BY INVITATION ONLY The Vraenor Empire

  • Welcome back, Iwaku! While we are still working on the site to get it back into shape, we've come back online so you can get back to doing what you love. Check out this announcement for more details.

AceSorcerer

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm rather aggressive, though I tend to work well with other aggressives and passives alike.
Favorite Genres
Most genres appeal to me and there are very few genres I won't try at least once.
#1


  
Kieran_Throauldr_Banner.jpg
The horns sounded in the air as steel met steel, each force working to mete out a great victory.

The invaders were clad in blue steel, wielding black coffin shields in addition to blight blades and dark spears, there pikes atop which solid red flags flew in the distance- the ensign of the Imperial Army. Despite the panicking defenders that sprawled about after the breach of the wall, the utter dominance and brutal efficiency of the Imperial soldiers was a sight to behold. From the lowest infantrymen to the great battlemages, all knew their own place in the grand strategy, forming coherent cells that kept from harming women and children, yet cutting down all who opposed them.

Behind each strike was the collective vengeance of years of exile and shame, fueled by righteous anger and rage of a dominion that had hidden beyond the scope of kingdoms for the longest of times. It was the wrath of the Vreanor Empire.

Such as it was now, shining as their emperor cut down his foes in the frontmost ranks of the battle. He wore a mandarin collar tunic beneath a thin set of blue steel armor similar to what his soldiers wore. A recent crusade had taken soldiers away from the wall, giving the Vraenorans the chance to test their newest military technology- gunpowder- as they brought the massive stone structure to rubble. The Vraenoran spymaster created a quick network, allowing for the swift invasion and conquest of the city-state Ildir.

A firestorm raged as the power of magic was on display, the emperor slaughtering his way through the central fortress where the lord of the city lived. Heavily defended as it was, it was no match for a good strategy. The orders of the emperor were clear- kill no innocents, but defeat all who opposed the armies. There were small pools of blood everywhere as the army worked with brutal efficiency, the emperor himself wielding a longsword that pierced the hearts of any foe who stood in his way, doing so until there was but one man- the lord of the city- who stood in his way. With some of his soldiers at his back, the dark mage raised his left hand, electrocuting the man with great prejudice before dropping him to the ground and lopping off his head, kicking it to one of the soldiers before sheathing his sword and taking a seat in the vacant, oaken throne. He then looked to his soldiers, a small smirk on his face as his commanding bass echoed throughout the room.

“Mount that head on a spike and clean up the remnants. The battle is over- Ildir is now the sovereign territory of our glorious empire! If you find any nobles or officials, bring them to me. We’ve much work to do.”

And so it was done. A handful of the Ildirans went to flee the city and, as such, a calculated few were allowed to escape the whole affair with nothing to stop them. Most would go and flee directly to the east on foot or in wagons or on horseback into the neighboring country of Shaodor, while the remainder that chose to escape utilized the small tributaries of the river that tickled the edge of Ildir’s walls. An assortment of knarrs- wide longships with shallow drafts that were often used to ferry cargo to the nearby southern Shaodoran and Naskan border ports- were untied and let loose upon the Great River, which itself was approximately six and a half nautical leagues at its mouth while remaining slightly over five nautical leagues in width for the vast majority of the main river (the larger branches and minor tributaries, however, varied greatly in width).

Those who took to fleeing by the Great River would primarily travel to the southeast, somewhat against the flow of the river itself but aided by the strong easterly winds. Those going this route would reach some of Shaodor’s larger trading ports in two days while the remainder would reach the city-state of Pheros in another two. It seemed to many who chose to flee in this manner that their unusually quick times to make landfall were signs from the gods they worshipped that they needed to spread the word about this new empire.

Within six days, Ildiran riders reached the glistening walls of Veles, the capital of Shaodor. The news was rushed to the king upon the Azure Throne, the long-eared and long-toothed monarch raising his gaze from beneath a long, grey mane. Kaeras Dmiviran Sarpetor, the Azure King of Shaodor, spent two days weighing this information before acting upon it. Gathering with his closest advisors, he sent a company from the Thesatra- the king’s personal, elite legion- to meet with one of his more trusted envoys in the border provinces while sending the with them three chests containing a geldan, a form of offertory bribe intended to stay the hand of the recipient until formal negotiations could be engaged. But, despite their secrecy, Kieran knew of them by the time they were four days away from Ildir.

It is important to know that Kieran commanded two personal units. As Overlord, he had authority over the Fell Maidens, with their ferocity serving him well on the battlefield as one of his primarily strike forces. As Emperor, Kieran held over the Aumsláegr, an elite military unit that fulfilled the far more delicate roles that the Fell Maidens had less finesse in, such as infiltration and reconnaissance- and he had deployed them to scout and gather knowledge of the surrounding areas as soon as their grip over Ildir was secure, but not straying more than four days from the former city-state for the most part of their mission while there was rebuilding to be done.

For the first three days after the battle, as reconstuction and refortification began, Kieran and his closest advisor’s combed through the city’s upper echelons as they cast judgment. Excluding the Lord of the City that had been so skillfully beheading by the new claimant to the title, there were twelve individuals who were considered nobles amongst the Ildiran people. Regarding these so-called nobles, only two of them remained in their positions. Furthermore, after a very simple summary court-martial, two were executed by Arterion’s blade for various crimes, including wrongfully convicting individuals into slavery for thousands of gold coins apiece. It sickened him. Three were stripped of their various ranks and accolades and their houses condemned to live in exile, while the remainder retired and passed on their titles to their next-of-kin.

While Kieran took to the litany of judgment, he charged some of his mages with taking a basic census of Ildir’s resident’s based on the city’s records while the army’s engineering corps began to repair any damages from the assault. Ildir itself was within a day’s ride of the Wall and they went to great lengths to reinforce the city after the large Vraenoran force had been spotted preparing to breach it but to no avail. The more difficult prospect, however, was facilitating the arrival of Vraenoran naval forces.

In their own land, the Vraenorans had few places where they could launch and train a navy, which for a long time had primarily been nonexistent save for a small coastal guard that protected towns against the odd sea-monster that made its way inland. This changes near the end of Kieran’s father’s reign, when the spirit of discovery filled the air as the loosely affiliated guards of the coast were turned into a proper navy and marine corps in order to attempt to take to the waters. While the Vraenorans were able to sail and explore somewhat into the northern seas and chart multiple uninhabited islands, their supply chains could only go so far and a great seasonal whirlpool- called the Maw of the Sea- had proven to be a hindrance to any attempts to launch anything larger than a longboat out into the ocean. The Vraenorans, however, were not one to take this lying down.

In spite of the fact nature itself seemed to conspire against them, the Vraenorans had continued to use one of these small islands, creatively dubbed “Shipwright Isle,” to research naval technologies for whenever the nation found itself capable of a great expansion. While Vraenor could certainly stake claims on the small islands they discovered, only Shipwright Isle was suitable for any kind of residence, as those who lived there only did so for a few months at a time to begin building new ships and moor them until such time they were fit for use. Among these was a ship Kieran had a small interest in, the carrack. It wasn’t even half the length of the great Naskan dreadnaughts, great war-galleys that could crew a force of seven hundred men for an invasion or a naval assault, but it would be far lighter, far faster, and armed with one of Vraenor’s latest inventions- the naval cannon.

Vraenor’s sailing knowledge was primarily firsthand, derived from a combination of self-discovery and salvage from the unfortunate ships who met with the Maw of the Sea and the great storms that surrounded only to have their flotsam come ashore, which sometimes included ship blueprints and sailings manuals. As such, outside of various meetings, his own training, and his time spent amongst the Ildiran commonfolk to attempt to learn more of his new subjects, Kieran had begun to make plans to bring the five carracks and some of the larger caravels into the Great River as a display of Vraenoran ambition and a warning to those who would attempt to cross him. Furthermore, these same ships had the largest holds and carrying capacities out of any in the fleet, and Ildir’s territory was ripe with strong timber and smooth cotton. While it wouldn’t create a large, sudden increase in the size of Vraenor’s navy, it would begin to pave the way for further experimentation and more ships-of-war. All Kieran needed to do was wait for the vernal equinox, around which time the maelstrom at the coast would begin to slowly recede. Once it had done so, Kieran could call his ships and Shipwright Isle could begin to become a proper colony.

For now, though, Kieran kept his focus on his new territory. Not two days after the essential repairs to the city had been completed, one of his Aumsláegr burst through the doors of his study, the emperor sitting behind a large, oaken desk. The wall behind the desk was covered primarily by a large, paneled window, beneath which was a small dresser-table flanked by bookcases on either side, which flowed to fill the left wall. The opposite was covered in maps with a chifferobe and a display cabinet beside it. Another small table stood beneath the maps, with various records resting upon its surface. The wall by the door was barren save for a suit of Ildiran plate armor to the left and a couch to the right, whereas the wooden floor was covered by a room-wide rug. The room was a remnant of the previous Lord of the City, although it had been thoroughly “redecorated” by Arterion before it came into the emperor’s use.

“Make your business known, corporal.” The Pale spoke in a slightly annoyed tone, a small reverberation accompanying it that one had to stretch their ears to hear of they weren’t a mage. The Aumsláegr soldier, dressed primarily in brown, tan, and green in order to blend into the surrounding landscape, responded in a tense, nervous tenor as he snapped to attention.

“I’ve come ahead of a small foreign force, Your Majesty- Shaodorans, about sixscore strong! I sent word ahead, but I fear it may not have arrived. They appear to be on a diplomatic mission, sire, as they are so few in number and carry what appears to be a royal standard. A noblewoman leads them, though I know not who she is.”

“Is that all?” Kieran’s tone had shifted into a more pleased, if not slightly excited, one as one of his grey eyebrows rose on his face.

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“You’ve done well, then. Relay an order to the Lord High General: take a company or two of the Drachenkrieger and greet our surprise guests at the eastern gate. I want them brought to the fortress and then to the throne room unharmed. You are dismissed, corporal.”

“Thank you, Sire.”

With that taken care of, Kieran stepped to the fireplace and fetched his sword from the mantle and his staff that leaned beside it. Stepping outside and, the monarch politely pulled aside the first servant that wasn’t absorbed in their duties, began to have the message spread that he wanted all of his advisors in the great hall to greet their guests, as well as to have a squad of the Fell Maidens (one of their commander’s choosing, of course) standing guard during the meeting to dissuade their visitors from doing anything awry. Taking long strides throughout the fortress, a small smile crept onto the Overlord’s face. The board was set, the opponents faced one another. The Pale was eager to lend his hand as he tried the game of foreign affairs for the first time.


  

Dipper Dipper Lillian Gray Lillian Gray Kat Kat BlueFlameNikku BlueFlameNikku Chile Chile
 
Last edited:

Lillian Gray

Craft Master
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
All day every day
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both, I prefer to have aggressive partners.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Romance, Medieval, Action, Magic, Sci-fi
#2

Tolainnea "Tola" Rota

Steady hands worked to unravel the infected and bloodied bandages as soldiers cried out from all sides. They begged for different things. They begged for their Gods, some their mothers, and some for another shot of whisky to dull the pain. There was only so much a student of Stiildus could do. With each bloody body, living or dead, that made its way into the medical tents on the edges of the battlefield a healer had to decide how much of their own energy they were able to yield without succumbing to exhaustion. But where there were students, there were those who excelled. Some exceptionally gifted students found it easier to mend broken bones than others, some were better able to staunch bleeding with ease, and their skills shined brilliantly in the heat of the fall of Ildir. Those students with promise in trauma, the do or die scenarios, those were the ones who were finding their place now that Vraenor was moving its armies.

Tolainnea wasn't so blind to her own abilities, far above that of the typical student, but was too wise to admit she knew as much. Perhaps that was why Ninra favored her. The tall horned woman wore a simple crossed apron, stained over days of working. A seven pointed star on a back patch was stitched onto the apron, a band around her right arm. Her black hair was braided and tied up at the back of her head, however, it was tangled and tousled from the fatigue of the day, and the day prior. It had been too long to know.

"P-please, no more, it burns-" The weary and dazed officer Tolainnea had the misfortune of treating had been uncooperative since he had woken up after the battle's end. He had a pike in his gut and no one would go near him. A waste of energy, the other healers said.

"It is supposed to burn. Now hold still, this is the last application." Tolainnea explained blandly. Her golden eyes offered no comfort. She smeared a lumpy black paste across the man's wound and he arched his back in pain. Tolainnea pressed him down forcefully with her hands on either side of his shoulders. A student nearby hovered anxiously to watch the events unfold. Her hands stretched out uncertainly, until Tolainnea gave her a knowing look that suggested she help hold the man down.

"Gods, please, grant me mercy."

"I am your mercy." Tolainnea murmured. "Unless you want to die, then stop asking them for mercy and let me help you." With one hand on the man's chest, and the student holding his legs down, Tolainnea drew a haphazard septagram over the wound with the black paste. As the lines formed, she whispered towards the mending lesion and bit by bit, the paste dissolved until it was almost clear, leaving behind a fresh pink scar in place of the bloody hole.

Tolainnea fell momentarily, her breath caught in her throat as the enormous exertion took its toll on her. The student put the officer to sleep with a simple spell and was at the other healer's side propping her up when a voice addressed them both.

"Tolainnea? I thought I told you to be well rested today."

Ninra Nothedash looked on at her pupil with equal parts disappointment and concern before holding her arm out to offer some of her own precious energy. And it was precious. They were at war, and there was only so much time that a healer could lay idle. Even Ninra had her limits. Tolainnea shook her head and stood without problem, turning to face her teacher wordlessly.

"Come, clean yourself, Miss Tola. We've an audience with his Majesty."


  
"Stand tall, don't speak unless you are addressed by name. You are still my student and he is still the Emperor." Ninra instructed Tolainnea as they made their way to the doors of the modified throne room. Not that of Vraenor, but it would do in the meantime. The older woman had her arm wrapped around the horned woman's for support as they walked.


Ninra was old, and though she didn't always look it now was not one of those times as she hobbled at Tolainnea's side. The elven doctor was over one hundred and seventy years old and knew far more than most in concern to healing. She was one of the Emperor's advisers, and an important contact during the midst of planning a battle. She had her reaches into the health of every man and woman who went near a blade, and she took great care in ensuring that every soldier was in peak condition even if it meant sacrificing her own student's energies in the process.

It was for the good of Vraenor.

As the doors opened, Tolainnea felt as if she were dressed for the wrong occasion. Or perhaps she had been invited to the wrong place? She saw finely crafted armor and heavy leathers. Yet, Ninra donned a thick gray robe and Tolainnea herself wore a heavy wool shawl over a clean medical apron that covered her skirts. The stark contrast in clothing alone made her feel out of place, but did it matter? She led Ninra a short distance before she was compelled to stop by the woman, bowing her head to a face she'd never thought she'd live to see.


Kieran Gareth Throauldr.

"Your Majesty, how good it is to see you." Ninra beamed up at Kieran after bowing her head low, she sounded genuinely delighted. Tolainnea bowed her head but only just enough to show respect. She uttered no greeting, as Ninra unlatched herself from her arm and took her own steps towards the man. Only then did the horned woman speak up, but she remained behind Ninra and much closer to the side of the room.

"Majesty." It was the simple greeting that left her lips. There was nothing else to say. They had never met, and she had nothing to offer but her services. Services which she was already performing day in and day out. Did he want her here? Or was this Ninra's doing? Was it even a meeting at all, or was Ninra simply looking for company to what would be a long and drawn out affair?

Her golden eyes stared, for a moment intrigued by the summons, but the glimmer of interest was gone in an instant and all that was left was the typical, apathetic healer. Tolainnea Rota.
 
Last edited:

Kat

be kind
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Varies
Writing Levels
Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Passive-Aggressive
#3
War and Peace
Collab between BlueFlameNikku BlueFlameNikku & Kat Kat

A diplomatic mission of great importance. The words couldn’t have been any truer for Etienne and Belrick. Large hills with long blades of grass became the last thing on the noblewoman’s mind. After the city-state of Ildir was taken and lord of the city murdered in cold blood, she knew she had to act fast and reconsider being behind the shadow as a spymaster for the time being. No one else would stand up to the Vraenoran emperor after the devastation he’d caused before their eyes. As a royal flag donned the forces King Kaeras sent out with a geldan, Etienne could feel the heavy uncertainty in the group. It weighed down, especially in her uncle, who’d strongly advised against her saying yes to their King’s request for her to lead as a makeshift emissary.

“Uncle, please for the love of God, stop making that face. Your miserable aura is filtering out to the rest of them and we can’t look like fools any more than the Vraenorans may think we are. We have to stand strong and offer terms of a formal negotiation. They’ll believe we’re on to something if we don’t stand our ground and that is not the case in this mission.”

The half-elf’s teeth gnawed on the simple pipe he was smoking in agitation. They were literally and willingly heading towards the chimera’s den; who in their right minds wouldn’t be uneasy. Belrick was well aware of the whispers that had reached his ears in regards to this returning empire. Lines of heavily armed troops, vast displays of powerful magic and a vengeful will that the survivors swore they could feel in their very hearts. It all didn’t sound real and yet it was. He spoke in a low, non sympathetic tone.

“Shaodor neglected what was clearly a strategic position. These Vraenorans have every right to view the leaders of Shaodor in a foolish light. If a people as vengeful as them did trust us as you so hope they will so easily then I would trust them even less than I do already. The true reason for my misery, however, lies with you lady Etienne. Why are you putting yourself in such danger? I know you could have sent someone else. Are you trying to appeal to this dark storm in the flesh? Perhaps they will see that as foolish as well.”

Etienne’s fingers unconsciously gripped the reins of her stallion, knuckles turning white for a moment before she assumed a calm demeanor once more and filtered out her fears.

“If the Vraenorans view me as foolish, they don’t know what power I hold,” she responded in a blunt tone. “There are one hundred and twenty elite royal soldiers from Thesatra following behind me, as well as some of my own staff. Shaodor’s nobility is composed primarily of elves and House Farrow is the odd one out, yet His Majesty trusted in me to deliver diplomacy. What do you think that says about me? I have influence. I’m reputable. These elves know me to be brave and willing to take risks for the good of our country. They know I’d die for them, regardless of whether or not our king believes there is no room for negotiation. It’s the least I can do for them and I’d rather get killed making an effort than do nothing at all.”

Belrick turned his head slightly in Etienne’s direction. A faint hint of a smirk appearing on his face. He’d remembered the little girl when she could barely stand on her own two feet; now look at her. In the face of disparity she did more than simply stand tall now. She was rising to occasions. Being able to do so would serve her well, especially in the days to come. Facing forwards once again, Belrick let out an odd bird like whistle not once but twice. All of the elves in their entourage seemed to perk up immediately. The once gloomy faces turned to willing and focused. Despite Etienne’s growth, Belrick would continue to test and aid her till his dying day.

“Then it is only proper that we all look the part.”

Even Belrick’s body language changed. He was no longer slouched in his saddle, nor was his gnawing on his pipe. Of course his eyes stayed as dead and cold as they’ve always been.

Etienne smiled, “Good. I’m glad you agree. I’ll try not to overdo it.”

In the distance, coming from behind the hilled landscape, they could see a blur grow bigger to reveal hundreds of men. Etienne’s hand ran over Marcellus’ mane and along his neck to keep him calm.

“It seems they’ve heard of our endeavours. This should be interesting. Uncle, if you have anything ill you wish to speak of the Vraenorans, get it out now or hold your tongue. I’ll talk.”

Belrick’s eyes scanned ahead, looking over the far away blob of marching soldiers. He rolled his shoulders before answering Etienne blankly.

“As you say m’lady, I will hold my tongue. However, if anyone of these Vraenorans harm you...I will respond accordingly.”

The half-elf’s eyes changed to a misleading, relaxed look. He planned to follow Etienne’s wish but he had no intention of putting his guard down even for the slightest moment.

“Of course,” Etienne replied cooly. “We’ll pray it won’t come to that. People think they’re barbaric, perhaps that is true, perhaps it is not. Either way, they’ll probably come with threats at our throat. Don’t retaliate unless they land the first physical blow. Let’s see what this man has to say.”

The Shaodoran representatives and Etienne, along with her staff, arrived at what appeared to be the midpoint of the surrounding area. Etienne did not speak and stood her ground as a tall, armored— quite intimidating— man from head to toe, arrived.


  
Dipper Dipper
 

Dipper

Cookiemaster
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
Shake a tin of dice and tell me what numbers they give you.
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I bounce between the two depending on the roleplay.
Favorite Genres
Sci-Fi, Fantasy, an assortment of Fandoms.
Genre You DON'T Like
Anime, Furry, Drama, Modern Fantasy
#4
Arterion Landrak


The sky above Ildir burned.

The state was among the first to be consumed by their Empire's hunger, its streets running with the blood of any who opposed their forces. Where the blood did not flow hid the denizens; weak, trembling, and wholly innocent. The Lord High General gave them one look to send them back into their holes before returning to the battle at hand.

Iron buckled and wood splintered under Arterion’s blows. Each soldier who came before him was summarily executed with a single swing of his blade, its hefty weight cleaving through their armor with ease. These men had not seen true battle in some time, Arterion could tell. Their technique was abhorrent, their armor untried. Hundreds of year tending to a fallen wall would not have been enough to stand against them.

One of the soldiers attempted to drive a thin dagger into his ribs, only to get a heavy backhand in return. The hit cracked the man’s helmet, and sent him sprawling.

Their forces made short work of Ildir’s defenses, and when the message came from the Emperor, Arterion felt his blood sing. More men to tear down? Good.

"Sixscore strong," Arterion murmured, the warmth of his breath misting in the cooling air. Under the draconic curve of his helmet, it looked like smoke. "I hope they brought arms."

His tone was too flat for the words to be humorous, and his men knew him well enough not to laugh. They waited at his back for the Shaodoran emissaries to crest the steep hill that rose just before the gates, and when they did, Arterion unsheathed his sword and planted it in the dirt before him, both a threat and a warning. When the leader - a woman of one of Shaodor's noble houses, no doubt - was close enough, Arterion stepped forward and approached.

"Quite the entourage," he said. His helmeted head ticked to one side. "Our Emperor is feeling gracious this day. He has asked that you be brought before him, unharmed, into the keep. I will escort you there." To the man standing at his shoulder, loud enough that the Shaodorans could hear, he said, "Form up behind them. I'm in no mood for a hunt."

With a quick gesture of his hand urging them onward, Arterion lifted his sword onto his shoulder and led the way into the city.
 

Chile

Rate me Spicy
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced
#5
Prayer.
Battle.
Silence.


In the stillness of the small hours before sunrise, a dark elven woman sat on her knees, eyes closed, praying to a faceless goddess. Her prayer was sharp and clipped, spoken in an ancient tongue preserved by the drow. This woman was flanked by two others and behind them sat 150 other dark elven women murmering the same prayer in unison. She was the Mother Superior to this flock of sisters, and together they were the Fell Maidens of Soth, Vokan Goddess of War.

And strike force for the Vraenoran Imperial Army under the direct command of the Overlord himself.

Soth was a goddess with no face. Instead her visage was captured in an orb that roiled endlessly with a magical storm. Their house of worship was cut deep into the mountains of Neveryn’s Reach, constructed of grand granite walls, obsidian floors, and Amyzantium trimmings. The temple was austere and hardly furnished. It had a barracks and a terraced courtyard for training. There was no altar because each Maiden held the altar in her heart, the consecration of which was through the evisceration of her enemies.

Soth of any temperament would accept only a handful of prayers. Appeals for strength, guidance of a maiden’s sword arm, perfection in the art of combat; these were typical requests of the Goddess, especially during the time of Vraenor’s preparation. Today, battle would come with the rising of the goddess sun. Today the Mother Superior, Vira’Trys of House Morn, prayed for the desolation of her enemy, the victory of her empire, and the glory of her tribe.

Today was the day of Vreanor’s invasion

Vira’Trys finished her prayer. Her lids slowly peeled open to reveal glowing amethyst eyes, and at the same time her daughters opened their eyes. In the darkness they were many shining orbs of reds, golds and silvers, ambers and oranges. Inside each iris was a storm that raged, perfectly contained, poised like clouds of dread on the horizon.

Vira’Trys stood, as did her daughters. She turned, looked at them without a word, and then departed. Soth kept the way of wordless silence, and the Fell Maiden Commander had no use of speeches on the eve of battle. Soldiers whose morale was pinned to the words of a king or commander would soon find those words ripped from their mouths by Vraenor and turned into death's silence.

*******​
The Ildiran army who met the the Imperial force on the field watched as as surging wave of violet charged at them. They were mounted figures clad in full plate armor of silver trimmed in pink. The aura that enshrouded each Fell Maiden linked together in a dark purple cloud that rolled across the battlefield. From a higher vantage point, one could watch this amaranthine swell crash like a dagger of bloated shadow into enemy lines. A trained eye would notice how those struck would scatter and falter, losing rank and fracturing on the field.

Vira found her view on the field charging at the forefront of the Imperial Army with their Overlord. She had fifty of the Fell Maidens at her heels, mounted on imposing Great Horses bred in the icy shadows of Neveryn’s Reach. She was cloaked in the Fell Maiden’s signature spell, the Cowl of Conquest. It was foul arcane energy that rippled around the armor of a Fell Maiden. This spell broke the minds of combatants, soiling the very air around them with a magical grit.

Vira had never had the chance to fully test the effectiveness of the Cowl of Conquest. The Ildiran ranks who met them in the open field hoping to defend their city walls from the Vraenoran army had their hopes shattered. As soon as a Maiden’s Cowl came into contact with the line of the Ildiran soldiers, they shattered like frigid metal under a hammer. Men froze in their places, dropped their weapons, or fled.

Panic ensued among their ranks and the Fell Maidens trampled over the enemy, stamping them out like helpless weeds.

Sypha of House Morn, daughter of Vira’Trys and Revered Daughter of the Fell Maidens, engaged the western flank of the Ildiran forces with her own company of 50. She alone cut a long swath into the ranks of the enemy before her horse was taken down by a ballista bolt that was shot from the parapets of Ildiran’s city walls. Sypha was reckless, and in her glowing red eyes a raging storm swirled.

She became surrounded by the enemy. They were too reluctant to attack her directly, but they saw an opportunity to strike down the Fell Maiden while she was far from her own company who were busy cutting a path towards their Lieutenant. They would be damned if they didn’t seize it… but they wouldn’t budge, trembling with sword and spear in hand, neglecting to move because their remaining strength was devoted to keeping their grip on their weapons.

It was that horrible swirling torrent of raw magic that caught in their throats and seized their hearts. It was a veil over their eyes. The world became blurry, the edge of their vision became tattered. The sickly purple was all that they could see and in the middle of the raging storm of violet was woman with blood in her eyes.

And then Sypha did what she was best at.
She burst.

For a single breath of a moment it was like the oxygen was sucked out of the air, and the warmth from the sun was replaced by a bone-chill. One second those soldiers were staring at a beast clad in silver and pink with glowing red eyes, and the next their vision was peeled away by a whirlwind, and their bodies were forced into unnatural shapes. Some didn’t even get that mercy, their skin and limbs rent from their bodies. For an onlooker on high, they would’ve seen the brilliant flash of purple and the small ant-like figures that surrounded the flash flattened in an instant.

Once they overtook the wall Vira and her troop of Fell Maidens helped the Emperor invade the main fortress. Taking this one fortress would mean opening the floodgates to an outpour of centuries of anger and vengeance. Every soldier in their way was a blade of grass and the Fell Maidens were meticulous gardeners. Many of the soldiers blocking their path in the keep quickly surrendered, overtaken by debilitating fear when the Fell Maidens passed by.

They kept to their silence, eyes raging with a storm underneath. Even when the Emperor took to the oaken throne atop the stone dais and finally shattered that floodgate, they still kept silence.

“Mount that head on a spike and clean up the remnants. The battle is over- Ildir is now the sovereign territory of our glorious empire! If you find any nobles or officials, bring them to me. We’ve much work to do.”

Many of the men roared, reveling in the victory. The Fell Maidens did not, knowing that today was a small prize won, but the true aim of reclamation was still a long conquest away.

We’ve much work to do.

*******​
The conquered city of Ildir was a vastly different place than it had been. Or so Vira assumed. But still life had to go on. Nearly two weeks later and people were back to work. Fire scarred buildings and tattered walls were being restored. It was a combined effort between the Vraenoran people and the conquered Ildirans.

Vira was passively impressed by her Emperor’s benevolence as she and her Lieutenants, along with four other Fell Maidens made their way through Ildiran’s cobblestone streets. Their destination was the side of the Emperor to stand guard while diplomatic negotiations were to take place with an ambassador from Shaodor. Vira got word that it was a woman who led them. Her eyebrow cocked in amusement as she thought about it. Maybe it wasn’t just benevolence that influenced the decisions of her Overlord.

But the cold sideways glares she and her Fell Maidens received from the Ildiran commonfolk informed Vira that her Emperor’s benevolence could be used against him. You could be a rebuilder and a murderer, but the shattered lives of the occupied would lean towards the latter while their hearts burned in anger and shame. Rebellion brewed in the eyes of the conquered, Vira could see it. Kieran had left a good portion of the Ildiran leadership intact--or their children-- and their whispers would foster a growing dissent that could spark into a rebellion.

But Vira wasn’t worried. If that came, Vira would destroy them for good.

In fact, today she was in a particularly good mood, her daughters as well. It was a rare sight when drow womens’ eyes would shift in color to reflect a mood shared among them, a buoyant energy that clung to them in much the same way their battle aura would. All their eyes were brilliantly glowing gold tinted with freckles of their original eye colors. The source of this air of levity? Anyone who looked at Sypha of House Morn would know that her brutish grin was asking for a fight. Seven Fell Maidens against 120 strong? That would be a good fight.

They arrived at the keep in the great hall, smiles on their faces, their golden eyes cutting through the low light. They took up position in their silver and pink armor, their swords in silver scabbards trimmed in a delicate gold, their large mantled capes of silver embroidered with the Vraenoran symbol in its length. They waited silently, smiles and subdued half-lidded eyes, while the room filled up with advisors, the emperor, important nobles and soon… their awaited entourage.
 

AceSorcerer

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm rather aggressive, though I tend to work well with other aggressives and passives alike.
Favorite Genres
Most genres appeal to me and there are very few genres I won't try at least once.
#6

There was some measure of satisfaction in escorting the foreign dignitary to the Emperor as if Arterion were a child again and dragging a rule breaker to his mentor for proper discipline. He'd always been strict where it came to rules, a tattletale to all but his closest companions. In a sense, this was no different, and Arterion felt the same rush of power he got when enforcing the will of the Emperor through sheer intimidation, and it showed in the proud way he carried himself up to the main hall.

An errand boy he may be, at least he was carrying out Kieran's orders. There was no other who could reign in and command Arterion as he did.

Until Aterion, ever diligently scanning the room for potential threats before his men and their charges entered, caught sight of one of the healers at Kieran's side. His gaze lingered, mild fascination mingling with appreciation and wonder before he realized what he had come here to do, and tore his eyes from her to address the Emperor.

"My Lord. Shaodor's emissaries." He folded his arms behind his back. "In one piece as requested. If you'd prefer I soften them some before they speak, simply speak the command."

It was meant as a threat, it was spoken as a threat, but the subtleties in his body language spoke another story. One of playfulness that his old friend would no doubt pick up on. The emissaries would likely not share in his mirth.

His accompanying Drachenkrieger split to form up on either side of the emissaries, creating a barrier between them and the rest of the room. Arterion had a healthy dose of caution instilled in him at a young age, and that caution had, in turn, trained into his men. It had done its duty in keeping him and Kieran alive- there was no reason to forget it now.

With a wave of his hand, the men backed up so the emissaries' leader could step forth at the Emperor's behest. Arterion took up a position nearer to his old friend, and let his head tilt just enough that he could peer out of the slits in his helmet to his friend's other side. For safety, of course.

With no hesitation, Kieran slammed the haft of his staff into the ground before the throne as he began to rise, the cyan crystal sparking abruptly and brightly whilst small arcs of electrical energy danced around the crystal’s surface.

“So you are the riders from Shaodor. I extend to you a greeting most warm.”

The Emperor himself was dressed in a relatively simple fashion- by most standards, the most opulent thing he wore at the moment was his purple coat, which was a rare color and was typically only seen in the clothing of the Imperial Family as a sign of office. His tunic was grey, made of thick cotton cloth with a design that gave a strong sense of Kieran’s regality despite being relatively plain and bearing no intricate shapes or patterns. His pants were a simple black, with his baldric serving its function quite nicely as the hardened boots he had worn into battle not two weeks ago- now cleaned and polished- completed his attire. His ring and his citrine amulet were the only jewels he kept on his person, again preferring functionality when opulence and intimation weren’t needed. With the throne itself on a raised platform three steps high, Kieran could look over the entire room while a series of large, pinnacled windows flooded the room with the sun’s rays, even if they were partially obscured by the crowds as the Pale’s booming bass echoed throughout the great hall.

“I am Kieran Gareth Thorauldr; Emperor and Overlord of the Vraenoran Empire and Lord of Ildir. To my right is my esteemed friend, Lord High General Arterion Landrak. To my left is the Revered Mother Vira’Trys of House Morn. Might I have the honor of the names of my esteemed guests from the east?”

Belrick couldn’t help but simply view the large armored man that had escorted them to the Emperor as just another oafish brute like so manner others. Individuals who primarily focused on strong-arming and intimidation. Just a thug in armor.[i/] The emperor was a different story, however. Belrick took note of the visible pale white skin of the man while they were all basically herded inside and surrounded. It was clear he didn’t fancy overbearing himself with numerous fancy trinkets like so many nobility were fond of doing. The half-elf’s mind then natural went over a checklist in his head…

High nobility, staff… likely magic, sword… likelihood of martial knowledge. Before he let his thoughts continue listing things off he’d recalled that Etienne likely needed to be introduced; such was the formality of these things. He turned to gesture to Etienne as he spoke in his usual bland and monotone voice.

“This is Lady Etienne of House Farrow, Baroness of House Godfrey and The Pearl of Shaodor, Your Majesty.”

The last one, of course, Belrick fabricated; playing up Etienne’s natural beauty as a title to replace the actual role of a spymaster that she held for obvious reasons. The half-elf took a step back so that Eti could step forward and take center stage. Belrick saw no need to introduce himself as the one: preferred he was viewed as a nobody and two: he was likely already viewed as a nobody, regardless. His worn leather and cloth outfit concealed most if not all of his equipment which included his rapier, his crossbow, and his various pouches. He was fine with being in contempt all while his eyes slowly scanned the room and all those within it; focusing on the emperor and the two he’d named.

“This is my uncle, Belrick of House Farrow, my Shadow, and most loyal advisor. He’s not usually this ill-tempered around me and for that, I’m sorry you have to see him like this.”

Eti introduced her kin with finesse, though laced in her words was a small veiled reprimand for her uncle if he continued to show distaste. Eti was quite fascinated by how ethereal and foreign the man on the throne was, though her thoughts were focused primarily on why she came to represent Shaodor and preferred not to beat around the bush.

“Our Majesty was quite impressed by your recent victory and extends congratulations to you and your men. Sacrifices are grave, however, they are not without merit and importance.”

She gestured towards the men who’d brought the geldan and they came forward.

“We’d like to establish diplomatic relations and offer a gift from Shaodor.”

The men opened the first chest to reveal azure, amethyst, pearls, and many bricks of gold and silver. Small pieces of freshly painted art detailing the finesse of Shador’s nature, bottles of spiced wine, various kinds of roasted coffee, and glass jars of dark chocolate were also present. In the second chest, Eti presented a platinum chime set in carnelian, various fine silken tapestries, more artwork, and seven scroll cases decorated with various jewels and crystals. The third chest held more silver and gold bricks, as well as a complete silver armor set, fine black leather cape with silver silk located on the inside, and a sword with intricacies set in the handle to allow for a fine grip and admiration.

“Each chest is worth over nine thousand gold pieces. The armor and cape were designed by our master craftsmen, each silver thread is sewn to perfection and the armor enchanted to effectively reduce tarnish over time.”

Vira’s eyes glittered like the gold bars presented to the Overlord in the offering. She couldn’t hold back the grin that tugged at the edge of her lips. Her golden eyes narrowed, slowly drifting from Lady Etienne to her “Shadow”, and finally resting upon the lavish geld.

Vira saw it more so as a bluff to stymie the advance of the Imperial army, long enough for the Azure King to muster his bannerman and earls. She wondered if Arterion and Kieran shared her guess. She was a novice when it came to broader geopolitics, and preferred it that way, settling into her role as the battering ram for the Imperial Army’s advancement.

If she could guess, Kieran let the diplomatic convoy enter his territory unmolested for his own amusement. Or to send a message.

She brought a gauntlet to her mouth, cleared her throat, and looked to Kieran, “Overlord, if I may.”

Kieran kept his eyes on the party in front of him, nodding slowly.

“Your Grace, I do believe this is an insult,” tendrils of red began to bleed into her golden irises, smoldering like embers, “They offer us the bounties of a rich land.” She deliberately hung on the last word of her statement, looking directly into the eyes of Etienne.

“It is a king’s ransom and they hope it will make you go away.” As her eyes settled into bright red, six other sets of golden orbs in the room made their own transition to a sentinel red.

“I wonder. The Shaodoran king must enjoy the fruits of many artisans for such a lavish offering. Or perhaps he seized these goods, a desperate attempt to buy your good favor, My Lord.” Vira wasn’t technically speaking to Kieran as she cocked her head, looking down upon the diplomat and her entourage from Her Overlord’s side atop the stone dais. She knew that he may have shrewdly guessed at what she was implying, or he may have even had eyes and ears in Shaodor who could prove as much.

Vira’s eyes flickered away from Etienne, slowly transitioning back to their previous golden color. The eyes of the other Fell Maidens followed suit, their mouths spreading into delighted smiles.

Her gaze carefully meandered over the various men and women inside the great hall. From “the Shadow”, to Etienne’s guard, to some of the Drachenkrieger, and then to a familiar dark elven face with a newer, more youthful horned figure behind her.

“You there. Ninra apprentice,” Vira called out to Tola, “Regretfully I do not know your name. I am told by some of my Maidens that your healing arts put them back into fighting condition quickly. You have my thanks. Ninra’s done well by you.” There was deep heartfelt gratitude in her words, and she nodded at her old dark elven kin. The Maidens weren’t her daughters and sisters for nothing.

“Tell us your name and…” her mouth twisted into a coy grin, “Please tell our fair diplomat what you saw at the sacking of Ildir.”

Vira was purposefully being brutish and crass. Today she was in a good mood.

Tolainnea turned her head ever so slightly once she realized the white and pink armor clad drow was addressing her, and not her master. Her mouth opened, but she hesitated, looking cautiously to Ninra before speaking. Out of the corner of her eye, the old woman nodded her head curtly, as if giving the horned girl permission to speak. Tolainnea shifted her stance so that her back was straight and her hands were clasped together at her waist.

“My name is Tolainnea Rota, I am Ninra Nothedash’s apprentice. She is a fair teacher, yes, you are most welcome.” Her tone was dry, and her face showed no telling signs of whether or not she was pleased to be praised by someone such as Vira. It was her sworn duty to heal, and one day she would swear an oath to do no harm. Tolainnea was simply doing what she was supposed to. There was a fortune that some of the soldiers she happened to heal were that of the Fell Maidens.

It wouldn’t have been difficult for any of her Maidens to pick her out, at least when compared to the rest of the healers, apprentices, students, or doctors themselves. Tolainnea believed herself to be one of a handful of horned members, and she had never directly met another face to face. The thanks were unnecessary.

Tolainnea turned her gaze on the newcomer and the older man. There was little point in explaining to the woman the carnage that had been dealt, she had to have seen some of the aftermath on her ride into the city, but she recalled the advice Ninra had given her before entering the throne room. Stand tall, and don’t speak unless spoken to. And right now, it was unwise to simply ignore the question outright, no matter how pointless she thought the answer was. There was some point Tolainnea simply didn’t see.

“I saw only death for Ildir.” Tolainnea’s voice was low, but it echoed easily as the only sound in the room. “I am not a soldier, so it would not be my place to comment on tactics or strategy. But, I saw many bodies. Some brought to me as such, some living. But for Ildir, there were more of the former, if that is what you mean to ask.”

Ninra smirked out of the corner of Tolainnea’s eye. She had said something not quite right, that much was clear, but now wasn’t the time for Ninra to explain to Tolainnea that her answer was only feeding into Vira’s brutish question.

“That does.” Vira dipped her head in gratitude. “Thank you Tolainnea.” She had chosen well. This one was blunt.

“I’ve said my peace, My Lord.” Her gold eyes twinkled in delight, but her mouth returned to a neutral position.

“Thank you, Captain. And a warm thanks to you, too, Miss Rota.” Kieran remained on the dais as he glanced at each of the figures as he thanked them, but not before gliding his eyes over the three chests and keeping a rather calm expression while his deep, resonant bass seemed to echo slightly throughout the room. Kieran pulled no punches, after all.

"Tell me, Baroness, why has our martial prowess impressed the King of Shaodor so? Does he wish an audience amongst his fellow royalty? Does he seek peace between our two nations? Or does he, upon realizing the truth behind old folk tales, quiver in fear at the release of ancient nightmares? But perhaps I ramble. Do tell me..." Kieran went down the steps of the dais, the cyan crystal seeming to emit a hum unfamiliar to the Shaodorans before speaking up further. “...where, precisely, are these goods from?” Kieran then picked up the sword, performing a few simple cuts in the air before setting it down- it was little more than a display piece, a toy. Shameful.

The young baroness did not waver from her position as the Revered Mother stepped in front of her line of view. The way the dark elven eyes shifted among the sisters was quite something to behold, particularly with their tone of voice and dress. Pink was an interesting choice of color, though Eti briefly wondered why they didn't choose red. The Fell Maidens were not associated with pink in her eyes. Pink was sweet, romantic, and feminine. The Fell Maidens exhibited anything but those qualities. They were just as distasteful and ungracious as Belrick assumed the Vraenorans to be, however, she'd caught on to the idle threat Vira'Trys made and couldn't help but smile.

Their land. Her land.

Politics required great forbearance, especially in the heat of diplomacy where Shaodor was not welcome. The Vraenorans didn't need to waste their breath on thinly-veiled threats to let the Shaodorans know they'd walked into dangerous territory. She knew what they wanted, and it wasn't the geldan. Etienne clasped one hand in front of the other as she eyed the Fell Maiden Commander and began to walk back and back and forth along the length of the geldan- each chest beside each other. Her eyes never faltered from the deep red searing in Vira’Trys’ eyes.

"I've heard much about the Fell Maidens, Commander Vira'Trys of House Morn, matriarch of your clan. You bathe in the blood of your enemies and devote yourselves to Soth, the goddess of war, massacre, storm, and flood. I admire your strength and dignity. The ability to tear apart an enemy's mind by your aura alone is astounding and warrants great acclamation. You've taught your daughters well in battle."

She observed each of the Fell Maidens with a keen eye before they finally landed briefly on one particular woman that stood out to her, the lieutenant. Etienne smiled and said nothing, a spark of knowing in the back of her mind. Her head turned to Kieran, "Your Majesty is positively gracious to have us here... in one piece, as you've requested.”

Etienne’s left hand ran silently along the edges of the open chest as she continued.

“Emperor and Overlord of Vraenor, I've never seen or heard of anyone quite as fascinating as yourself. You've established a well-structured, famed empire that rose from the ashes and your citizens view you as a compassionate leader who'd sacrifice himself for the greater good of his country and his people. I can see why- you’ve worked tirelessly to re-establish the city.”

Etienne stopped in her tracks and placed her right hand on the lid of the opened third chest. She turned her body towards Kieran where he stood in front of it and her fingers curled a little around the leather edge, the corners of her mouth raised.

"The coffee beans are from the Farrow estate, south of Veles. We've been growing them in the same lands for over one hundred years now. I'd love to show you them sometime."

Vira’s eyes snapped to their typical glowing amethyst when Etienne demonstrated intimate knowledge of the Fell Maidens. It was clear to her now that this smiling pale beauty was more than a simple diplomat, and Vira would not soon forget that Ildir wasn’t truly under the control of Vraenor. Their banners flew from the city walls and parapets, but the hearts of the citizens were not won as easily as the city and its walls.

Vira crossed her arms. She was impressed.

“I know not of this ‘coffee’ that you speak of. But, still, I think thanks are in order from your monarch for these fine gifts. After all, we value truth and good faith amongst all. Why, to steal that which belongs to us is something is due cause for a great trouble and chaos. A crusade, even. As such… I shall put good faith to you Shaodorans as you have done to us.

Moving his staff into the crook of his arm, Kieran slowly popped his neck, his expression growing all the more serious as his grip on his staff tightened while his hand moved to rest against his side. “All we seek before we finish our expansion is our homeland: Beo. Ildir was a part of it long ago, but most of it is within Shaodor. This is all we seek. Nothing more. As such, by accepting this geld from you king, I ask for proper negotiations for the return of our ancestral home. However, should you betray this good faith we extend to you in seeking a proper peace, know that we are more than capable of doing to Shaodor what we have done to Ildir.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. I agree wholeheartedly. A proper peace would mean the world to everyone, however, if anything were to happen to me, who knows what would happen. I’m glad to hear you’ve accepted our proposal, as is the Shaodoran king. We look forward to negotiating with you and wish you a bright day.”

A small smirk grew on the Emperor’s face, the man turning around and ascending back up the dais as his voice carried through the hall. “My, Baroness, we may be portrayed as savages in your cultural records but rest assured that we Vraenorans have a strong understanding of diplomacy. With that in mind…” Kieran then turned around slowly, reclining back into the wooden throne through as the reddened light of the stained-glass windows behind him began to drown the floor at his feet. “...I’m afraid I’ll need you to stay here, in the fortress, along with your staff as my guests so that we can begin posthaste. You shall be given accomodations befitting your station. We will begin preliminary deliberations around dusk, before the evening meal. Until then, you may do as you wish within Ildir’s walls.”
 
Last edited:

Lillian Gray

Craft Master
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
All day every day
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both, I prefer to have aggressive partners.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Romance, Medieval, Action, Magic, Sci-fi
#7

Tolainnea Rota & Arterion Landrak
A collaboration between Lillian Gray Lillian Gray and Dipper Dipper
Little could soften the mind as easily as drawn out peace talks. Arterion had left the hall as soon as possible to join the men patrolling the city, faces without names drifting in and out of his thoughts as he cleaned up orders and redirected the soldiers to make better use of their time. Good men, but many were green-- and because of that, some had gotten injured. An Ildiran war spear, no doubt, which were undeniably sharp to an unreasonable degree. Arterion may seem a brutish man, but he cared for those under his command, and he understood the good it did them to see him after a successful battle.

With this in mind, Arterion made his way back through the city, past the inn and what must have been a general good shop before being transformed into a blockade. The city was otherwise nearly untouched, its former citizens huddled away in their homes. The encampment he was heading toward stood out against these homes, the open space of the square now filled with tents in Vraenor's colors, their royal sigil sewn neatly into the flaps. The injured men would be located near the edge of this encampment, and so that was where he went.

He stepped inside, only to freeze when a familiar face caught his eyes.

Gone were the injured men - the poor injured men, who seemed unconscious anyway - from Arterion's mind. He stood still at the mouth of the tent, searching for a way to distract himself, and in doing so, he only made it worse.

She'd been there, he remembered. By the Emperor with her mentor, the healer who'd caught his eye the first time and nearly brought his introduction to a halt. She was... a sight to behold, truly, if his loss of words was anything to go by. His gaze was inevitably drawn to the horns atop her head, uniquely elegant yet still draconic in a manner that inspired awe in Arterion.

He cleared his throat and, in an attempt to save face, offered the quietest of greetings.

"These men. They are... well?"

It wasn’t that she didn’t hear him right away, but Tolainnea was slow to respond.

Tolainnea was preoccupied, her back turned as the stranger entered the medical tent outside of town. Her focus was on that of the sleeping officer she had treated earlier, whose abdomen had been impaled by a Shaodoran pike wielder. It was almost healed - almost. Where the skin had been torn, bits of flesh in ragged indiscernible pieces, it was now covered with thick scar tissue. The man was only one of Tolainnea's assigned patients. Much like many of her other patients, no one wanted to waste their energy on the complex injuries. Too much stamina, they complained, when there were so many others that needed help. Her diligence in doing both her regular work, as well as the difficult cases, showed as deep purple bruises which finally began to form against her ashen skin just beneath her eyes.

She finally turned. Right. Someone was standing behind her.

Her golden eyes showed recognition as they fell upon the pale face of Arterion Landrak, Lord High General to the Imperial Army and the Emperor’s right hand man. She was surprised to see such a high ranking officer visiting the medical tents unannounced and alone at that. He was much taller than she remembered now that he was up close.

“The men?” She repeated just as quietly, her voice muffled by a handkerchief tied around her face. “They will be fine so long as we continue to be valiant in our efforts. Yes.”

Tolainnea turned fully to face Arterion, but gave him no proper greeting. She pulled the handkerchief away from her face and inhaled a full breath of clean air, before letting out a sigh. How long had she been working? Her hair was pulled up and away from her face but a few strands clung to her forehead. She wore the standard white medical apron every healer was issued with the black and red band going across her right arm. At least it wasn’t bloodstained any longer. If she had known the fascination Arterion saw in her, she would have wondered if his eyesight was impaired.

“You are Arterion Landrak.” She stated, again forgetting to put any titles to his name. “You were at the meeting. Is there something I can help you with? Are you well?”

Arterion nodded stiffly. "I grew concerned when their cries quieted. It's good to know they are well taken care of." Both a compliment and an observation, carefully worded so that he was both admiring her openly and, simultaneously, approving.

"I am." He approached, more fluid in his movements than before. His armor was sturdy enough, well forged, yet even it could buckle under the heavy blow he'd received invading the inner barricades. The underlying layer of plate had bowed inward and carved away a crescent of flesh beneath his ribs, the pain distant now and wholly humiliating should it come to light. No, she didn't need to know this. The sting could be ignored. "Mild bruising. My sword arm will need rest. Nothing debilitating."

Her lack of proper titles went ignored. "Busy. You must be busy. I shall leave you to it, then. These men will need to be on their feet soon." He stood there as if contemplating something, refusing to leave despite his words. How easily his mind could be muddled by a single woman-- was he a lovestruck child, or a soldier?


Perhaps he was both. In that moment, he was certain he could do both.

Tolainnea stepped forward wordlessly and without hesitation to brush her fingertips on some part of him that wasn’t covered in thick plate. However, there were very few places. Well. There were none at all. He seemed nervous considering his distinguished reputation for being a stalwart fighter. Curious. One of the white tattoos on her left hand began to shimmer with a faint light. She could feel the mottled bruising, the sore limbs, but there was something else. For her simple spell to work, she needed some kind of pulse. Anything. Without it, all she could do was get the vague feeling something hurt, and that wasn’t all that useful. Sensing it to be a difficult task to get the man to remove his armor, she relented without asking for permission to even try. When the light dissipated, she smirked up at Arterion, golden eyes glimmering. A rare sight.

“You are lying, but I do not know why.” Tolainnea frowned. “Are you sure there is nothing you need? Ninra will be back soon, should you need to speak with her.” It was the only reason Tolainnea could assume Arterion was there. Not for someone like her. Someone plain. Someone simple.

Being touched without prior warning off the battlefield was one of the few things that startled Arterion. The armor usually served as a reliable buffer between him and those who wished to get physical - as anything physical was sure to hurt in his experience - so when she touched the armor anyway, ignoring the sharp angles and shattered edges, it surprised him.

Instinct said to fight back, but, well... He couldn't bring himself to even step away. Her presence was inviting and he didn't know how else to deal with it besides accepting her aid.

With a sigh, he explained. "My armor was dented during the siege, and has embedded itself quite firmly in my side." Arterion shook his head slowly. "I could care for it myself, but... if you are willing..."

He reached for the clasps of his armor as if he were in his own quarters. His reputation indicated that this was a rarity, yet here he was, offering and entirely willing. What would the men say, if they could see him now?

“It is my duty, of course I am willing.” Tolainnea shook her head and instinctively began to help Arterian with the clasps. “Remain still, if you would.”

In a few minutes, Tolainnea had found a stool for Arterion to sit upon while she reactivated the white tattoos on her hand, mostly in silence. The few words she spoke were mumbled comments about every action before she did so, something Ninra insisted she do. She placed her hand against the stained tunic where his heart rested inside his chest. With every pulse - in, and out - she was easily able to identify where it was going and more importantly, where the injuries were, without having to undress him entirely.

There was a muffled noise as the tent flaps behind Tolainnea opened. “Miss Rota! For the last time, you need to rest.” Ninra entered and was quick to reprimand her tired student.

“I will.” Tolainnea replied dryly. There was something there, against his side. The flesh had been carved away, presumably by the bowed armor. As Ninra continued to scold her, Tolainnea quietly began to dip a strip of cloth into a green oil, soaking it in the mysterious liquid. She lifted the side of his tunic and noted the gash in his toned skin before pressing the cloth against Arterion’s side. She didn’t apologize for the sting. The cut had likely hurt more anyhow.

“Miss Rota, we’ve talked about-” Ninra cut herself short when she saw who it was that Tolainnea was helping. “Lord High General, pardon me. I did not recognize you in your plain clothes.”

Then, her right hand began to glow, and Tolainnea patiently waited for the skin beneath her hands to mend. Her eyes stared intently at the toned skin, anywhere but Ninra’s face.

“Arterion was injured, but too proud to admit it.” Tolainnea stated. She could feel Ninra’s gaping mouth and the fury in her eyes. Tolainnea wasn’t certain why, but Ninra didn’t like it when she was honest. Before Ninra could so much as choke on a threat, the horned healer was speaking again. “He may find a healer useful. It would be a more private option for him.”

“I am sure that if the Lord High General, Miss Rota, desired to have a personal healer, we would have no trouble filling that request.” Ninra hissed, it was meant for Tolainnea. Her voice softened as she spoke to Arterion. “I need only a name, or I will send someone I deem fit.”

Obediently, Arterion stilled. How strange, that he didn't feel unsettled or even bothered by being so exposed. Normally he would have balked at the very idea of removing his armor in front of someone he knew so little, but here he was. Alone, with a beautiful woman-- strange, that he did not feel the creep of discomfort that he felt around the other women, and there had been many.

He hissed when her hand touched the wound, but he'd so far managed quite well and made no complaint. Another entered the tent before he could speak, and he recognized them as the older woman from earlier that day. A mentor, then? He cleared his throat as if to intervene, posture alert and wary as if preparing to stand and leave at any moment.

"A healer close by would indeed be useful..." His eyes flicked between the two, thoughtful. "Miss Rota, was it? She will do fine, if I may. I am always in need of healers, and she is skilled. I will pass our new arrangement on to the Emperor."

With a curt nod, Arterion stood and reclaimed his armor. He left the tent with an imperceptible spring in his step.

Tolainnea only then realized she hadn’t even introduced herself.
 
Last edited:

Kat

be kind
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Varies
Writing Levels
Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Passive-Aggressive
#8
‘I’m afraid I’ll need you to stay here..’

The words echoed in her mind once or twice, maybe a third time, before she forced it to the back of her head and focused on the task at hand. There was little she could do at this point, that was a given, but there was always a way. She made miracles happen, she thwarted unsuspecting enemies into the abyss. Etienne was glad everything had gone smoothly in the throne room and within Ildir, she could successfully track down a few spies within a staggering timeline so they could relay her next message to the Shaodoran king. The emperor indeed, had his eyes and feet set on the rich soil of Shaodor. It was an important piece of information Etienne intended to loosely wave in the Emperor’s face and use herself as leverage.

It was a shame her own husband had not been sent to negotiate. He was probably outraged that the king had sent her, instead of him. Etienne now had the Godfrey land as something she could throw around in a peculiar way, and if she was lucky, a means to an end for her marriage. Emric would never throw their land out there in a subtle way; he would never even think of detailing the risk that may come along if negotiations ended at an impasse. Etienne sat on her horse with a straight back and relaxed shoulders. As she clopped around the city, eyes surveyed the clean up of bodies and scrubbing of blood. She gave a few coin to the poor here and there and deduced that many were lost and needed guidance.

She arrived at an unassuming place for food and drink. Thankfully, clean up was fairly small, if anything actually got into the inn. Etienne pulled her cloak closer to her body as she stepped inside. The person she was looking for was clad in a white blouse and black boots. Her skin was tan and her dark brown- almost black- hair framed her eyes and the shape of her jaw quite nicely. One of her senior spies. She observed the dark room and noticed quite a few Vraenoran soldier and mages discussing and having a drink or two. This would be tricky, however, it was also well worth the risk and if they did get caught, no one would be able to read the parchment except those that were given express verbal permission to “see” what was written. There was also the matter of mages being able to read the magic.

Etienne approached her friend Kainda, who seemed thrilled about establishing relationships with a buzzed Vraenoran and an intellectual snob who appeared sober. She held her cloak close to the sides of her body, so as to not disclose her status openly with her silken blue dress and the fine diamond and gold brooch that adorned the fitted bodice just below her breasts, if anyone recognized her at all. Etienne smiled gently towards her spy as Kainda lazily dismissed her new friends.

“What a way to get rid of my new friends.”

Kainda ran her hands through her hair and rested her lower leg against the inside of Etienne’s right leg, a signal something was there. Etienne placed her hands on the table, one on top of the other, as she observed her friend and the few empty mugs being grabbed by a barmaiden. A thin folded piece of paper stuck to Etienne’s skin like paste as she pulled her leg back and made conversation with Kainda. Etienne’s message to Kainda about the Emperor also transferred over through that same magical paste Kainda had created before. It’d reach the Shaodoran king in no time, given Kainda had a unique way of sneaking around.

“You knew I was coming to see you. Don’t be so harsh. The day will be over soon and then you can complain over dinner.”

“I heard things,” Kainda murmured and leaned in as the barmaid disappeared from their line of sight. “I heard many things.”

“The terrain was rough, though we managed quite well,” Etienne returned with caution. “Run along and play now. You can come back later when you're done.”

Kainda smiled, “Very well. One pint of ale coming for the lady and a tray of meat. I’ll see you soon.”

Etienne didn’t say a word as Kainda ordered her a basic meal. It was simply there for appearance sake, although she did find herself a bit hungry after the long journey. Sometimes an apple and two tea sandwiches weren’t enough. The ale, however, she would pass on.


  
BlueFlameNikku BlueFlameNikku
 

BlueFlameNikku

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
One Post a Day
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Modern, Horror, Combat, War
#9
helf.png
Name: Belrick Farrow
Location: Ildir
Current Mission: Peaceful Emissary
Mission Status: Poor


Once the pleasantries had come to an end Belrick had taken the time to skulk around the streets of Ildir for a short while. Upon observation the sacking of Ildir as the one dark elf had put it didn't appear to be much of a sacking at all. The half-elf has lived long enough and seen enough to tell. People were huddled in their homes but they weren't being dragged out from their homes to be beaten, or their valuables taken or worse. Despite how vengeful these Vraenorians appeared to be; this first military action seemed rather tame. The emperor was likely the cause, a smart move. A conqueror may claim land by force and fear but a conqueror who his respected and loved tend to last a little longer in the eyes of the people.

It didn't take long for one of Belrick's men to inform him of Lady Etienne's location. A busy bird as always. Making his way to the inn The Shadow skulked through various alleys, his worn olive green cloak wrapped around himself and his hood raised over his head to not only shroud his face but also to shield his eyes from the sun. He walked into the establishment right as a familiar voice seemed to be finishing up a conversation. Belrick passed by Kainda with no noticeable reaction before taking up the now vacant seat.

"I hope you realize this is no longer simply a mission for peace. These people are not going to war for greed but for vengeance. Zealous and fanatical individuals seeking to reclaim what they believe is theirs. Wars that are declared to be righteous still leave carnage in their wake. Killing a man for a religious reason still leaves a dead man rotting in the dirt; the end result is always the same." He paused as the food and drink came to the table. Belrick ate a small piece of the meat as he commonly checked for poison in Eti's food on pure habit at this point. He took up the ale as well.

"Shaodor has never been know for its military, you know this. Shaodor will either need to ally with some of the other kingdoms or..." He paused again, looking dead into Eti's eyes with his cold emotionless stare. "...submit and ally with the vraenorians. The military might that these people possess is extraordinary and is not to be taken lightly. I'm not sure how many of the kingdoms would need to band together to stand a fighting chance. Getting the various rulers to join forces would be a campaign in its own right. Many of them are likely to stay too proud or stubborn until it is too late."

Kat Kat
 

AceSorcerer

Vi Veri Veniversum Vivus Vici
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays, One on One Roleplays, Chat Roleplays
Posting Speed
Several Posts a Day, A Few Posts A Day, One Post a Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced, Prestige, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Primarily Prefer Male
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
I'm rather aggressive, though I tend to work well with other aggressives and passives alike.
Favorite Genres
Most genres appeal to me and there are very few genres I won't try at least once.
#10


“What do you think?” Vira said as she admired a finely carved obsidian seven-pointed star in her hand. It stood on a base and when not being admired was typically pushed around on the large sprawled out map Kieran had set on a considerable blackwood table. This one piece, in particular, she had removed from its place at Shipwright Isle. It was the representation of their naval forces, and more importantly to Vira, a ship that her son sailed on.

This was her maternal ritual whenever she found herself spending time in Kieran’s war room. Before the invasion took them to Ildir the war room was in the splendorous White Palace, and during both War Councils and informal sessions with Kieran and Arterion, Vira’s hands would always stray towards the piece on the table that represented her son.

Solt was precious to her in a way that her daughters were not. Sypha had trained as a Fell Maiden since she could walk, and Viratrix was the spitting image of her mother, but Solt had nestled into the most cherished place in her heart.

She remembered back to when he was just a little boy. He’d always beg Vira to accompany her to the capital when she had to leave Methysko for business. As they trotted into the city proper he would hop off his pony and dash from stall to stall, fascinated by everyone and everything. He had an energy and a curiosity that could not be slaked. She remembered vividly the first time she showed him the Arcanum. She had sealed his fate by giving him a glance into the life of science and magic.

The drow woman smiled softly to herself as she reflected on pleasant memories far removed from the war. Kieran was her only company and if he had been looking he would certainly notice the deliberate care as she placed the piece down in its former spot.

“Soon enough the Maw will recede,” Kieran began to speak, setting his staff against his seat in the war room as he circled the table. “And then we can summon forth the prototypes to begin building a proper settlement on that island. A fair winter project, I think, until the whirlpool gains strength again. But first, we must wait for the autumnal equinox to pass.”

As the Emperor took five small bronze weights into his hand, he stopped in the center of the long, running blackwood table in the middle of the room, standing almost opposite of the drow woman. The room itself was nearly-rectangular with only one exit in the shape of a small set of double-doors in the center of the innermost wall. There were simple chairs interspersed throughout the room, with Kieran’s pressed against the center of the back wall, which had a slight curve to it as large windows allowed for light to flood into the room. The other chairs lined the near-semicircular curve, creating a space wherein more private discussions could be held among a larger group of commanders. Bookcases, cabinets, desks, and small tables lined the other edges of the room, containing items ranging from older maps to copies of ancient army records and documents.

For now, Kieran placed his first three tokens at multiple points along the river. The first was where Vraenor’s original border ended, followed by their new, expended border at Ildir, and their potential border after the reclamation of Beo while the other two tokens were placed on the ruins of Beo itself and at a point where the border between Ildir, Beo, and the remainder of Shaodor lied before speaking up. “For now, though, the Aumsláegr shall be sent to these locations first to find out what we need to know about the terrain. For while there is a peace to be obtained, we cannot say if the pieces will fall into place as we wish them to.”

Vira shook her head, “No, no. I meant what do you think of her. Lady Etienne Godfrey. She was very interesting and she’s certainly done her homework.” Her violet eyes scanned over each bronze piece as it was placed. Then she looked to the piece on the table made of amyzantium, bright pink and shaped into an orb. This was the piece for the Fell Maidens, placed on the border of Ildir where they were currently lodged. It reminded her that the servant staff needed changing, or perhaps she could keep them close, to learn more about how their new diplomat got her information.

“It makes me wonder at the Azure King’s intentions, sending a spy to do a diplomat’s work.” She held onto the rest of her thoughts, keeping them from spilling from her mouth lest they reveal how ignorant she was. She knew little of spies or preferring the straightforward baptism of battle.

Arterion took longer to reach the war room than he should have, his thoughts had cleared since his visit with the healer yet somehow still... occupied. He entered the room noticeably more animated, greeting Kieran and Vira with a curt nod before taking his place before the table.

He got to the point rather quickly. “Your first mistake is given Shaodorans a chance at all. Give them an inch, they’ll take the whole countryside.” He was feeling especially snappish right then and hid it poorly. “Now they’re here, a spy in our midst. He thinks to outsmart us. It’s what they do-- try to do.”

After noticing the small trace of a spring in his old friend’s step, Kieran was almost caught off-guard that Arterion immediately snapped into an insult. He shouldn’t have been surprised, however- the not-so-gentle giant had always had a bit of a tongue that brought a bit of fire to any conversation. Out of the two of them, there was a reason why Kieran did more of the talking and it showed- the forms of restraint he showed were different than his closest friend’s. That wasn’t to dismiss Arterion’s discipline- by every means but magical, the armored assailant was far deadlier than the monarch.

“And so the oracle lets forth the eternal truth on a callous tongue.” A light chuckle passed thin, cracked lips as a light pop emitted from his neck as he placed his curled fist beneath his jaw, pushing his head to each side. Picking up a handful of black tokens, the overlord moved about the map, marking known Shaodoran border garrisons and those that would pose an immediate threat if they were to go into open war. “But for now, I’d prefer not to raze perfectly fertile land and put an end to lives that need not be ended so soon. If we can take our homeland by peaceful means after being forced off it through religious horrors and fanatic violence, then we have a great victory over the bastards that can never be outdone or overturned- a victory that will serve every Vraenoran from now until the end of time. But, if war is to come about…”

A much more wicked looked entered Kieran’s eyes at that moment, his shadow almost appearing to flicker as he snapped and a blue fire danced over his first two fingers. “Then I have no qualms whatsoever about returning the favor.” A quick fist emerged quenching the fire before resting on the war table.

Vira’s eyebrow spiked into a curious arch when Art entered the war room. He seemed more boyish than usual, lighter perhaps. Her brief glimpse at Art’s softer side was jarringly cut by his irritable snap. Which wasn’t that unusual of the General, but his temperamental moods were rarely prefaced with something more pleasant.

And then her arched eyebrow turned into an internal struggle not to roll her eyes and brows off her head. Art was talking of spies, she was talking of spies, and Kieran was talking of something else. Sometimes she would forget that they were young, but this was one of the moments where she was painfully reminded.

She turned to both of them after Kieran’s little show, her eyes slowly driftinjg between her General and Overlord. “I share Kieran’s preference towards civility and trust building between our Kingdom, the Shaodorans, and the Ildirans. For now.” The end of her sentence was punctuated by a look to Arterion. “With that being said I have some suggestions. We should send the healers into the countryside, let them give aid freely to people in need. Vraenor values the health of its subjects; that is our message.” She picked up the token that represented the company of healers, small in number but valuable enough to have a piece at the war table.

“Our healers are too indispensable to let go unguarded. Arterion, you could select some of your men to accompany them across the countryside. Have them look the part of an envoy, not soldiers.” She placed the piece back down and slid it towards Art. Then she turned to Kieran. “If we are to win the hearts of the people, first they must know our story. Your spymaster--what was her name?--with your leave, she could send agents in every direction to tell our story. To tell the history of a land lost and a people come to reclaim it.”

She stood back up, straight and at attention, waiting for Kieran to weigh in on her suggestions, betraying nothing on her face.

"You only wish I was an oracle. What grand prophecies would I have in store for you then?" With a shake of his head, Arterion continued, this time addressing Vira. "My men would not deign to appear as anything less than the soldiers they are..." His fingers curled against the war table in thought. "But they will do as I command. No healer will be left unguarded, even if I must go myself.

The men may not care, but Arterion... the very word healer caught him mid-thought and the fact that a single woman could affect him so tremendously bewildered him. Worried him whenever he made an attempt to go over the brief siege with his soldiers and was immediately drawn off course, or when he prepared plans for the next potential battle and couldn't get past the opening attack. How would he survive the coming months if he couldn't stop thinking about a healer?

With a sigh, Arterion pushed away from the table. A war against Shaodor would, in his eyes, be a simple victory. But allies were in short supply for Vraenor, and Kieran knew better than he when to fight and when to make peace.

"Display our goodwill to the masses, gain an ally. If peace is what you prefer, Kieran, then that is what we shall do."

The smirk on Kieran’s face widened into a small smile, for the time being, his voice beginning to teem with a certain ambitious excitement that would soon be thrown against the world at large. “A very poignant point, Art, and a wonderful idea, Vira. We can probably have Ninra or one of the other senior doctors act as an envoy. Keep it a smaller assignment. Better yet, I do believe we can set this up so that while we send these healers out into the Shaodoran villages, we can have the accompanying troops take a survey of the surrounding land at large. I’ll a squad of my Aumsláegr with each group in addition to your own to ensure that we can gather as much information as possible.”

Putting his hands behind his back and standing wholly upright, his smile becoming that of a more joyous nature as his dull white teeth began to show through his lips. “The spies, also, will be an excellent touch- I think our dear Shadow will take quite well to the idea. I’ll speak with her soon after our own meeting and have agents dispatched to sow the seeds of our truth so that it might be known to the world.” Kieran put a hand on the pommel of his sword, placing the other on the table before him after glancing at both of his men.

“All we need to do is divvy up some men and we can begin a great foray into this wide, wonderful world of ours.”
 
Last edited:

Kat

be kind
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Varies
Writing Levels
Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Passive-Aggressive
#11
Etienne greeted her uncle as he sat down across from her and tasted her food. A bothersome habit to watch, but she knew there was no need to complain. He wasn't going to eat the whole plate afterall and it was merely safety precautions, even if she disliked sharing food. Belrick’s words were grim, but the truth was the truth. Shaodor’s military was… barbaric, to say the least, and not well organized either. The Shaodorans would have no chance against the Vraenorans and she could only hope that His Majesty was sensible enough to be open minded.

She leaned in, “I’m certain that His Majesty and the emperor will come to some sort of agreement, given they both have their wits about them. It’d be difficult to negotiate anyhow, as the Emperor is ambitious and His Majesty determined. I cannot say more on the subject, however, Uncle, things are different now. You must understand this. All we can do now is wait and gather information from Ildiran citizens in the meantime. Let us find fresh air when you’re finished with that ale. I can’t believe Kainda drinks that poison.”

The unnecessary bloodshed of innocents by Shaodor was something Etienne could no longer stand for. She may have been His Majesty’s spymaster for three years now and the voice of reason for her people, however, she was not the decision maker. Etienne could guide and help establish possible agreements between His Majesty and the emperor, but the final decision was marked between the King of Shaodor and the Emperor of Vraenor. If things were determined to be at an impasse, she would offer herself and her husband’s lands as a last resort. She had power, knowledge, and she would use it for her own benefit regardless of how it made His Majesty feel.

Etienne didn’t eat much of her free meal; the meat was too dry and the vegetables weren’t seasoned well. It was no matter though. She still had snacks left over from her saddle bag in the stables nearby. Various fruits and crackers, at most, as well as iced tea. Etienne arrived at the stable with her uncle and retrieved her stallion.

“Your horse is here, correct Uncle? Retrieve him please,” Etienne stated as she ran her hand down Marcellus’ silk-like black mane. She grinned as her stallion whinied, “We have a great task to achieve, Marcellus.”

   BlueFlameNikku BlueFlameNikku
 

Lillian Gray

Craft Master
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
All day every day
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both, I prefer to have aggressive partners.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Romance, Medieval, Action, Magic, Sci-fi
#12

Tolainnea "Tola" Rota

"Did he ask anything of you?" Ninra asked suspiciously. Her eyes trailed after Tolainnea as she moved about inside the large medical tent in search of her personal supplies. An herbal mixture here, an empty glass bottle there, things that were common in Vraenor but precious while the army was on the move. Tolainnea had few personal effects as it was. Whatever she could find, she shoved into a large leather satchel, until nothing of hers remained out in the open.

"No." Tolainnea replied quickly. Her mind had already gone to another place. What would she need? More herbs? Bandages?

"Did you ask something of him? A favor?" Ninra crossed her arms and continued to watch her prized student like a hawk. "I have known the young Landrak since he was a boy, and the man does not utilize my tent. Nor does he take his armor off for strangers, and you are a stranger to him."

"He wanted to see his men. I prodded him. He had a wound. I looked at it." Tolainnea elaborated as much as she was willing and able before peeling the white apron away from her plainclothes and throwing the satchel over her arm. She draped the apron over her bag and happily donned her thick woolen shawl. "I would like to see what supplies we have available. May I take my leave of your command?"

Tolainnea waited. While she was blunt, and she was stubborn, she would not ignore Ninra's word entirely. She was still an apprentice, and Ninra her wise and masterful teacher. That, and until Ninra officially released her, Tolainnea wasn't technically assigned to anything but the same eerie tent.

While Ninra looked like there were a dozen other things she wanted to say - using official titles, more on why the General was there, why he had chosen her of all people - she didn't. There was an understanding between the two. While Tolainnea's demeanor had much to improve on, her abilities did not. The new assignment was a learning opportunity in more than one way. Arterion was known to be sharp tongued and the first into a fight. Tolainnea could take a lesson from both the man's words, and the man's wounds. The old elven woman merely smirked and nodded her head towards the exit. "Yes, go. Take up your new assignment. If I have need of you, I will send word."

Tolainnea smiled briefly and uttered a small word of thanks before exiting the tent. Almost immediately she began to head in the direction of the small market that had been established. It was some distance away, beyond the fortress that had been claimed by the Overlord's forces in recent days. Both a stockpile and Ildir's functioning market, it was a tense but operative situation. The horned woman wanted to see what kinds of herbs were in supply before the alchemists robbed her of the high quality ingredients with their explosive experiments.

Her heeled boots dug into the mud as she moved past circles of tents belonging to different troops of soldiers. Their banter and songs collided in a catastrophic cacophony of brutish noises and hollers. Some looked on curiously, while others scowled slightly upon seeing the horned figure. While the history of Vraenor itself was seeped with persecution and discrimination, not all of it had died. Horned humans were rare, and not always seen in a favorable light due to their most obvious physical attribute. Some legends said the horned humans were cursed, having betrayed Vraenor, others said they were cursed by the devil himself, but no one could ever agree to what exactly it was they did. That legend was lost when the wall was built.

"Oi! You."

Tolainnea stopped, hands held out in front of her in an effort to do a mental inventory check on her supply of...what had it been? Annoyed at the loss of her train of thought, the healer honed in on the sound. She hadn't seen the looks, curious or not, and didn't recognize the voice.

"Aye, yes!" The voice came closer, and she turned to see two half armored men traipsing towards her. They wore plate from the waist down, but tunics instead of chain, as if they'd been in the middle of undressing. The first appeared to be unharmed. The second, she recognized, his hand was bandaged up to his elbow. Her own work. He waved his good arm in her general direction. "You, horned healer! Just a moment."

Horned healer. Her scowl only grew. Whatever the soldiers wanted, they weren't off to a great start. A nickname she had earned in the most un-creative of fashions.

"That's Miss Rota to you. I have my own errands."

"Wait, wait! I'll give ya my black licorice, taffy too. You like that, you told me so."

Regrettably, she had admitted it. It was all the soldier wanted to talk about, sweets and cadies, while she worked on his arm. Tolainnea pursed her lips and said, "All of it. Still, speak quickly. I have things to do."

"Aye, right then, Miss. All of it." The uninjured one nodded. " But you've gotta help. So you see, we was in the hall when they brought the lady in. The talks and all. Oh, you was there too, aye?"

"Aye, she was." The injured one agreed. "Saw the horns." He made a gesture with his good hand, raising a finger to represent a single horn on the side of his head.

"So, anyhow, we was in the hall-"

"If you do not tell me exactly what it is you need I will leave." Tolainnea warned, eyes narrowing. She was tired. So tired. But now she was growing impatient. Even the trip to the market began to sound exhausting after listening to the two soldiers drone on about whatever it was they wanted. If they weren't quick about their request, she would walk away.

"Alright!" The injured one raised his arm defensively. "We were movin' the geld, and we think the chef might've gotten into it. He's been actin' funny. Ate some of them beans, think he might be poisoned."

"Walk, talk." Tolainnea ordered. It was the last thing she wanted to do, check in on a thief of a chef with poisonous beans for Tiildus' sake. Had she been more alert, she might have asked the pair why they didn't continue on to the medical tent. Alas, they had arrived at the entrance to the fortress before the coherent thought formed and the two soldiers were rambling on about the so called talks. No clues about symptoms or anything useful of course other than that the chef had eaten some strange beans.

Their booming voices made the illogical trio easy to spot. Well, the two soldiers' booming voices did. The disciplined guards on duty within the castle walls watched, some with poorly hidden grins of amusement, as the three passed. Not even the thick stone walls could conceal their movement through the main hall.

"-then I says, why'd you boil 'em? They's black, they's already been cooked!"

"Thass what I told 'im!"

"An he drank it!"

"Spat it right out he did though, said it was bitter as a radish dipped in dandelion oil."

Gone was any chance of information, and gone was Tolainnea's chance to escape now that they were inside. She knew that. She understood it. She regretted her poor decision to follow the fools two steps in the mud slicked field. Damn black licorice. They passed down the main hall and a heavily armed set of double doors. These guards did not laugh or chuckle, eyes dead set on ensuring no one played any tricks with their Overlord and his guests inside. Tolainnea bowed her head in recognition of the guards, who offered no courtesy in response.

"Kitchen is just this way, Miss Rota."
 
Last edited:

BlueFlameNikku

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
One Post a Day
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Modern, Horror, Combat, War
#13

Name: Belrick Farrow
Location: Ildir
Current Mission: Gather Local Info
Mission Status: Neutral


It was good to see that Etienne retained the patience needed of someone in her position; especially considering the honest grim news he'd presented to her. He preferred to keep his expectations low for the current matter as powerful men usually wouldn't yield until much unneeded bloodshed had commenced. It is people like that that give Belrick the slightest shred of admiration for the unsung cloak and dagger individuals that have come and gone. Those who see the big picture and have no need for fame or wealth. Those willing to do what others will not if it comes down to it. The death of an emperor...or the death of a king...it made little difference in the half-elf's eyes. Thankfully a faint chuckle escaped the man's lips as Etienne refereed to ale as poison. If she only knew what pitiful excuses for beverages he's drank in the past.

Once Belrick finished the ale he accompanied Etienne to the stables. There his two most reliable associates were already waiting there with his stead, Thaddeus. He gave the two partially cloaked agents a subtle nod before mounting his horse. "Kevros, Venyra..." He addressed them both before flashing a subtle hand gesture, telling them to follow along stealthily. They acknowledged the order and promptly walked away; likely to begin tailing Eti and Belrick while trying to stay as hidden and as inconspicuous as possible.

Most of the eyewitness accounts Eti and Belrick were received were about what he'd expected. Lines of people in steel showed up, they blew apart the walls with some loud device and there was a lot of battle magic being tossed about. They'd even get accounts of various purple skinned elves that seemed to frighten everything in their path, a mountain of a man clad in clean and an unmistakable pale emperor himself. It wasn't too hard to put these details together thanks to the initial meeting. What seemed to be consistent was the fact that the actual sacking was kept to a harsh minimum.

Some time during this process Belrick came across an Ildir soldier. He was sitting down against a wall and appeared to not only be a few years too old to be serving in the military but he also seemed to be wounded. One bandage was wrapped around his head covering his right eye while another bandage wrap covered what remained of his left leg. Belrick halted his stead and dismounted before approaching the man. The old veteran's old dull gray eye looked up at Belrick with a dower gaze.

"Can I help you...?"

"Yes you can, and I can help you."

The old veteran ever so slightly perked up as he shuffled slightly, sitting more upright.

"You were positioned on the walls?"

"Yes."

"Tell me everything you saw, leave out nothing."

Belrick took knee before the old veteran as he sat and listened to the man's entire point of view of the battle. Rough estimations of the Vraenorian war machine, what battle magics appeared more prevalent, how they appeared to be organized even down to the colors of their signal flags and how the varenorian healers cared to treat him. Belrick knelt in silence like a child listening to the village elder as the man rambled on and on; appearing to become even the tiniest bit more animated in the later half of his tale.

Once he was finished Belrick reached into one of his pouches but he pulled out no gold nor food. He revealed a single vial to the old veteran whom looked at it with curiosity at the odd dull gray hue within.

"The healers have done all they co-" The veteran stopped mid sentence as the realization of what that must be came to him.

"What is your name and do you want a message passed to anyone?"

"My name is Rodrick, Rodrick Behan; I've no family left sir."

Belrick clasped the small vial into the old soldier's palm and clasped it there. "Thank you Rodrick Behan." The half-elf's gaze not once shifting from its usual coldness."

The old man began to weep as tears fell down his cheek. "Will it hurt?"

"It will be painless."

The old man smiled as he struggled to speak clearly. "Bless you sir." His old shaky hands fiddled with the cork before finally pulling it free. He put the vial to his lips and sipped down the small amount of gray liquid. Within the next few moments the man continued to smile before his eyes slowly shut, never to open again. Belrick stayed kneeling there until he knew the old man had passed before promptly mounting his stead.

Kat Kat
 

Chile

Rate me Spicy
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced
#14
Sypha stalked through the cobbled streets of Ildir, a dark hood drawn over her face, clinging to walls as she darted from shadow to shadow. Without her armor, Sypha was particularly quick and dexterous. When she was a child she used to play 'hide and seek' from the alien and many legged creatures that prowled the webbed caverns of Neveryn's Reach. As she sleuthed about the city, she pretended she was back in those sprawling tunnels, dodging past the many eyes and glistening chitinous fangs of the spider-like predators.

Despite the fun she was having, she made sure to be careful and do her best to keep out of sight. Vira had asked her to track down the Shaodoran diplomat, in the capacity of mother to daughter--not captain to lieutenant. Drow in the city were almost exclusively from Vraenor, most of them Fell Maidens. Her silvery white hair and bright red eyes would be easy to spot under the shadowed and frayed edges of her dark woolen cloak. Knowing that spies had their ears to the ground, strict caution was a necessity.

But commoner spies would hand the game away with the proper application of dark magic and threats. "I don't like it." Sypha complained earlier, as the Fell Maidens were descending the fortress steps. "She knows so much about us and we don't know anything about her." Sypha kept shooting her mother looks, waiting for Vira to restore her confidence. War and battle was something Sypha excelled at, more than most--but espionage? Knowing spies could be anywhere, nested like spiders watching their every move, made her extremely uncomfortable. But her mother remained silent.

"I have two guesses," Neverene said as they rode back to the estate, "Either she has cravens living among us, or she has some birds in the Imperial Court. The former is the likeliest." Sypha had smiled at that back then. Neverene had a mind for analyzing situations and putting chaotic circumstance into perspective.

"Cravens, living among us?!" Sypha had exclaimed, "Fetching our washing, cleaning the linens, keeping the hearth warm, and all the while sneaking through our things and eavesdropping--unbelievable." She pondered for a moment, "I say we rid ourselves of them, like we'd rid the horses of their fleas."

Neverene shook her head at Sypha as they trotted along, "If we execute them, we can't use them. Think Sypha. We know where they live, we know their families. If they can sing for her, they can sing for us." A mischievous grin spread over Neverene's lips while Sypha's face reddened.

It didn't take much either. When they returned to the estate earlier that day, Vira simply nodded and Sypha and Neverene began selectively confronting the house staff. They soon found a few spies among them; the housemaid, the laundry maid, and the gardener. No steel was drawn, no blood was spilled. Sypha didn't even get to hit anyone. The servant staff complied rather quickly when Neverene assured them they wouldn't be hurt-- in fact, they could continue their jobs and keep spying on them. The befuddled commoners told them everything they knew.

Neverene then got a hold of the scribbles and parchment they were going to send. The details they captured about the Fell Maidens wasn't of any strategic value, nor did these particular spies seem to possess any complex coding. Neverene assumed that they weren't the priority when it came to the spy's trade craft. Nonetheless, when all of this was brought to the attention of Vira, she asked if Sypha would make the dead-drop, and deliver a message.

And that's why Sypha was playing cloak and dagger in the city, skulking about in a fashion that she deemed beneath her station. Eventually she found herself quietly padding down a narrow alleyway that opened up into an old run down courtyard that sat at the foot of the city walls. It was inconspicuous enough, shared by two buildings that blocked it from view of the street, and snugged up against the stone walls of the city. Sypha spotted a warped stump, knelt down next to it in the darkness, and fished around its rotting bark for a hollowed out space. Her fingers gave way, pushing through some overhanging moss and rotten flesh into a tiny space that could fit a few rolled up pieces of parchment.

She slipped the small document tube into the dead-drop and then scurried up the nearby roof of one of the desolate houses. Squat low on her haunches, tucked into the shadowed eaves of the rooftops, she watched. She pretended she was the many legged predator, atop her web, and awaiting her prey.


Kat Kat BlueFlameNikku BlueFlameNikku
 

Kat

be kind
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
One Post a Week, Slow As Molasses
My Usual Online Time
Varies
Writing Levels
Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, Primarily Prefer Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Passive-Aggressive
#15
A certain darkness had clouded Eti’s mind as she’d watched Belrick hand the old man– innocent– a vial meant to induce death. She swallowed hard as the man’s eyes closed and looked away. He seemed so joyous, yet he took the vial and understood that this chaotic world would be gone in passing. Eti’s chest tightened, yet she did not shed a tear. Belrick silently mounted his steed and Eti followed suit, visibly shaken by the sudden turn of events.

“There’s many others, perhaps those who have not suffered as much as that man did. I’ll speak to them.”

Eti’s tone had been void of emotion, yet stern. She was willing to do whatever it took to continuously send the information His Majesty’s way regardless of her feelings. It wasn’t a secret that Ildir was divided as to how they felt in regards to the empire taking over. Eti could trace the energy through her bones; she understood their hesitancy and anxiety.

The emperor was a powerful figure and unpredictable.

She hadn’t understood though, why some of the Ildirans seemed relieved that the Empire had taken over. She could see the takeover might be something to be proud of if they weren’t happy with their previous lord, however, it was also well-known that Ildir was once a stronghold of Naskus, and therefore, the majority of Ildirans held no love for Vraenor.

Belrick had gone away after a few more accounts, stating he had business to attend to, and Eti made the decision to leave for the quaint manor the Emperor had told her she’d occupy within the walls of Ildir. It wasn’t terrible, though the stench of dead bodies and dust made the small garden located to the side of the manor less pleasing. Eti considered for a moment whether or not she should correspond with His Majesty directly. She couldn’t be sure her information always made its way to him; The emperor likely had a spymaster as well, so there was no doubt that many interceptions were created along the way.

She decided against the impulsive idea, deeming it too risky to correspond. It was as she’d said to her Uncle; all they could really do now was wait. The negotiations would happen and what was said, was said. What was done, was done. Eti found herself contemplating about how to further use her position as an advantage point where she’d strip her husband of his station and rise above him. It seemed befitting, given how long his various affairs with the noblewomen of Shaodor seemed to be going on. He was an old man, much too traditional and rigid for her. She needed someone young, around her age, more… exuberant, and someone she was able to take the time to know.

There was also the matter of where her loyalties lied, where her morality drew the line in this negotiation and how far she’d be willing to go to get out of her marriage, which was sadly, almost anything at this point. A silver tray was set down beside Eti as she mused in silence. Gwendolyn, her lead and senior handmaiden, poured the black tea slowly into the cup and added some milk, as well as a couple cubes of sugar.

“Something is bothering you,” Gwen noted, as she passed Eti her tea. “Careful, the tea is hot.”

Eti stared at the invisible fire burning and crackling the logs at the fireplace.

“I’ll cry tonight and wake up tomorrow the same, determined and unable to allow emotion. I almost had it today. I almost had it. Perhaps a bath would help soften the nerves tensing in my neck and shoulder.”

“Talking helps too,” Gwen reminded in a soft tone. Since they’d made their trek, Eti hadn’t been as open to her ladies. She told them what she had in the past, “We’re on enemy grounds. I can’t risk your lives by telling you what’s on my mind. If they capture you, you’ll have nothing to tell and it would be better to die and have nothing to share with them, than to be forced to share information you do know, jeopardize your loyalty, and then be killed. We’ll be keeping Shaodor safe like this.”

Avyana helped Vana draw a bath for the young woman and behind the double doors to the bathing area, Eti opened her heart up as much as she could muster with the foul play going on. Even a spymaster needed to find some form of relief every once in a while.
 

Chile

Rate me Spicy
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
A Few Posts A Day, A Few Posts a Week
Writing Levels
Adept, Advanced
#16
During the midst of the first hand accounts Belrick had received word from Venyra that a new dead-drop of intel was being prepped and ready for retrieval soon; containing information on the Fell Maidens specifically. Belrick decided to take this retrieval upon himself and leave Eti under the watchful eyes of Venyra and Kevros. He’d make sure to inform Lady Etienne of the current situation before dismissing himself, leaving his stead for Kevros to utilize.

On his way to the pick up site Belrick always made sure to vary his route even if it was only slightly. Being in the middle of wary territory only proved to make him even more paranoid than he was normally. He’d even take the time to double back every now and then, assuring he wasn’t being followed. Thoughts streamlined through his consciousness on what information he’d already received on the Fell Maidens. He already knew of their all female drow roster, their zealous nature and that they use some form of fear causing magic; specifics were unclear sadly. Particular names of the chain of command would be appreciated info as well as more detail on the magic they utilize would be beneficial.

After a little while Belrick reached the rather quite courtyard. With his dull brown hood drawn over his head he scoped out the surroundings as he always did. Nothing seemed terribly out of place, nothing an adventurous child wouldn’t have done just by passing through. However, as he reached the stump and knelt down to retrieve the tube he noticed a thin glint of something clinging against the bark. He slowly snatched it up to reveal of single strand of whitish silver hair; a rare hair color...for all except drow. This was a set up.

With a swift motion Belrick retrieved the tube and darted off towards the far wall all the courtyard; easily vaulting it before appearing to sprint around the nearest corner.

Sypha had her eyes closed, perched on the rooftop in waiting. Drow senses evolved in darkness, their hearing was superb and their eyes could see easily in the pitch black. And in the blanket of darkness, the only thing someone could see of a drow were their gleaming red eyes.
She heard him approach. She assumed it was a man because the way his feet fell; the gait of a woman was much different. His knee landed in a patch of dried grass, and then his fingers… paused. Then quickly his steps turned into a muted sprint as he circled around the building she nested on.

Oh no you don’t.

Sypha quickly sprung towards the edge of the roof and vaulted down into the alleyway. She landed in a crouch maybe ten feet in front of the man. She stood and brushed off her hood in one movement, a slight frown on her lips. She wouldn’t dare face a potential adversary without them seeing her face.

He would probably immediately notice that she didn’t have any weapons strapped to her hips, but her dark cloak was drawn around her chest and fell to her thighs.
She kept her arms at her side until she lifted a finger that pulled up her cloak, and pointed it at the man. “You can go ahead and read it, craven.” She mocked. “Or if you’d like, I can tell you anything you’d like to know. The day of my birth, my favorite drink— or maybe you’d like to know more about this.” She lifted up her hand in front of her face, purple magic coiling up around her elbow, engulfing her hand in a malevolent aura.


Belrick came to a sudden stop as the drow he’d expected to see dropped before him, revealing herself. Just one however was...rather unexpected; seemingly unarmed no less. Compared to other names he’s be slathered with, craven was rather low on the list as the spy offered no retort initially. The display of magic however did put Belrick on guard. He lifted his head ever so slightly, not removing his hood just yet; his hands hidden beneath his dull green cloak close to his weapons.

“What do you want?” Belrick asked rather bluntly. Since he wasn’t in the middle of combat currently there was more to this current bundle of events than a simple plan of capturing and or killing a spy.

“Me?” She replied rhetorically. She didn’t want anything. She was here for her mother, but Sypha wasn’t so dense as to not catch his meaning. But she wanted to indulge him anyways.
The magic dispersed from her hand and she dropped it back to her side. “I want you pigeon-hearted bastards to stop spying on me and my sisters. I want to kill you on a different day, under the sun and on the battlefield.”

Her idle threat was delivered evenly with the tone of someone who killed and killed easily. But the man in front of her didn’t even flinch. He wasn’t merely a gardner spy out to collect the rounds. She couldn’t quite see his eyes from underneath his shadowed brow, but if she could, she might be able to make out who he was.
Throughout their chat she didn’t smile not even once. Sypha had fun darting through the streets like an alley cat. But her fun ended there. Her mother didn’t send her to bring back a corpse. She sent her to deliver a message.

“Open that up,” she commanded, her mouth set into an uneven grimace, “Take a look at what you came here for.”


Belrick’s head tilted to one side as he continued to peer at this confident drow. He could feel the killing presence from this Fell Maiden as she spoke. A killing instinct he’d felt plenty of times before. “I’m sorry to disappoint you that that day will never come; I don’t fight on battlefields.” He retorted before he actually began to take slow deliberate steps towards the drow.

For every step he took, she took one back. Her cowl bubbled from her chest, it’s shadow smog beginning to cast her in a deep blotched purples. “A true craven then?”

Belrick continued to approach and speak, his cold words growing to sound perpetually unnerving. “Whatever I am doesn’t matter...I prefer being nothing in the eyes others as we all do. I could read your note now...I could also read it later...or never. But there is something else I want to inquire about before I decide on that.” The cloaked man finally stopped his advance, tilting his head a little more as the hood felt from his head, revealing the half-elf Belrick beneath it. His cold unforgiving gaze piercing into the drow’s own red eyes.

“I’ve heard how you Fell Maidens have a skill for causing fear in others...I’m curious as to whether you purple demons as the locals refer to you as can feel fear yourselves?”

He spoke with a subtle essence of dread in his tone coming from how dead serious Belrick was. This one already seemed to know more than he was comfortable with though he knew killing her would lead to more issues. However, he didn’t need to kill people to complete the tasks he had in mind.

He asked if she could feel fear? Of course she could. If she had given words to thought, her answer would of been yes you daft idiot. Only the truly ignorant would make claim to the contrary. Grace was in the gale, knowing that it could at any time toss your ship in the waves and beat it to splinters. His words didn’t scare her, but she wouldn’t let her guard down. She had no idea what a craven spy was capable of.

Plus, she normally just got angry.
And right now, her glowering red eyes began to shine.

While he spoke her Cowl stretched to it’s full length, four meters of aura extending out from her. Now the world would’ve been veiled in a violet smoke for the man. All she would have to do is focus on him and he would feel inescapable panic. Fear was a word that was ascribed to daggers being put to one’s throat, or seeing a friend on the executioner's block. But panic was the terrible feeling of water filling your lungs.
Or she could just burst. It would be like moving her hand, and he would be rent from his position, his remains painting the walls in ribbons.
“Open it.” She hissed through clenched teeth.


Belrick glanced around at the purple smokey veil that now encompassed the two with a quiet curiosity. He was pleased to confirm some hunches he’d had that this drow had so kindly revealed to him. He looked back at his clearly angered acquaintance, a subtle smirk on his own face all while he felt an odd itching sensation throughout his body likely from the magic.
He slowly raised one hand out from beneath his cloak which held the tube of evidence; promptly opening it in order to glance over the inner contents while using both hands.

As Belrick unfurled the slip of paper, Sypha exhaled with controlled practice. She took a few quick steps back, dexterously avoiding any rocks that might trip her up. The note Belrick had glanced at were just directions to the Fell Maiden estate. It was an invitation for Lady Etienne Farrow to join Vira at her “borrowed” estate.

“Grace of the gale, finally!” She said, irritation coating her tone. She dropped her Cowl, a bead of sweat trickling down her face, catching the pearlescent glint of moonlight. The malevolent aura was now replaced by the silence of night. She finally noticed that he was the half-elf that introduced and accompanied Lady Etienne. And she did think he was handsome… for a craven.


All of this...for a simple invitation? Belrick stood there with note in head in dead silence before letting a chuckle loose from his lips. The itching feeling now passing was a welcomed feeling too. Belrick looked back over at the now further away Fell Maiden with a more relaxed expression. “I’m sure if you’d just sent this straight to Lady Etienne you would have gotten the same result.” He found the whole charade amusingly unnecessary.

“Neverene thought it would be a good idea to make a point. We can sniff out your schemes and disrupt your intelligence.” Sypha shrugged. “Wasn’t my plan.” She planted her hands on her hips, her mouth hooked into a slight grin.

“Well then I must simply congratulate you all for possessing the skill to sway some casual maids and house staff.” He replied sarcastically as he started to slow clap. Just then something rather delightful caught the spy’s eye. A small bundle of purple nightshade flowers were growing here of all places. As Belrick casually knelt down to pluck one up he sleight of hand one of the smooth grayish balls from his pouch into his other hand. Turning back to the Fell Maiden, Belrick lightly sniffed the flower. “You know...I can’t help but compare some ladies to this nightshade. Beautiful on the surface and yet they can produce such deadly outcomes.”

He flashed her a smile before continuing. “Well, as much as I’d love to continue boring you with my gab I’m sure you have killing to do and I need to go continue doing craven things.” He taunted before giving Sypha a rather out of place formal bow; covertly channeling his magic into the small ball he’d been concealing before casually letting it drop to the ground. “I’d like to ask you your name...but that would spoil my fun now wouldn’t it?” He said cryptically before the small ball erupted into a rapidly expanding cloud of gray smoke which engulfed not only himself but much of the section of alley they were both in; though the edge of it stopped right before Sypha. Once it cleared Belrick would be gone, however, what remained would be that single purple flower seemingly placed right at the Fell Maiden’s feet.

Kat Kat BlueFlameNikku BlueFlameNikku
 

Lillian Gray

Craft Master
DONATING MEMBER
Roleplay Invitations
Not Taking RP Invites at this Time
Posting Speed
A Few Posts a Week, One Post a Week
My Usual Online Time
All day every day
Writing Levels
Give-No-Fucks, Adaptable
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female, No Preferences
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both, I prefer to have aggressive partners.
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Romance, Medieval, Action, Magic, Sci-fi
#17

Kieran, Art, & Tolainnea
A collaboration between AceSorcerer AceSorcerer Dipper Dipper and Lillian Gray Lillian Gray
**Note - these events occur prior to the most recent post**
Coalescing into disorderly rabble wasn't uncommon among soldiers high off of their victory. Even still, Arterion had hoped they'd been better trained and grew irritated-- more so than he'd’ve already been as if his moods built upon each other one by one until they toppled and he snapped. Muttering under his breath, Arterion whirled around and opened the doors, to which one of the guards startled and suddenly looked rather faint. To be caught with the rowdy soldiers, or for failing to keep said soldiers quiet?

Arterion's voice started as a low, dangerous rumble... then promptly sputtered into a surprised rasp. "What is thi-- Miss Rota?"

The guardsmen - Von and Haver, if Arterion remembered correctly - were reluctant to meet his gaze, surprised and perhaps a tad relieved that his anger was not directed toward them, or their brothers in arms.

"... You're rather far from the healing tents, Miss. Perhaps you should return."

Tolainnea paused, uncertain whether to follow the two rambunctious soldiers or to heed Arterion’s request. Their silence was telling of his temper, but that hardly mattered to her. The Lord Commander could force his soldiers to run twenty leagues if he wanted, but Tola? It was only a waste of her precious stamina and a forfeit of her healing boon.

Intrigue won out, and she spoke carefully.

“Is that a suggestion, or an order?” Her face was void of any emotion but her eyes hinted at the challenge in her words.

The two soldiers gaped at Tolainnea, jaws hanging slack. The uninjured man stepped carefully towards the woman in an attempt to guide her away, and towards the kitchens. She brushed him away with a flick of her arm.

“I am in your service, after all,” Tolainnea added on quietly. She wondered if Arterion knew already that her master had formally charged Tolainnea to become the Lord Commander’s personal healer at his request. “Ninra has released me to you, officially that is.”

She began to search her pack for the letter Ninra had hastily made up. To give to Arterion for formality’s sake.

“Wait-” The injured man yelped. “If thass the case, you can forget about them beans, we’ll take ‘im to the tents.”

Tolainnea shrugged but said nothing, she was more interested in what Arterion had to say.

Arterion squinted behind his helmet at the letter, either uninterested or too trapped in his own shock to care. In his service. Right. He remembered. He hadn't anticipated it being so easy, but he remembered.

“Yes, I suppose you are.” He glanced at the man, brow quirking at his mention of beans. “This is…” A private matter? Not particularly. Something beyond her experience, at least, but Arterion felt he shouldn’t say such things to her face, if at all. He cleared his throat. “I’ll have a room prepared if you are to be staying with my regiment. I--”

He paused and snapped his mouth shut so fast that his teeth clacked. Kieran was still present, and he’d…

Dammit.

“Return to the tents,” he said, harried. “I’ll speak with you later.”

Kieran took a few steps forward, only barely managing to hide the smirk that so desperately wanted to draw across his face. Being the only person who could have Arterion take off his mask, it also made sense that Kieran was also the only person who could truly identify the minutiae of the walking armor’s body language. And by the ancient magicks, the man who had entered so giddy was now so exquisitely tense. Oh, how it took every little iota of restraint to keep him from wagging his tongue then and there! But, no, he loved his friend too much to embarrass him in front of Vira or any of the guards- let alone the woman the emperor assumed was making him so nervous- and would, instead, give him a short teasing on the moment either the next time they were alone or during their sparring sessions.

With another step forward, Kieran stood the same height as the Horned woman, with the Pale speaking up in his warm, sagacious bass. “Miss Rota? Miss Tolainnea Rota, if I’m not mistaken? I’ve heard wonderful things about your skills from your master.” For now, he kept it cool and took to a more subtle approach. “May I ask why you have been released into the Lord High General’s service? As for quarters, I’m sure she could have a nice room with the Fell Maidens and your female officials, old friend- far better for a lady of standing than the encampments.”

Tolainnea opened her mouth to offer a reply but was cut off by Kieran. She found it much easier to restrain herself in the presence of the Overlord himself and held her tongue as he asked his questions. There was some kind of hidden meaning to his speech that went entirely over her head.

“I was the one to suggest it, however, it was Arterion who asked for me by name,” Tolainnea remarked. “Ninra seemed to think the fit would be appropriate, else she would not have released me into his service, to begin with. I am not certain what she meant by that exactly.”

Her lip curled uncomfortably at sharing a tent, or even a proper bedroom, with anyone at all. Tolainnea didn’t mind getting to know someone for a short period of time, but sharing a space with someone and entertaining the idea of a long lasting friendship based on a confined space made her stomach churn. No. She didn’t need it. It wasn’t worth it. She would have rather slept outside - alone. That was always a possibility so long as she had a decent bedroll.

“I am a lady, true, and I have two feet to stand on, yes-” Tolainnea nodded, “However my standing would only be high if it were dependent on my height, and I find that it is not. I am quite comfortable sleeping anywhere, so long as it is alone.” She was still very blunt with Kieran despite his own nobility. “I should return, as the Lord High General commanded.”

Her reaction elicited a warm chuckle from the back of Kieran’s throat, leaving the emperor pleased and amused about it all. “Do as you wish, Miss Rota.” A few beats of silence passed as Kieran turned around and returned to the table, locking his eyes onto her once more as he spoke plainly. “But, please, inform your master that I am need of a list of doctors she trusts to participate in missions of goodwill at her earliest convenience.” This phrasing, in particular, was the result of even the overlord knowing full well not to rush or anger the physician who could help cut or strengthen the Damoclean wire whenever she so pleased.

“Regardless, Miss Rota, I shall watch your career with great interest.”
 

BlueFlameNikku

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Roleplay Invitations
Group Roleplays
Posting Speed
One Post a Day
Writing Levels
Intermediate, Adept, Advanced
Genders You Prefer Playing
Male, Female
Playing Style- Passive or Aggressive
Both
Favorite Genres
Fantasy, Modern, Horror, Combat, War
#18

Name: Belrick Farrow
Location: Ildir
Current Mission: Have a chat
Mission Status: Underway


Having already delivered the invitation to Lady Etienne, Belrick now found himself lounging about on a rooftop in deep thought. Making a deal with these vraenorians would likely continue to be exceedingly difficult; the current situation didn't help either. He knew Lady Etienne's chances of persuading or bribing the emperor from his course were slim to none as was clear from the first meeting. The longer the baroness resided within these walls against her will the more danger she'd be in; something had to give and soon, before things had a chance to head south. Belrick narrowed down his options to two, the second of which could take place if the first should fail. He needed to go pay the emperor a visit, a private one.

A contingency plan would be passed along to his two associates with instructions on what to do if he should fail in order to keep Lady Etienne safe and get her back to Shoador. With a few more readied preparations completed the shadow made his way to the fortress. His footsteps were mute as he traversed the rooftops of the surrounding settlement in the dead of night in order to completely avoid any patrols making their rounds. Having already received the information in regards to the emperor's personal quarters thanks to the staff informants within the fortress all Belrick had to do was get there which of course was easier said than done. But if there was anyone who could do it it was Belrick.

The assassin had contemplated scaling the walls of the fortress in some manner but tossed those ideas to the wayside; he could easily be spotted making the climb by a wondering pair of eyes. He preferred the old ways anyhow. Upon reaching the inner wall of the fortress just before the main building itself Belrick waited patiently for a cart to make its way to the portcullis. He didn't hitch a ride within or beneath the cart as those areas were usually checked regularly. So as the guard checked the usual spots with his lantern Belrick simply slipped around through the open portcullis as the area of light created from the lantern drifted just far enough away to keep the spy draped in the dark. The dirt beneath his shoes hardly shuffling from his deaf steps.

Belrick continued to maneuver around the main section until he reached a servant entrance on the back south side of the first floor which led to the kitchen. He waited once more for a servant to exit through the small door likely dumping some unneeded riffraff. The assassin slipped inside before the servant returned. The kitchens were not busy like they were during the day, most of the staff that worked her were likely either asleep are doing other duties. All that remained was one of the chefs whom seemed to be preoccupied cleaning his knives. Belrick stealthy made his way out of the kitchen door which caused him to step right past the back of the chef whom would never know an assassin was just inches behind him.

Now into the hallways Belrick picked up the pace as he didn't have to worry about carpet and stonework making as much noise as dirt and leaves did. As he approached the first large corner he heard a pair of guards chatting at they made there way down. They turned the corner and simply kept continuing on as they were down the corridor. Belrick was no longer there as he'd hid within the indentation of a nearby doorway just outside the immediate cone of vision of the pair as they passed. He swiftly moved on traversing the hallways straight towards his intended destination. He'd reached the double doors of the emperor's personal quarters here in Ildir, the former lords room. But as Belrick reached forward to open the door he hear footsteps just behind it. He instinctively leaped upwards within the door-well and did a split with his arms and legs effectively holding himself up high up against the relatively close walls. One door opened to reveal a thankfully short female servant with short black hair and freckles whom promptly shut the door and passed right underneath the straining Belrick before she left down the corridor.

He dropped down once she'd turned the corner, rolling his shoulder until it cracked. I'm getting too old for this. Then as he entered the room he took notice that that servant must have lit the single candle that was alight. It rested upon the main desk which also appeared to have a freshly poured cup of some wine next to the bottle it likely came from. No, it couldn't be. Belrick had his suspicions and couldn't help but confirm or deny them. He dipped his finger into the wine and gave it a quick taste before spitting it out onto the floor. Poisonous herb...foxglove, amateur work. The seasoned assassin scoffed at such pitiful handy work. The set up was painfully obvious for starters in regards to the cup and bottle themselves and secondly this poison itself was very basic. Belrick put its time to kill at around thirty minutes as foxglove is known to slow and then fully stop ones heart; more than enough time for most nobility to get help. He left attempt untouched there and retreated to one of the dimmer corners of the room and patiently awaited for the emperor to return to his room.

AceSorcerer AceSorcerer