The Chronicles of Nelthara

[DarinValore]

Prince Arturos sighed as he stared down at the paper in his hand. One hand rubbed at his temples trying to rid himself of the stress induced headache. It didn't help that what little light he had to read with in his tent was only provided by the sole flame flickering upon the candle at his desk.

"How old are these reports? And how can we know they're accurate?" he finally asked after mulling over them for longer than he'd hoped to.

"Three days old, Sire. They were hand delivered to us by Reomoran scouts. Those men have loved ones in those villages. They'd have no reason to lie," spoke an older man.

"Terrin," Arturos sighed and spoke with a hint of uncertainty he could only reveal in the presence of his mentor, "all those years of training could not prepare me for this."

"None of us could be prepared for this, my Prince, and yet we are faced with it today. What I know with certainty is that Athos' light will help us. We must only trust in it," Terrin returned.

Arturos looked down at the paper in his hand, "No one can know, Terrin," he started as he lifted it and set the corner of the paper to the flame, "Not yet. It'll be better this way."

"Do you think that's the wisest thing to do? Lady Katalynn might disagree," Terrin said.

With a slow nod, Arturos answered, "She'll understand once we've figured this all out," he watched as the paper was consumed by the fire on the surface of his desk before he snuffed out what remained, "It's a King's duty to protect his people, and as the crown-prince, I must do the same."

"Understood. Then if you don't need me anymore, I need to get some rest before we head out in the morning," Terrin saluted.

"As do I," Arturos replied though he knew sleep would be far from him.

-----------The Following Day----------------

The sky was cloudy, and not the cloudy that makes one appreciate the puff-balls of white as they dot a blue sky. No, these were heavy, grey clouds. The wind was a forerunner of the storm to come if one couldn't tell by simply looking at the sky. The air was crisp, just enough so that, as the battle archer stepped out from the inn he'd taken shelter in, he pulled his cloak a little closer. It wasn't a good day to travel anywhere for anyone let alone the crown prince of Reomore, but no one seemed to feel the same as he did.

Soldiers clad in shimmering armor wrapped in the Golden Sun of Reomore scurried each with a task aiding in the preparation for the start of the Prince's mission. The standard snapped in the wind, and the look on the bannerman's face brought a smirk to Devlin's lips. After adjusting the quiver at his back, Devlin slipped his bow over his shoulder and took one last look skyward, a disappointing sigh slipping through his lips with a squint to match the mood.

"Bad day to be an archer."

Nodding, he spoke to the voice, "Only other person who might have a worse day is that man," he pointed to the bannerman, "That thing catches the wind like nothing I've seen before. A harder puff of wind and it's likely to carry the man away with it. Honestly, who needs something so impractical as that?"

A chuckle came from the source, "They are rather impractical for the weather at hand. I tried to convince Father to allow me to bring the flags, instead, but he insisted. Reomoran pride and all."

Devlin snapped toward the source of the voice and instantly lowered his gaze in respect. Standing before him was an imposing man dressed in silver armor though it was less ornate and more worn than some of the others Devlin had seen. He was flanked by two other men intimidating by anyone's standards. Under his right arm rested a helmet with a crown fitted upon it, "Your Highness, I meant no disrespect."

Waving a hand dismissively, Prince Arturos said, "Nonsense, they are impractical, and if I had my way, I'd leave them behind. This isn't a war, I'm simply checking in on my people here. There's no reason to be so...obnoxious," he smiled, and Devlin struggled to keep his own grin in check, "What is your name, Archer?"

"Devlin, Devlin Krause of Thisia," Devlin offered a more formal bow, not because The Reomoran prince was his own, but because the man held a position of authority, of honor, and deserved such.

"Devlin," Prince Arturos repeated. He pulled a sheet of paper from his satchel at his side, "I thought I recognized that name. You're one of those picked to act as a guide for me and mine."

"Yes, sir," Devlin replied.

"Well, Devlin Krause of Thisia, do you think we'll run into any trouble?" Prince Arturos inquired.

"You mean beside the storm?" Devlin replied as he stood straight making a gesture toward the sky with his hand, "You'll find that Iddynes is nothing like Reomore, or any other land for that matter. It's unpredictable, the creatures are vicious, and nature seems to want nothing more than to watch you drown. But us, we'll be fine."

The prince nodded as he surveyed the scene before him, "I hope you're right," he paused, but before Devlin could say another word, he continued, "It seems as though things are coming together. Mayhap we should find the others and start on our journey. If they followed the instructions given to them yesterday, they'll be gathering at the same place I called on you all: the square."

Nodding, Devlin lagged behind as the prince and his retinue passed by him on their way to the square. His eyes turned skyward once more. The storm clouds were an omen of things to come, at least the shamans would say that. Devlin believed he was in control of his fate… at least he hoped.

"Right then," he spoke as he turned toward the square, "Let's see who else signed up for guard duty."

 

[Elle Joyner]

LaDy LyrA BaRedragON​

---

"If I cannot prove myself on the battlefield, I will prove myself in death."​

---

Ahoy, ahoy, sweet Daughter of the Seas.
Ahoy this child be mine.
The Admiral's girl, his whole entire world,
for as long as stars do shine.​

Breath expelled in a vaporous fog, the first she had exhaled in several seconds. Overhead, the cloud sodden sky threatened rain by every passing moment, and even now, moisture hung heavy in the air as a mist carried on the wind left a lingering dampness to all it touched. Small beads of water rolled the length of steel, her shield clutched in her right hand trembling ever so slightly as she fought to bring feeling back into her frozen fingers. A thick woolen hood covered her crown, but ringlets like raven wings curled out from the edges, where the elements could not be ignored, pale skin rosy now, in the frigid openness of the square.

She was not alone. Others had gathered over the last hour or so, but she kept to herself, concentrating every effort on maintaining an air of relaxed focus... the preparedness of a sentry worthy of the task at hand. It had taken everything in her power to convince her father to let her come, and she would not disappoint him... not for anything. Their last conversation had been a solemn one, but Lyra had vowed that it would not be their last. The Admiral had been keen to remind her that her worth was not measured or valued in mulling about with soldiers and folk heroes... in military prowess or valiant sacrifice... and yet in her mind, she could see them... Every one of them. Gallant and honorable to the end.

There was little renown in a gilded cage, protected from the world by the ones who braved its terrors daily.

The secretive nature of her training had injured his pride, she was sure, yet even he had not been able to deny its effectiveness. And the call to protect the crown-prince of Reomore spoke to the Admiral's sense of duty and responsibility. In the end what he could not do himself, his daughter had proved more than capable... And so she had gone.

Now, waiting in the despicable cold, she half wondered if his acquiescence was not, in fact, a premonitory punishment.

"Take your time, your majesty..." She murmured coolly, under her breath, "...Really. It's no trouble..."

 

[Fyrra]

Complaints of the fog echoed from one soldier to the next, yet for one armored warrior such words fell upon deaf ears: Lakadema had awakened with a sense of wonder and curiosity, having long forgotten what such mist looked like without the ocean looming across the horizon in all directions, with only the smell of saltwater and filthy sailors on the wind. Granted, the scent of soldiers and steel certainly wasn't any better, but it was new, foreign enough to keep her hair on edge, yet still familiar, in the way that one takes comfort in a shroud when surrounded by uncertainty. It had been far too long since the last time she felt mud between her toes, but she would have to indulge herself another day.

Clad in a chest-plate and a full helm, along with a number of other, less illustrious pieces of armor scavenged from some battlefield or another, laid over an oversized tunic and kilt, this one could scarcely be marked as a Gadian were it not for the design upon her shield: not normally the sort of thing one would place trust in, but in this location it must have carried some weight. After all, Lakadema was still standing, was she not? And not even staring down the point of a dozen swords! Though, whether to attribute that to a less tense standing or the fog itself, she could not decide just yet.

For the time being she observed what she could through the visor in her helm, giving any soldiers a wide berth as to not draw unnecessary ire, though she couldn't have chosen a worse day to be in the town square: sentries were on the lookout for troublemakers, and a member of the local royal family prepared for an expedition. No, the comforting chill of steel and a cool, foggy breeze upon her fur would bring little comfort for Lakadema this day, for she stood in a place where trouble was likely to find her, and if the need to flee the square arose, it would be a long flight.

The warrior soon found herself pacing back and forth, restless.

 

[Jess Incognito]

LORNA LITTLESHIELD

She was in no mood, no mood at all for this damp. Cold, sure, windy, fine, but humidity gave her a sense of drowning. Lorna sat, straddling a low stone wall, arms folded over her chest, and a grimace across her lips made nastier by the single protruding tusk. It had not rained that day, but the air hung heavy with an unrelenting fog that seemed to permeate her clothing and her very skin, filling the pores.

Her eyes had been closed for quite some time, but she processed the sounds of the bustling square beyond her thoughts. She didn't mind waiting for now. This was a shot in the dark anyway; if this opportunity fell through, she would find another way to go further into this continent than she had thus far - another group to travel with. That was the only goal, to seek out information regarding this unknown land, its politics ever-shifting, and then to carve out a small piece of it for her people - or at least for herself and her son, although she knew well that to go alone would be death, sooner or later. To stay in Sekiros may also bring an early death, such was life. She thought of her son, dangerous to himself at this brash, cocksure age...

Further gone into her own head than she enjoyed, Lorna shook off the thought and opened her eyes. More would-be guards for hire like herself had gathered; surely the Prince would arrive soon. A gruff, short-statured man made eye contact, but shifted to face elsewhere when her glower hardened. Lorna puffed in dismissal, hoping the chosen crew were more fearless than this one.

She unraveled her arms and picked up her quarterstaff to stand, legs stiff from the chill. Now she surveyed the square, seeing all manner of shapes and sizes gathered around.
​