"

    He awaited each of their responses.
  6. Laurentius grinned, he enjoyed watching the Hound work. Fear is a powerful tool, surpassed only by respect but much easier to apply. The group stirred beneath his threatening gaze, some, if not most, retreated behind the veterans who stood undaunted in the presence of this thing of steel and sinew. The first one spoke, he was old, already passed his prime and turning grey. But his scars revealed his capabilities to remain alive. "I fear neither death nor pain, but peace is something I can't face even in my old age." There was no stutter, no broken voice or lying tone.

    All the veterans gave either similar responses or other acceptable answers, the young ones on the other hand... Some were honest, admitted that death was something they did not wish upon themselves. Laurentius would accept them, fear of death can only be overcome by facing it head-on in battle. Others tried to lie and repeat what their veterans said. Their voices gave it away, all turned a bit more high-pitched when speaking of death. And then there were some who didn't answer because they could not answer; they didn't know their fears for they have already seen despair.
  7. He heard each of their answers in turn. The grizzled veterans were familiar to him. He had heard their litanies himself, and he had known them since he was a young lad. He knew the feeling of no peace. There wasn't peace for their kind, nor for the Hound. The Hound Knight was not much different than the vast majority of them, after all, he was just better at his job than they were. But admittedly, he wasn't looking for if they were telling the truth, or if they were wavering.

    He was looking for those who said they weren't afraid of anything. Because as Laurentius knew, fear was a powerful tool. Fear is what kept men in check, and what kept them alive. The Hound Knight himself? He was terrified. It was a matter of how men faced their fears that defined how brave they actually were.

    He brought those who answered truthfully off to the side, and separated those from the young that hadn't experienced war, that, in his mind, thought this was more of a game than anything else. He spoke to them, saying, in his own way, "So. You all are a bit scared. On the battlefield, you will suffer agonies beyond your imagining. You will have men screaming in pain, limbs chopped off, new scars earned, all for the sake of winning a victory for a little bag of coins and the knowledge that at the end of the day, you get to live a bit longer until the next day, and then all bets are off again. You will follow orders you do not think are possible, but you will have to do them anyways. This is not a game. This is not a joke. If you want to die on the battlefield, it is fine to be scared. But no cause needs men that cannot face death in the face, and flee screaming at the first sign of defeat. Because no army is victorious forever. So. I repeat my question. What are you afraid of."
  8. "capture", "torture" and "becoming a cripple" The three answers given, the three answers that are deserving to be feared. The young mercenaries were honest this time around.
    Laurentius got up. "That's enough, Locke." His every step made the cracking sound of broken ice and compressed air as he walked through the heel-high snow to Locke's side. "Those that still want receive a place in my army. You can collect your first payment from your commander when you've reached your post. Those that are too afraid or too far in disbelief can return to whatever shitty rock from which they crawled underneath." His voice was loud, echoing and strong. A ruler's voice, if nothing else.

    There was shuffling among the sellswords, doubt and concern led this on. The young prince couldn't care less. Eventually some left, one first then others followed, but most stayed. The veterans were undaunted, as was to be expected. This was good, Laurentius needed strength and skill above numbers. Those that remained got their assignments and were sent to the northern front, not the best place for troops as it is more heavily guarded than most of the kingdom, but Laurentius needed to keep his father's troops there on their toes and pinned down while he carves a way to Anor Respin.
  9. Katalena E. Calatia
    Usurper Commander; Princes Right Hand

    Katalena read the letter over once more, then ripped in two and threw it into the fire. Idiots, that's what the lot of them were. As she watched the parchment and ink burn she stretched and only doused the flames when all traces of writing had vanished from what was now ashes. Her muscles were sore and stiff, she felt as if she was slowly but surely turning from woman to tree, the girl had only been released from the infirmary a day ago, two days she'd spent in bed and the days of riding had taken their toll on her already aching body. The noble witch would pay for what she'd done, Katalena would take what she due. Currently she was alone in the woods with nothing but her horse and the dying flames as her company, she was hunting, however not in the typical sense. Kat had no skill with a bow or anything of the sort, and so tracking animals wasn't her forte, she was hunting people. Deserters. Traitors. She'd been given full reign to do with them as she saw fit, normally she would have given such a petty task to an underling, however she felt out of practice as well as irritated and men like these make good for blowing off steam. She checked to make sure every ember had died before she set off in the the darkness on foot.

    She'd tracked them for days and the snowy weather had forced her to put more effort than she'd intended on finding them, and then she'd stumbled upon a messenger who bore a letter with the promises of granting the King details on the Prince and his whereabouts, the fools had put out a meeting place, a clearing that Kat now grew close to. She was drawing steadily closer, ensuring to do all she could not to crush fallen leaves and branches underfoot. She could see the firelight, hear their hushed voices as they whispered to one another, there were five of them and one of her, as much as she knew Laurentius preferred to deal with people such as this personally, dragging them all back alive wasn't an option... the girl drew a handful of daggers, only three after all, she wanted to save a bit of fun for herself. She let loose the blades, two embedded themselves deeply into the nape of the men's necks, the third grazed it's mark thanks to the warriors reflexes, oh well, more fun for her.

    The woman stepped out from behind the trees smiling pleasantly. They paled and stared, on of the two stuttered a response after a few moments in silence.
    "C-Commander Calatia..."
    "Hello boys. Glad to see you're doing alright for yourselves, selling our information to loyalists a real step up"
    "We had no choice, The Prince couldn't protect them and he is not strong enough to take on the king. Trying to end this Civil War is what we had to try before dying"
    Th girl scoffed, they were so foolish, however she hadn't the time to explain why the bits and pieces these grunts possessed was not enough to bring about the end but they were expecting her back soon.
    "Killing yourselves would have been honorable and far more painless, consider yourselves lucky... I'm not going to deliver you to Laurentius, you'll die here"

    She took a step toward the two and noticed on of the mens eyes dart to the trees behind her, hey own orbs darted to the sleeping figure on the ground. They narrowed and her lips curved into a grin
    The boy yelled, Kat heard the figure in the bushes come crashing through the under growth, his thick arms wrapped themselves around her upper body, she didn't feign surprise, she simply twirled her dagger around in her hand and plunged it into his belly,as his grip weakened she brought the dagger up, slicing through from his abdomen to his chest, stopping just below the heart. His innards spilled out onto the snow covered ground, the look on his face as he tried to hold them in brought forth her infamous grin, her eyes flickered back to the other men. With a bit of scrambling and a few short lived scream Kat finished her assignment, she glanced around her at the five fallen figures before going around and slitting each throat, one was still alive, it paid to be careful. Just as she came she went, going back to her horse and setting off back to report her progress. She arrived back in town not long after high noon, having stopped a short walking distance out of town she covered her armor, weapons and such beneath a plain dress before carrying on her way to town.
    #9 Namora, Feb 22, 2014
    Last edited: Mar 2, 2014
  10. A grand loyalist ship could be seen entering the docks of Hibernia. The battle had been raging overseas. Finally it had come to an end and the troops were on their way home. Nephele being one of them. She was glad to be home, she much preferred land to sea. Once the shipped docked, a small group of soldiers exited the ship. It was also carrying some new found treasure for the king. The king having prepared a cargo wagon, drawn by two black draft horses, for his precious treasure. All but one of the soldiers set off with the treasure, to protect it from harm, towards Anor Respin for the king.

    Nephele stayed behind at the docks, gathering her legs again. Her long red hair flowing in the small breeze, her armor silent as she walked towards a bar, in hopes to have a drink or two, before heading back to the kingdom. Sitting at the bar she ordered a scotch. Quickly downing the first glass before ordering another and doing the same. After the third glass, she felt as if she was on fire, walking outside would fix that. The cold air quickly cooled her, making her smile. "Ahh what a prefect night to ride." Nephele said into the breeze, before going to secure a horse for her venture to Anor Respin. Seemingly without incident she swung upon the horse, a beautiful tall eighteen hand high Frisian, before trotting off towards Anor Respin.
  11. The advance scout rode back to Rikard's group bringing word of a heavily guarded shipment traveling down the road from Hibernia to Anor Respin. The frumentarii required little time in setting up an ambush: The horses were hidden in a small pack of trees nearby while the men hid on either side of the road in the wheat fields. Rikard on the other hand waited in the center of the passage, blocking it with his horse. The cart showed up well enough, twenty guards accompanying it: Three on horseback leading the group, one rode the cart, eight walked around it and the rest were also cavalrymen guarding the rear.

    They stopped, how predictable, and the leader approached Rikard with a sense of superiority. Rikard had trouble withholding his grin.
    "Move your horse, citizen, you're hindering official business."
    Rikard made a pensive face as he sniffed his nose and looked around a bit. "No, I don't think I will."
    "This is your last warning, peasant," the guard said as he drew his sword "Move now or-"
    But his sentence was never finished as a dagger was flung from Rikard's hand in the Man's throat. The body slipped off the horse and collapsed to the ground. His two companions on horseback charged at Rikard, swords drawn. The first attempted to take off Rikard's head, but the spy was too quick and leaned back on his horse dodging the blade. The second one planned to lunge at him, but Rikard dropped off his horse to the ground. The Soldier's sword dug deep in Rikard's horse, the beast neighed in agony before charging off, dragging the sword and the soldier holding it with him. Rikard was quick to end his life. The footsoldiers planned to take action, but never got the chance to as the men hidden in the wheat shot them down with crossbows from either side. They did the same with the horsemen in the back. One tried to get away, but bolts found their way into his horse soon enough and the coward fell to the ground and was crushed by the corpse of his horse.

    The cavelryman engaged in combat with Rikard attempted to ride him down, but Rikard stepped aside dodging both horse and sword and cut the front leg of the beast. Both horse and rider fell to the ground, squirming in the dust. Rikard kicked away the soldier's sword leaving him unarmed and ordered his men to tie him up. He would deal with him later. The frumentarii knew what to do and began hiding the corpses of the soldiers in the wheat fields and ditches, after they looted them for money and good steel of course. The Military horses were killed, as if they were left alive they would return to their stables notifying the nearby camps of trouble, and the meat was stripped off the bones to be eaten later. Lastly the cart was searched and they found treasure and other wealth. Fortune smiled at them, a good start to the hindering of supply lines and an immediate capital to be spent on hiring raiders and mercenaries to harass the kingdom even more.

    The wealth was packed on their own horses and the cart was stripped into tiny parts. Many make the mistake of burning the evidence, problem be that burning removes little evidence and creates more. The parts were scattered all over; planks were buried, metal was tossed in the creeks, spokes would be used as firewood later on,... Everything would be gotten rid of in one way or another. While his men were doing that, Rikard kept himself busy with their prisoner, he worked alone, both him and his men preferred it that way. He began calm, talked about how their rule was drawing to an end and other such matters to touch and feel where the man's weak spots were. Then he began making little cuts, similar to paper cuts, all over his body to see his reaction to both pain and the continuation of it. Lastly, before the actual torture began, he told the soldier what he was planning to do and what the torture has done to other men before him finishing the "conversation" by saying "There's no shame in screaming and crying... they all do.". That was enough, the man spilled his guts about everything he knew; his commander, military camps, troop positions,... In exchange for a quick death. Rikard took his sweet time.

    Once done they moved on, leaving little to no trace of what had transpired, Rikard ordered his men to spread out and find nearby locations; Safe havens to which they can fall back in case of emergency or even use as a main base of operations. He himself would head over to the port city, see for himself where he could find what he was looking for.
    #11 Caligari, Feb 23, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 23, 2014
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  12. Dantarian sipped his drink. "so." he said to the barkeep, from beneath the scarf that covered the bottom half of his face. "you say that some stranger is passing through town?" he spoke in a rough, yet upper-class voice.
    "aye, that be right. looks ta' me like one of them nobles from Anor Repsin." said the barkeeper. he knew Dantarian rather well. he was a regular patron. of course, he knew him as Richard Everlight, one of the master of disguise's many aliases.
    "my good man, I highly doubt it. those rich bastards barely ever leave their cities. I would say both you and me would be a damn sight richer if they did." said Dantarian, though the latter half of this was a lie, as he had amassed a great horde of money from his many jobs.
    A stranger turned to Dantarian. he was wearing a black hooded robe, concealing his face completely. "I have a job for you." he spoke.
    "oh?" replied Dantarian "do go on...".
    "The stranger in town. the one you were talking about..." said the hidden figure.
    "what? you want me to tail him? assassinate him? steal something from him? all these come at a high cost!" said Dantarian, already being able to feel the coin in his hands.
    "I want you to tail him, wherever he goes, and protect him using any means necessary." said the hooded man, placing a large and heavy purse on the table. Dantarian checked the purse, opened it, looked inside, then dropped it. he looked up at the man, his eyes wide.
    "consider him completely untoucheable, sir." said Dantarian. he exited the tavern, checked his weapons and climbing gear, and went forth to find this stranger. upon reflection, he decided that the voice from within the hood sounded rather more female than it looked.
  13. Nephele was a good ways back from the group. Given the troops slower rate, she would have been able to gain some ground, in order to meet back up with them or so was the plan. Just when she thought she had lost them she heard the sounds of voices and the screams of the horses. Reining in her stallion who merely shook his head at the sounds. Quickly she found a spot to secure the great beast before trying to get a closer look. Sneaking through underbrush and weaving around trees until she was at the edge of the clearing. Looking through a bush as a strange man tortured her commander. Great she thought. I leave them for a moment and they get ambushed.

    She watched as he was killed, saying a silent prayer in her head for the honorable men she served with and now lost. Most might have gone out, an act of suicide or stupidity, and tried to save him but not Nephele she knew far better. After the frumentarii had all left she walked out to the clearing. Her temperature was rising to a dangerous level. Her intoxicated state didn't help her control it either. Before she knew it with a small cry she went up in flames. The flames exploded out, quickly catching the grass on fire.

    Once her anger subsided and her flames cooled off she made her way back to where she had hidden her beautiful stallion. Quickly untying the large beast, she slide upon his back. The horse spinning in left then right as he felt her tension. If I go after him it will be suicide. I should tell the king. Easing the horse's nerves she spurred him in the direction of Anor Respin. The black stallion reared before charging forth at a gallop. Long red hair flowed in the air making a fire trail behind her. She needed to inform her king of what she had just witnessed. She passed through the clearing that her comrades had just been killed in.
    #13 Roxie, Feb 26, 2014
    Last edited: Feb 26, 2014
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  14. The explosion of heat and light caught Rikard's attention, with a firm tug on the reigns he halted his horse. The restless beast stirred between his legs as he turned it to look behind him. The smoke plume coming from his place of torture was noticeable for miles. Damn, Rikard thought Someone saw us. What were those useless scouts doing? He beat the horse into action, his heels digging deep in the mount's sides as it pranced and with a foaming mouth shot into action. Though it was already quite tired, Rikard forced it to above and beyond his limits as he was known to do with everything beneath his command.

    The dust flew up as hooves trotted across the road. In time a rider appeared in his vision, riding hard and fast to the east. Anor Respin. There was no assurance, but there was enough evidence to make such an assessment. Rikard moved his scarf over his mouth and his hood over his head, he planned to kill like no other but he had a gut feeling that this was going to be harder than he initially expected. At the very least the target would not be able to recognize him later on. He moved his horse into the tall wheat fields, it wasn't high enough to completely hide them but it would provide enough cover for enough time so that he could approach with more certainty that the rider would not notice him fast enough.

    As the horse rode up beside the armor-clad rider, Rikard noticed the long hair and adjusted armor. A woman? It mattered not to him, a person is a person and they bleed all the same. He prepared himself, he reached beneath his cloak to behind his back and pulled out a curved sword no longer than the length of his hand to his elbow. It was short, especially for a horseman, so he had to get in close, but it was curved so his swings would not be hindered by the speed at which they were going. The horse beneath his legs was breathing heavily and sweating like mad, but Rikard needed to get in closer and bring the horsewoman down; a prolonged chase was something he could not afford. A few seconds later and he was right behind her, almost to the point at which her hair could be felt in his face. He swung aiming for her neck or the back of her unprotected head, either would do, anything lower and the thick steel would block it.
    #14 Caligari, Feb 27, 2014
    Last edited by a moderator: Feb 27, 2014
  15. Dantarian sat in a tree. It was suitably tall, and had plenty of leaves to conceal him. It was, indeed, a good tree. He observed the battle happening below him. Should he try help this noble, or should he leave him be? he appeared to be doing rather well. well, except from the fact that he was coming at her from completely the wrong angle... though that amount of force ought to break the links of the chainmail he was about to hit... nonetheless, best not to take chances. he prepared, and felt the wind around him, the call of the sylph spirits... he guided them around the strangers sword, and made them flow around the blade, enhancing it to have the potential to slice through metal, flesh. and bone, as easy as a ship through the water. nothing could stop his sylphs... almost nothing at least. an extreme temperature could make the sylphs freeze over, or lose their density and float away. but surely, magic users like him were not so common?
  16. A thousand sorrows were those that swallowed men, but he was long past being just a man anymore, at least, in his own mind. The ones that left were the lucky ones. They got out before it ruined their lives. They still had a chance to make an honest living, carving it from the breast of the earth. The rest? Well, they were already gone anyways, weren't they? A thousand sorrows indeed. Perhaps he'd make a mercenary company of that. He heard Laurentius' voice dismiss them, and returned to his side, still wearing that great helm atop of his head, as if it was a grim reminder of what fate awaited all men. That helm never came off in public, to the point where most men didn't even know what his face looked like. Locke liked keeping it that way. It kept a barrier between his personal and professional life, one that more often than not ended up saving him trouble.

    "It's good they went away. You don't want cowards in battle. You want cowards making food and smithing iron. Further orders?" That was the only comment he made to the Prince. He didn't remark much upon the difference in rank that they held. After all, he was but a peasant (although certainly far up-jumped from one), and Laurentius was, well, a prince. But he knew enough of royalty to know a simple truth: Those noblemen who actually gave a shit about whether or not they were high on some imaginary pecking order, and thinking that they were legitimately better than the masses were generally scum anyways.

    He had served men like that. He didn't think Laurentius was like that, although he had been fooled before in the past. Regardless, as long as the coin came, he'd put up with whatever inanities a client might spout or speak.
  17. Nephele preferred to travel in a less urgent manner. She didn't believe in treating the animals so harshly, even though she knew they could handle it to a degree. It would be some time before she would arrive at Anor Respin and she hoped her fresh horse could make the trip. She was trying to figure out who it was that attacked the group, she had seen the man but knew not his name. Having been over seas she had not had the pleasure with dealing with the prince's men yet.

    Her red hair flickered like flames in the wind. He senses were dulled slightly from the intoxication she had consumed earlier, thus why she didn't hear the hoof beats till late. Nephele glanced behind her. Crap! Her heart skipped a few beats at the sight of not only the other rider but at his sword being so close to her, if she had been a second later it would have killed her for sure. Twisting and raising her arm so as to block the attack, with her heavy armor, hoping to have the attack bounce off. Unfortunately with her unstable self, the attack would knock her off her horse as well. The large beast would continue to run for a bit. " Damn " She swear under her breath. Now she had to fight this guy head on.

    Nephele did her best to land with some grace but grace had left her now. Landing on her back on the ground with a hard thud that made her groan. It would take her a moment to catch her breath again. She rolled over before rising to her knees, looking around for the man that had attacked her. Maybe he would have given up, but she doubted that. Was he one of people I saw? She wondered, though she couldn't be sure, it was but a mere hunch. Drawing out her sword to help stabilize herself, she was really wishing that she hadn't consumed that much whiskey earlier. Though she didn't have her fire power, which she drew much confidence from. Surely when he saw that he would run, they all did, unless they too had powers then that could be a problem.
  18. With a chuckle and closed eyes Laurentius turned to the hound at his side. "Cowards? Locke, by definition only the cowards can achieve the highest heroism." The snow cracked and compressed as Laurentius approached the mercenary. He had to look up as Locke stood extremely tall above the young prince. "Besides, who are we to judge cowards? You who hide your face behind a metal mask and I who hide myself deep in the mountains. All men are cowards Locke, most are just to proud to admit it."

    And with that Laurentius turned to the stables "Come," he said, "we have to find our general, she is most likely in the village at the foot of the mountain range." Laurentius began preparing a horse for travel; a sadle, some bags, checked the hooves.."We have work to be done."


    The woman dodged, she was in luck despite the fall, Rikard on the other hand was less than pleased. With his horse exhausted and his weapons unfit or mounted combat, he decided it best for him to dismount. He was quick to disappear in the wheatfields; a head on attack on a heavilly armoured soldier would be suicide for someone like him. Then again, these were the battles he enjoyed the most: heavy armor versus no armor, power versus speed, noble versus commoner. Either way she had to die, their mission in these parts relied on absolute secrecy and if she were to escape that would mean the end of it.

    Rikard moved silently through the fields, at least, as silent as one could without rustling too much of the plants. He kept her in his sights, checking her defenses. An opening, any opening would do. He pulled out three knives and one by one threw them at the soldier. the blades cut through the wheat creating a thin path to their target.
  19. Nephele sighed as she looked around, making sure to stay kneeled for the protection it offered her. She heard the rustling, normally she would have been able to follow it but her intoxication was having an effect on her. Gently she shook her head to clear her mind, she needed to focus. She cursed the wheat for its hiding capablitity. She needed to flee, to get to Anor Respin to tell the king of the impending danger, the longer she was distracted by this man the less time they would have to prepare for the invasion. She had limited knowledge of the civil war. Her family had had only told her the basics. This left her in the dark mostly about who these people were. Though she had vowed her life to the king as any solider had. She saw it being traitorous to go against such a word, no matter what.

    Having lost foucs agian, one knife hit her shoulder, bouncing off her armor. The sencond impaled itself in her right hand causing her curse expcilitly. She leaned towards the ground causing the third knife to bounce off the back of her armor. So close it, would have hit her in the head had she not moved. "So you want to hide and throw things huh?" She said with a low growl. Focusing carefully on her hand she pulled the knife out biting back some very unsavory words. He had wounded her, now she was pissed. She felt the heat expanding from her chest, trying to consume her as it did. Her pain seeming to feed into more then normal. Concentrating on her hand she was able to contain her fire power to a mere fireball. The fire
    was whipping about her hand burning it in the processes. At this she hissed, but wouldn't stop it for it was helping to cortorize the wound, biting her lip as she tried to keep it contained to just a ball shape. She then proceeded to throw it in the near direction that she speculated the knives had come from. He wanted to hide, she would give him no place to hide. She knew the ball wouldn't reach him, merely hitting the wheat, setting the wheat on fire. As any field would it slowly set to fire.

    Nephele looked at her hand with it's disfigured skin. It was a grotese sight but it would heal. She wouldn't have great use of it but atleast she still had it. "Come out, come out where ever you are. You can't hide forever." She taunted with a light smirk upon her face. Reaching to her left side she awkwardly grabbed her sword. She was right handed, though she could still fight on the left, just not as great.
  20. Katalena E. Calatia
    Usurper Commander; Prince's Right Hand

    Kat returned to town bearing a sopping pail of water, and no steed, for horses were expensive and people like her shouldn't be able to purchase fine animals of any sort. She'd run in with a pair of allies that lay in wait for her, sent off the animals with them to be led home, her rough skirts got in the way of her legs and she grit her teeth in irritation, dresses and gowns of any sort were such hassles. Kat couldn't even imagine how uncomfortable the padded skirts and such of nobles were, but then again she didn't give it much thought very often, in her case the garb paid off well. Those who glanced in her direction were often familiar faces that weren't important enough to have a name she could recall. They paid her no heed, fetching water from the well just out of town was normal enough, some very much preferred it over the pool that was directly in the center of the little village due to the fact that some, children and adolescents alike, would taint the water to a degree, spitting in it or tossing muddy stones. Lazy or careless folks wouldn't bother making the longer trip, they dealt with the impurities and such. While she carried the bucket along she went about feigning difficulty so that any who saw her wouldn't pick her out from amongst the rather typical, weak peasant girls that made up the greater percentage of the population.

    All were dainty to some degree aside from a select few, such as the blacksmith's girl, who had cropped her black hair short and went about helping her father who didn't have the luck to have sons, the girl and her father were allies of the Prince's, supplying both quick reparations and full orders for them. As the purple haired girl passed by she shot her a smile, the other girl nodded and went back to work. As she trudged onward toward the tavern she looked so very normal, blending in almost perfectly with the petty townsfolk that it was hard for those who knew just what went on behind the scenes to remember just what a threat she was, let alone those who hadn't the slightest clue imagine the extent of her rebel connections. She paused, setting the pail down for a moment to stretch her stiff back, her eyes wandered through the rushing crowd she knew so well and then they slowly darted up to the looming mountain... having her hometown seated at the very base of the mountain that housed the rebel strong hold had always unsettled her, this was all she truly knew, and having them so close to her family-- or what was left of it-- was a gamble.

    However she trusted the Prince, and with his ever increasing amount of power Hardrock was practically untouchable. She shook her head, as if clearing her thoughts, and then leaning down to reclaim to bucket she continued onward, coming around back of Hardrock's only Tavern and dropping the pail off at the window just above the bin filled with dirty dishes. It rested only a moment on the sill before the freckle faced blonde looked up to see her, she jumped, nearly dropping the glass she was cleaning. It took a moment of breath catching and a sliver of thanking for Kat to get in a word that she would probably be working in a day's time and to pass that on to Nancy, the pail of water was a kind of peace offering so hat she wouldn't be too cross with her... The blonde used to quickly, pouring it into a basin that was meant for drinking water and then returning the container. With that she took a step back, waved and set off through the back alley ways of the village, pretending to be off to get spring water now. She was on her way up the mountain, trying not to catch the attention of any as she did so.
    #20 Namora, Mar 2, 2014
    Last edited: Mar 15, 2014
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