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CLOSED SIGNUPS Roses and Stars

Discussion in 'RONAAN'S REALM' started by rissa, Jan 31, 2017.

  1. [​IMG]
    Writing Level: Detailed
    Size: 3 Paragraph Minimum
    Genre: High Fantasy
    Secondary: Political Intrigue
    Tone: Deceit and Revelations
    Scale: 5-10 players
    Era: AR. 1306
    As the nobles of Orcosi and Marsea come together for their annual Springtime Galas, the realm holds its breath as it awaits the diplomatic outcome. There is more hiding in the waters between the two Lands, however. Political strife has become a growing threat between the allied countries, assassination attempts and deception rampant at every turn. But civil unrest is far from the greatest menace the realm faces. For three thousand years it has lain dormant, but the Cult of Stars has awakened and with it's arrival, the worst is yet to come. There is only ever one reason the Cult awakens, and that is as a precursor to the decimation of the Netherwell. To save themselves and the world in which they live, the people must put aside their hesitancy to believe and stand against the coming storm or all will be lost.

    Writing Level: Detailed
    Size: 3 Paragraph Minimum
    Genre: High Fantasy
    Secondary: Action & Horror
    Tone: Vatic | Grim
    Scale: 6-10 players
    Era: AR. 1306
    The Cult of Stars have announced the Herald's coming. The realm is in need of a savior, of saviors ready and willing to bleed for the realm. Even as the cold war between the Vashskara kingdoms and Orcosi ignites, the Three Lands have fallen prey to Elemental Demons and a vindictive group of spellcasters intent on furthering the chaos that is RoNaan's Realm. In Goldwine Grove, as the autumn months come to an end, the Cult of Stars make an announcement that shocks the core of everyone in witness. There is no containing the Netherwell; the seals have broken and any moment it will burst. As the Cult of Stars hastily makes a new home in Orcosi, they send forth a party of worthy individuals to collect the Heralds as the worst grows near. The battle of RoNaan's Realm is imminent.

    CHAPTER ONE: The Solaeya Solstice
    #1 rissa, Jan 31, 2017
    Last edited: Feb 8, 2018
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  2. The golden sunset washed across the marble floor, bathing the atrium in an ethereal glow. Spring was nearing it’s climax and so too were the Gala’s of the rich and powerful; the aristocracy of several nations, councils and synods and emissaries… All together, spread throughout the two continents of Orcosi and Marsea for short periods of time until the Solaeya Solstice graced the sky. In three weeks time it would arrive, if the almanacs told true. Three weeks til the fate of another year revealed itself.

    As the gold turned to hues of crimson and lilac, the Heiress of Caerdean walked the length of the atrium once more before summoning the Mistress of the Estate. By law, the Lue Estate was hers; but House Lue had always been loyal… And so the Rochan’s made no move to possess or demolish the centuries old estate that straddled both Caerdean and Aroran land. With another turn of the atrium Anuleisa noticed a straight-backed young Roanite enter the room. Within minutes, torches were lit, everlight was replenished and a slender, grandiosely built table was brought forth. Curious, Anuleisa watched the young Roanite butler produce two comfortable chairs, a fine set of porcelain and gold dinnerware, and a traditional kettle of Oma wine.

    Shortly thereafter the Mistress of the Estate arrived with a courtly smile and a hat dangerously close to falling off her silvered hair. Keldia Lue was pushing a hundred and four and barely looked a day older than sixty two. Anuleisa could sense the half breed’s tainted blood. Three generations ago the elven blood ran strong in House Lue, but they mingled with humans and lost their dignity to age. It was a shame, really.

    The Mistress took her seat and beckoned Anuleisa forward, thin wrists sporting a multitude of bracelets, each a different style from the last. When Anuleisa took her seat, the Mistress of the Estate waved off her butler, poured two glasses of Oma wine, and then delicately folded her hands underneath her chin. Keldia Lue was a patient woman, a woman of pride and dignity, of manipulation and tactic.

    “Let us not stray from the reason you are here, Anuleisa, let’s begin…” She said softly, a smile sprouting from her red painted lips. “I know that look, you’re planning something delightfully awful, aren’t you?”

    “Perhaps,” Anuleisa replied. “Or perhaps not.”

    “Pish posh, girl! I’ve known you since you were born and don’t you forget it!”

    With a sigh, Anuleisa bowed her head and said a prayer, then reached for her glass of wine. Oma was a traditional wine to serve guests of honor. The oldest of Oma was a fair shade of pink, having blended and matured from the deep crimson hue newer Oma had. She held the glass up for a toast and then sipped it once Keldia had done the same.

    “What do you know of Persephone De Chalons?” Anuleisa asked curiously, throwing caution to the wind. “I’ve seen her around, especially during your festivities. If talk is true, I may need certain… assistance.” She cleared her throat with another sip of her Oma and then spoke again. “And the emissary, the Lecyri who got along delightfully with Mister Lue this evening.”

    “I know a lot about De Chalons, a wonderful girl really, terribly misunderstood. She just left, I do believe. If this… curiosity of yours is strong I can send one of my boys to retrieve her.” Keldia took a moment, sipping on her Oma with intrigued yet pursed lips. She set down her glass before continuing. “Ah, you must be referring to Consul Aarcon Zulat. He’s been given quarters on the estate, I’ll gladly send my butler to fetch him before he retires for the night.”

    Contemplating further, Anuleisa sipped from her glass until it was finished and then sighed deeply.

    “Yes, Mistress Lue,” She replied, resigning to her fate. “Fetch them both.”

    The smell of salt and sea was the smell of Lyf. Merchants, travellers, and mastersmiths alike called this port city home. The old city, the heart of Lyf, was carved by the claws of the founding Lecyrian’s and as years passed it grew by magic and machine. Bigger and stronger and united as races of elves and humans come together as one. The atmosphere in Lyf was joyous; the farmers of Gwenna just finished their Springtime planting, the Lenport distillery’s shipment had arrived not three days prior, and the influx and outflux of nobles always brought business to the opportunistic and rowdy crowd of Lyf.

    Near the wharfing grounds, in a slum known as Clam Haven, a man of foreign blood strode across the slick brick lined streets with an unnerving confidence. A salty breeze rifled through his tangled hair and whispered secrets none would know. Turning left, down a road that led into the heart of the Clam, the man unbuckled both his holster and sheath and continued his trek. The Clam was not a joyous place and it could be seen from the whores mingling on the roadsides, the vagrant and the homeless huddled in garbage lined alleyways.

    His destination was the Vigorous Mare, a shady establishment owned by Eadrus. He’d been given word, that the Conjurer he was looking for, frequently haunted the dodgy place. Not at all surprising, as Conjurers were rarely seen in good company.

    When he reached the location, he waited patiently in front of the hidden entrance, a few vagrants eyeing him until they finally vetted him through and allowed him entrance. It wasn’t his first time at the Mare, but guards rarely lasted, and a familiar face would have sent Garek right in.

    As usual the basement was loud, rowdy, and full of drunks. There were Lecyrian’s, Roanite’s, and if his eyes weren’t mistaking him -- even a Halfling. Searching the place for a face he’d never seen, yet was sent to retrieve, Garek stalked the place slowly, probing with his magic. It wasn’t until he passed the door to his left did he feel the presence he was searching for… A conjurer, powerful from what he’d heard, and just beyond Eadrus’ special door.

    He kicked it down in one fell swoop.

    Two guards attacked at once and Garek side stepped to the left, raising his forearm to block a hit, and swinging with his right hand. Both impacts happened simultaneously and Garek used the moment of reverberating shock to fully enter the room. The guard he hit stayed down while the other swung at him again. He blocked the massive backhand and broke the Roanite’s arm. Scanning the room, he took three more steps and motioned for the two other guards to leave the room.

    It took a moment, until Eadrus finally nodded his head, and then they were alone with the Conjurer he’d been sent to collect. Well, not entirely alone. A Lecyrian entered the room, his presence primal as most Lecyrian’s were. He seemed defensive however, and loomed near the Conjurer.

    “I’m taking him.” Garek said aloud, point at Kydris Shieldew.

    Eadrus mumbled something about forfeited lives and having what was owed. He didn’t care either way, he was a bottom feeder of the worst kind and not one Garek would willing converse with under normal circumstances. The end of the world was no normal circumstance…

    “Also,” He growled, pointing at Eadrus, eyes aflame. “You need to pay your taxes. The Spider wants his cut and you know what he’ll do to you if you’re late again.”

    Garek glanced about the shattered room, the Roanite and Lecyri in one corner, a few broken thugs in another while he and Eadrus stood toe to toe in the center of the room.

    “You say his life is forfeit, eh?” Garek said softly, a mocking tone lacing his voice. “Well, until your taxes are paid in full, his life is mine. You got any problems with it, take it to the Spider. I’m sure he has a few words to share with you.”

    Pointing at the two in the corner, he curled his finger and beckoned them forward. They left the Vigorous Mare the way he came in… except the bar was silent except for a few snoring drunks and the backdrop of music from upstairs. He led them halfway through the Clam before he turned and rounded on the pair, annoyance seeping inside his veins.

    “Y’all are some damn fools, you know that?” Garek shook his head, mumbling under his breath about a waste of time. “I come lookin for a Conjurer and I find he’s indebted to an idiot like the Puppeteer and a random damn Lecyrian. How do y’all know each other anyways -- Actually, nevermind, I don’t care. Now, follow me, we’ve got shit to take care of.”

    The streets of Gabranth were lined with faces young and old, vendors and hagglers, swindlers and pickpockets. Not to mention the influx of royal and civil guards. The King and Queen of Gabranth, and their royal heirs were riding through the city, at this very moment, and they would soon reach the Outerward. Once there, they’d descend from their carriages and place the ceremonial wreath upon the statue of the Summer King... Every year, the royal family would halt their political duties in order to perform this honor.

    It still made him sick.

    Down an alleyway, near the Outerward, stalked a man of dark golden hair. He shifted in and out of shadows, overhangs, and lines of drying clothes. There was a sword strapped to his back, a fireseed pistol holstered at his waist, and he wore old colors of green and gold. He stalked with the grace of a wild animal, muscle undulating with every step. He turned down another alley, growing ever near his destination.

    Getting through the crowds lining the High Roads would’ve been impossible, and so, the next best bet he had, was retrieving her after the ceremony, in the aftermath of the Laying of the Wreath. It was going to be risky… But that’s why he had Skaya, and why she was now three hundred gold orks richer. A small fortune really, if one spent it sparingly. And that, was Skaya Skarrat. He felt a smidgen of guilt, at persuading one of his dear friends into something as dangerous as kidnapping a princess… Without revealing what they actually intended to do. He’d given her a location to be and a time (half past noon). Bellamy had placed three fat coin pouches at her feet and walked away, somehow knowing that she’d be there.

    She always was.

    Exiting the alley, Bellamy Ryn muscled his way through the lingering crowd. He received shoves in return but no one made a move to swing or molest him once they saw the hand-and-a-half sword gracing his back. It took awhile, to get into position, and he just managed to do so as the royal carriages, pulled by winged horses of pure white, pulled into the small but vibrant square of the Outerward. Cries of delight and outrage sounded from the citizenry and before they could get too close to the winged beasts, the royal guards pushed the crowd back and made room the royal family.

    Bellamy glanced around the crowded square, searching for a chocolatl-skinned woman named Iskaya Skarrat. A Ka’Lene elf he’d known for almost half of his meager existence. She was as tough as centaur, graceful as a Sylphaer, and why she stuck with a fool like him was beyond reasoning. He was grateful though, especially in times like these…

    The King stepped forth from his gilded carriage, emerald green robes dusting the ground in the light breeze. He was followed by the Crown Prince and then the Queen. Once the princess stepped out Bellamy started forward, having fallen back into the crowd when the guards made room for their King and Queen. He tore his eyes from the golden haired princess and searched the crowd for Skaya…

    “Presenting King Rothgard and the royal family!” Squealed the tiny, balding man near the carriage.

    Bellamy grew closer to the statue, his eyes taking turns scanning the crowd for Skaya, not being able to see her intended location over the heads of the crowding citizens as they pushed and shoved, and eyeing the Princess of Gabranth. He lifted his hood as he made his way behind the statue, standing and keeping his place right at the front of the rambunctious swarm of bodies.

    “You are all here,” the King said in a booming voice. “To witness the Laying of the Wreath! And so it shall commence!”

    The Royal family gathered in a half circle before the statue and in unison, dropped to one knee. A White Priest withdrew from the carriage and began a somber prayer that spoke of the Summer Kings and Southmar of Old. His fingers itched with impatience and Bellamy sighed in relief once he was finished.

    “My daughter, a betrothed woman, will have the honor of laying the wreath upon our beloved Khalel, the Last King of Summer!”

    Two hundred and twenty seven years have passed since the Sylphaerian’s mingled with the affairs of those grounded. Two hundred and twenty seven years of peace in the skies above Oraheim and the Straits of Sylphaer. That peace was ending. Noma Scrie, a Heretic of the Sylorah Court, Mistress of the Synod of Heretics, was shattering it.

    In her eastward chambers, the seven hundred and two year old Sylphaerian donned her lounge robe and summoned for her dolachers. To the grounded, they’d be considered servants, yet to the Sylphaer, dolacher’s were far and few and treated as siblings. Though they had duties to perform, it was done so with the knowledge that one could say no. Over the years a bond would form that would last a lifetime.

    Noma Scrie settled into the reclining chair on her balcony, overlooking the hidden valley Sylorah called home. It was a serene sight; a green sea graced the eastern landscape, dotted here and there with small gardens of herbs and fields of vegetables. The mountains were lush with woodlands and game and the highest peaks were blanketed in snow year round. With a sigh, Noma curled a leg beneath her and continued to ponder the visions she’d be given.

    She’d be a fool not to react, not to sound the alarm and raise the Court’s defenses. And yet she already knew their answers, knew the reactions she’d receive against such dire news.

    Two sets of soft footsteps padded into her room. With a ruffle of feathers, her dolachers walked onto the balcony, their faces flushed and slightly confused. Amat and Morova were two immensely different creatures. Morova was but a child, barely a year older than a century. Timid outwardly, yet held a fire within her eyes that bespoke the horrors she lived through. Noma had brought her home, thirty years ago, after her mother crossed the great Divide. It was rare, really, for her kind to succumb to death, especially in such a tragic way, and it was a somber realization. She’d taken her in as a second dolacher, promising what she could to the best of her abilities.

    Amat was far from timid. She was the opposite truly, yet not much older herself. Two months prior they’d celebrated her one hundred and eightieth nameday. Amat was a rare Sylphaer, her wings containing an iridescent quality that hadn’t been seen in millenias. Her hair was short and blunt, almost like a man’s, and she wore armor wherever she went, even within Sylorah. She’d grow to be a Heretic; Noma had already witnessed her fate. It was a grisly end, but one with honor and noble sacrifice.

    “I need you to do something for me, Amat.” Noma said finally, her tone resigned. “I need you to fly northeast, to the Kalvisi Estate, and find a young Sylphaer by the name of Lore. I seek an audience with him, if he chooses to attend. If you agree to go, Amat, I will send you with an official seal and prayers for swift, safe wings.”

    And three hours later, Noma watched as Amat flew into the sky, small bags of limited supplies strapped to her flying belt. She’d written a letter, entailing the importance of the audience and the desire for his help.

    Tags: @Effervescent

    Welcome to the first installment of RONAAN'S REALM! As we've discussed prior, I've combined Roseblood and the Stars of Skaarsburg into one storyline. It would have happened eventually, the two storylines being separated by mere months and vast distances that, thanks to skybarges, can now be crossed easily. I've set into motion the first plot-point and now it's your turn to begin the arcs of your characters!

    A few things to mention before I leave it to yall -

    @Bear Enthusiast - It can be assumed that Keldia Lue is one of Persephone's noble contacts and that a ball had previously just taken place that she attended.

    @Shizuochan - The same goes for you friendo. Arc will have attended the ball and would have been given guest quarters within the estate.

    @Radio Jelly & @B l u E s - Both of your characters were in the Vigorous Mare before Garek broke them free.

    The next GM Post will come Wednesday, March 29th, exactly two weeks from today. Take your time and really get into the head of your character! PC and NPC posts of my own will be posted as needed to keep the storyline going until my next GM Post!

    #2 rissa, Mar 15, 2017
    Last edited: May 11, 2017
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  3. Alora Fortune

    The motion of the carriage was a gentle rhythm as it rolled along the cobbled roads of Gabranth, but inside, Alora Fortune felt like a small ship on a tumultuous sea. Normally, she was rather fond of the spectacles. Visiting among their people, enjoying the sights of the city, but the conversation she had endured that morning had left her in a less than amiable mood. Her father had shifted the date of the wedding again, pulling her closer and closer to the dreaded day looming over her.

    Not since she was a small child, searching for a modicum of freedom from the responsibilities of a princess had she so desperately longed to escape her home, her family. She didn’t want to visit among the common folk… she wanted to be the common folk. So wistfully unaware of all the rules and standards, the expectations that were placed over her shoulders. Twice during the journey, she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep tears at bay, but they were utterly persistent, and she was steadily losing all resolve to keep herself together.

    She stared out the window, watching Gabranth roll by, but her mother cleared her throat and reluctantly, Alora sank back in her seat.

    “Your hair, darling. You'll muss it with the wind.” Leaning forward,she tucked a strand of dark blonde behind Alora’s ear, gently patting her cheeks. It wasn't a gesture of comfort, Alora knew well enough by now, but a means to bring color to her skin. “Don't bite your lip like that. And sit up, will you? Good heavens, Alora… Are you well? It's as though you've forgotten everything you've been taught.”

    “Sorry Mother. I'm just a bit preoccupied is all.”

    “Well, find a way to become unpreoccupied, would you? We're nearly there, and your father needs us to be our best.”

    “I'll bet he does…” Alora muttered under her breath, but her mother had gone back to fussing over Alora’s younger sister.

    Within a few minutes, the carriage slowed and came to a stop, a delicate wispy doorman arriving to help them down the small series of steps. A crowd had gathered, and Alora did her best to fix a genuine smile to her lips as she raised a hand to wave to them.

    The wreath laying was generally a quick ceremony, with fairly little spectacle. She followed her family to the statue and with a fluid grace, knelt before it and in the droning voice of the priest, she allowed her mind to drift…

    It would be so easy. While they were all of them preoccupied with ludicrous traditions of old, dead kings… to stand up and run. To run and never look back. To leave everything behind and start a life of her own choosing… Not a grand life… no. But a wonderfully simple one. One free of empty ceremonies and mindless responsibilities. Free from the constant, nagging scrutiny of her mother and father… of the gnawing discomfort of her brother’s paranoid gaze and rakish tongue. Free of Bishop Gaventry… who would chain her in a gilded cage and steal her heart’s joy.

    Her eyes stung and looking away from the statue, blinking, she shook her head as the priest concluded and her father rose to address the crowd. For a moment, she stared at him, dumbfounded, but apprehensively, and with a commanding nudge from her mother, she stepped forward to gather the wreath, her eyes flickering nervously through the watchful throng as she laid it gently upon the statue, then took to her knee, her eyes falling closed.

    A silent prayer…

    No one had to know, she supposed, that she said it for herself…

    TAGS || @rissa, @Doctor Jax
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  4. T H R A L L

    The sweet smell of ale flushed Thrall. It was one of his many joys in life. During his days off, like today, he always enjoyed getting some good butterscotch at his old friend Eadrus. Well, calling him a friend is a bit of an overstatement. It's more like Eadrus being overly friendly because the drunk Thrall brought to him a lot of cash and a lot of business.

    It is true, despite being a hard working lecyrian and well-raised, Thrall was a drunk at heart. It is unheard of Thrall leaving the Vigorous Mare without being knocked out, bent over Clam Haven's dirty pavements vomiting his guts out. Alas, the poor Thrall could not get rid of this nasty habit. If he wasn't butchering meat, he was drinking or playing around with some whores acting like an amazing storyteller despite really spitting nonsense that made everyone laugh.

    Today was no except. He stayed overnight at the Vigorous Mare with his new roanite friend, Kydris Shieldew. They drank, flirted with the smoking hot waitresses and they gambled... a lot. A bit too much. Only, what began as playful bets eventually escalated to much more serious claims and, well, Thrall was too drunk by then to even noticed that he sold his soul to the devil.

    Here he was, standing in the corner of the room with a hangover staring at Eadrus whom he thought was a decent guy. Turns out, he was kind of an asshole. Thrall remained quiet unsure what Eadrus wanted from them. He kind of managed to deduce that it wasn't anything really legal and he didn't really roll on the dark side... Sure, the limbo between legality, he didn't mind but doing actual crimes... That wasn't really his jam. He was about to leave on his own, finding an excuse that he was supposed to go to work. Eadrus clearly wouldn't have let him leave without something in exchange, but he wanted to try it out and things turned out in his favor.

    The door slammed down and some badass alpha male knocked down guards, broke their arms and made quite an entrance. Thrall immediately raised his hand to his forehead as he groaned. A headache and confusion only getting worst at every word pronounced.

    Fucking hell with this Mr.Spider and forfeit life. What's all this about anyways? Why am I even here? He thought as he looked at his friend Kydris.

    " Are we done with this already? I got to go work mate... I have an hour to get there and I didn't even take a nap. " he said very quietly until Garek pointed at them and curled his finger. It kind of weirded him out cause curling the finger like that was one of his kinks, but he wasn't... yeah, he didn't go astray in his sexuality.

    He pointed at himself weirded out and just followed behind without much argumentation. The guy was strong, didn't attack them so... What could possibly happen? Poor, naive Thrall.
    “I come lookin for a Conjurer and I find he’s indebted to an idiot like the Puppeteer and a random damn Lecyrian. How do y’all know each other anyways -- Actually, nevermind, I don’t care. Now, follow me, we’ve got shit to take care of.”
    " Eh... Long story short, my friend... I'm his butcher and we both got quite an affinity with this God forsaken bar. " he said laughing loudly as he leaned his hand towards Kydris waiting for a high five.

    " So what you want from us? Cause honestly, besides butching the best meat in Lyf, I ain't no good. So, hit me up for pork chops Kydris or... you... stranger. I'm gonna head towards work before Paul sends his chickens to retrieve me. " he said as he placed two fingers to his forehead and through it to the sky like he was a superhero. It was kind of his signature goodbye.

    And just like that, without hesitation or a second thought, Thrall started jogging a bit ahead of the group in hopes of getting on time to his first love - Paul Butcher Shop

    Tags: @rissa @Radio Jelly

    #4 B l u E s, Mar 16, 2017
    Last edited: Apr 2, 2017
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  5. Kydris Shieldew

    In the back of the Roanite's throat, the noticeably acidic aftertaste of his drink felt more and more pronounced as the game of darts progressed. At the start of the evening, he and Thrall had made their way to the tavern together, and while his butcher had a penchant for drink, Kydris had other vices of his own. T'was shortly after the two--who often found themselves heading to the same place on their weekend nights--departed from one another that Kydris sought out the establishment's owner.

    It would be wrong to say that Eadrus was a friend of Kydris's, but only because it would be wrong to assume Eadrus had any friends at all. Most everyone who made a habit of visiting the Mare knew him on a personal basis because he demanded it to be so, but not a single of his many patrons were more to the old shark than walking, talking money machines. It behooved Eadrus to know enough about all his customers to best squeeze a buck out of them, but on this particular night it wasn't money that The Puppeteer sought.

    To Kydris, however, money was the only thing that truly mattered, and thus he believed Eadrus had reigned him in for the express purpose of collecting on a mounting debt. A debt Kydris had challenged Eadrus to a game of darts to absolve. Were he a wiser elf (he was not) he might've played to extend his payback period, but because he always felt lucky he instead made quick work of betting his services in perpetuity.

    Now, thirty minutes after he challenged Eadrus to double the bet, the intermingling flavors of many different wines were becoming more and more prevalent as his throat dried. He tried to clear it nonchalantly, but between his viciously sweating brow, trembling fingertips, and throat noises, there wasn't a single person at the dart-stand that would've mistaken him for calm and collected.

    "You know," Eadrus said, breaking the looming silence. "Not three games ago, you were talking my godforsaken ear off. Where's that fire gone, friend?" With a blinding speed, the elf's entire visage seemed to shift, his bright eye's meeting those of The Puppeteer.

    "Ah! Of course, old friend. It's just this wine, you see. I've burned through so much of your hospitality I'm beginning to think I'm in no good shape to compete. In fact, I can barely even stand! Ha!" As if to make the point, Kydris attempted to stand, but instead brushed the goblet off the countertop, spilling it's dark contents all over the hardwood. Before Eadrus could react, Kydris made a show of desperately clutching the countertop, and swaying back and forth by only the strength of his grip. "Oh dammit! My sincerest apologies Eadrus... much as I loathe to admit it, I can hardly stand! This last game... we just must postpone it! I'd hate to have to cancel this whole thing but..." Kydris closed his eyes, feigning disappointment while fervently fanning his face with one hand.

    On either side of where they sat, two highly-unimpressed guards reached for the handles of their blades--this wasn't the first time they had seen someone try to flee, and certainly not the first time they had witnessed Kydris's act specifically. Both gruff men took one step forward, but halted when Eadrus raised a single palm upwards. With a flick of his wrist, he sent both guards away to the door where he knew they would have a better chance of blocking the elf's movements.

    "Now Kydris," Eadrus's voice was low and raspy. His words were ever-so-slightly slurred by his own inebriation. "You aren't going to run now are you? We have such a magnificent game going. You forget that you're up two games, and so am I! We have a classic tie-breaking match to go and you want to leave!" Eadrus snickered over the rim of his goblet. At once, his gaze narrowed, and his tone seemed to shift from jubilant to malicious as he added, "I'm up next, aren't I? I think you'll stay to see the outcome, no?" The elderly human lurched from his cushioned seat, tossing his own goblet aside before clasping the Roanite and tossing him back into his seat.

    Even through the haze and bustle of the basement casino, Kydris's trained eye spotted a number of paid muscle, all of which seemed to move towards the sparse exits in wait. Even though he could give Eadrus the slip with relative ease, he wouldn't make it far. His panicked eyes fluttered around the room searching for any sign of Thrall, whom he couldn't see from where he sat. The first two games had swung in his favor: he had won both back to back. It felt like ages ago, as between each round the two prolific gamblers would take a moment to put back a glass of wine or two. It was a custom tradition in the Mare that most of the darts players would respect out of courtesy, and also because the added challenge added a level of unpredictability most addicts like Kydris enjoyed.

    The only problem was that--as if by some cruel god's wrath--Eadrus would go on to win the next two. The first to three had the victory. Kydris hadn't played poorly for the round: he landed a seven on the board. The odds would've been enough in any other instance to be less than a bother to him, but in this case he knew that what followed would be nothing less than a massacre.


    With a sharp thud, and subsequent reverberation, the dart collided with the felt surface. It's long, red shaft contrasted against the yellowed cylindrical backdrop that made up the bulls-eye. Kydris stared on, his lips curling into a smile just a little too wide to be natural.

    "Wow!" He said, a little louder than necessary. "What a good shot!" Eadrus looked back at him, snickering at the elf's obvious discomfort.


    "Well Kydris, you know what they say about betting coin on a dancing--" Before Eadrus could finish, an explosive sound ricocheted off the walls, stunning most of the patrons into silence. What followed was a flurry of movement, as a newcomer quickly disabled the limbs of the same two guards that had previously stood on either side of Kydris. Eadrus, in mute horror, could only watch on as his men were swiftly dispatched. Gently, the elf moved behind the fat man as the two watched the spectacle, and while the room was occupied he deftly pulled the hand sickle from his belt.

    The newcomer had clearly shocked the Puppeteer into submission, as he seemed to indicate that he wanted the room vacated of the other two goons at the only other exit. Eadrus, enraptured with the newcomer barely felt the small difference in weight at his belt and Kydris--now crouched behind him--slit Eadrus's coin-purse from it's clasp. With a dexterity matched only by other professional thieves, Kydris plucked the falling bag up by the lip of the bag as to avoid having the gold pieces collide with enough force to make them jingle.

    Kydris took two slow steps backwards before the voice called out.

    "I'm taking him."

    The elf was more preoccupied with the door, but the sudden shift in the gathered populace seemed to clue him into the fact that it was he the assailant was after. Meekly, Kydris piped up, his left hand holding the coin-purse behind his back.

    "M-Me? Oh! You must be a prospective customer! Well--"

    Before he could finish, Eadrus leapt in front of the elf, holding both arms out as if to protect Kydris. "Hell no! I don't know who you think you are but... but this elf owes me his life now, dammit! No one takes my winnings! Nobody!" As Eadrus spoke, Kydris spotted Thrall on a table nearby, evidently very drunk. Slowly he stepped towards the Lecyri, his hand still tucked behind his back.

    Lydris was ready for a fight which he was sure was about to commence. It was by some miracle then, that Eadrus seemed to completely surrender at the mention of a debt to The Spider. Kydris rolled his eyes at the name, his momentary exasperation slipping through his otherwise unguarded facade.

    What is with criminals in this town and their goddamn nicknames? I mean for the love of Ronan...

    “You say his life is forfeit, eh?” the stranger said softly from afar. “Well, until your taxes are paid in full, his life is mine. You got any problems with it, take it to the Spider. I’m sure he has a few words to share with you.” Eadrus seemed taken aback, the words unable to escape his throat. Desperately, his fat head swiveled back and forth on his neck as he watched the mysterious assailant march towards Thrall and Kydris.

    At this point, the trashed Lecyri spoke up; "Are we done with this already? I got to go work mate... I have an hour to get there and I didn't even take a nap." Kydris glanced down at his exhausted cohort. "Oh please, stop pretending its my brilliant company that's keeping you here, you bloody drunkard." Kydris plucked Thrall's cup off the table, momentarily sniffing at the lip, only to recoil in visible disgust. "I don't even want to know what kind of crap they have to give someone your size to put you down..." In the midst of Kydris's commentary, the new member cut in, beckoning for the two to follow.

    Kydris, though he didn't trust the stranger, followed after him, making sure to help Thrall up with his free hand before swiftly following the assailant from the Mare. For a time they walked in silence as Kydris made sure they weren't being followed. When he was finally certain they weren't, he gave Thrall a gentle nudge in the ribs, and gestured towards the new guy as if to ask who the hell their mystery rescuer was.

    Without any real read on the stranger, Kydris opened his mouth to speak, his words laced with a saccharine sweet affection to best approach the grumpy looking fellow's sensibilities. "Look, uh.. friend. I'm extremely grateful for the swift evacuation, but you needn't have---"

    “Y’all are some damn fools, you know that?” he shook his head, mumbling under his breath before adding, “I come lookin' for a Conjurer and I find he’s indebted to an idiot like the Puppeteer and a random damn Lecyrian. How do y’all know each other anyways -- Actually, nevermind, I don’t care. Now, follow me, we’ve got shit to take care of.” Kydris paused, his feet coming to a rest. Before he could voice his own displeasure, Thrall cut in. He had to give it to the butcher: for having just witnessed their captor cause The Puppeteer to tremble in fear, the Lecyrian did not seem like he could've cared any less about what the man had to say. Kydris snickered, and slapped the outstretched hand, though his own palm was some sizes smaller than the hulking beast of a man.

    "So what you want from us? Cause honestly, besides butching the best meat in Lyf, I ain't no good. So, hit me up for pork chops Kydris or... you... stranger. I'm gonna head towards work before Paul sends his chickens to retrieve me. "

    Before either could react, Thrall took off for his shop which Kydris knew to be some streets ahead, leaving the Roanite alone with his captor who seemed less than psyched to be there in the first place.

    Thanks a lot, buddy.

    "Look, I don't know what you think you've won. The thing about me and contracts is that I prefer to consider their contents... interpretive. If you think I was going to sign away my life in there, you're wrong pal. My life is mine. The only reason Thrall's mention of pork-chops hasn't totally eclipsed whatever interest I have in you, is that I figure it's not worth it to be on the bad side of two different titled jerks." Kydris folded his arms over his chest. "Tell me where we're headed at the very least." As he spoke, he rearranged his newly acquired coin-purse to clasp at the side of his belt, while never letting his eyes go astray from the stranger's own.
    #5 Radio Jelly, Mar 17, 2017
    Last edited: Mar 17, 2017
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  6. || I S K A Y A ||

    he had considered not doing the job.

    The last few weeks had been a blur, not typical of the Ka'Lene elf and her terse ways. She had spent the better part of her time darkly staring into a bottle at the Unstrung Harp, ordering one after the other with a single wave of the finger as she contemplated the last dead-end. She knew that she had long ago lost hope of finding Yani, but the chase had given her something to do, a purpose to occupy her mind. Now, life seemed a blank as the final rumor was put to death, that Ka'Lene Evoker giving her a sad shrug as Skaya realized that she had, once more, been chasing falling stars.

    Bells' sudden intrusion into her life had been both a breath of fresh air and an annoyance as Skaya had to peel herself away from her brooding. The man -- a stripling, really, as she could only ever think of him as the young half-elf who'd stumbled upon a job bigger than himself -- had laid before her his plans, a daring and insane plot to snatch the princess of Gabranth for a good amount of coin. He'd dropped off at her feet three bags, each holding a hundred gold orks. His trust in her was foolish -- she'd told him as much before, that she was no more trustworthy than any other sellsword -- but she had never had it in her heart to betray his confidence.

    And, besides, it gave her something to do. Either toss in a whole ork or get out of the fighting pit.

    In the alleyway, she was wearing a nondescript set of clothes, a beige cloak with a hood over her hair and ears. The only thing that would be immediately noticeable about her was the dark eyes that stared out at the throng around the statue of the late Summer King. She never understood why people gathered just to see a ceremony for a dead king before a hunk of stone in his likeness. All this pomp, all that waste, all the time and money invested in putting a bunch of flowers around the neck of a statue, just for the petals to fall and the squalls to overtake Gabranth and give it over to the usual summer swelter.

    Soon enough, she saw the sunlight glint off of Bellamy's golden hair, and she swiftly looked about for the carriage that was to come. There was a commotion as the carriage came down, no doubt carrying the princess. Iskaya felt her heart begin to race as she considered what she was going to do. The timing had to be perfect. There would be no room for error. While Bellamy had assured her that he could get her out if she did the snatching, Iskaya preferred to make her own luck and rely on her own wits. Besides -- a little distraction never hurt anyone.

    The family got out of the carriage, wreathed in golden clothing, beautifully decked in the raiment of royalty. The princess -- she didn't even know her name -- was being handed the wreath, and Iskaya knew this was her time.

    She dashed over to a set of boxes set in the alleyway just behind the entourage and the royal family. There were guards, yes, but that wouldn't be a problem in a moment. Out of her pocket came a small contraption that looked much like a palm-sized wheel. On its end was a striker, the inside of the wheel made of flint. She wound the wheel, the spring coiling up as it began a steady ticking, and Iskaya threw it into the main box which she had previously filled with a whole array of firecrackers and screechers filled with fireseed. While it had been a bit expensive, it would be worth the investment in safety.

    She counted under her breath as she turned on a heel and began to walk back into the crowd. She had exactly -- exactly -- two hundred and fifty two seconds before the striker would hit the flint, and the entire thing would begin a loud explosion of noise and screeching flame. In that small window given to her by everyone turning their heads and panicking, she had to grab a hold of the princess and get out of there. It wouldn't be easy to do, but with the distraction and Bell in the crowd, it should be doable.

    One hundred and fifty. Iskaya was now in the thick of the crowd. The mark was putting the wreath about the neck of the statue. Bell was in the distance. He probably couldn't see her well from his vantage point.

    One hundred and two. The priest was going through his sermon and genuflecting. The girl was towards the front. It would be easiest to pull her from the side. Iskaya was almost in place, but there was a lady with her three children in the way, and one was crying loudly. Bells should be able to see her by now.

    Fifty-seven. Why were there so many people? She was on the very inner ring of the crowd, trying not to jostle too much. She could make out the sweat on the girl's face as the priest began to pray.

    Twenty-seven. This priest was taking far too long. Iskaya's heart thudded loudly in her own ears as she tensed. Her eyes locked with Bellamy's, and she slowly nodded.

    Three. Two. One.


    Iskaya ducked along with the crowd as the entirety of the box and its contents went up in a flaming, screaming conflagration, and she lurched forward as madness ensued, the entirety of the crowd pushing forward to get away from the cacophony. The Ka'Lene elf dashed towards the princess as the guards did their best to try and make sense of where or what the danger was, and Iskaya slipped by them in the confusion. She dipped her shoulder down and grappled the girl around the waist, standing up straight and taking off at a bit of a run towards the closest alley. She trusted that Bellamy was now upholding his end of the bargain -- he'd better be, or else she was going to stuff those 300 orks down his throat.

    @Elle Joyner @rissa
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  7. Aarcon Zulat ; Goldwine Grove @rissa @BearEnthusiast

    A trio sat upon chairs of fine mahogany, the sheen of the red timber gaudy and visceral in equal measure, like blood congealed then candied. As the glare of the setting sun caressed the exquisite seating, the wood glowed as if set alight by flame, ambers and embers. Such marvelous material was worthy of far more than supporting haunches and posteriors of elves and men, and unsuited to the task no less; the chairs were mighty uncomfortable. Indeed, Lecyrian and man alike fidgeted and adjusted themselves upon harsh seating, trying to alleviate the torturous pain.

    Aarcon looked as if a giant trying to sidle himself into a halfling’s throne, “Centuries pass, and still the craftsmen conjure chairs that do little more than splinter the ass. I would require plate-armor for my backside to resist such an assault.

    The man, the bodyguard Ruven Ralow, guffawed for some unexplainable reason, creasing the skin on his bald head, and forcing his dark, bushy eyebrows into straight slants. The Consul’s understudy, Theodemar, narrowed his wolfish features in confusion, softening the severe features that typically came with his people. Aarcon sighed, “Ruven, you wound me with such juvenile humor; and I thought you were my protector? Alas, the skilled hand of the ruffian is so rarely accompanied by appropriate sensibility. Theodemar?”

    The younger Lecyrian turned so fast Aarcon feared his neck would snap from the momentum. “Calm, Theodemar. I have need of a cushion, to soothe my piteous backside. Also, send word to Delegate Fillion: inform him that I would be willing to negotiate tariff terms, with time permitting. A courtesy message, to ease his nervous soul.”

    “Y-you would? But you brushed him off at the Gala, barely gave him time to speak.”

    In a way, the Consul pitied his understudy; he was here to learn, yet he was, simply put, far more adept at serving. In their travels together, he had waited on Aarcon, latching on to every single request. Yet he was untalented in the craft, hopelessly naïve and without original thought. Disappointing. “In my lifetime, Theodemar, I have never done precisely two things at a ball. One is dance, amusingly enough. And the other is discuss matters of business.”

    He shifted his weight about upon the damned mahogany contraption, “Delegate Fillion must be awfully desperate, discussing terms and negotiations during such festivities. Why, Galas are a time for… hmm, cake, not for the anxious ramblings of politicking men. And that desperation is why we will win, when the moment comes for we heroes to so graciously cure his worried head, with terms favorable to us, of course! Hurry along now, young one.”

    No sooner had Theodemar departed, that another figure joined to replace him. One of the working men of House Lue, dispatched to give summons.

    And so, the towering Lecyrian followed, and awaited the honor of addressing his Host.
    #7 Shizuochan, Mar 18, 2017
    Last edited: Mar 18, 2017
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  8. [​IMG]

    The ball had been a beautiful one if not a tad typical in nature. Do not be mistaken, Persephone thought that Keldia Lue's family were one of the more agreeable houses she's dealt with over the years. But her personal feelings towards them did not make their most recent social endeavor a stand out one. She danced, performed on the harp and made sure that the Mistress Lue's enemies did not attempt anything unpleasant. Quite routine.

    Nights prior to the ball Persephone was approached by these enemies in hopes she could be swayed. It wasn't beneath Persephone to take up jobs against her own contacts - it simply required more compensation than usual. While she might have considered the offer, the Spymaster ultimately turned them down. She promised her selective silence so long as they did the same.

    She didn't remain true to her word, of course, or at least not exactly. The next day she approached Keldia and warned that her enemies were growing restless and would act soon. Persephone then negotiated a deal with her contact, preying off of the fear of an assassination attempt by offering to protect the Lue household's interest for a price well beyond what she had been offered by their enemies.

    This was her life and perhaps greatest skill...Persephone turned each and every situation to her favor and if she couldn't then she bowed out before it was too late. To go into a situation without the odds already tipped in your favor beforehand was risky, if not outright suicide.

    Persephone had barely made her way outside the estate's grounds when the messenger managed to catch her.

    Dressed in an elegant but relatively simplistic black dress, Persephone turned to the younger man and her amber eyes questioned him from underneath the line of her extravagantly feathered ebony hat. Her lips curved downwards at the thought of returning so soon. She had the most exquisite dress delivered to her home the day of the ball and Persephone was dying to try it on but alas, it seems like it would have to wait longer.

    Persephone turned on her heel and was accompanied by the servant while she made her way through the courtyard set in golden sunlight. Each bush was manicured to perfection as was every tree and vine. With her heels clicking against the marble floors, Persephone than made her way through the various halls and vestibules of the estate until she came to the stunning atrium where three individuals waited for her. A non-human that she had seen plenty of times during events but never on the dance floor, Aracon, seemed to have been summoned along with her.

    Persephone smiled sweetly at the two sitting on the table. "What a lovely little setting...its a shame that I already had my harp sent home."
    TAGS || @Shizuochan @rissa
    #8 Bears, Mar 18, 2017
    Last edited: Apr 17, 2017
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  9. Sylorah, The Kalvisi Estate

    Within the grand open doorway framed by cloudbrick arches etched with nouveau motif stood the silhouette of Lore Kalvisi's father as he watched his son train in the art of the sword. It had been nearly a century since Lore began with his tutor, and while it used to be met with reluctance, he had grown to accept it and take to the training at a more academic understanding. His tutor would constantly emphasize that in real situations battle wouldn't be as predictable. His father would occasionally watch in silence by the entrance into the practice hall of the Kalvisi Estate, curious to his son's advancements.

    Eventually, however, he stopped coming as often to watch, and Lore did not mind. The young sylphaer preferred it more private and away from judgemental gazes. It wasn't until he neared his coming of age that his father returned to observe his training. It was a reminder to him of what was to come and what he cared not to do. He felt like he was being pushed away and downcast, even moreso with is reluctance and resistance to the tradition of his people.

    It was Lore's destiny to walk among the surface dwellers; to Walk the Path of Guidance. It was the rite of his people and burden they took to in efforts to chart and preserve the history of RoNaan while contributing to the advancements of societies. All of his training and tutelage culminates to this rite of passage. And once he and his sword master ended their session, they parted ways for Lore to meet with his father who lingered.

    “Father,” he said with an inclination of his head. Strangely, his father smiled brightly at Lore, arm motioning down the hall for his son to walk with him.

    “I want to give you something,” his father said. “Something for the Walk.”

    With those words, Lore audibly sighed. Everything for the entire past year was about his Walk, and it was getting old. His father’s smile faded just a little, but he pressed on into the western wing into their own private library where his lineage kept their accounts from their own Walk. It was a grand room, and tall, and resting next to a tall shelf of scrolls was a set of armor displayed in a case.

    “This is yours now,” his father said. “It was mine when I Walked the Path of Guidance. And it was my father’s. And his father’s. Many Kalvisi have worn this armor in their time on the surface. It's old, but it’s well made.”

    Lore ran his hand over the etched and engraved metal. It wasn't completely ornate in decoration as it held a slight simplicity in design. Lines hatched along its surface from battles long gone and stories he had likely already read. Seeing the damage along its handiwork brought a mild sense of perspective. And it sparked a once-dulled desire for adventure he used to daydream about as he read of such ventures. What was it that caused that desire to fade?

    “Thank you,” Lore said genuinely. It was the first time he did not feel dread of what was to come for him. His destiny didn't feel so bleak. He could go on an adventure and face all he could only imagine and still return.

    “I look forward to hearing of what you experience,” his father said.

    “Excuse me.”

    The voice of one of their dolachers broke the bonding moment, and they turned to find her at the entrance into the librarium. “There is someone here to meet with Lore,” the dolacher informed.

    “He mustn’t keep them waiting, then,” his father said.

    “Who is it?” Lore asked curiously.

    “She said her name is Amat,” the dolacher said. “She is waiting for you in the Sun Room.”

    He gave a small nod and took his leave without another word. Visitors weren't rare for the Kalvisis, but it was a strange event for Lore to be called upon specifically. And when he entered the Sun Room he was taken aback by a sight even more rare than that of a personal visit. Amat’s wings were striking in appearance, but moreover, they were something that had flashed through his mind before.

    “You must be Amat,” he said. “Apologies if I kept you waiting too long.”
    #9 Effervescent, Mar 19, 2017
    Last edited: Mar 19, 2017
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    Anuleisa had barely taken a retrieve during the Gala to enjoy it’s festivities, instead she had wondered the ancient halls of the Lue Estate, her mind unmade about the warnings that were whispering across the Realm. Warnings that she, the Descendant of RoNaan, had been graciously given.

    When the two parties finally converged into the atrium, Anu stood from the spindly table and took both of their hands, separately, and welcomed them with a traditional blessing. Truly, it was a way for Anulesia to search them; their magic and their fluentia, but they needn't know that.

    “Ah,” Anu replied softly to Persephone, “But the beautiful music of the harp would belie the reason you’ve been summoned.”

    As she finished speaking, the same Roanite butler from before excused himself and brought forth two extra chairs for their guests and then departed with a bow to Mistress Lue and herself. Anuleisa watched as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and then beckoned the two to sit themselves at the table. Anu took the kettle of warm Oma and poured fresh glasses for herself and the Mistress of the Estate and then two for Persephone and Consul Aarcon.

    She waited pleasantly, despite the roaring tide in her chest. When she had gathered her thoughts and her runaway heart, Anuleia cleared her throat and began.

    “In three weeks time the Solaeya Solstice will arrive and so too will the grandest celebration of the year. The galas will begin in the old strongholds of Southmar, in the grand halls of Marbalea. The council has given strict orders on defensive measures after last year’s debacle in Saintston… and despite this, there are whisperings of an assault taking place.”

    She turned to Persephone, a hard edge of admiration shone in her eyes as she spoke. “I hear you have certain… proclivity for espionage.” Anuleisa spoke clearly and without regards to what Consul Aarcon might think; his turn was next. Turning slightly in her chair and refilling her glass with Oma, she took in the Lecyrian with a soft edge of nostalgia.

    “My swordsmaster was a Lecyrican from Lenport. He immigrated to Caerdean not even half a century ago. It is my wish, Consul Aarcon, that Caerdean and Lecara may stand together in times not only of great need but in prosperity and peace as well. The Realm is growing dark once more and if we’re to prevail, we must all come together and stay together when there’s no light to be found…

    “It is my wish,” Anuleisa said with the full authority of her station. “That you two will accompany me to Marsea to attend the Solstice Gala. You will be one with my entourage and treated as such and once there, we will uncover the truth behind these whisperings. Aarcon, you are attuned to theurgy, tell me, have I lied once?”


    For an instant he caught the gaze of Skaya and nodding back, took a knee just before the fireseed firecrackers ignited. The idea was genius and as he pulled magic from his reserves, Bells realized she’d need a tip for such a distractive… distraction. From his robe he pulled a RoNaan Stone, one that he had filled with illusions three hours prior. He tapped into them, letting his new memories of the Princess of Gabranth overwrite the blank face he pictured earlier, and with a massive amount of energy pushed the illusion into the minds of half the square’s populace.

    With the people frightened, it’d be much easier for the illusion to take seed… to plant memories of three people snatching the princess and taking off with a blast of blackened flame, in the opposite direction Skaya had actually taken her. Already royal guards were running after the illusion-fragments but some had stayed behind, glancing around the square in confusion, entirely unsure of what they had seen and what they were currently seeing.

    Bellamy backed away slowly, letting himself get jostled with the crowd all the while keeping up with the illusion. The more time he gave Skaya the better…

    It would occur to her at a much later time how absolutely pitiful a thought it was... But as the woman came upon her, Alora's mind had but one thought.

    Freedom could be achieved in very many ways.

    Yet death, it seemed (and she would be quite glad for it, when clear-minded purchase resumed) was not her fate. Scooped up over the woman's shoulder, Alora gave a small cry as dress and cowl and ornate hairpiece and hair all ruffled and rumpled in ways that would make her mother ill for weeks. There was little way to make it look graceful, the abduction, but the very fact that she considered trying at all was more depressing than her previous thoughts. She considered struggling as well, but the woman was insanely strong, or else stronger than any lady Alora had ever met, her grip on the princess like a vice. With little other option but a few pathetic kicks with her feet that hit more air than solid form, and a cry of panic, she was carried away from that damnable statue... Away from her doom, and into chaos.

    Part 1; A Collab with @Elle Joyner & @Doctor Jax


    Standing there, in a rage induced shock, Garek shook his head slowly, watching the Lecyrian stumble away in his drunkenness. The sight of it made him sick to his stomach -- or maybe that was just the anger frothing inside him. Focusing once more on the Roanite, Garek nodded his head angrily as he finished speaking.

    “I’ve freed slaves from Vashskara, you bumbling fool, you think I don’t know that every life belongs to the person who’s breathing it in? And yeah,” Garek said angrily, air whipping around his ankles and causing his wayward hair to lash around his head. “I’m a titled jerk, but I just saved both of your lives and without my protection, the pair of you won’t last to see another sunrise and sunset. You’re good kid, but you’re not that good and the Puppeteer has better contacts than the four fools lying half dead around him right now; they just cost money, which funnily enough, how much was in the sack, eh?

    “You got yourself some pretty lil orks, be lucky I don’t take it from you for compensation.”

    With a grunt, Garek sidestepped the Roanite and looked farther down the road the Lecyrian had traveled. He was still stumbling his way down the road and with a sigh, Garek felt his reserves and punched the air in front of him; a small gale of wind was summoned and it traveled to the Lecyrian, hit him square in the back and toppled him over.

    “Go get your lover, we have a skybarge to board in three hours. I’ll tell ya where we’re heading on the way, it’s too dangerous to speak of in the Clam.”


    “I am and you’ve not kept me long.” Amat replied crisply, her tone professional and businesslike.

    Rolling her shoulders and undoing her flying belt, Amat laid it tenderly across a piece of furniture to her right. For a moment she was silent, ruffling through small compartments in her belt. Removing three items which she set aside one by one, Amat glanced up at Lore Kalvisi and took in the sight of him. Dark wings were a rare Sylphaerian trait, much like her own iridescent ones, but it made no difference as to why she was here.

    Amat made to sit, “I hope you do not mind,” she said as she sat cross-legged on the floor, her wings billowing around her frame comfortably. “It’s been a long flight.”

    She groomed her wings absently and then with a sigh, reached over and plucked the sealed letter from the trio of items she’d grabbed. Amat beckoned Lore forward, to sit with her as she handed the letter over. It was sealed with wax the color of blood and stamped with the insignia of the Heretics of Sylorah.

    “Do you know of Noma Scrie, Lore Kalvisi? Do you know of her visions and her flames?” Amat sighed, shoulders aching after such a hard flight. “She has seen you and she has need of you. Come, sit, and I shall tell you all I know.”

    The letter dangled in her grasp, a telltale sign of what was to come. An omen, truly, for all those involved.
    Tags: @Effervescent

    #10 rissa, Mar 30, 2017
    Last edited: May 11, 2017
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  11. Aarcon Zulat ; Goldwine Grove @rissa @BearEnthusiast

    Ah, the Descendant. The Roanite who was draped in history, tales and fables wrapped around every spindly fiber of her being. The Consul had jumped at the opportunity to accept her hospitality. She was legacy, a living entity, whole and filled with all of the Lecyrian’s aspirations. The Descendant, whose birthright was history flowing through her very veins. Aarcon could admit that he was not without envy in this regard.

    The other one was vaguely familiar – Lady de Chalons, whose feet moved as if flowing feathers on soft tides of ocean. Theodemar and Ralow alike had noted her presence in previous affairs, for she was a superlative dancer, and beautiful to boot. In truth, the towering Lecyrian had been a tad apprehensive towards her and her enthralling steps. The Lords and Ladies had all learned to dance, gentility and grace being part of their duties, but this lady was gifted. Aarcon never could trust someone who danced too well.

    Or perhaps that was just the fear of the dance speaking, Aarcon chuckled to himself.

    He accepted the seat gracefully, albeit craving a pillow to soothe his unfortunate hindquarters. He sipped upon the Oma, allowing his balanced expression to slip for but a moment as the delightful taste of pink graced his tongue. Aarcon had a soft spot for Oma, it had to be said. He lifted his head, regarding Mistress Lue and Anuleisa alike with trained pleasantries.

    Aarcon had been eager for the Descendant to make a move, so to speak. To show him, first hand, the significance that her actions bore. To his great pleasure, Anuleisa Rochan leapt into the proverbial fray right away, wasting no time. Delightful. She spoke of the Solstice, of the grandest of Galas, the grand halls of Marbalea, and of an assault.

    Inwardly, the Lecyrian felt his heart melt, turned to joy in caramel form. Oh, she was lovely.

    And the dancer was a spy? Lovelier.

    Truth be told, Aarcon was almost annoyed when the Descendant regaled him with nostalgic tales of nameless Lecyrian swordsmen. He could feel the pace of it all tangibly slowing to a crawl, before she entered into a grand statement of harmony between Caerdean and Lecara, and of the Realm going dark. That, Aarcon had to confess, was intriguing.

    “My Lady, you do not disappoint.” Aarcon allowed himself to consider the meaning of Anuleisa’s final inquiry, before pressing on. “And you are, for a certainty, not a liar. It would be my honor to accompany you, in my capacity as representative of Lecara.”

    He stood, and bowed, excitement dulling the aching of his back.
    • Love Love x 6
  12. For a moment Kydris couldn't tell if the newcomer was even listening to him speak. It didn't take a master to perceive the stranger's mounting irritation with Thrall's sudden departure, and as Kydris finished speaking, he too found himself glancing back and forth between the stumbling drunk and his enraptured captor. When Kydris finished speaking, he paused for a moment before clearing his throat.


    His captor's eyes swiveled back to meet his own before the fuming individual spoke--his tone patronizing, and indicative of what Kydris surmised to be a sanctimonious attitude to say the least. In reality, the elf hadn't the slightest idea that there even were slaves in Vashkara. Stories of those sorts of trifles didn't often make their way to his haunts in Lyf, but slavery was detestable to Kydris nonetheless. He might've respected the stranger's words were the man anything more than insufferable.

    “I’m a titled jerk, but I just saved both of your lives and without my protection, the pair of you won’t last to see another sunrise and sunset. You’re good kid, but you’re not that good and the Puppeteer has better contacts than the four fools lying half dead around him right now; they just cost money, which funnily enough, how much was in the sack, eh?

    Ever the professional, Kydris's features remained unmoved by Garek's taunt. While he remained stoic on the exterior, he marveled at his captor's ego on the interior. Kydris had been referring to the 'Spider' that he had heard so briefly about when he mentioned having two titled jerks after him. This man had either just confirmed he was the Spider, or was too self-absorbed to stop himself from admitting to the thief that he too was titled.

    Titled meant money.

    At once, Kydris--who had been planning a quick departure at the first convenience--found himself drawn to Garek's arrogance like a hummingbird to nectar. He laughed deeply, feigning embarrassment at having been found out. With a broad smile, and shrug of his shoulders, he spoke, "Something like sixty-three pieces I believe. Hadn't had much time to count, but I'm a good guesser."

    Kydris was, in fact, pretty good at guessing the amount of coin in a purse. That being said, counting each piece was his first priority after a steal. He had done so with one hand as the trio moved away from the Mare and entered Lyf proper. The exact amount was sixty-four orks, and even Kydris wasn't really sure why he lied about that part. "Not much of a haul, but Eadrus is smart enough to keep most of his goods off his person. Still, it'll pay for at least a couple meals--Thrall's pork-chops too, Ronaan willing."

    “You got yourself some pretty lil orks, be lucky I don’t take it from you for compensation.”

    Kydris didn't ignored the taunt.

    I'd like to see you try it.

    "Clearly my Lecyrian friend and I have run into a man of some stature. I apologize for our collective rudeness, but its not every day that you find one of these Vashkaran liberators we hear so much about wandering the streets of Lyf. I can't say I'm familiar with the Spider, but if you intend to..." His voice trailed off as Garek whipped around and began to face Thrall's direction once more. Kydris was about to interject, when he witnessed a quick display of air magic put his drinking buddy down. His eye's widened a bit out of uncertainty.

    "D-did you just..." Kydris had never seen so big a creature go toppling over so quickly, and the sudden realization hit him that he might never taste the sweet succulence of Thrall's cured pork ever again. His eyes widened further, and he absentmindedly reached for the scar under his eye with one finger. Never had he had so fine a meal as the first time he tried the parmesan-crusted pork ribs at Thrall's shop. Would he never again know that bliss?

    Truly, a light has been extinguished in this cruel world...

    Kydris was about to protest when the stranger spoke up again; “Go get your lover, we have a skybarge to board in three hours. I’ll tell ya where we’re heading on the way, it’s too dangerous to speak of in the Clam.”
    Realizing that Thrall would be fine, Kydris unsuccessfully tried to regain his composure before speaking again. "Look, good fellow. I know you're annoyed, but that's no way to treat an artist." Kydris took off from Garek's side at a jog. When he reached Thrall, the Roanite swooped low to his knees and offered a hand to the Lecyri.

    "Are you alright, friend?"

    Show Spoiler
    The tune inside the Lecyrian's head...

    I get on with life as a butcher,
    I'm a sexy kinda person.
    I like drinking and wrestling.
    I like to contemplate Pork Chops.
    But when I start to daydream,
    My mind turns straight to Women.

    Oh oh oh!

    Sometimes I look at myself and I look into my eyes,
    I notice the way I think about Women with a smile,
    Curved lips I just can't disguise.
    But I think it's Pork Chops making my life worthwhile.
    Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?
    Pork Chops or...
    I like to use words like 'mate' and 'luwwver.'
    I like to use words about Pork Chops.
    But when I stop my talking,
    My mind turns straight to Women.

    Oh oh oh!

    Sometimes I look at myself and I look into my eyes,
    I notice the way I think about Women with a smile,
    Curved lips I just can't disguise.
    But I think it's Pork Chops making my life worthwhile.
    Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?
    Pork Chops or...
    I like to hang out with Kydris and Darnes.
    But when left alone,
    My mind turns straight to Women.

    Oh oh oh!

    Sometimes I look at myself and I look into my eyes,
    I notice the way I think about Women with a smile,
    Curved lips I just can't disguise.
    But I think it's Pork Chops making my life worthwhile.
    Why is it so hard for me to decide which I love more?
    Pork Chops or...
    I hate smelly rubbish and falling over.
    But I just think back to Women,
    And I'm happy once again.

    Oh oh oh!

    I notice the way I think about Women with a smile,
    Curved lips I just can't disguise.
    But I think it's Pork Chops making my life worthwhile.

    With a feminine yelp escaping the massive Lecyrian, Thrall found himself licking the floor, quite literally. His mind was somewhere completely different. He was thinking of women and his meat, but God forbid, apparently he wasn't allowed. "Awww what have I done?" The young elf said as he pressed his palm against the burning hot floor. He pushed himself up a bit--the air ball had knocked some sense into as though it were his own kind of hangover remedy.

    "Are you alright, friend?" Kydris asked, finally reaching for him.

    The Lecyrian lifted his finger in the air. He closed his eyes and just tried to find his center of balance. He's upper body was making a circular movement; his skin sweating as his front teeth grinded against his chapped lips. Looking defeated, he opened up his dead eyes. His face was completely serious as he stared at his friend. "I am a dead man walking," he said, before turning his head and vomiting his guts out on the side of the road.

    He felt like shit, and likely had blown up his liver that night. He wasn't too sure what happened but when he was done with the barfing, he finally managed to whip himself in shape, and stand up with the help of Kydris.
    "A brilliant idea to knock out a drunk elf like that... A great idea my friend," he said sarcastically as he grimaced. The aftertaste of acid on his throat wasn't very appealing to him.

    Kydris had deftly avoided the Thrall's spew with a graceful leap backwards, but when he finally did manage to lift the Lecyrian, he was more than a little surprised that the butcher appeared to be accusing him.

    "Me? You think I did that? No friend; our new pal was responsible for that little shove." Kydris glanced over his shoulder in Garek's direction, before turning towards his butcher. "Look, I know you already have a job. Here's the thing Thrall." Kydris lowered his voice and made sure his back was to Garek so that he could neither hear nor read his lips for what he was about to say.

    "That bastard over there let it slip that he has a title in some form or fashion. Now, I know you aren't a thief but I," Kydris paused, momentarily wondering if it was wise to let an acquaintance in on his true nature. "I happen to be good at re-possession, and I'm sure I could lift a pretty ork or two off of him." Kydris dusted his own tunic off, before attempting to do the same for Thrall, despite not being able to reach the man's shoulders.

    "He seems to want both of us to come along though. Stick it out with me for a bit and there might be something in it for both of us. You in?"

    Thrall looked at Kydris and simply nodded. "Yeah sure mate, but I didn't think it was you, man. I know you cool. You ain't no savage like that. That man ain't got no friends with that attitude," Thrall added; his thick Rughenan accent shone through as it usually did when he was recovering from his ale.

    "But Kyd, I really got to tell Paul. I'd feel bad leaving him hanging like that. He just so nice to me, ya know?" Thrall said as he placed his hand in over his stomach. He could hear it rumble, as he opened his eyes. "Think that man is gonna buy us food too? 'Cause if he does, I won't complain." The naive Lecyrian said.

    Kydris smirked at Thrall's mention of food, and turned back in Garek's direction. He wasn't sure where they were going, but if it involved an airship it wasn't likely Thrall would see his employer for some time.

    "I think we can arrange to send a letter at least. It doesn't seem like this character is interested in our business being made public. He'll probably let you send Paul a note to assuage any suspicion or worry this he might have at your departure." Kydris didn't know if that was true, but it only made sense. The conjuror didn't have a job that required him to report to a formal boss, and though he had no understanding of how official employment worked, he hoped he was right.

    "As for the food," The elf let loose a small smile and began to walk back in the stranger's direction--he assumed Thrall would follow. "I'm sure we can pressure him into a quick breakfast at the very least. Besides, I've recently come into some money and I don't see any reason not to spend it..."

    Thrall pivoted quite clumsily and joined his friend. The man named Garek had been standing in the opposite direction, and it was only a small walk before the two of them were by his side again. "Breakfast on us, mate?" He asked the shorter man. "Cause I'm starving and... I'd rather eat now then wherever we're headed, 'cause I don't trust foreign food." he said, shaking his head from side to side.
    • Like Like x 2
    • Bucket of Rainbows Bucket of Rainbows x 2
  13. Sylorah, The Kalvisi Estate

    Ebon feathers pooled about his frame like a black wreath as Lore sat with Amat. His right wing stretched and rolled to a more comfortable position, and he took the letter in hand with a hesitant hand. The name she had mentioned was one he of course recognized. Noma Scrie carried the same magic as he, but he only knew of her by name. He toyed with the letter, refusing to open it at first to read.

    “I'm familiar with her,” he said. “But I am not familiar with her visions. She is a heretic. What does she want of me? Did she tell you or…”

    His words faded as his eyes cast back down to the letter Amat had given, fingers toying with the parchment contemplatively. Perhaps it was all explained in the letter addressed to him, but he didn't want to open it. He was about to embark on his Walk and the last thing he wanted was some foretelling of responsibility given to him by the Mistress of the Synod of Heretics. Her seal was imprinted into the wax seal.

    “Tell me what it is she saw,” Lore said. “What is her need of me? What is it you know?”
    • Love Love x 2
  14. Away We Go
    A collab between @Tyrannosaurus Rekt and @CloudyBlueDay

    “Come on, Irissa. I doan’ think yah yer thinkin’ this through,” Grin said, pulling himself into his cloak. He’d known Irissa for a while now. She was a traveler, just like him. She was also an expert card player and had a tendency to invite him to a game whenever they ran into each other at various establishments. A while back she learned that he was a shit of a card player, and that while his money was good, she hated taking it from him. So, she made each game interesting from then on out.

    Unfortunately, this would be the night she would employ a stripping aspect to her game. The other three players had removed a coat, some bracers, or maybe a vest. Grin was down to his skivvies and a cloak.

    Irissa laughed, her red hair sparkling in the low light of the Vigorous Mare. “Sorry, Grin. You’re just going to have parade about in your skin pants.”

    “People already confuse me for their chil’ren. Let’s not exacerbate the situation, yah?” Grin had a losing hand. He knew he had a losing hand. He eyed the cards, hoping that he’d missed something. Something crucial. Something to pull the game around. Yet, when he glanced up he found a much more interesting escape to his problems. A man entered the place. A man that was familiar to Grin. If he remembered correctly, his name was Garek. Grin had never personally met Garek, but he knew what the man looked like and he knew what sky barge he rode on.

    Grin would have probably said something had he not been currently clothed in his skivvies and about to lose his cloak via Irissa’s behest. It was then that Garek muscled his way further into the establishment, sloughing off potential deterrents and wanting to speak to the occupants further embedded within the the Vigorous Mare.

    “Aye, Irissa. I need mah pants and mah armor. I need to at be a place. Like now.” Grin slammed his losing cards down on the table.

    “Look, Grin--” she started.

    “No, I really need to be a place.” Grin bore his eyes into hers.

    “Fine. Can you at least settle the dues for your clothing?” She asked, crossing her legs and flicking a piece of hair aside.

    “Yah, evil witch, but yah, I can.” He paused. “So, saiks coins?”

    Irissa leaned back. “Six. Sure.”

    He jumped off his chair and scramble over to her, dropping the money in front of her. She tossed him his leather pants and armor.

    “No undershirt?” Grin asked, sliding into his pants. “Or underwear for that matter?”

    “No. Just the basics, Grin. Play me again for your nice shirt and oddly clean undergarments.”

    “I care a lot about mah hygiene. Don’t be strange.” Grin slid his pants on, his boots (which he really hadn’t wagered but kept aside from everything else), and his leather armor. It left massive openings in his cloths, mostly his midriff and arms, but it was better than running bare chested into the night. “Goodnigh’, Irissa. Hope you don’ choke on your own evil.”

    The human winked and smiled as Grin bolted from the Vigorous Mare. He made his way to the sky barge docks. The appearance of Garek meant that Kas was in the same city. He’d met Kas previously, she’d fixed a barge he’d been on. They’d had a long conversation in which he’d seen her personal sky barge and the man named Garek. The man didn’t know the halfling, but Grin knew him. Grin had made a deal with Kas. Now he planned live up to his side of the bargain.

    He spotted her sky barge easily enough. He weaseled around dock security easily enough, didn’t help that he used his power to move himself quickly and unseen. As he reached the dock leading to Kas’s barge, he was wheezing and propping himself up on one of the light poles.

    “Kas,” he said, breathily. “Kas, kiddo, it’s Grin. Yah know, your best frand. Well, at least a decent frand. Let’s talk. Or at least, give me like a bed and maybe some liquor. I’ve had not-a-good evenin.”

    Garek wanted the ship up and running by the time he came back, so Kas would deliver.

    I mean, the thing was already running, but she always had it spick and span, updated to the fullest, every gear cleaned, oiled, and shined to perfection. No ship of hers (or at least under her care) would have any sort of blemish. Plus, she hadn’t much better to do.

    So there she was, bent over the same little speck of grime that just wouldn’t seem to go away no matter how many times she scrubbed over it, with her trusty goggled placed over her eyes, perhaps not to protect her as much as to put her into that working mode she so often placed herself into. It was a good on and off switch.

    She thought at the first creaking of the floorboards that it was Garek and whomever he happened to be bringing aboard, but the footsteps were light, much too light to be Garek, and anyone else. She stood, covered in grease stains and dark smudges, and waited up until the footsteps thundered closer.

    A familiar face greeted her, huffing and puffing as he rambled on and on, but throughout his speech a grin formed on the las’s face, and once he’d announced all his troubles, she went right up and swept him up in a hug, picking him up off the ground and crushing his bones despite the grime she was covered in.

    “Grin!” She announced joyfully. “Good ta see ya!” She flipped off the goggles and brushed off a dirt stain on her cheek. “A bed! I think I can smuggle ya in --” She glanced behind him quickly. “No Garek yet. Better go fast. Dunno about the liquor. We’ll work our way up, aye? C’mon, c’mon! Quickly!” She gave him a shove in a direction of the ship, nodding her head down a hallway.

    Grin was exhausted, and so he didn’t offer much of a fight as he was pulled into a hug. Usually, he would have barked something abrasive about how he was an “adult” and not a wee babe. Instead, he just blushed. The warmth of as combined with his fatigue made the entire thing feel oddly… comforting. Well, that was until he got a look of her.

    “Aye, no, stop rubbin’ your disgutin’-ness all over me. Didn’t pay for these clothes only for yah to to soil ‘em.” As she released him and prodded him into the ship and away from prying eyes, he only had to chuckle a bit. “I saw him at tha Vigorous Mare. He was kickin’ in a door and demandin’ to talk to some people. I didn’t hang around to find out what about. But it seemed like a long and drawn out kerfuffle. He shouldn’t be behind me. At least not in an immediate sense.” He let Kas lead him on into her ship. He may have let out more than one shudder as they passed anything mildly mechanical.

    Another laugh escaped Kas at his defiance, when in reality she didn't even view herself as covered in muck and grime. It was practically her natural state of being. She glanced about herself momentarily, and flashed Grin a smirk as she shrugged to herself, clearly not planning to do anything about her state of cleanliness.

    “The Vigorous Mare, eh?” Kas let out a “humph”. “I'm sure he's doin’ what he needs ta do. I'm just the mechanic. Fer now, at least. And hush now Grin, I can't believe yer still on about all them spinnin’ gears. Ain't no harm in ‘em. And the rest of the crew might hear ya.”

    Grin lowered his voice. “Ya know how I feel, they’re my death. Don’t go a playin’ like they aren’t.” He looked over his shoulder. “And we would hate for the crew tah see you with me. What would they say? ‘Oh, she likes the little ones, don’t she?’” He let out a soft chuckle. “No worries. No worries. I’m quite quiet when need to be. And I would nevah get you in trouble, Kas. You’re a good frand. Also, I haven’t gotten my information from yah, yet. Sort of defeats the purpose of having a contact if yah get them in trouble before they tell yah what you want to know.”

    Oh, the information. Kas’s brow furrowed. She hadn’t heard much, to be frank. Not a lot of people were interested in casual banters about a runaway pixy, and if they were they weren’t so keen on talking. Grin’s teasing was something she was already accustomed too, despite the fact theey had only met once.

    “Well.. let’s get to that biz later, eh? Fer now, let me get yah settled in.”

    Grin slipped through the door with ease given his size and agility. The sleeping quarters of taller species were always interesting to mull around in. While nothing was clearly out of his reach, unless it was nearly out of the other species’ reach, it was all a bit awkward to maneuver and get comfortable in.

    So, he slowly slipped off his gear and sat it on the ground. “Where ya want meh to put this? I figure we might as well hide it, considerin’ I’m a stowaway and the like. First, tho-” he said, trailing off. He undid the tie on his bag and plunge his arm in. The entire sack looked like it might swallow him whole for a second before he procured a small sack. The fabric on it was iridescent, but not overly ornate. “I procured some candied flower petals for yah. A pretty gift for a pretty elf.” He smiled wildly. “I may be tryin’ to butter yah up. Not to say I don’t appreciate your company. I just have a quakin’ fear that Garek will find meh before we’re nary a quarter into our conversation. He’s pretty terrifyin’, but I’m sure you already know that.” He exhaled, his stomach clenching. “So, have you heard of anythin?”

    Kas’s eyes widened at the appearance of the shimmering bag. Covered in grease, she felt it almost a crime to take it from his hands, and that eager grin that seemed plastered on his face made her strangely nervous. She didn’t deserve something so pretty. “Surely this is a trick,” She huffed. “‘Prolly full o’ spiders.” Her cheeks were already reddening at all his flattery, but she acted as if she hadn’t heard it. “You can throw yer stuff in the trunk over there.” Kas nodded ahead.

    “Oi, Garek raised me, so don’ bash ‘im too much.” She said with a snort, and quickly peeked into the bag before closing it again and placing it on a nearby shelf in which she eventually leaned herself upon. “If ‘m bein’ honest with ya, I ain’t heard much at all.” The halfbreed crossed her arms and blew a piece of hair away from her face. “I been askin’ around, but not a lot of folk know ‘bout some runaway pixies. If I were to bet, though? I’d poke around Vashskara. Garek talks a lot ‘bout that place. Sounds like it might be right.”

    Grin moved towards said trunk with his belongings. He was more interested in not being caught by Garek than being caught. He feigned a gasp. “I would nevah give you somethin’ made of spiders.” He laughed as he shoved his belongings into the trunk. He slapped the lid closed on them. He watched her deal with the candied petals. Honestly, he’d hoped she had dug into them, but she didn’t. Grin frowned at her words. “Thanks yah, tho.” He paused. “Vashskara? Well, seems like a right destination for me to go.” He sighed. “You headin’ that way, pretty elf?”

    Rolling her eyes at the compliment, Kas twiddled with the opening of the iridescent bag, gazing at it with narrowed eyes. “Ya’d have to ask Garek ‘bout that. I ain’t know where we’re goin’ half the time. And I know ya don’t want too, so either ya rush off now, or stick around n’ find out.”

    Grin smirked. “I promise, they aren’t spiders. You’ve not known me long enough for me to feel comfortable enough to play jokes.” He scratched his head at the mention of asking Garek where they were going. The sheer thought of imploring him to travel to a certain part of the world seemed… not that intelligent. “Yah, he raised yah. And I’m sure he’s a quaint ole fellow. Just gives off a ‘lookin’ at me strange means you’re dead’ vibe. But I’ll speak to him. I’ll wait until we’re in the air so he can’t kick me off the barge.” He paused. “Though I guess he still could. I’d just end up like a halflin’ sized smear. And I’m just too handsome for that to happen.”

    “Hm.” Kas said, a smile finally coming about her lips as she tugged the bag open and pulled a petal from the bag, popping one into her mouth. A happy noise escaped her as she gazed back at him, chewing. “Glad yah willin’ to try him.” She said gladly, pleased he seemed more comfortable with the idea of Garek and speaking to him. “Don’t worry yerself,” She said with a laugh, imagining a splattered Grin somewhere on the ground after they’d kicked off. “I’ll be sure not to let ‘im kick ya off.”
    • Love Love x 7
  15. The Getaway

    a collab between @rissa, @Elle Joyner, and @DoctorJax

    Iskaya carted the princess as far as she could go into the crowd, and just as she was promised, the guards did not chase her as they followed, instead, Bellamy's illusions. However, she knew that he had his limits, and she did her best to be discreet, making for an alley as soon as she could so as to limit the number of people who'd seen her.

    She took a quick turn into one of the shops -- the owner, paid off with a handsome 20 gold orks, to leave it for all of an hour -- and dumped the girl on a rug that had been placed there prior. For the first time that day, Iskaya spoke:

    "Don't move."

    With that, Iskaya rolled the girl into the rug quickly. She and Bellamy had already decided this was the place to meet, and so she waited for his arrival. She'd let him take care of their exit, so she wasn't too worried that they'd be found. She shrugged off her cloak and stashed it in a nearby vase, pulling out a fresh, brown cloak with a bright blue fringe, and she sat on the rug, waiting.

    Dropping the illusion like it was a red-hot brander, energy reserves lower than anticipated, Bellamy let himself whisper through the nervous, jostling crowd. A theurgist had arrived and he could feel her probing presence through the square, even after he banished the illusion…

    He was halfway through a second alley before the last of her presence diminished and he felt safe enough to retrace his path and meet Iskaya at their predetermined location. Instincts whispered and he listened; retracing his steps three times, through three different alleys, Bell finally made his way to the shop whose owner his partner had paid off. When he arrived at the seamstress shop, the chocolatl-skinned Ka'Lene was sitting upon an oddly shaped rug. Figuring it out quickly, Bellamy let out a bark of a laugh and clapped Skaya on the shoulder.

    "Brilliant. Honestly, Skaya, those fireseed crackers were brilliant. Anyways," Bellamy said abruptly, getting back to business. "There's a small carriage waiting for us an alley down. I've passed it twice now, it's safe, packed with good stuff room for the three of us. You ready?"

    It was humiliating. Absolutely and utterly mortifying. She was of royal lineage... Princess of Gabranth, a Lady of stature and certain expected graces.

    Rolled into a rug like a house rat and sat upon. She didn't bother to struggle, her arms pinned painfully to her side making any motion pointless. Instead, she bit hard at the inner part of her cheeks, already raw from the abysmal carriage ride to the ceremony and tried... desperately, not to consider what came next.

    Meanwhile, atop the princess' wrappings, Iskaya smiled like a cat that had caught the canary. Aaaah, yes, the praise -- this was why she worked with Bellamy. Of course the distraction had been brilliant -- she wasn't about to let him handle diverting the guards' attention all on his own. What kind of person would she be?

    Well, never mind that she liked to be better safe than sorry. She nodded.

    "Here -- help me with the royal canape," Iskaya grunted as she reached down to grab one end of the rug to haul off.

    As she put one side over her shoulder, she asked, "Who wants a princess, anyhow? Not your everyday heist."

    “The Rocheean Order.” Bellamy said through a grunt, hoisting up the other end of the coiled rug that held the Princess of Gabranth.

    Taking the lead, Bellamy walked outside and the distant crowd could still be heard as they made their way farther north. Bell kept a steady pace, one that matched the hurried steps of those who lived in the Low Quarter. As they neared the carriage he was tempted to throw up an illusion, just to err on the side of caution -- but his reserves were dangerously low, and even with the few RoNaan Stones he had left he knew casting again would be dodgy.

    The carriage was a simple one, though quite large. The back was ladled with supplies, some legal some not, and they were all hidden away in packaged good stuff and bales of this and that. With another grunt, Bellamy laid his end of the rug down onto the carriage and helped Skaya push the rest of it in. With ropes he and his partner secured the carriage and then when they were finished, Bell plucked out three gold orks and handed them to the dirt-faced kid who held the reigns of two beautiful bay horses.

    “Here kid,” Bell said with a smile and a ruffle of mud-stained hair. “Go feed your family. I’ll see ya in a month or two.”

    The young boy punched Bell in the side affectionately before throwing his arms around him and taking off farther into the Low Quarters. Standing there, Bellamy felt a tug in his chest, and ignoring the pain as he’d done so for the past fifty years, hooked the horses to the saddle and sat down upon the front bench, beckoning Skaya forward.

    “You wanna drive?” He asked nonchalantly, a charismatic smile gracing his face even as his chest caved in.

    Skaya watched the young boy Bell had paid run off into the streets. Her lips turned in a rictus of displeasure, unhappy with having another set of eyes that knew their faces. Bellamy was quick to give small jobs to the unfortunate, the starving, the sad -- though he was, thankfully, not so naive as to give to the undeserving.

    She climbed in and took the reins as offered, pondering upon the answer she'd been given. If that was the case, the Order was getting awfully bold. Besides that, he'd neglected to mention who was pulling the real purse strings -- whoever they were, they had deep pockets, especially to afford both her and Bellamy.

    Before they went off, however, she glanced back at the load behind and stated to the rug, "Oi. I'll give you some breathin' room, but you gotta wear a gag, you hear me? Roll once if you understand."

    Whether she rolled or not was lost of Bellamy, as his focus shifted inward. The carriage would leave from city’s interior by way of the eastern gates. As usual, it was risky, riskier than need be -- but it’d cut an entire day off their trip to Marbalea if they took a raft across the Three Sisters.

    The only problem, was getting through the busy, guard infested, eastern gates.

    The trip was entirely too smooth; the carriage swayed and bucked with the horses that carried it along, but not once were they halted, questioned, or for that matter, even looked at. The frantic guards were searching for three men and a princess and so they let the Ka’Lene and halfbreed farmers right through the gates with barely a glance at the contents they carried out of the city.

    Skaya kept a good thieving pace; one that was steady and matched the speed of the surrounding exodus taking place. The Coriand Road was congested, filled from brick to brick with mass throngs of frightened people. A part of him ached, a part of him yearned…

    Near an hour later the Coriand Road came to an end and brick turned to gravel and gravel turned to dirt, and soon the throngs were replaced with streams and the plains morphed into beginnings of a forest. Shortly thereafter Bellamy urged Skaya to pull off into a shallow meadow, wide enough for the carriage but concealed enough for his purpose. Then he pulled himself up into the carriage, tugging his partner along with him.

    He turned to Skaya, apprehension clear on his face. “You got that gag, right?”

    And then he unrolled the rug.
    • Love Love x 2
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  16. Alora Fortune

    She hadn't rolled. She wouldn't have... Even despite the horrible enclosed feeling, or the awful scratchy discomfort, or the heat. She wouldn't give the terrible woman the satisfaction of knowing she could be tempered by rewards...

    She hadn't rolled or spoken a word for the entirety of that miserable journey. Instead, she formulated whatever she could of a plan.

    She was a princess and because of this there were certain talents to which she had been predisposed. Embroidery… The art of conversation. To some degree, she wasn't all that terrible a baker. And of course, the perfect balance of etiquette and poise. Absolutely none of this came in handy during a kidnapping… But luckily for Alora and less fortunate perhaps for her abductors, she had also read a thing or two in her books.

    So when that rug unfurled, she did not cry or plead for her life… Instead, with the force and precision of a small mule… she kicked out at the man’s jaw with the heel of her foot.

    Skaya grimaced behind Bellamy as a foot connected with his nose, a heel to his jaw. She had thought the girl might struggle but not that much. The Ka'Lene had managed to duck out of the way of any errant feet or hands, and instead, she grabbed hold of both the woman's feet and began to tie them together.

    While Bellamy had asked for a gag, Skaya had thought it might be slightly more prudent to take care of the fact the girl might try to bolt. They could always cart her off if she was bound and making noise, but not so much if she was on her own two feet...

    "She got some fight, eh?" Skaya chuckled, managing to yank tight a cord of twine around the girl's feet. For a princess, she was stronger than she looked...

    He laughed -- he couldn’t help it. He rubbed his jaw and stemmed the flood of blood rushing from his nostrils as he watched Skaya tie her ankles together. He wasn’t expecting the princess’ ferocity, but he appreciated it all the same. Perhaps the Order’s goal could be accomplished…

    Glancing up at the sky and tenderly wiping his face, Bellamy looked at the sun and determined the time. It was mid afternoon, most likely the hour of the sun and if they were lucky, would reach the Three Sisters before dark. If they were lucky that is.

    Turning to Skaya, he nodded down at the princess, his eyebrow raising in curiosity before kneeling (though far enough out of reaching distance; hands and feet) down and making eye contact with his assailant. He smiled again; she was beautiful, as princesses ought to be… But she was also fierce - he could see it in her eyes, could feel it in the ache of his jaw and the drying blood smeared all over his face.

    “That was a free one, miss.” Bellamy said with a laugh, pointing as his own mug. “The next one is gunna’ cost ya.” He winked at her conspiratorially before setting into a more serious disposition.

    “Here’s the thing, princess,” He said while standing up. He started rearranging things here and there until a bench-like structure, big enough for two, was made from the boxes and barrels lining the carriage. “We’re running outta daylight and we have places to be in the morning. We gotta’ be at the Three Sisters before dark, or at least before they stop ferrying for the night. It’s a bit of a ride but with Skaya back here to keep ya busy I’m sure you’ll be fine. Now, here’s the catch: if you think you can sit pretty long enough for us to get to the river we’ll keep you free of that rug - but the moment you try something, I’ll personally shove you into one of these barrels, ya hear?”

    She'd hit him... Square in the nose, and the fountain of red that resulted from the blow should have been something of an encouragement. But before she could hope to try and escape, that horrible woman had her feet bound.

    Tears sprung to her eyes and blurred her vision, but Alora blinked fiercely, staring up at the man with a mask of defiance.

    "My father will have your head on a pike for this... Both of you! You're a coward.. And a scoundrel, and nothing good will come of this outrage!"

    Skaya fought the urge to roll her eyes as the princess -- in true kidnap victim fashion -- gave some version of the "you won't be getting away with this" reel. She had done quite a few kidnappings already, and it seemed that the first things out of the nabbed's mouth was "my father is an important person."

    Granted, the typical target was a woman with a rich father.

    "Hands, please," Skaya sighed with long-suffering, the words a courtesy of habit than holding real meaning. She grabbed a hold of the girl's hands and tied them quickly, glancing out the wagon as she did so. If they wanted to get to the Sisters by dark, they were going to have to make haste. Daylight would not be for long.

    "Your turn to drive," Skaya stated to Bellamy sardonically with a quirked eyebrow, tossing to him a rag for his face. She turned to the princess across from her and leaned back in her spot, lifting her eyebrows. Try me.

    Alora held out her hands without so much as a modicum of defiance, and as the woman tied them together, she remained in a state of hostile silence. It wasn't the right time for any escape attempts or desperate pleas for release. The window would open - Alora could sense as much... but until then she could bide her time as the model prisoner.

    But they would pay for her treatment. Both of them. Dearly...

    TAGS || @rissa, @Doctor Jax
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  17. [​IMG]

    So this was she. She who descended from blood that was unlike any other running throughout the veins of those in Goldenwine. Anuleisa Rochan. Persephone was never the type to revere legends but it to see one's own blood and flesh in person admittedly affected her...and she hated feeling jealous.

    Still, with grace the spymaster took the hand of the Descendant when she offered it. Persephone sat down when she requested and took the glass of Oma with a practiced amount of enthusiasm. All the while the proverbial cogs in her head begun spinning. There were plenty of questions to be answered, plenty of possibilities to be considered...but it seemed the Roanite was not in the mood for verbal evasion. Wonderful.

    Just as she had been preparing for a few days of rest at her home, Lady De Chalons found herself once more in a situation calling for her particular skill set. Outwardly, Persephone kept a beautifully calm exterior but inside De Chalons knew this was bigger..bigger than any other engagement she's ever been apart of. It was something new, and of course that meant that she was in for a proper challenge.

    Unmistakably, that last part brought up an excitement in her bones that was all too primal. For a moment she felt shame at the pride that surged through her...but soon enough whatever envy she had felt earlier had been replaced with an eagerness that would surely prove to be deadly for someone.

    She had already planned to attend Solaeya Solstice as a member of her old spymaster's entourage but she figured that the Du Lyon head could replace her...history showed that he never had a problem with that after all.

    The satisfaction she would get by announcing her attending alongside the Descendant rather than him though...that alone would've been enough for the spy to accept Anuleisa's offer. Persephone had almost forgotten that she wasn't the only one invited until Aarcon spoke up. With a smile on her lips she watched his acceptance and afterwards she stood up and offered her own.

    "As would I my lady," The spy cooed sweetly, her amber eyes lighting up when a thought occurred to her. "...and I even have the perfect dress in mind."
    TAGS || @Shizuochan @rissa
    #17 Bears, Apr 17, 2017
    Last edited: Apr 17, 2017
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  18. Adrianna the Deft
    [​IMG] The crow's nest offered a great view of the starry sky. Adrianna smiled, the bright points of light reflected in her dark eyes, as if perhaps the Halfling held the night sky behind her eyelids, as mysterious and as mischievousness as the actual blue-black field above them. Chin resting in her hand, she leaned against the railing on the look out's station, admiring for the brief hour or so that Garek was gone her environment. There was a beauty there, in this city of...she couldn't remember, to be perfectly honest. Between her own transient lifestyle and her temporary employer's path of necessary travel for...whatever business it was he partook in, she didn't get to appreciate where it was she landed very often.

    Garek. That guy. Addy didn't so much mind that he knew how he wanted things. That he required regular work of her. She'd worked before, and sometimes even enjoyed it; it wasn't that big a deal. But as far as she could ever tell, the guy had no sense of informality. No sense of relaxation. He walked about the deck, stick shoved so far up his butt that he stood upright every minute of every day. It was a wonder he was able to even sit down. The thought birthed an image within the Halfling's mind, and she chuckled.

    What's so funny?

    Adrianna glanced to her left, eyeing the small blue form sitting on her shoulder.

    "Ol' Garek. Jes' wonderin' when he ever pulls that stick outta his butt to clean it. It's gotta be festerin' by now."

    Rhiannon scoffed, and she rolled her sunshine eyes. She was fairly typical for a pixy; small and slight, even of lighter frame than the Halfling upon whom she perched, Rhi weighed little, and Addy sometimes forgot when she alighted. Even after years together, the pixy still wasn't used to her friend's biting and often demoralizing humor.

    Maybe it's sprouted roots, and he can't pull it out. Rhiannon mused after a pause, her tone dry. She might have chastised the young woman, but she knew it was a hopeless endeavor to do so. And really, with no one around to care, there was no point. Besides, the thought was not unique to the Halfling, who giggled at the unexpected quip.

    "Right! Hate to see the feller hurt. "Specially when he still owes us for this latest trip."

    It had been a quiet journey. Adrianna had secured employment aboard the barge at the last port that Garek had made, and after bidding her friend Cid farewell, she'd taken to the crow's nest 'like yams to butter'. And there she had stayed, apart from the occasional trip down for food, beer, or biological relief; most of the crew didn't seem particularly friendly to her; at any rate, she never found adequate reason to trust them, and being of a diminutive stature, didn't want to give anyone the chance to take advantage. Even the boat smith...carpenter...fixer...person...Kastyln, maybe? Addy had even avoided her, except for the occasional polite excuse as she brushed past the Roanite elf in the ship's passages, despite every indication that she was otherwise a perfectly friendly representation of her race.

    Her hair ruffled as Rhiannon repositioned herself within its curly mass. Brows furrowed in curiosity, the Halfling raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

    "Whatcha see, Rhi?"

    Shh, the pixy returned. She waved a hand before her, an action the Halfling recognized. Addy frowned; Illusion magic meant Rhiannon thought there was a threat. But what could there possibly be on a night like to- Ah. They had a visitor. Some figure sprinted into the small halo of light a softly burning lantern created, coming to rest against its pole. A Halfling? Handsome, too. Even if he had neglected to wear a shirt underneath his armor. But it didn't look like he was here to steal. No, Kas began speaking with him; apparently the two were friends!

    "Interesting..." Adrianna muttered under her breath as the two slipped through one of the barge's doors. "I gotta check this out."

    What?! No! The pixy began protesting as loudly as she dared in the Halfling's ear, going so far as to follow her down the climbing net to the deck below. Who knows what they could be up to? You could be getting yourself into another pickle that I'm going to have to get you out of!

    "Nah, it'll be fine." Barefoot feet padded with practiced silence across the wooden planks until they were at the door in question. Addy glanced at Rhi with a finger to her lips. "Now keep 'em buttoned, yeah? Gotta do this quiet."

    Pushing the door inward slowly, Addy slipped in.

    It wasn't hard to track the pair down. Their conversation led her right to them. It was odd, that they should speak so freely, when the Halfling clearly had no business being aboard. Yet maybe they thought they hadn't anything to worry about; Garek was gone, as was often noted by the two within, the other folks aboard the sky barge were probably lounging around town having a fun time, and Addy was likely forgotten, given the amount of time she spent within in the crow's nest. Most of the conversation was unintelligible, and Adrianna only managed to catch the tail end.

    She paused midstep. So. A would be stow away. Probably couldn't legitimately afford passage aboard a passenger skyship. Her heart went out to him; she'd had to do the very thing on more than one occasion, so who was she to pry further, or to enforce any kind of strict no-stow-away policy Garek might otherwise have? Besides, she thought with a grin, it wasn't in her job description. Satisfied with that line of thinking, she turned to go, setting her foot down right onto the one squeaky board on the whole damn ship. She muttered a curse; the I told you so's would be readily forthcoming from her pixy friend's mouth, she was certain. If Kas and her companion didn't decide to off her, that was. Tense, Addy tried again, hoping to leave before she was noticed.

    @rissa @CloudyBlueDay @Tyrannosaurus Rekt
    #18 Red Thunder, Apr 19, 2017
    Last edited: Apr 20, 2017
    • Love Love x 2
    • Nice execution! Nice execution! x 1


    Anuleisa brought her hands together, a small clap ensuing. “Then it is settled.”

    She stood as well, drained her glass of Oma and gave her respects to the Mistress of the Estate. Anu, as gracious as ever, promised goods from the Solstice Gathering and then her goodbyes, farewells, and well-wishes. The Lue estate had always been loyal and the Rochan’s never let loyalty go unrewarded. In two days time the halfbreed would be swimming in a chest of RoNaan Stones. Gold orks she had aplenty; but Stones were becoming harder and harder to come by.

    Ushering the two new members of her entourage forward, Anu tore two pieces from her own gown, held the torn pieces between both palms and uttered an incantation. A dull light could be seen from in between her clasped hands and when she was finished, two delicate and neatly folded scrolls were revealed.

    “They will unravel in three days time.” Anuleisa said, handing both Persephone and Consul Aarcon a scroll of parchment. “The locale of our departure will be inscribed in green ink, please do arrive on time.” She said her farewells and goodbyes shortly thereafter, she still had one more place to visit before her evening was duty free.


    They’re idiots. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought -- or said as much since his night began. The conjurer, whose name was Kydris, and the Lecyri, Thrall, were a damn waste of his time. Unfortunately his Contract listed the Conjurer and the kid had baggage. So he had let them drown themselves in food at a diner by the name of Kara’s, a few blocks outside of Clam Haven. He made an impatient vigil in front of the table while his usual lady kept eyes where they belonged: off of the trio.

    That was about an hour ago, and Garek continued to lead the pair to the small skyport, a few leagues between Lenport and Lyf. It took half the night, but that’s where Amaleyia waited for him, and never once did he stop their trek, not until they entered the port.

    Out of his pocket, Garek removed a small leather bound book, that when flipped open, held sleeves upon sleeves of international markings. They were the seals and insignias of all the ports he’d been to, this year at least. The guard in green and black shrugged them onwards but they were soon halted by another man clad in uniform.

    “Passengers of yours, Ruehar?”

    “Precisely, Daaryn.” Garek replied, tone betraying an ounce of his sarcasm. “Let’s go,” he said to the pair behind him. “My skybarge is over here.”

    With a foul glance at Daaryn, Garek turned, made sure the pair were at his heels, and walked to his pride and joy. “Up,” He said with a flick of his wrist, indicating the thick rope ladder that hung from the belly of his ship. “If yer still too drunk,” Garek said with a small smile, “You can ride up with the wares.”

    He pointed to two large metal containers, rigged with rope and chain, that would be carried to his ship’s cargo bay by way of runed levers.

    “The choice is yours.” He said indifferently and then removed his small leather book, flipped to the back and started speaking to a short Roanite with an enormous mustache.

    Tags: @Radio Jelly


    Hidden within the Nevrine Mountains, a self sufficient temple complex stood silent and proud, shrouded by time and magic, unseen since the days of the last Herald. It spread deep within the mountain Kehv, like the earth wyrms of the west and delved farther into the shadows than any other place known. A small valley grove was the only source of sun, moon, and stars these people had. Vegetables and herbs that were acclimated to the climate were grown and harvested year round, except for the heart of winter.

    In this grove, two solitary figures walked along a worn path. The silver-bearded man walked steadily, fluidly, like a river’s current. He seemed to know every step and dip in the track, as did the woman at his side. They were an odd pair; he dappled with silver, she young with age and vibrant with autumn colored hair. She matched his steady pace with a slow tread, her every step culminating into a calculated grace.

    After awhile they happened upon a bench, carved of local stone and one of eight that encircled the valley grove. The pair seated themselves without hesitation, as if it were routine. The bench faced the westernmost part of the grove, where wild lavender crept across the grazing ground. It was a humbling sight, if worrisome, though it reminded them all of Her, the First.

    “The lavender is waning, Doreah. So too is the Water of Rolfga. It is no longer pure, and before you interrupt, no, you’re too young to remember. The Waters of Rolfga could cure any ailment, banish any disease, and allow us to live forever, to protect these Seals…”

    With a great sigh the silvered man rubbed his chin and glanced around the only place he’d known in his eight hundred years of life. It was hard saying goodbye.

    “It has begun, Doreah. The end is near… If only there was more time…” He stood, slowly, steadily, as if he’d never make it. “I will gather our brethren while you find us a way out. It is time to reveal to the world of Ykglenda that the Seals of Lakaine are breaking.

    “We must summon the new Herald.”

    I have two separate collabs for the two missing plotlines, so do not worry!

    @Shizuochan @BearEnthusiast -- feel free to skip forward, describe your characters remaining time in Goldwine Grove, begin your character's individual plotlines, or have them settle debts. It's completely up to you. Before you begin writing, message me for the scroll's content. It can be a group PM on Discord or Iwaku.

    @Ner0 will be entering the RP shortly, aka once our collab is finished. It may or may not give some hints to the new plotline established within this post. And for continuity's sake, the collab begins (IC TIME) shortly after Anu leaves Persephone, Aarcon, and Mistress Lue.

    @CloudyBlueDay @Tyrannosaurus Rekt @Red Thunder
    I'd like for you to continue the current IC interactions. If steam fizzles out before my next GM Post and you can't get to Garek, I'll bring in an NPC.

    @Radio Jelly -- With Blues' ban, please continue on with Kydris as you normally would. If you have any questions or concerns, please message me. We're going to leave Thrall's fate vague, but he will not be continuing on.

    #19 rissa, Apr 28, 2017
    Last edited: May 11, 2017
    • Nice execution! Nice execution! x 2
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  20. Alora Fortune

    [​IMG] [​IMG]

    She was a pretty little thing. Much, much prettier than the stock face he created for her illusion phantom. The Princess was beautiful. It was an irritating fact. He paced about the small two-bunk cabin, taking turns sending Alora angry stares and wondering where Iskaya was.

    What if his illusions ran false and guards were after them right now? What if they got her already?

    Bell grunted and crossed his arms, glaring at the young woman who sat upon the bottom bunk. His face softened slowly and he leaned against the wall with another grunt. She’d been compliant, even as they boarded the Raft and set off down the swift flowing river, even as the River Baron escorted them to their room.

    Yes, she was beautiful, but she was also brave. And Bellamy could respect that.

    “Are you happy with your station?” Bellamy inquired sincerely, passionately. “If so, why haven’t you changed anything? Why do you allow your people to starve while your nobility live so lavishly?”

    Their treatment, after escaping the city and after that horrible woman had freed her from the rug, had been oddly without incident... Something Alora might have been appreciative of, but for the fact that ultimately, she had been abducted.

    It didn't make much of a difference how she was treated. Soon enough they would make their trade, receive their payment and Alora's fate would be sealed. They wouldn't think another thought of her, rich in splendor and infamy and memory of her would fade swiftly into oblivion until she became like a statue in the courtyard. A faint, foggy memory, celebrated only for status and title.

    Eyes stinging, she turned them away from her sentry and to the raw wood of the floor beneath her. She wanted to ignore it... To brush off his antagonistic question and say nothing. But it itched at her, digging in until she couldn't have ignored it any easier than a charging bull.

    "How dare you assume anything about me. You act as if I have a choice... Any say at all! I exist for one purpose. To give a fat old man an heir. I have no freedom, no rights! What would you have me do? Kick and scream until my father hears me? He hasn't heard his subjects... Why am I any different?"

    “If that’s all you truly think you’re purpose is in life, than this was a mistake.” Bellamy spat vehemently. “You are not worthy of being part of our cause and I’ve wasted thousands of orks and potentially lives.” The man pushed himself off the wall with a lingering look that betrayed cold fury, a promise of revenge, and the tiniest traces of guilt.

    “Why is it,” He inquired, his voice settling away from anger for the moment and deciding on mockery. “That nobles always think they have it so terribly?” He barked out an angry laugh. “You think kicking and screaming will feed your people? Protect them against the growing threat in the east?”

    Bellamy shook his head, shoulders slumped in despair. “And here I thought I’d scored the key to our revolution. But you’re nothing but a fool little girl, aren’t you?”

    "Yes..." She hissed in response,her eyes narrowing as she rose from the bunk, cheeks flushed in a fury, "You poor thing. Your revolution and wasted coin. Truly... My heart bleeds for you, it really does! What do you know of my position? What could you possibly know?? Clearly nothing, if you think it's so easy. I have tried! Time and again, I have spoken to my father and my brother! But my place has been made abundantly clear and there are lines even I cannot cross! Being noble doesn't earn you anything... Not when you're a woman! I have nothing. No rights. No voice. No freedom! Not even worth whatever ransom you hoped to receive. But by all means... Tell me how good I have it!"

    "Ransom?" Bellamy replied in shock.

    The comment took him away from the moment and he barked out another laugh. "A ransom? Woman, please. I have more orks than what your kingdom has in its dwindling vaults. No, I don't need a ransom, you see, I need you… People like you…"

    His own eyes narrowed as she continued on and he tried his best not to let his lip curl over his teeth. Who was she to preach to him about the injustices her own great-great-great grandfather sought into law?

    "You know nothing of this world, of the world beyond your blue gates. Didn't they ever teach you of Southmar of Old? Did they bother teaching you of the Rape of 1284? No, I doubt they would, seeing as it were your people who committed those atrocities. Everything you speak of… it isn't like that across RoNaan's Realm -- it's your kin who enforce the negligent treatment of women."

    "Oh yes... They managed to pour all of those painful history lessons right in with sewing and etiquette. You're an idiot if you think for even one second they would ever allow that sort of education for anyone! And I don't even know why I'm trying to justify myself to you. You're the one who kidnapped..." She made a small sound in her throat, somewhere between a growl and a cry of frustration and without thinking, she struck out, the palm of her hand a hot flash against the coolness of his cheek.

    It was swift, and almost before her hand felt the sting she had stepped back in shock, eyes wide and suddenly very afraid.

    “Hah. Maybe you’ll end up proving your worth after all.” Bellamy said with an angry smile, bringing the back of his hand to wipe blood from his lip. “Twice now, you’ve shed my blood. Keep up that spirit, hm?”

    And then he felt the shake of the raft, as if a massive hand shoved the entire contraption. He’d been travelling the The Three Sisters his entire life and knew what it entailed. His mind flashed to Iskaya and worry welled into his stomach.

    Who was trying to force their way into the board house and did it have anything to do with why Skaya was taking an ungodly amount of time?

    “Stay.” He said, removing a small key from his cloak pocket and unlocking the door and stepping out. “Try not to do anything stupid… and don’t think this conversation is over. There’s many things you need to know before you present yourself.”

    He might've been thrilled by her actions, but Alora was appalled. Twice now, she had struck him and while granted, the first time was in self defense (or so she thought), this time had been little more than a temper tantrum. Her mother would have had an absolute fit, and it was nothing, in her mind, to be proud of.

    Her eyes narrowed as he spoke, but only for a second before the raft gave a lurch and Alora nearly lost her footing. Catching herself on the bunk, she looked with startled eyes to her captor, but he was already heading for the door.

    Righting herself, she moved, but a little too late as he closed the door behind him, the key clicking in the lock. She wasn't finished, however. Not by a long shot... Whatever plans he had, for ransom, it seemed was not their intention, she had no mind to play into them...

    Sinking back onto the bunk, she glared at the door, and silently, considered her options.

    Bellamy wasn’t gone for long and soon…

    The key chafed against the lock again and Alora straightened as it opened, but her captor had not returned alone...

    He came in with the awful woman who had trapped her in the rug... And two children. Or... Perhaps not children?

    Frowning, she shrank back, her eyes wide and bright, "What's this?"

    TAGS || collabs with @rissa, @Doctor Jax
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