The Weight of the Crown | IC

[Elle Joyner]

CHARACTER/KINGDOM SHEETS​

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CAIN'LOREN
FOR CROWN AND FOR LAND​

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⚜

Abrigel Baelston

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Beads of light collected in the droplets of wine splashed across the surface of the table, the cup tipped on it's side, a​

current red river flowing into Abrigel's lap. Red was everywhere; like the scene of a massacre, the victim her highness's patience. The temper tantrum befitting a child had plunged the room into near silence, the only sound the rustling of Dansin's coat, as he wiped specks of wine from his forehead and cheek. The queen sat like rigid stone, staring down the red-haired girl with icy animosity.

"I think perhaps it would be best for all of us to retire." The interruption finally came from Crispin, his clear, steady voice penetrating the tension with a much needed air of calm sincerity.

"Agreed..." The king's voice, neither steady, nor calm, broke from the doorway, where he stood watching the room with passive authority. The blue in his eyes, deep, darkened by anger, was fixed on his wife, who shrunk some in her seat beneath the stare.

Chairs scraped against stone and the brunt of King Ordin's children rose, leaving Abrigel on her own, staring helplessly at the puddle of wine as it pooled on her skirts and onto the floor beneath her slippered feet. With some small measure of apprehension, Crispin held a scrap of fabric, a napkin out to her. Slowly, the others filed out, past their father and into the hall. Pausing along the way, Dansin plucked up the glass bottle that had fallen from the table in the fray, "No sense in wasting--" He mused, lips snapping in a cocky smile. But with a glance from his father, he set the bottle down, the smirk dissolving as he disappeared from the room.

All that remained now were Ordin, Aimera and Abrigel.

"You're dismissed..." Ordin muttered coldly to the queen. Her eyes twitched to her husband, her hands knotting into fists, but without argument she stood, following in her children's wake. When she had gone, Ordin's gaze shifted to Abrigel, who looked up from the puddle to meet her father's eyes.

"I'm sorry..." She started, but he held up a hand, the lilt of his voice shifting to a tone all too familiar. A reminder of the burden that she placed on him, every day.

"Don't. I saw what happened." Moving to the table, Ordin pulled out a chair and sank down into it, "I should apologize. No... she should. Time and again I have told her that sort of behavior is out of line. You don't deserve to be treated that way, and it's certainly not appropriate..."

"I baited her. It was my fault... It's just..." Frowning, Abrigel's eyes fell to her lap again, "I can't understand why she's so angry with me. What I've done..."

"It's not what you've done, Abrigel. It's what I've done."

"It's been so long..."


"Anger has no sense of time, Dear Heart. And however misplaced hers is... it isn't entirely wrong." A sigh escaped and Ordin pinched his brow, "I've done terrible things. Unforgivable things..."

"Papa..."

Holding his hand up again, Ordin smiled faintly, "You'll understand, someday, sweet girl. You are a light in on my darkened path, that I do not deserve... My sins are great and I will answer for them some--"

Ordin paused as the door to the dining hall opened and a small, timid mouse of a man stepped inside. He might've been handsome, were it not for the strange scrap of hair across his upperlip, which he idly scratched at with long, thin fingers, "Your Majesty... I beg pardon. It's just, you told me to inform you if any news came from Thornwild..."

Rising, Ordin's expression fell oddly stoic, "Go on, Amblin?"

"The King, Your Majesty... He's dead."

---

The basket was only half filled, and most of it scraps, but even when the best she could do were crumbs collected​

from the ashes of the fireplace, Abrigel would bring them. And without fail, no matter the bounty, the people were gracious and welcoming. For over two years now, Abrigel had come when she could, bringing what she could scrape together - food and clothes, blankets... even medicine, though the apothecary at the palace was a painfully suspicious man and she daren't take anything without his say so.

She had seen little change in their way of life, in their declining health or their living arrangements, but their spirits, certainly seemed lifted. And after the dinner she'd had, that was all she needed to see. Perhaps it was a touch selfish, and she could acknowledge as much, even if it hardly made her feel good, but she needed to do something... anything worthwhile just to banish the queen's hateful words from her mind.

She'd been dismissed as soon as the news came of King Baronthorn's death, and it hardly came as a surprise. Her father was a good man to her, whatever he said about sins and darkness, but even Abrigel, with little understanding of political matters, could comprehend the importance of the Thornwild king's passing. Cain'loren was a successful kingdom, but to gain control of Thornwild was to gain control of Ellemar... In the hands of another kingdom, that would be a disastrous outcome.

She understood then, why it was so important to her father. But she didn't necessarily enjoy the political intrigue that was sure to come of it. So she had packed what she could from the kitchen scraps, thrown them into her basket and donned her cloak, making the journey from the palace to the Western District as the sun cut along the horizon, bathing the city's white walls in a blaze of orange light. She reached Micha's home as shadows stretched out into blocks and the sky overhead darkened to a muted violet.

"Princess!" Micha greeted her with a kiss to her cheek and a toothless smile, his grizzled hands clapped around her own, warm from a fever he'd been fighting since the rain storm two weeks prior, "You've come! Oh, I had hoped you might. Greta's about to set the table... Have you eaten?"

"Ah. That's sweet of you, Micha, but we've talked about this... Besides, I've just had supper. ."

"That my food is for my family. You're as good as family to me, Abrigel. None of that nonsense."

Smiling delicately, Abrigel shook her head, holding out the basket, "I haven't got much. I'm sorry. There's a few more blankets, and some bits of meat and bread. I managed to grab a bottle of wine for you and Greta. I'd feel bad taking it, except I'm certain Dansin would have gone back for it if I hadn't."

"Well! That's exciting, indeed. You'll at least have some wine, then. Celebrate?"

Her smile folding away, Abrigel looked down at her skirts, still stained from the wine at dinner, "I've had a bit more than I rather cared to, tonight. But thank you, Micha. You'll give Greta my love?"

"Of course, child. Be safe..."

"You, too."

Handing over the basket, Abrigel turned back in the direction she'd come. The first signs of starlight sparked across indigo and glancing up, Abrigel released a soft sigh into the silent evening. It was her only hope that if Cain'loren was to assume the Thornwild throne that things in the Western District would improve, but sometimes it felt as if she was fooling herself in thinking there would ever be resolution for the people who made their home there. Still... where she could help, she would... as long as she was able.

---

Calin Farthsworn

.

The bastard had lied. It wasn't the first time, and certainly it wouldn't be the last. Ordin was a man of many faces,​

and so few of them were honest. But this? This was beyond any predilection the man had covered up before. Devon Cordain wasn't much of a soldier, but he was a damn good man. Losing him had been a blow. Now nearly two years later, the scars of the skirmish in the Nimue pass finally healing, news came that Calin had not been expecting.

The missive, signed by the king himself, to set Devon at the front, to all but ensure the young man didn't come home. And why? The message didn't say, but Calin wasn't stupid. Raenna had hardly been discreet in her affections for the young man. Their decision to elope and the timing of the missive were entirely too coincidental. It was at least the second time Ordin had meddled in such affairs. The first time, it had cost Ordin a trusted friend and a pinky finger... this time would be considerably worse.

"You're sure?" He asked, glancing up from the parchment.

"I watched him write it myself. When I asked him about it, he told me it wasn't any business of mine. Not the first time he's kept something from me. I had to assume that it had something to do with another one of his whores..." Calin's fingers tightened around the missive, but he bit his tongue, looking away from the fair haired woman, who continued, "So when he retired to bed, I read it."

"You're lucky you weren't caught. He could've had your head for that."

"He's done much worse than I have. King or not..."

"Does Raenna know?"

"No. I haven't the heart to tell her. Not after... not after all that happened. Losing her child... and then that foul man discarding her, as if she were nothing."

"Sounds familiar." Calin muttered, beneath his breath before glancing up, "Say nothing of this to anyone, Aimera. We must be wise in our actions. Even to meet this way, it could be seen as treason. We must play our roles with caution. In time, we'll reconcile all of this. Understand?"

"Yes. Thank you, Cal…"

"Indeed. Goodnight, Aimera."

---

Raenna Baelston

.

"Aren't you excited, M'lady? I hear it's like a whole 'nother world, down there.​

Like a fairytale." As Greta mused, she tightened the leather thong around Raenna's braid, tying it tightly. Raenna smiled at the words, giving a small shake of her head.

"It's hardly another world, Greta. But I am excited. Though I doubt I'll have much time to explore properly. I'm to meet with the queen as soon as we arrive, and I imagine it will take some time to negotiate my father's terms. Prince Dansin's been put in charge of my mother's gift, so I don't expect to see much of the famed artwork or culture."

"You'll simply have to insist the queen show you around! Oh, Princess, I've heard it's so beautiful…" Pausing, Greta's lip curved upwards, slyly, "And the men… heard they were some artwork themselves--"

Frowning softly, Raenna shifted, cutting off Greta's girlish giggle with a curt note of disapproval, "It's a diplomatic mission, Greta."

"Right, of course." Blushing, Greta set down the brush, "Sorry, M'lady." Straightening, with a tight smile, she bowed her head, "I'll leave to rest, Princess. Good luck, tomorrow."

Turning, Greta retreated and with a sigh, Raenna leaned back in her chair, her index finger brushing across her neck. She'd stopped wearing the necklace at her father's insistence, but sometimes she could still feel it there, pressed against her throat. It was all she had left of Devon…

Brushing a hand across her damp cheek she rose and moving to her bed, sank down beneath the covers of the bed. Tomorrow she and Dansin left for Bastillos, but Greta's less than coy insinuations, and the miserable display at dinner had left her feeling sour about the journey. Still, shortly after sunrise, they would meet a man who hailed from the city at Cain'loren's border and he would guide them the rest of the way to the underground kingdom. She wasn't escaping life in Cain'loren. She knew that, but whatever she told Greta, the change would be nice. It wasn't just welcome. It was needed…

---

Dansin Baelston

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"But I don't understand… Why do you have to go? Why can't she just go on her own?"​

Tying the strings on his trousers, Dansin glanced back over his shoulder at the young brunette camped out on her stomach, across the edge of his bed. She was a pretty young thing, dark blue eyes, lashes that curled up towards eyebrows a little too thick. He liked her, even if for the life of his he couldn't presently remember what her name was.

"My father doesn't deem it appropriate for any of my sisters to travel on their own with a male guide.Our usual chaperone is off with Rosleigh. Normally he insists on Crispin going, but well… I suppose brother-dear has other plans. But I'll be back in a few days…" Moving to the bed, he bent down and pressed a kiss to the girl's temple, before straightening upright. Reaching, his fingers found where he'd flung her shift and holding it out, he flashed a charming smile.

"And you promise to tell me?" She asked, snatching the garment and pulling it on over her head, "The minute you return?"

"Of course, darling." He lied, his smile brilliant, "But if I'm going to be any useful sort of guardian to my sister, I should probably get some rest. Come on, up with you."

Giggling, the girl straightened, rising to her feet, "If I don't hear from you, I'll be awfully sore." Curling her arms around his waist, she pressed up onto her toes, hovering inches from his head, "The minute you return?"

"You have my word, lovely." She leaned in and kissed him before she was off like a feather in the wind, tightening the laces of her bodice as she went. Rolling his eyes, Dansin crossed to the other side of the room and made for the rear door of his chamber. As the first door clicked shut, he reached out, pulling the second open. A few seconds passed, before a petite young blonde appeared around the corner, smiling coyly at him with a wave of her delicate hand.

Grinning, Dansin stepped back, holding the door opened for her.

Margo. He was fairly certain this one's name was Margo…

---

Crispin Baelston

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Following dinner, Crispin Baelston had spent the evening in his room, burdened beneath the weight of heavy thought.​

It was hardly the first time that something had happened along these particular lines, and with tension only increasing in the palace, it wasn't likely to be the last time, but his mother's display of childish aggression had been somewhat shocking. Abrigel's betrothal to Kross Eishbal had come as a shock to all of them, but none more than Abrigel. The man, for all his intelligence and social graces was hardly a sterling character, and for someone so soft and delicate as his half-sister, it was little wonder she'd taken the news poorly.

But his mother's attempts at moving up their marriage… at forcing a union in mere months, and announcing it at dinner the way she had? Rarely did Crispin find himself so disappointed in someone he revered so highly as his mother. And perhaps Abrigel's reaction had been less than proper, but the queen's behavior was comically inappropriate, albeit lacking the benefit of humor. This, decidedly, was why a king lacking in certain upstanding virtues was such a mortal danger. His father was a decent leader, a fair and just ruler, but his inability to remain faithful to his wife had proven, time and time again, detrimental to the family.

His mother would never accept Abrigel. She was a painful reminder of her husband's infidelities, and whether or not that was fair to Abrigel, she was the only one that his mother would dare to blame. At least outwardly. And she remained the only one who could do nothing but accept that deflected blame in stride. Things over the years had gone from bad to worse and they were guaranteed to escalate. He'd need to speak to his father, as soon as possible, for he would not… no, could not inherit a kingdom built upon a foundation of strife and insubordination.

"M'lord…?" The door opened slowly and Crispin glanced up from his desk to see a familiar face in the frame. His manservant was a tall, stalwart man, gripped by age in lined features and thinning white hair, but nevertheless the sort of man who made one wonder why he'd never pursued a life of militaristic means… But he was deeply kind hearted, as well, something inadvertent, but known to Crispin as both crux and bane to his fortitude.

"Douglas. Come in, please."

"Ah. I don't want to interrupt, sir. It's just… a letter has arrived." Moving into the room, Douglas held the missive out and Crispin took hold of it with a small nod. The letter was familiar, a plain parchment with a seal Crispin himself had designed - the wax was rose in hue, the print that of a lion, not savage and violent like most depictions of the majestic creature, but pensive and regal. The penning of his name was curved and graceful, as refined as the hand that wrote it.

"Right." His voice cracked lightly, and clearing his throat, Crispin nodded to Douglas, "Thank you…"

As Douglas turned to leave, Crispin pried a blade beneath the letter seal, and the parchment unfurled smoothly. A small, thoughtful frown pinched his brows together as he read over the words, color brightening his pale cheeks.

"Gracious me..." He muttered, setting the letter down. As he did, the faintest smile turned at the corner of his lips, and pulling out a quill and parchment of his own, he got to work composing a reply, "That woman…"

---

Rosleigh Baelston

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It was getting worse. With every passing day, her chest grew tighter, the weight pressing against her lungs with​

ferocity. She'd tried her best to keep it hidden, but the cough wasn't improving and it had been only a matter of time before her father noticed.

Nara. She was being sent away to Nara - piled into a carriage, the missive sent to the shore kingdom only a few short months ago to announce her arrival. Her first venture from the palace, and undoubtedly, she would see nothing of value, cooped up inside the walls with all the medical experts Cain'loren had sent along with ehr.

Across from her sat her two ladies, Keira, a small ginger thing, with brooding green eyes, lined in dark lashes and a pensive disposition that often made her appear sound and Anabet, blonde and pretty and the sort of creature her brother Dansin might go for, except that Anabet prided herself on being virtuous in all ways (which wasn't at all her brother's sort of maiden). Anabet's fingers were busy working embroidery stitches onto a skirt, but when Rosleigh cleared her throat and the young woman looked up, "Alright, Princesss?"

"Do… do you think I'll die there?"

Straightening, Anabet set down her stitching, brow quirked. Keira gave her a knowing glance from the side, before Anabet continued, "M'lady?"

"Nara. Do you think that's where I'll die?"

"Good heavens, Princess! What sort of talk is this? Of course not… Why on earth would you…"

"It's just… I was so angry. With father… For sending me away. I… I'm afraid I said some terrible things. If… if this is the end…?"

Reaching forward, Anabet rested her hand against Rosleigh's, "Oh, sweetheart. You'll be fine… Your father… he understands. You love him, and he loves you dearly. Trust me, a little dry air, some time to relax and you'll be good as new."

Turning her hands over, Rosleigh clasped Anabet's, her eyes fogging with tears, "Thank you. I've been awful to everyone."

"You're scared… It's perfectly reasonable." A sigh escaped the young servant girl and sinking back, she plucked up her stitching again, "I've heard it's lovely in Nara… so full of culture. I think it will be good for you, little one."

"...Perhaps you're right. Perhaps it will be good to get away for a bit…"

"You should rest, Dear Princess."

"Th--" Another fit of coughing stole the words from Rosleigh's lips, and shifting upright, Anabet eyed her with some concern.

"Princess? Are you alright?" She asked, her voice soft and wary.

Holding up a hand, Rosleigh nodded, "I'm fine. I'll be fine."

A tumbler was passed into her hand from Keira, a tonic, which Rosleigh swallowed down, swiftly, pulling a face at the taste of it, "They head for the mountains tomorrow morning. Dansin and Raenna. Is it wrong that I envy them? It's supposed to be so very beautiful…"

"...Wrong?" Keira answered this time, a brow raised, "I don't think so. I've heard it's a lovely kingdom, Bastillos. Maybe someday you'll get to see it. But I'm sure Nara will be just as appealing."

"...Maybe." Smiling faintly, Rosleigh nodded, "Thank you, Keira. How long is it, now, till we arrive?"

"Another few hours, Miss. Been a long journey, but we're nearly there."

A shallow sigh escaped Princess Rosleigh, and nodding, the frail girl turned to the carriage window. Since leaving the Sweet Fortuna on shore a few weeks ago, she had been pressed by an overwhelming sense of discomfort. In truth, it wasn't jealousy that turned her thoughts towards her sister and brother's journey. It was the notion that they, unlike she, were together. The ever pressing grip of loneliness curled tighter around her, as it became more clear by the day that her illness was not going to fade into oblivion.

Someday, it would claim her life, and she could not help but wonder if and when it did… would she be alone?

"Oh Princess. Look!" Stirred from her thoughts, Rosleigh's attention turned to the opposite window, and her worries evaporated in a gasp, as she took in the stunning sight of moss covered stone, dappled by pagoda roofs and statues of bold, ornate lions carved into the side of the towering mountains. From this marvel, like a string holding the mountains like a giant pearl, a great stone wall curled in both directions - Nara's resilient guardian… and easily the most stunning thing Rosleigh had seen in her young life…

Perhaps Nara would not be so bad, after all...

---

Ainsley Baelston

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Fortune was not in her favor. For all she would support her mother, given the trying circumstances of​

rearing a child that was not your own, Ainsley could hardly fault Abrigel for her disappointment, over the choice of her betrothal. Ainsley herself found out only that morning her mother's intentions to saddle her with the pagan prince of the Serpent isles, and Ainsley knew all too well the painful sting of having one's life plotted on an irrevocably dangerous and disheartening course. To lose her independence, however little, to stranger...an utter stranger was unsettling…


But unlike her half-sister, Ainsley also understood the sense of duty that came with her station in life. With a small sigh, she returned her attention to the page on the vanity, plucking her quill from its inkwell.

"To his entitled majesty, Prince Arthur of Velvulia,

News of our determined union has presently been brought to my attention. In an effort to further unite our two kingdoms, particularly in light of recent difficulties you face, regarding the daunting circumstances of political nature among the Isles, and on behest of my mother, I am writing to propose a celebratory masque here in Cain'loren. Summer will be upon us shortly, and truly there is no better time to see the White City.

Hoping this letter finds you well, and looking forward to…"

Conniving. That was the word Abrigel had used. In truth it had been somewhat shocking to hear the soft spoken creature so vehement, but there was a small part of Ainsley that questioned whether or not her sense of duty was blinding her to the reality of that word. It had been her mother, after all, that demanded Ainsley write to the prince. Her mother that insisted a flighty, silly girl was all the bastard prince of the Isles needed to see her as…

But why?

Pausing, Ainsley sighed before scribbling in the last two words, "Meeting you"

Adjusting, she signed the missive, before sinking back in her seat. Whatever her mother had planned, Ainsley imagined no seasonal beauty would prevent the chaos that was sure to unfold…

---

Ordin Baelston

.

Before the fire, Ordin Baelston sat, a goblet of cordeil long since forgotten on the table beside him. In general terms, he did not find himself to be a bad man. He wasn't a good man,​

either, and to this he could fully admit... He was flawed, no doubt greatly, but where in the middle of vice and virue he fell, he could never be quite certain. There were times when he was sure he was capable of being the king that his father had dreamed would one day take his place - the king his brother would undoubtedly have grown to be. But then there were those times when he was possessed by such... inexorable humanity.

His transgressions were great, and someday, he was all too well aware that he would answer for them, but in his heart all he ever wanted was the best for Cain'loren. Sometimes, that was at the expense of those he cared greatly for. Sometimes, it was at his own expense. He had never loved Aimera nor she him. Their marriage had been one valued in use only for its political privileges, and her frigid nature towards him, coupled with his infidelities had long since shattered all possible hope for reconciliation. But he cared for her, all the same. She was the mother of his children, and queen to his people, and whatever her feelings towards him, she loved Cain'loren. But her attitudes towards Abrigel could no longer go ignored. It wasn't mere indifference anymore. It was a pure and unfiltered hatred, and it would only grow more and more volatile as time went on. He had agreed, purely as a means to appease his wife, that Abrigel ought to be settled in marriage by the year's end, and the Totaris prince has been a suitable choice, if only for the value in such an alignment… But Aimera's underhanded decision to shorten their engagement was, at best, dangerously close to unruly. But that was hardly surprising.

Looking down at his hand, at the nub where his pinky finger once lay, he frowned in thought. Aimera was moving against him. He could sense it - and perhaps had even seen it coming well in advance. He would need to be on guard, both for his sake and Abrigel's…

His plans for Thornwild, decidedly, would need to be enacted with immense caution… and fast.

---

Aimera Baelston

.

"It's become... evident, that my husband is no longer capable of running this kingdom with the necessary prudence a king​

ought to possess. I wouldn't come to you if I had any other options."

Miranda sank back in her seat, her lip twitching upwards in a small smirk.The attitude with which she carried herself alluded to a blank canvas, fully intentional, Aimera was sure, but ultimately caustic. She was a pretty woman, but there was an element to her that was frigid and cold... Too many years on her own, too much of a rough existence had left her hollow, and it showed in her muted expressions.

"So what do you want me to do?" She asked, with cool indifference. Most would find the nature of treason outrageous, shocking… If Miranda shared this notion, she gave no indications of it.

"I want to depose the king. The only way I can do that is with the proper support behind me. Cain'loren has, for far too long, been secondary in my husband's mind to his own passions and lusts. It's time the people had a true and proper leader, and Crispin is what his father could never be. But without allies behind me, my attempts would prove fruitless. For two years now, I have been organizing… planning. And it's time for action." Steepling her fingertips below her tongue, she watched the young woman's reaction, of which there was very little, "This is where you come in. I've a manner I cannot myself attend to, regarding an alliance with Prince Arthur of Velvulia. He means to make moves against his brother, the king, and I intend to help him in these endeavors… Provided he, himself, is willing to aid our needs. It will take some convincing. But I understand you're... quite capable in this area?"

"I'm capable in a lot of ways. Why not just kill Ordin?"

Frowning, Aimera straightened, smoothing the front of her skirt down. There was something chilling in the way she had said it... so impassive, with such little inflection, "He's still the king. And he is their father. I don't want him dead. I just want the proper person on the throne."

"It's your money, lady." With a shrug, Miranda leaned forward, "As long as I get paid, I hardly care what you want me to do."

A brow lifted, but Aimera simply pressed on, "You'll take it then? The job?"

"I'll take the job."

"Excellent... Now, then. There's something else we need to discuss."

---

---

THORNWILD
HONOR OR DEATH​

.

⚜

Irin Danthos

.

The girl was a problem. She had never been a factor, never been a part of the plan, but she had seen​

something, and while the word of a servant and a child was hardly binding, if even one miserable creature believed her… She'd been dealt with, but it was sloppy and crude, and they'd had to reveal the nature of Baronthorn's death. Murder wouldn't sit well with most members of the council, and some were likely to hold suspicion. For a child to be accused of such coordinated treachery, and to have the means and access to the nature of poisons necessary to dispatch both the king and herself required more than a little creativity. He'd bought time… but there was much work to do. In a few days it would be discovered the serving girl had been aided and encouraged by insurrectionists with ties to another nuisance of his.

Two elements in his master plan had been executed. Only three remained. The brat of a ward, and the council would fall in line easily enough. The last was that damnable Prince of the People, and when it was discovered he was responsible for Baronthorn's murder, and that evidence came to the attention of Thornwild's people not even his supposed charm and charitable nature would save him. With the proper motions set in place, the Prince would need to be handled... aggressively.

In his most humble opinion, Irin had a gift for planning. He'd find a way. Pin everything on the fool of a vigilante and break down his invisible kingdom before he had a chance to ruin all of the hard work Irin had put into his grand scheme. Things would be changing in Thornwild… soon enough.

First however, the council. They would need to trust him and in order for that to happen, he needed to ensure them he was the right man for the throne. His lack of royal blood would prove little problem if all came to order. What he needed was an advocate. Someone to put their faith in him, and by proxy instill faith in the council as well. Already he has pieces in play, people in the proper positions. He'd considered all the angles.

No one would surprise him again. The servant girl's unfortunate discovery was a mistake, and it would be the last. Of that, he was deadly certain.

---

Aeona Stavros

.

Aeona sat before the throne, her knees curled beneath her, tears rolling down her cheeks, leaving little pools of​

dampness in the folds of her skirts. He was gone. Arden. Taken by trusted hands, stolen from Thornwild, leaving her behind. Her broken family was gone now, completely. First her parents, then Jasper and Arden… it was cruel. Bitterly cruel.

Footsteps sounded behind her and rising swiftly, she spun round to find a familiar face watching her. Without a word, she ran to the cloaked figure, arms looping round his waist with a sob. With hesitation, Jace Ore caught hold of her, a hand on her back, one cupped behind her head, as she burrowed into his chest, a kiss pressed into her hair, "I'm here… Shh… I'm here. I'm sorry I took so long. Oh, Aeona, my treasure… I'm so sorry."

Pulling away, wiping vainly at her cheeks, Aeona's lips fell in a frown, "I don't understand, Jace… I don't understand why anyone would do this."

"Because we're close, Beloved. We're so close. I promised you we'd find whoever was responsible for Jasper's death… and I haven't forgotten that. We're uncovering something someone wants hidden, and it cost Arden his life. Aeona, listen… I'm afraid for you. Whoever is doing this… I think they're after more than just the throne. And I'm afraid they might assume you'll be another obstacle in their way. I want to take you away from here… somewhere safe. But first there's something I need to tell you."

"I already know, Jace… who you are. I've suspected for some time, now. Since Arden took you into his confidence. I… I imagine it's why he never minded the way I… How I felt about you."

Brushing a thumb across her jaw, Jace shook his head, a crack of a smile forming, "I must be slipping for you to have rooted me out so quickly."

"I'm not the only one who loves you, Jace. And very few people love this kingdom the way you do. It was easy for me to see you behind so important a position. Not to mention your disappearing all those times. When mysteriously the People's Prince would be seen? I put a few things together."

"Clever girl. But if you know, than you understand the danger? Not only that I face, but that I've put you in? You understand why I need to take you away from here?"

"I do. And I'll go. But Jace… Oh, Jace." Her arms looped around him again, pulling herself tightly to him, "You're all I have left. If… if something happened to you…"

"If anything happens to me, it will be because I've the duty that was put upon me by the people of this land." Feeling her tense beneath his gentle embrace, his smile softened and easing her back, he grasped her hands, bringing her knuckles to his lips, "But I'll be safe, my love. I swear it. And when this is over… you and I will finally be married, just as I promised."

"We were only children when you made that promise. And if I recall it was shortly after you'd put mud down the back of my gown and pulled my hair. I'd threatened to tell Jasper you were bullying me…"

"Aye. You called me a stupid boy and I told you that I only did it because I loved you…"

"And I said if you loved me, you'd best marry me."

"So I gave you my word that I would.." Tenderly tugging her forward, Jace kissed her, and as he pulled away he twisted a lock of hair around his finger with a coy smile, "I did, you know? Love you. Even then…"

"Well, I would hope so." Aeona replied, breathlessly, "I couldn't stand you…"

Laughing, he kissed her again for quite some time. When he released her, it was with a solemn expression, a shake of his head, "I'll come back for you, tonight. After your maid leaves… Be ready?"

"...I will. Be safe, Jace."

"I will." With a kiss to her forehead he turned and looking back at her, he disappeared from the throne room, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

---

Jace Ore

.

The drumbeat of his heart did not quiet, even after he had left Aeona to her mourning. Depending on perspective,​

things were either falling into place... or collapsing. With Arden Baronthorn dead, Thornwild was left weak, and the door was left open for The People to take their place. They would want him to move. And it was something that he should have wanted, himself. Yet he hesitated...

His rise to power had been sudden, yet Jace had been fully prepared to take up the mantle of the People's Prince. Or so he had thought. Then, though, it had been the plan to secede Arden - heirless after Jasper's death. To take the throne now, would require far more cunning. Far more maneuvering. Arden had not been able to sway the council before his passing, and now, certainly, they would not budge. They were, in every way, Irin's men… and so long as that were true, Jace would never come to the throne by peaceful measure.

With Aeona at risk, his own concerns were abundant. Yet he could not let the people down. He would not let them suffer under the iron grip of the council's warmongering advisor, or worse yet, fall into the hands of another kingdom with little more than political hubris in mind.

Moving through the halls of Thorn Haven, his eyes roving across the many tapestries that lined the walls, he frowned in thought. He would need to rise, and soon... to make himself known. It would mean sacrifice, but for the home he loved, the people he loved, there was nothing the People's Prince would not do.

---

---

TAGS || @Mobley Eats, @Effervescent, @ze_kraken, @Bone2pick, @Quake

 

[ze_kraken]

Roymar

​

The fires seemed to outnumber the stars. Roymar the Tall had tried to count them from atop the central turret of Dornam Keep each night when the sun fell behind the waves, but each night left him with more, or less, fires than the night before. They flickered and shimmered in the dark, forming an orange-yellow haze that pulsed slowly into the night sky and casting it in a dim glow. He could just spot the masts of his ships down at the harbor, white sails beaming back both the light of the moon and the yellow glow of the fires.

How many men could fit to each campfire, Roymar wondered as he came to rest a rough, calloused hand against the nearest parapet of the turret. The stone was cool to the touch, roughly hewn, sturdy. Roymar pressed another hand against the parapet and leaned over the edge to glance at the courtyard of the keep below. His own fires flickered down below, and ruefully Roymar compared his count to the host behind his gates.

Four and twenty, I think, he mused to himself. How many does that make beyond these walls? Two hundred by last count, might be more tonight.

Still, despite the army looming beyond his gates, Roymar noted that the night was still in a way it had never been still in Crosham. No ships had moved from the harbor, no horses' hooves echoed from down below - no hussle, no bustle, no traders and merchants and bakers and blacksmiths. Why had it taken him days of siege to notice it? Dornam Keep was a ways off from the main city, that much Roymar had known since he was but a boy, but still the quiet unnerved him. All he heard atop the walls of the keep was the flapping and cracking of his banners in the wind and hushed voices of soldiers trying to break the oppressive silence themselves.

Lost in his thoughts, Roymar barely noticed when the sounds of hooves shattered the terse silence. At first he thought it a figment of his idle mind, some trick to ease his nerves. Only, his men had noticed the sounds as well.

"Rider approaching the western gate!" Shouted a watchman down below up to the tower upon which Roymar stood.

"Archers at the ready," Roymar barked back. "Knock your arrows, but hold steady! What banner does he fly?"

"The red serpent of the Bastard King, and a brown eagle," came the watchman's reply.

Roymar grunted curses under his breath as he ventured down the central turret and to the western gate. Islanders were raiders and warriors - they ploughed the waves and took what was theirs by force. They did not cower behind castle walls with bow and arrow, and they did not treat with pretender knights of the mainland. The walk from the turret to the gate was short enough, but still by the time Roymar arrived his men had been waiting, bows at the ready, for some time.

Below, cast in the yellow light of torches, stood a trio of riders. Their faces were obscured in shadows, but their banners were clear as day in the glare of the flames. The lead rider sat in his saddle impatiently, gloved hand brushing through his salt-and-pepper beard while the other passed thumb and forefinger atop the pommel of his sword. The man to his right held aloft a banner with the crowned serpent of the Serpent Isles, only its snake was ruby red instead of the forest green of the Valuoar family. To his left crackled a banner of an eagle with its talons outstretched in a striking pose.

"Are you in command here, sir?" Asked the lead rider in a clear, rich tone.

"Fuck your sir," Roymar said, spitting over the wall at the rider. "Your king sends me his mainland dog and all it knows is how to bark out empty courtesies. He keep your cage comfy for your spoiled mainland ass, huh dog?"

"Better to serve a man as a dog then to serve a boy as much the same," the rider below countered, unfazed by Roymar's insults. "Though you might notice my sigil is an eagle, and not a dog."

"Oh is it? Mistook it for a pigeon," Roymar countered. "Now tell me why I shouldn't prick you full of holes and see what a mutt's head looks like from atop of one these spikes behind me."

"Aye, you could, but then who else would you demonize? Oh I suppose you could hurl insults at your own kin, but they might be less understanding than me. Besides, I was told you were Roymar the Tall - a man of honor," the rider paused, adding. "Might be the tales are wrong - you look quite short from down here, and a man of honor would not shoot a man that comes before you in such a peaceful manner."

"Honor's reserved for my own kind, dog," Roymar said. "I've got no respect for mainlanders that come knocking at my gates and leave my ships to rot at anchor."

The rider removed the glove from his right hand and bared it to the torch light, showcasing a long, clean scar along the length of his palm. He stretched his fingers before clenching his fist and stretching the glove back on.

"I am bloodsworn through and through, same as you," he said. "I take it you know who I am already, given the insults you so unceremoniously leveled against me."

"Aye, and I've plenty more for the cunt waving your banner around - what's a man do to be called Serpent Slayer? You slice off a man's prick? Oh, no, I bet you like them, that's why your king keeps you so close - only reason I could see for a so-called islander to keep some knightly bedswerver in his service. Bet you slay his serpent every night, that I do."

"Well, do you want to shoot me or hear what I have to say? I must admit an arrow to the chest sounds far preferable to continuing to listen to your lips smack together."

"Go ahead and speak your piece, no promises I won't make a quillpin of you and your fellows after you're done," Roymar said.

"My king comes with offers of peace in exchange for Dornam Keep," the rider declared. "You will be left in control of Ardchester and raised to the king's council, and you and the lives of your men will be spared for your cooperation in dethroning the Godly King Gerrart the Third before he can doom you and your people to an age of incompetency and mockery helmed by boy kings with wheezy voices and arms weaker than a washer woman's."

"Your king's letter he sent said much of the same, and yet here I am with arrows raised and swords rallied in resistance, so what makes you think I want anything to do with your whoreson bastard king?"

"Because before my king's army arrived and laid siege to your keep, it was naught but words on paper that had come to persuade you and I understand you to be a man of action. Now, faced with the reality of the situation, I thought perhaps your mind might have changed. I think you'll find, as I have, that words rarely make as convincing an argument as the thought of a sword through your belly."

"Aye, though I wonder what color your entrails will be when I rend open yours, dog," Roymar barked. "Your words did not frighten me then, and your swords do not frighten me now. All I need to do is wait until ships from the Twins arrive within the fortnight and you and your bastard's traitors will be swept aside."

"That is true," the rider admitted. "Which is why, with the option of a bloodless seizure of your fortress now impossible, I wish you fortune on the morrow. We march on your fortress at dawn, and I swear it by the Nine it will be your head atop these walls come nightfall, not mine."

With that, the rider raised one hand and he and his companions twirled about on their horses and strode off into the darkness. Roymar gnashed his teeth as the sounds of hooves receded and left him once again with the crushing weight of that damned silence. He gazed out over the western gate to the fires dotting the hillside approaching Dornam Keep. Dornam Keep could withstand a siege with just 50 men, and Roymar had double that. Though food was dwindling, and there was scarce enough ale to be troublesome on lonely nights such as this, soon loyalists from the Twins would arrive and cast aside the pretender knight and his host.

Let them bash their heads against these walls, Roymar thought with a chuckle. Bloody their noses, wet their swords. Come sunset tomorrow, these walls will stand and I will have fresh corpses to hang from them to scare off the rest of those traitors.

Roymar approached a sentry to his right, who was laying down his bow and seating himself on a pile of empty crates he had arranged into a makeshift seat. The man straightened to attention at his approach, and Roymar waved aside the formality with a nonchalant hand.

"I want you keeping an eye on the harbor, tell the man after you to do the same, and the same for the man after that. If they take those ships to the rear of the fortress, I want to know it or else we're buggered."

"Aye," the sentry replied. "You think he's right, you think they'll take Durnam in a day?"

"It's never been done before, even by a Gerrart," Roymar huffed, chest puffing out. "My grandfather battered the first Gerrart's host against these walls for a fortnight before the food ran out and the men opened the gates. Four times he tried, and four times he was repelled off these walls. We have plenty of food to see us through until men from the Twins come to relieve us."

"Aye, I've heard as much," the sentry replied, shrugging. "But I know before Arthur came and rallied his men and you let him wander about the keep unfettered, I heard he spent his time hounding the wisemen and priests for details about the fortress' construction. Might be he knows something we don't."

"You'd do best to get your truths from better sources than whorehouse gossip, lad," Roymar snapped, causing the sentry to flinch. "Do you know where Arthur is right now? Fucking that priestess of his on a boat to Cain'loren or Bastillos or some other pissant mainlander shitpile - not here ready to lead his men through some back sewer he read about in a book or heard from some greybeard in robes."

The sentry's eyes drifted to Roymar's own beard, itself almost white with age. Roymar noticed and shoved the sentry off from atop his makeshift seat with a stern laugh. The man struggled to his feet, joining Roymar in laughter.

"Alright fine, might be I'm old, too, but still, best not to worry lad. We won't be lost to some mainlander lapdog knight - we're better than that, aren't we boy?"

The sentry nodded, and Roymar's gaze once again drifted out to the fires glittering along the hill.

"Fetch me one of those greybeards," Roymar said abruptly to the sentry. "Have him meet me in my chambers, I need to send word to Lady Adrianna."

"Not the king?"

"Let my business be my business, boy, now go," Roymar ushered him off, sparing one last glance to the army beyond the gates before heading back in the direction of the central keep.

By the time Roymar reached his chambers he was winded, his aged muscles aching from the strain of the keep's stairs. Where once he might have strode through Dornam Keep with vigor, his older age had robbed him of his fire. Perhaps the sentry had been right, and he was little more than just another greybeard.
He poured himself a mug of watered-down ale and seated himself by the narrow window overlooking the courtyard as he waited, examining his bed chambers. Like all things in Keep Dornam it was plain and unadorned - one might have been forgiven for thinking it was not a lord's quarters. A plain, wide bed sat in the center of the chamber lined in undyed woolen sheets. A writing desk - never used, for Roymar knew now how to read and write - sat opposite the bed. The table where Roymar sat by the window was big enough for two, and Roymar glanced over at the empty chair where once he might have broken his fast with his wife years ago overlooking the castle yard.

Perhaps I will be joining her on the morrow, he thought, interrupted from his waking dreams of meals shared with his wife by a knock on the door.

"Enter," croaked Roymar.

Monder Hyne hobbled through the doorway, leaning heavily on his walking stick as he looked at Roymar with piercing, inquisitive green eyes. He limped to the writing desk and produced a parchment and quill from its drawers, examining Roymar intently.

"You know from one old man to another how important slumber is," Monder chided.

"Aye, but we'll both be sleeping forever soon enough, might as well steal a few more wakeful hours yet," Roymar quipped back. "I need you to draft up a letter to Lady Adrianna."

"And her brother?" Monder asked, popping open an inkwell and dipping his pen into it and brushing aside the excess ink.

The noise grated on Roymar's ears, scratchy and rough in a manner that sent gooseprickles up his arms.

"No, just Adrianna," Roymar confirmed. "Write her that Dornam Keep is at last besieged by her traitor brother Arthur and that his prick Markus Heidell commands. Tell her I've called for aid from the Twins, and expect to withstand a siege until such time that they might come to our aid. Tell her they will assault the walls tomorrow, and that though it is unlikely, the fortress might yet fall."

For a moment all that could be heard was the scratching of Monder's quill along the parchment, but even that was not sufficient to drive off the overbearing silence Roymar still noted beyond the keep's walls. He bit his lip as Monder scribbled away, tapping his foot impatiently. Without so much as a word, Monder stood and fetched a candle from another drawer in the desk and a ball of wax. He lit the candle from the fire of a torch resting just outside the chamber's door and melted the wax, pressing Roymar's sigil - a pair of crossed swords over a sailing ship - into the wax seal that bound the letter together.

"Thank you, Monder," Roymar said, casting his attention back to the fires outside.

"It is my duty, I recall trying to teach your children how to read, and if you were anything like they were when my predecessor attempted it with you, I can see why you still rely on an aged man's hands and eyes."

Monder headed for the door, and Roymar stammered.

"Wait," he finally said.

Monder turned to face Roymar.

"Did you want me to send a letter to the king after all?"

"No, not that boy. Tell me..." Roymar began, letting the statement trail for a moment as he collected his thoughts. "When Arthur was here, when his talk of overthrowing Gerrart was just talk, did he ever consult you about finding holes in the keep's defenses?"

​

"Aye, that he did," Monder acknowledged with a bob of his head. "Found some scrolls from the architects of this very keep, you know he is quite the reader."

"And what did he find?"

"Well, he found plans and details of the construction of the keep - nothing more," Monder said. "No sewage ports, no secret passages to sneak ladies in and out. Not a thing, he was rather disappointed, I must say. Perhaps I should have known then what he intended to do, but then, it was just talk."

"Just talk," Roymar agreed. "So I should not expect to have my throat slit in my sleep and a red snake replace our green one over these walls?"

"No more than usual," Monder replied. "If that's all?"

"Aye, that's all, good night," Roymar said curtly.

"Oh I reason I won't be able to sleep again tonight," Monder said wistfully.

And as the greybeard left the room, Roymar knew, deep down, neither would he.

Markus

​

The approach to Dornam Keep was a simple one, but that did not make it any less treacherous when under the rain of arrows and burning pitch. Markus Heidell gazed out from the base of the hill upon which the keep stood overlooking the city of Crosham behind him. It was a gentle enough slope on its front, but beyond it rested a rocky cliff that was nigh impossible for even the most talented climbers to scale when resisted. Arrows docked the grassy hill in ones and twos, leftovers from his first scouting parties sent to probe the fortress for weaknesses. He spotted a handful of corpses as well, arrows protruding from their limp forms.

Thiles Amet stepped out from his tent and came to stand beside Markus, breath fogging in the chill air of the morning. Thiles was a short, stout man like many islanders with ginger hair tied back in a bun and a cleanly shaven face; like many islanders, he remained clean shaven as a beard gave an enemy a hand hold. In his right hand was clutched an iron half helm, in his left his sheathed sword and belt. He wore a plain cotton tunic displaying the red crowned serpent of Arthur over chainmail and a leather gambeson.

"You really think we're going to take her in a day?" He asked, gazing out over the blocky outline of Dornam in the light of the rising sun.

"We don't have much choice," Markus responded. "The longer we tarry here, the more likely it is that reinforcements from the Twins further south will smash us with nowhere to go but back to the ships and our cause will be lost. When they speak of Arthur, they will speak of how he tucked tail and ran away, and I won't give Roymar that honor as the one to break him."

"We don't have the men," Thile said, scratching his chin.

"No," Markus agreed. "We have three thousand men, and they have to manage up that slope and over those walls manned by about one hundred. Might be we can send some to the ships to loop around the rear cliff - it would be suicide to have them try and scale the cliffs, but archers atop the decks might divert attention from the front gates."

"Still nothing from the greybeard that took a liking to Arthur, then?"

"I think he will come through," Markus replied. "Monder has no love for Roymar or the boy king - aye he is old, but he has had weeks to spread dissent among Roymar's defenders."

Markus cast a glance to Thiles.

"Go on then, grab the banner and get the men on their feet. Have them ready in an hour, and send word to the harbor that it's time - have any among them with skill with bow and arrow atop the decks and send them behind the cliffs to harass them. Tell them to stay just within range - they are not to attempt to scale the cliffs."

By the time the men had rallied behind Markus and Thiles, the sun had cleared the ocean and hung just behind Dornam Keep, sun beaming down across the hill and directly into the Bastard King's host. Dornam had been built on a rise that forced attackers to stare directly into the sun during morning assaults - those that chose to wait until sunset lost valuable time to break through its defenses.

Islanders did not believe in rank-and-file tactics, a fact of which was obvious as Markus gazed over his ragtag army of bloodsworn and warriors clutching a mixture of sword and axe and spear. They had formed a long line stretching the width of the base of the hill, two or three rows deep. Try as he might, Markus had been unable to instill the discipline he had been accustomed to when fighting on the mainland in the islanders. Still, he supposed that ranks mattered not when assailing a fortress.

He eyed Thiles staring back at him expectantly, red serpent banner trailing in the wind. Best not to have tales of the mainlander raising his banner for this fight, Markus had reasoned after concluding bringing his own banner the night before had been a mistake.

They are waiting for me to say something, he realized.

It had been some time since Markus had helmed an army, and the motions felt unfamiliar like a new pair of gloves. He knew the shape well enough, but the leather tugged in ways unexpected but familiar.

"You all are here because you chose your king," Markus bellowed, casting his voice over the gathering of men. "You chose not to follow some sickly, wheezing boy that seeks to take away your gods, keep you tilling the fields sick and hungry, and leaves you to sit by the fire and yearn for the days of kings of old as told to you by some old has-been. It is true I am not one of your kin, but that matters not - what matters is the choice. Until a fortnight ago, all of this was naught but verbal pledges and pieces of paper and yet here we stand, steel raised, to take what is ours so I ask you - do you choose to win today?"

He was greeted with a raucous cheer as men lifted their swords and banged spears against shields.

"Tread lightly!" Thiles shouted, and the men repeated, chanting as they began to march towards Dornam Keep.

As they pressed forward, Markus could hear the shouts and orders from the men atop the walls and arrows began to whistle overhead accompanied by the resounding thunks as they found their marks. Some landed before the row of attackers, others sunk deep into shields, but a few buried themselves in throats, arms, and bellies. Men began to scream out in pain as the column marched forward, snapping what arrows had fallen short beneath their boots.

"Hold it steady lads!" Thiles shouted as the front line began to hesitate. "Don't let a couple twigs frighten you!"

The line continued to advance, arrows sailing down, picking off men with each pass. Markus strode beside his men, wooden shield raised high to block the shafts as they came again and again. He looked out over the hill and fought back frustration - their pace had been glacial, and there was still a ways to go until they were at the gates. The incline began to burn his calf muscles, and Markus could feel the weight of his armor and sword beginning to drag as he forged onward. Whenever he attempted to look more than a few feet directly in front of him his eyes were met with the piercing glare of the sun, sending him cowering back behind his shield.

"Where's your greybeard friend now?" Thiles asked, shield likewise raised in conjunction with the banner to protect himself.

"He'll follow through," Markus insisted.

He had to, or else he and his men were doomed.

What felt like hours passed as Markus pressed on, shouting encouragement to his men as they continued to scale the hill. Up above the shouts of concerned and confused defenders rang out, and Markus knew the skiffs had arrived. Shortly after the rain of arrows began to lessen, and before long he and his men had come within twenty paces of the gate.

"Where's Monder's men?" Thiles questioned, shirking as an arrow clattered off his shield and fell harmlessly to the ground.

"Give it a moment," Markus responded, gazing hopefully up at the walls.

It would not be long before they were within range for stones and burning oil. Markus prayed to what gods there were that soon there would be confusion and clashing atop the walls. The pace of the line slowed to a crawl, those twenty paces dwindling into nineteen, then eighteen, then seventeen. Markus could hear men overhead calling to ready the pitch, and he readied his shield in the hopes to abate enough of the flow to keep the hot pitch from melting through the skin and bone of his face.

Then the shouts and orders to ready the pitch became screams and calls of alarm. Markus spared an unshielded look up to the walls to see men being tossed over, throats cut ruby red and trickling blood down below. They collapsed to the ground and he could hear the gates beginning to grind open. Thiles hooted with joy, and the men followed close behind, jeering and shouting their victory. As the gates opened just enough to let through a few men standing shoulder to shoulder, Markus cast aside his shield and drew his hand-and-a-half sword.

The wave surged forth, crashing through the gates with a series of shouts and roars and hoots of triumph. Markus and Thiles were first through the breach, cutting down what few soldiers stood in their way. In the confusion, the archers atop the walls had not yet wheeled about and Markus rushed alongside a handful of men up the walls to clear them. The clanging of steel rang out along the courtyard, interspersed with the shouts of the wounded and dying. Before long it was over: what survivors there were laying down their arms or otherwise turning on their comrades.

"See to the wounded," Markus instructed one of his lieutenants. "Start seizing the walls and organizing the men outside the walls, and get someone to call off the skiffs - you."

He turned to a survivor held at spearpoint, hands clasped to his head and resting on his knees.

"Where's Roymar?" Markus spat.

"He's in the keep," he replied. "Tended to the cliffs out back and then withdrew once some of the men turned cloak."

He spat at Markus' feet.

"Fuck you and your king," said the survivor.

"Mount this one's head on the walls first," Markus said, unamused. "We'll make sure to leave a spike empty next to his for Roymar. Thiles?"

His bloodsworn brother stepped forward, still holding aloft his red serpent banner with pride.

"Get that banner atop the keep, but follow me first - I need another good sword by me to take Roymar."

Thiles acknowledged and followed Markus into the keep and up its winding central staircase up to the lord's chambers. Markus could recall every detail from the keep during his time as Arthur's ward, and then his sworn shield in the following year. He found the doors to be barred from within. He waited for Thiles to return with more men, hefting heavy axes. They began to chip away at the door with methodical, heavy blows, sending the ringing and thunking of steel digging into wood. Minutes passed, Markus tapping his foot impatiently against the stone floor.

The doors collapsed in enough for Markus to spy Roymar gazing through the window that overlooked the castle's courtyard with steel in hand. A few more blows and it was done, the door and its splinters lining the hallway with their debris. The larger chunks of wood snapped and cracked underfoot as Markus and Thiles crossed the threshold brandishing their swords. Roymar turned to face them, hefting his two-handed axe that dripped crimson onto the floor. Along the writing desk flush with the left-hand wall sat Monder, his chest rent open and entrails spilling out against the stone floor.

"Suppose you're going to lecture me about honor, aren't you dog?" Roymar questioned, taking a lumbering step towards Markus.

Markus backpedaled, raising his sword to a readier stance, clutching it in both hands as Roymar approached.

"What? Afraid you might let an old man cleave you in half like I almost did him?" Roymar teased, nudging his axe towards Monder's corpse. "Thought you mainland lot were all knightly courage and virtue, guess you're nothing but a pissant, prick-sucking-"

Markus darted forward quick as a snake, steel flashing in the faint light of day filtering through the window. He was met with the clanging of steel and a tingling jolt up to his elbows as Roymar parried the blow. For a moment the two were thrown off balance, Markus by the parry and Roymar by the weight of his unwieldy weapon.

"They teach you that in fancy lad school, did they? Come on, hit me," Roymar taunted. "Show me why they call you Serpent Slayer."

Roymar was met with a glower and Markus shifted his weight to his left foot before lunging forward again to deliver a piercing thrust to Roymar's torso. Again the man cast aside the blow, knocking Markus' weapon and arms to the left before harnessing the motion to swing back with the biting edge of his axe. Sword came to meet axe in an instant as Markus collected himself, swinging about to face Roymar head-on again. Roymar grinned and with a quick flick of his wrist hooked Markus' blade with the curve of his axe and cast it aside, wrenching it from Markus' grip.

Left with little choice, Markus fished his dagger from its sheath at his side and charged Roymar, shouldering aside his left arm as he came to ready his axe for another swing. Now too close for the unwieldy length of Roymar's axe, Markus lashed out with his knife, slicing deep into the man's unarmored thighs. He felt the tug of leather and flesh give way as Roymar grunted in pain and collapsed to one knee. Markus seized the opportunity and fished his knife from the big man's thigh, free hand clenching the fingers wrapped around the axe hilt to keep it at bay as he delivered a swift cut to the man's now-exposed throat.

Roymar collapsed to the floor as blood sprayed out from his throat and came to fill his mouth, dripping from the corners of his mouth. He lay on the floor, coughing and spluttering as he looked up at Markus, looming over him with bloody knife in hand.

"Fuck...you…" Roymar managed to breath out before going limp, eyes glossing over and fading as blood continued to spill from his barely parted lips.

"Someone fetch a bird," Markus said, kicking aside Roymar's body as he went to fetch his sword. "Send word to every lord and every holdfast in the isles - Crosham is ours."

Arthur

​

Arthur could still remember the first time he left the isles. He had been no older than five, he recalled, and had excitedly hurried to his father's ship atop the shoulders of Rorius as his uncle explained everything about the ship from the stern to prow. It had not been a large ship, but to a boy of five it had been grander than any other vessel from the mightiest of capital ships to the more luxurious pleasure barges. As Arthur prowled the deck of Seawolf he gazed upwards to its mast, seeing the phantom image of his young self scaling the mast to act as lookout for his father, a role he took with pride. Not that they had any cause for worry, he had learned much later: the ship had departed on a routine voyage to visit with lords, and Arthur had not yet realized that when taking to the open seas it was the mainlanders that kept an eye out for any ship flying a serpent banner and not the other way around.

The sea mist sprayed up and over the deck with a familiar chill that brought to Arthur memories of his childhood and the excitement of that first voyage during raiding season. Only, he had not set sail to bring ruin and dismay to the mainland. Not this day. Seawolf carried with her not warriors but ambassadors and administrators, ones who had been purged from King Gerrart III's court and the lesser courts of loyalists to the crown. The true Sons of Velvulia, Arthur had called them. They would be the ones history favored - they would not only spare the soul of the Serpent Isles but reinstill the power and might of old.

But no man rules alone, Arthur mouthed the words silently to himself as he stood at the prow of Seawolf and admired the open sea. None more so than kings.

His father had been fond of the saying, chiding him as a boy when he dismissed the need for the aid of others. The habit had persisted into Arthur's adulthood, the boy-now-man preferring to leave all matters to himself but unusual circumstances had a habit themselves of yielding unusual behaviors. The Nine had a cruel sense of irony, Arthur supposed, for it was now Arthur - one for seizing unilateral and unquestioned command - who was forced to consult others. And not just in the mundane day to day sense of letting the bean counters count their beans in peace, no. Arthur set sail now to the mainland to ask for the support of mainlanders in what was an islander's problem.

Raiders and pillagers we might be, but why is it so? Arthur had reasoned. Ours is a piss-poor land, and our ancestors spent centuries killing one another and decided that killing and stealing was all there is. Aye, the raiding season is prosperous, but our people starve in the autumn and winter months and dream of spring and summer's arrival, famished arms holding aloft crude iron swords for the quest for a belly full of ale and grain from some farmer's land out east.

There needed to be more voyages like Arthur's first one as a boy - ones that ended in peaceful talks and competent administration, not blood and fire. Islanders and mainlanders, the label made no difference - the simple truth was they had food and metals and land and his people did not. Let the old gulls squabble and squawk and conjure stories of the Salt Kings of old, Arthur knew, as his father and grandfather had, that it was time the islanders changed their ways.

Change our ways, but not in the way the boy king wants, Arthur corrected himself. In a way that inspires respect and a strong culture, not washes away history and leaves us mocked.

"Land ahoy!"

Arthur snapped to attention and scanned the horizon, spotting the hazy outline of land off the starboard side well off in the distance. Cain'loren. More than Thornwild, when islanders spoke of mainlanders in generalization it was the likes of those in Cain'loren they stereotyped. Haughty, weak-willed, and small. All of those words would need to change if Arthur was to be successful in seeking an audience with the nobility of Cain'loren, many of which had nothing but reason to hate him and his kin. Athur himself had raided the countryside of the country, a fact he was sure would not be lost on any noble he was like to encounter.

Around Arthur, the ship began to bustle with new life. Crew manned their stations and Arthur felt the ship begin to turn towards the land, the arc of the turn almost imperceptible to all but the trained eye and foot. It was a gentle tug to the right, a suggestion of movement.

"Oie! Vincent!" Arthur called out as he spotted his Bloodsworn coming up from below deck.

"Oie Arthur!" He returned, approaching the king in plain tunic and trousers, his sword at his side and his blonde hair rippling freely in the sea breeze.

"We're approaching land," Arthur said. "Might be a day's voyage more before we arrive on the mainland - how are the food stores? It might be some time before we arrive in Cain'loren proper and I want enough provisions to see us through."

"Might be we have a week of provisions left," Vincent said. "We brought enough gold in the coffers to replenish in Cain'loren."

"Ah, paying for goods with stolen gold," Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "I wonder how they'll take that."

Vincent shrugged.

"Then I suppose they'll be happy to have it back," Vincent said with a wry smile.

"Aye, might be so," Arthur agreed. "Have you seen Sabeth?"

"Still in the captain's quarters, says she wishes not to be disturbed, something about some ritual or reading," Vincent replied. "Seemed important, but then, she has a habit of making everything seem important."

"That she does - I'll see you in a moment," Arthur said, leaving Vincent to help prepare the ship for landfall and heading to the captain's quarters above deck. "Remind the helm we're headed for Lydel, and make sure that below the crowned serpent flag is a white one as well. I don't want a garrison rallied to meet us at port if I can help it."

"What a way to go," Vincent mused aloud. "Butchered at port during perhaps the only time an islander landed in Cain'loren without a sword in his hand."

Arthur gently pushed the door to the quarters open. Inside it was dark, save the light of day protruding from the rear portholes. It shone through in narrow beams, casting circular patches of light along the floor and highlighting loose-floating dust in the air. A lone table rested before a bench fixed into the wall by the portholes upon which Sabeth sat, texts splayed out before her along the table.

Hers was a harsh figure, all sinew and barely a trace of softness about her. Her cheeks were framed by high cheekbones, and her jaw seemed to be chiseled from stone. Piercing blue eyes, an otherworldly icy gaze that might have come to life from the fishwife tales of draugrs, met Arthur before softening at their corners as thin red lips upturned into a wide smile that spread its warmth along the hard edges of the woman's face.

"I was wondering when you might spare me a visit, it's been so long," Sabeth said, tone low and rich, her lips curling with a slight lisp.

"Said as if we have not been bound together at the hip upon a ship with nowhere else to go," Arthur countered, seating himself upon the bed and unbuckling his sword.

"I suppose we have been bound by our hips after a fashion, that much is true," Sabeth replied with a twinkle of mischief flashing across her eyes. "I've been reading some texts from Cain'loren about this god your little brother has come to love so much."

"Why waste time with the ramblings of a mainland god that a sickly little boy has come to love?" Arthur asked, giving Sabeth an inquisitive stare. "Might not it also be heresy for a priestess of the Nine to read such?"

"Tell me, when you draft battle plans, do you do so blindly because to know of your enemy would be dishonorable?" Sabeth asked, eyes hardening to steely points.

Arthur hesitated.

"I thought not," she huffed. "That'd make you a fucking dolt, so let me learn a thing or two so you don't insult your new highborn friends."

"You'd do well to remember I'm still your king," Arthur quipped back, lips tugging up in a rare smirk.

"Hah!" Sabeth let out a raspy bark of laughter. "On last recollection it's that little runt Gerrart that still sits atop the Salt Throne and not you, though you make for a dashing figure in a crown. I bet all the mainland ladies will swoon over you - you've even started dressing like their lords."

She gestured to Arthur's garb. He wore a well-spun tunic of wool and cotton, his sigil stitched into the emblem of a shield at its center. His cream-colored trousers were tucked into fine leather boots, and though he wore no sword, his belt rested comfortably along his waist and was tinged in gold detailing.

It was a stark contrast to Sabeth, herself in a plain woolen tunic and roughspun trousers over which she wore her usual undyed robe, the hood resting beneath her red locks of hair that lay in a mass of tumbled curls along the sides of her face. Arthur was not sure how, but it seemed that her hair simultaneously retained its curls while always looking as if Sabeth had just emerged from the sea. Her hair was not so much ginger as it was a dark amber brown, and the strands of hair always looked to be thin and halfway limp as if weighed down by water. Despite that fact, Sabeth somehow retained her hair's volume and it was light and soft to the touch.

"We'll be making landfall in Lydel soon, likely on the morrow," Arthur said, abruptly changing subject.

"Oh, welcome news, I must say," Sabeth said, closing the books atop the table as she spoke. "It has been some time since I stepped upon the mainland."

"You've been to the mainland before?" Arthur asked, perking up with interest.

"When I was sixteen I went round about Taog," she said. "The swamp devils make for easy pickings, if they aren't lurking about in the bogs. One shot me through with an arrow."

"I was wondering where that scar had come from," Arthur remarked, envisioning the wound - just below her left breast, through her side. "It was a glancing shot, was it not?"

"Aye, and I'm lucky they didn't smear shit or anything else in it, else I might have died twice."

The way in which she said it sent chills down Arthur's spine - her words carried with them the weight of fate and prophecy.

"Twice?" He asked. "Surely you don't mean you actually died when your ship went aground."

"I do," Sabeth said. "First it was the waves that claimed me - I'm different than I was before, the waves whisper to me even now and I hear the thrumming of the chords of the Nine as clear as I might a lyre by the hearth of a tavern. Sabeth the farmer's girl was living half a life, and it took her death to make me. To send me to my destiny."

"And what might that be?" Arthur asked intently.
"The waves usher me towards it as we speak, and I hear their instructions as might the man at the helm of a ship heeds your orders," Sabeth said.

"And tell me, what do these waves impart on you?" Arthur questioned.

"What they've always told me." Her eyes came to rest upon Arthur's, and he swore he saw them flicker and glow as she spoke. "The man I lay with, born of bastard blood and salt, shall be king and the child I bear him will unite not just the isles but the known world as well."

"Seems we should see to making that happen, then," Arthur said, with a smile breaking through his stoney face. "Put those tomes aside and come tell me exactly what those waves have whispered in your ear…"

Adrianna

​

It felt good to once again lay feet upon solid ground, Adrianna thought as she disembarked from the Tynwald and watched as Sir Robert and a handful of her other Bloodsworn followed behind. Old though he was, Robert walked deftly down the gangplank clutching the reins of two horses in his right hand. Her Bloodsworn were likewise encumbered, hefting aside their own mounts. She had wondered where Robert had managed to find so many horses with such little notice, but the thought of riding on horseback through the mainland excited her too much to care.

If only it were under better circumstances, she thought bitterly. Fleeing would-be assassins or your war-hungry bastard brother do not make for good adventures.

"How are you faring, my lady?" Robert asked.

My lady. Even after knowing Robert her whole life, Adrianna relished the way those two words rang upon her ears. Formalities were scarce on the Serpent Isles; not even her father had been called "my king" or "your grace", but yet here Robert was with all the chivalry of mainland knights Adrianna had read about as a girl. Adrianna supposed it might make her less of an islander to delight in being called "my lady" by a knight, but then when one brother seemed totally unequipped to rule and the other had embroiled the islands into civil war trivial matters like what she preferred to be called seemed unimportant by comparison.

Besides, I'm no longer on the isles, she reminded herself.

"Better now," she said. "I'm afraid I don't fare well aboard ships for too long - I suppose it's because I was left with the seamstresses while Arthur was taught how to handle a ship and Gerrart ran around the yard with a wooden sword losing to the bigger boys."

"Ah well if it's any consolation," Robert said with a wink. "I imagine you might still be able to best Gerrart with a wooden sword."

"I trust you to know, sir," Adrianna giggled.

Robert aided Adrianna atop her horse - a chestnut-colored mare, well-tempered and well-groomed. It snorted and shuffled its mane as Adrianna settled herself into the saddle. They had dressed her in commoner's garb, the same with Sir Robert though his armor had been stowed away in the packs the last horse to leave the gangplank hefted. The trousers she wore felt oddly freeing, and she was thankful to have full control of her legs without fear of embarrassment but she longed to put on one of her gowns they had hidden among their other supplies. When they had left, there was no mistaking Adrianna for a noble - trousers and tunic or otherwise - but now she was dirty from her travel aboard the Tynwald and her hair was matted and tied back into a bun to keep it out of her face.

"Do you still remember how to ride?" Robert asked, keeping a steady hand on the reins as Adrianna grew accustomed to the horse.

"I haven't forgotten your lessons, sir," she said with a small smile.

"Good, give me a moment, I won't be long," the aged knight replied, striding back up the gangplank with remarkable gusto for a man of over 50 years and to the deckhands waiting expectantly atop the ship.

Waiting to be paid, Adrianna realized. Though I suppose that makes sense, they are a merchant ship from the mainland.

Fleeing Ardchester aboard a vessel maintained by the royal fleet, or otherwise in the employ of the Valuoar family would have been too suspicious, Robert had said. Instead they had taken the horses from Ardchester down to the port of Barrowtown and chartered a merchant to ferry them to the northern shore of Thornwild on his return voyage. Usually merchants feared the islanders, renouncing them as pirates and thieves, but every so often one braved the isles to sell off their wares from the mainland to the often starving and desperate laborers along the coast. Fate had smiled upon them, it seemed. At least, Robert had said as much.

Robert returned from paying the merchants their fee for their safe arrival and mounted the horse beside Adrianna. She owed the old knight so much, she thought as she examined him. Even dressed as a common soldier he carried with him an air of nobility and poise. He had been the first to say Adrianna should leave after receiving Roymar's letter from Crosham. The fortress was doomed, he said. Too many were conspiring with Arthur to know for sure who were loyalists and who were not, and he had doubted even the intentions of Rorius. Adrianna had gone along with his plan to ferry her to safety, having no reason to doubt him, but she was feeling rather lost now that the threat of imminent death was gone for the time being.

"So where to, sir?" She asked, trailing her horse by Robert's as he ushered it into a trot.

"There is a holdfast not so far from here," Robert said, waving for the other Bloodsworn to follow behind. "At most half a day's ride - the family there is bound to mine by marriage. My sister, as it so happens. With the king of Thornwild dead, and no guarantees to the continuation of political ties in this country, it's doubtful we can rely on much other than her and her own. We will be safe there, for a time. But it likely is no longer a secret that the princess of the Valuoar family has fled, so doubtless Arthur will seek you."

"Why would he do that?" Adrianna asked, perplexed. "Arthur and I have always gotten along, whatever his qualms with Gerrart are."

"Because you are a threat. Gerrart is as good as dead, I'm afraid, but you - the people love you," Robert explained. "The ones that matter, anyways. It was you, my lady, ruling the kingdom in the midst of Gerrart's incompetence. Why is it, you think, that Roymar the Tall sent news of Corsham to you and not to Gerrart? So long as you draw breath, and are a legitimate heir, you will be a threat to Arthur and Arthur takes no half measures."

"Would I were born a man..." Adrianna huffed. "Gerrart never would have been crowned king, or otherwise I would have been able to stand up to Arthur. It would have been me in the castle yard drilling with a wooden sword first, not Gerrart."

"There is still time to learn to use a blade, if it please my lady," Robert said, halfway amused at Adrianna's remark. "I may be old but I have a little fight left in me still."

"Perhaps," Adrianna said flatly. "Though it seems now I am best suited to find some mainlander to wed and live out my days bringing his children into the world. The time of my life to rule has long faded."

The group veered off from the coast and on to a flattened dirt trail that led into a light forest, sunshine sinking down through the canopies. For a moment the only sounds to break the silence were the tromping of horses' hooves on tamped, dry earth and the chirping of birds overhead among the branches of the trees. They were verdant and lush, Adrianna noted. Not like any tree she had seen in the isles - they had all been stunted and pale. These were a bright, bold green that spoke of ample rain and sunshine and the soil below looked to be rich and fertile.

Perhaps being some lord's wife here would not be so bad, she mused just as Robert cleared his throat. The trees are so green, and the warmth of the sun is a welcome change from the grey.

"I would not be so sure - you are still young," he said as they took a turn down the forest trail, the coastline receding behind them. "And though it is true that men here value women for their ability to make heirs and tend to the household, your name holds value. You are a Valouar, a legitimate heir to the Serpent Isles. It is also true that your lands are not rich in resources, but they are rich in people and are strategically important in controlling trade along the coast of Ellemar. You may find a lord or king or prince on the mainland willing to take you on and help you reclaim what should be yours."

"I'm no queen, and I don't think I'm even a princess anymore," Adrianna retorted, laughing off the suggestion that she retake the islands. "I have no army, and my father always loved Arthur more - he wanted him to be king."

"True as that may be, your father is dead and Arthur might yet still drive your lands into ruin. Arthur is true steel, aye, like his grandfather - but steel is only good for one thing: fighting. Leave it to hang upon a wall and it will rust. He has rallied the lords in fear of Gerrart and his sickly body and strange new god. Let him batter himself on the islands subduing the lords and weaken his host. Let him even start to venture into the mainland if he likes - once he saps himself of his strength, it will leave you all the more able to dispose of him and return the isles to stability after a fashion."

Adrianna gnawed at her lower lip uneasily as she considered it. Was she truly willing to put herself through such hardship at the mere chance that she, a deposed ruler and a girl besides, might one day rule? The thought had tempted her, and she had fond memories of her time at court in Ardchester but there had always been the security that if all else failed there was Gerrart to rest final blame upon. Being the sole leader, the lone actor upon the stage, unnerved her.

"Think on it, my lady," Robert said, noticing her palpable hesitation. "I only say it because I know you to be an honest and true leader, and one with the proper name to rule. My sword is yours regardless if you decide to retire to a life of peace on the mainland or choose to take back what should by rights be yours."

The two fell silent, and remained so for much of their journey. By the time the holdfast Robert had described had come into view, the sun was beginning to set in the west. Their way had been largely forested, but had given way to softly rolling hills, atop which a lonely holdfast overlooking a narrow curving river that glittered yellow-orange in the fading sunlight. Never before had Adrianna seen such a wide expanse of lush green grass, or felt the breeze tinged with warmth like she did as the trees parted. She took in a deep, longing breath of the warm air and smiled. Already she was loving the mainland in a way she had never expected to just days before - she had dreaded her coming, and though the weight of Robert's words earlier hung heavy across her shoulders the joy of sitting atop a horse in such a climate eased her troubled mind if even for the briefest of instants.

It is beautiful, but it will never be mine, she thought as they rode through the hilly trail to the holdfast. It is warm, but it is an unfamiliar warmth. I am an islander, and that means salt, iron, and cold no matter where I might be or what title I go by.

"Sir Robert," Adrianna said abruptly, halting her horse.

As if to protest, the animal whinnied and flicked its tail as Robert urged his horse to a halt as well, her other Bloodsworn ceasing without command.

"What is it, my lady? Are you tired? The way is not too much longer, and there awaits proper beds."

"As delightful as that sounds, no, I am fine," Adrianna said. "Tell me - does your sister have birds with which to send messages?"

Light flickered behind Robert's eyes, and Adrianna knew he anticipated what she had to say next.

"Aye, should be she does," he replied.

"Good," Adrianna said. "On the morrow we shall use them all to send to as many lords, princes, kings, and rulers by any other titles we can find - I wish to take my home back from those who would try to despoil it."

"Then it shall be so, my lady, come - let us not tarry long here."

 

[Quake]

Kasai, The Royal Capital of Nara // The Royal Palace​

---

Nara Kaji:
Royal Prince of Nara ~ Imperial Regent to the Emperor ~ Prince Kaji the Wise
​

Seated on a wooden stool in his private garden, Nara Kaji's mind roamed freely; the gentle tapping of the nearby bamboo fountain flooding the atmosphere with rhythmic taps. It had been a long morning, and the young boy was using the precious moments of quiet to reset himself.

"Y-You're Highness," a voice squeaked out from a shy servant girl peeking through the sliding doors that separated the garden from the rest of the castle. "Forgive the intrusion, but the Emperor has requested your presence."

The young prince nodded, rising from his seat. "Of course. I will see him at once. Thank you, Mei." The servant smiled and bowed politely, leaving the prince to himself. Adjusting his kimono, the boy prince hummed quietly to himself as he exited the garden. After crossing the courtyard and entering the eastern wing, the prince found himself at his father's bedchambers. With a soft knock, Kaji entered and quietly approached the foot of the bed, dropping to one knee when he heard his father beginning to stir.

"Your Majesty. You summoned me."

"Kaji…? Is that you?" Emperor Nara croaked out, his voice a low rasp. "Thank you for coming so soon." Waving his hands to the guards in the room, the emperor fought to sit up in his bed. "Leave us." He ordered the attendees. "Let me speak with my son."

Guards and servants filed out of the room, and soon only Kaji and his father remained. "Rise, boy." Emperor Mikoto instructed, pointing towards a seat near his desk. "Grab that chair, and take a seat by my side." Kaji did as he was told, and soon he and his father were face to face for their evening talk.

"Have Xian and Qi left yet?" the Emperor asked.

"Yes, father. Three days ago. They would have made it to Etsuya last night, spent the day gathering preparations, and are likely leaving the Wall today."

"Mmm, I see. For all the time I spend in this bed, the days do seem to blend together." The Emperor cleared his throat, spitting a mixture of blood and saliva into a bucket by the head of his bed. "And how-" the elderly man erupted into a coughing fit, and was immediately presented with some water by his son. "Blasted cough!" He grumbled, taking a sip from the glass.

"Please, father. You need to rest. We can talk some other time-"

"Kaji, please. Sickness is a part of health. I've been sick before, and I'll be sick again. I'm not going to be bested by some foolish illness, and I don't need you worrying about me now that you are entrusted with my duties! Am I clear?" Kaji nodded in silence, and the Emperor thought that perhaps he was being insensitive to his son's feelings. Placing a gentle hand on Kaji's shoulder, the Emperor smiled sadly. "Ah, I see the ruler is speaking again, instead of the father. Forgive me, my son. I fear I worry too much nowadays, particularly with all this free time I suddenly have."

"It is our job to worry; so that others may be at peace. Or so brother Xian says." Kaji replied, reminded of the last lecture he had received from his brother mere days ago.

Emperor Mikoto laughed, his eyes lighting up with glee for the first time that day. "Yes, I suppose Xian speaks some truth. But you know your brother. He wishes to be prepared for everything; to know every detail of every action: incoming or outgoing. To never be surprised." Mikoto chuckled, taking another sip of his water. "There is a difference between being prepared and wanting to control everything, and that is something he has yet to learn. But perhaps he will learn it on his journey. Now tell me, how have you been? How are the people? What is going on with the court? The Kingdom? Is old man Baji still trying to rip money off the fisherman's union?"

Kaji soaked in his father's words, taking it all to heart. The Emperor was a kind father, a beloved ruler, and a respected leader. Even in sickness, Emperor Mikoto was never one to shirk his duties. The young prince remembered how much they had argued before he had gotten his father to take a step back from his duties and devote his time to his health. The hardest part had been convincing his father that he could take care of the people's needs. And yet for the past three days, Kaji had sacrificed sleep and sanity to meet the demands of his new position as Imperial Regent.

After briefing his father on the events of the past days, Kaji noticed his father struggling to stay awake. His body was still weak, and it was clear he needed more rest. Rising silently from his seat, the young prince tucked his father in, pouring him another glass of water for his nightstand and motioning for the servants to return to his room. "Goodnight father," he whispered, shutting the doors behind him as he left.

Upon exiting the Emperor's bedchambers, The Regent was immediately greeted by a young steward of the castle named Ubo. A boy of only eight, Ubo was the son of a lord of Hiroi and had been serving the crown for a mere year as both messenger and vassal for the young prince before his promotion. Upon seeing him, Kaji grinned, ruffling the boy's hair playfully.

"Your highness!" The boy bowed an exaggerated amount that made Kaji laugh. "I was told to inform you that the preparations for the visiting princess and her vassals has been completed."

Kaji nodded, fixing his vassal's hair back to its original state. "Very good. I trust everything to be in proper order, but inform the servants to make sure it's perfect. They know what is expected of them, but I want no mistakes for this. As a matter of fact, I'm going to entrust you with making sure everything is perfect! Do you think you can do that for me, Ubo?"

Ubo nodded emphatically, clearly excited for his new responsibility. "Yes, your highness! You can count on me!" Kaji attempted to say something else, but the boy had already gone scampering down the imperial hallways towards the Southern Wing where the guest chambers were located. "That boy..." the prince groaned, shaking his head. He would have to share another talk with him about the etiquette of the castle. One couldn't simply have a wild boy running through the castle halls all hours of the day.

"Prince Kaji."

"Hmm?" Kaji's attention was turned towards a man in purple robes that had appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "Ah, Elder Cho. I did not expect to see you at a time like this. I figured most of the court had already left."

The elder man shook his head. "I realize it is getting late, but this could not wait. The proposal that Elder Koa brought forth-"

"Yes? What about it?" The young prince could tell where this conversation was heading.

"You were the deciding vote, and you chose to repeal it! Many of us on the council do not understand why. The profits we are making for the clay mined at Dakiri are exceptional, but with the reworked scheduling we could nearly double the output! Did you not realize that?"

Kaji studied the elder man for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Elder Cho. I read the proposal very carefully. And while everything you said was true, did you notice that the time changes reduced the amount of time the miners had off? We would effectively trade coin for quality of life...Is that something you are satisfied with?"

"Well no, but-"

"But nothing. Elder Cho, I recognize that you are doing what you believe is best for the economy and surely not because it would line your pockets with even more gold. However, what is best for the treasury is not always what is best for the people. Do you disagree?"

"Now see here-"

"If you do not disagree then you understand why I turned down the proposal. The people come first, as they always have. You know this as well as I do. It is not a hard concept to grasp. Now, is there something else I can help you with this fine evening? Or will that be all?"

The elder man stood in stunned silence, a mixture of anger and shock clearly spread across his reddening face. "That..that will be all."

"Very good. Now if you will excuse me, I have other matters I must see too, but I will be in the throne room if you require further assistance. The night is long, and I fear my work is only beginning." Prince Kaji turned and headed down the hall before stopping in his tracks. "Oh, and Elder Cho? Council matters are discussed amongst the council. That is the entire point of having a council in the first place. If you wish to bring up your complaints regarding these matters with me again, they will be in front of the entire court. I am not one for backdoor dealings and secret meetings. Is this understood?"

The elder nodded and left. Had Kaji been a couple steps closer, he would have heard the man offer up a few choice words under his breath before departure, but none of it mattered to the young prince. He could not lead properly and make everyone happy at the same time. Instead, he could only follow in the footsteps of his father.

~

Etsuya, The Border City // Outside the Wall of the Fathers​

---

Nara Xian // Nara Qi
High Prince of Nara ~ The Fabled Prince of Silver
High Prinecss of Nara ~ The Unrivaled Blade of Nara ~ Qi the Peerless​

"So, here we are." The High Prince Nara Xian and High Princess Nara Qi sat atop their horses in shared silence, gazing down at the sloped paths that lead out of the Royal Kingdom. Over the past two days the siblings had traveled together to the border, but from here onward they would be taking separate paths.

"Indeed." Nara Qi clenched the reins of her horse tightly, rubbing it's coarse leather with her thumbs. It was finally time. "We have known our whole lives that this day would come, and yet it seems strange that it's finally here, does it not?"

"It does. I always imagined this day as a child, but perhaps not under the current circumstances." Xian commented, and the pair sat together for some time, enjoying the kind breeze and watching the sun slowly begin to set. After a while, the High Princess broke the quiet.

"Are you afraid, Xian? Of this journey? Of what we must do?"

"No, of course not," the prince laughed, before recognizing his sister's serious attitude towards the topic. "Well, i mean...You know me. I worry. For you, and brother Kaji. What we are doing is an honorable undertaking, and yet now I fear we have it the easiest. Kaji is but a boy placed in a man's boots." Xian spoke of the young prince who had been left to manage state affairs in their absence. "He is kind, easily influenced and soft. You know how the court can be. I do not know how he will manage."

The princess smiled sweetly, knowing all too well her brother's tendencies to overreact. "Xian," Nara Qi squeezed her brother's arm in a reassuring manner; her voice a soothing tune. "...Kaji is wise beyond his years. Far more intelligent than we were at his age. Besides he has been father's advisor for the past two years already. He knows the nobles; how they act, how they move, their desires. He is thoughtful that way."

"I don't disagree, but he has never commanded the court. Not the way our father has. It is a different animal altogether."

"And yet between the three of us, would you pick someone else to take his place? We all have our areas of expertise, and politics and money have always been his. Trust him, Xian. He loves father and this kingdom as much as we do! He will not fail it."

Xian nodded, reluctantly accepting his sister's advice. "You are right, as usual. I suppose that means I only have you to worry about then," the prince teased.

Qi smirked. "You jest! Stormsinger will keep me safe." The princess glanced towards the sheathed blade on her hip. "Besides, I'm not traveling with an entire army like you are! Garnering all that unnecessary attention; where are you heading anyways?"

"Bastillos," the prince replied. " A letter of my arrival was sent about a month ago.They are a trade empire like ours, and forming a positive relationship with them while learning their mercantile ways can only benefit us."

"And that is why you have an entire rear guard with you?" Qi motioned towards the group of soldiers stationed behind a series of chariots. "If I didn't know better i'd think you were off to war."

Xian laughed. "It is merely for show, dear sister. Most of the possessions we carry are gifts for those we visit. Coin is the key to a king's heart, after all."

"Right," the princess rolled her eyes. "Well, when I arrive at Cain'Loren, I'll make sure to tell them that they're in fact not under siege from the high prince, and instead he's only traveled all this way to bribe them with gifts so they'll like him!" Qi giggled at the thought.

"Cain'Loren?" Xian ignored his sister's joke completely. "This is the first I am hearing of it. What resides there?"

"Nothing to concern yourself with," Qi smiled, thinking of the letter she had sent off a few weeks prior. "It's simply a small detour before I head south towards Totaris. I hear the warriors there are quite formidable. I'm sure to find a worthy challenge there. Now forgive me, but the sun will be down before much longer. We should be on our way."

Xian nodded. "Yes, you are correct. But before we depart; a gift for you." The prince reached from his possessions on his horse, presenting Qi with a rectangular shaped gift cloaked in a maroon cloth of silver and satin. "May it protect you wherever you go." The prince would wait patiently for the princess to unveil her gift before asking his sister's thoughts on it.

Qi took the present from her brother gingerly, removing the cloth sheath and setting it aside, exposing a sword of unmatched beauty. What a beautiful blade it is, she thought, admiring it's intricate details closely. The single edged blade was forged of silver and gold inlay, and possessed a faint blue sheen on its face. The hilt was composed of fine steel, and it's guard had been cast in the design of a blooming rose. The princess deftly twirled it in her hands, admiring it with excitement. It's light, and the balance is perfect. Almost unnaturally so. The high princess had possessed many swords in her lifetime, but not even Stormsinger held a candle to her brother's gift.

"Xian. It is...incredible. I don't know what to say. I regret not having something for you."

Pleased with her adoration for the gift, the prince waved her apology away dismissively. "What I need for this journey has already been prepared. However, It would seem that the sword is nameless. Would you do the honors? I was away when Stormsinger was named. It would please me greatly to see you name this one."

"Oh! Of course! It's the least I could do. Let's see.." Qi examined her new blade with a puzzled expression. "Hmm. Well now, how about...Sky Splitter?"

"Skysplitter?" Xian laughed, amused by the name. "So it shall be! Skysplitter and Stormsinger! You always were creative with your naming."

The High Princess grinned, clearly pleased with her gift. After twirling it around a bit more, Qi sheathed it in it's cloth and tucked it behind her on her horse. As she did, one of her vassals approached her, reminding her of the ever reducing daylight hours and that it was imperative they be moving soon.

"Well then. I should be going." Qi studied her brother's face closely, realizing that she would not see it for an entire year. "Xian...I- I will bring honor to our name…"the High Princess paused, feeling her throat begin to tighten."...and in a year's time I will take the throne."

A lingering silence fell between the two. They both knew the reason for their journey, but for all this time neither had voiced their aspirations out in the open to the other. Now, Qi had made it abundantly clear this wasn't just a nice sabbatical from the kingdom. She wanted the throne, and would do whatever she deemed necessary to achieve her goal.

Xian held her gaze, recognizing the weight of her words and the importance of the journey the two were about to embark on. Qi had always been both competitive and passionate, and this situation they found themselves in wasn't any different."We will do what is best for the people," he stated simply, not wanting to disrespect his sister's resolve with an argument. "But for now...*Kahl tu'a." The prince placed his left hand on his heart, followed by waving his hand open as if presenting something on display. This was the customary goodbye of Nara, and Qi returned the action in turn.

"*Kahl tu'a," She replied, taking a final glance at the great wall before riding off towards her small retinue that awaited her. "May our ancestors watch over us both."

~​

*Kahl tu'a: Standard Nara farewell blessing. Literal definition: My heart rides with you.

 

[Effervescent]

Isaac Dessai​

@Elle Joyner​

Fresh air stung Isaac Dessai's lungs after living so long in the tunnels and caves of Bastillos. His skin felt the sting of the sun's rays, now fully exposed to its brightness and heat, as he continuously fled the confines and boundaries of Bastillos in search for sanctuary.

It had been over a fortnight since Prince Jasper had been murdered, and ever since the blame was set upon him, he'd been on the run. The passing of Thornwild's King had yet to reach Isaac's ears, and so he had yet to make the correlation others in Bastillos were whispering. The Thornwild king died, and soon after his son, married to the Queen of Bastillos, was murdered.

Isaac was a common man of Bastillos who spoke for the oppressed lower caste. Slavery had officially been outlawed for years, yet was masquerading under a new wage gap. When Bastillos had united with Thornwild, Isaac had made the mistake of once speaking out against the marriage as it felt stale given the conflict rising internally. After all this time, this is what was remembered of him and marked him as the traitor and murderer of the Prince Consort.

There was part of him that didn't wish to run. The struggles of the commoner felt a more hefty weight than that of his own life, but how could he protect the people he cared about if he was sentenced to death for a crime he did not commit. He needed to live, and to uncover the truth behind the murder to set himself free from this burden.

The true murderer was at large and Thornwild may very well retaliate for the transgression as it was now assumed that a Bastillosi commoner plunged the knife into the prince's heart. Isaac helped aid a political agenda, after all. One which aimed to end oppression against those less fortunate and merge the people once again into a more prosperous age. An economic strife perpetuated and continued in a cyclic fashion that historically ended in revolt. Even he could understand why he was chosen to take the blame.

For the first week he snaked through the seemingly never-ending tunnels burrowed deep within the mountains of Bastillos. Some were carved by ancient, man-made tools, and some were naturally formed by time and nature. There were some who either rallied for the cause of the people who provided quiet hospitality for the fugitive, and some who were just kind souls who didn't ask questions. He was lucky to find a friendly merchant headed out of the mountains en route to Thornwild who gave him safe passage upon his covered cart.

"Not even sure they'll let me into the kingdom now," the merchant said to Isaac as they breached the mountain gate into the sunlight. "If you think you can make it, I'd skip off this cart before the border and head to Cain'Loren."

"Why Cain'Loren?" he asked.

"Best place to get a boat out of here," the merchant said, though he had no inkling as to why Isaac was on the run. It seemed like he helped smuggle common folk out of Bastillos before for those trying to find a better life. He stopped at a particularly wooded area to let him flee through the border of Thornwild where there was no patrol, and gave him clear directions on the path he should take. If he traveled long hours, he could make it to another merchant who could give him passage into Cain'Loren without a hitch.

The Thornwild merchant was more cautious, but didn't ask any questions as he ferried Isaac into Cain'Loren. Cain'Loren was completely unfamiliar and foreign to Isaac. There was little knowledge in Bastillos in regards to following sun or stars to guide direction, especially when one's life was spent mostly within the confines of caverns. He had spent most of his life in the cavern of Lumin just before the grand city where the mirrorlights refracted off of every surface in a brilliant display of colors. It painted the mud and grime at his dirty feet like flecks of paint making the real sunlight seem a little less lively. He shielded his eyes from the harsh warm light as the Spring sun laid a thick blanket of alien heat and humidity that matted his hair against his dewing skin.

And while he missed his home and his family, he couldn't stop taking in deep breaths of the freshest air he'd ever inhaled. It was as if his lungs had never breathed before, for they never knew such smells. Everything was different and new and almost overwhelming by comparison. It took him a few days traversing on his own to adapt to the extreme change in setting. His feet carried him wearily through the forests as he traveled further, his skein always seemingly empty of refreshment.

They approached the main city of Cain'Loren after a few day's travel. The merchant intended to conduct his usual business and head home after his wares were completely sold. "You're on your own," he said to Isaac, and wished him luck.before parting ways.

His feet carried him onward and into the Western District of Cain'Loren. Dirt roads were compacted from traffic and set with parallel streaks worn from passing wagons over the years. There was an unmistakable smell within the air that reminded him of the slums back home. With the open skies, the musty smell that would have been present in Bastillos was not within the Western District. His footsteps slowed as he took in the outer city village. He'd traveled so far, he nearly felt he was no longer in danger. This could be his life now, he supposed. He could find work with a decent enough pay and forward a portion of his income to his family back home.

Day was turning to night as the sun slowly sank into the horizon of clustered rooftops, and Isaac began to feel hunger growing and twisting his stomach into knots. While he knew how to hunt and gather food, he lacked the means or the time to do so more easily. The only weapon he carried was his grandfather's sword, and it was looking more to be a currency to barter with than a means of protection. It was kept hidden under his tattered, muddy cloak as best he could muster.

His body ached in protest as a fever had begun to set. He yearned for rest, and searched for a back alley or secluded corner in which he could halt his wanderings. Only a moment would be needed. Just enough to find a bit of energy left within him. The yellow of the sky dipped into hues of amber and magentas that melted seamlessly into a growing indigo night. It reminded him of the paintings his mother would create of visions she could only see in her mind's eye. They were glittering and magical, just like the stars that slowly appeared in their twinkling. There were hardly any people walking the streets at this hour. Those who could afford candles sat in their soft orange glow barely visible through their windows.

Glancing over his shoulder before turning down a narrow alley, his heart lurched in his chest as it seized in momentary fear. For a second, it appeared as though someone was watching him; a silhouette just down the road with a broad, imposing form. But the figure was not idling, and instead walked into a home and disappeared. A sigh of relief escaped him, and just as he turned he walked straight into an unsuspecting red head.

Queen Imeen​

@Elle Joyner ​

Delicate fingers toyed with a filigree ring forged from gold. The band's sheen was still vibrant, its surface cleaned daily to preserve the rose colored metal. It was the symbol of Queen Imeen's union with Thornwild's Prince. Their joining would have marked an expansive alliance extending their trade routes to the Southern coastlines. This union was initially political, but in their time together she had grown fond of him.

But he was murdered leaving her heirless and alone once again. Her people began to doubt if she could conceive and wondered if the line of Queens would end with her. And to that Imeen began to doubt her accomplishments, for what has she done for Bastillos since her reign began? Weeks had passed since Jasper's death and still she would not part from her grieving. Laballa was her only comfort, and it was often the blind clairvoyant was by her side patiently.

"What happened to the messenger we sent to warn King Barenthorn?" Imeen asked through her dimly lit quarters. The stone walls were carved with ornate designs along sturdy pillars that melded into open archways to allow the flow of air. Any open expanse was veiled by cloths of red, orange, and gold. She still laid upon her bed lethargically, her eyes staring out to her trusted adviser across the room. Laballa sat in the darkness close to the candlelight out of courtesy and tilted her head somewhat in thought. The headdress atop her blonde, curly hair was covered in small metal medallions that jingled with each movement.

"I cannot see him," Laballa admitted. "I don't know. I am sorry I cannot see all, my queen."

A soft sigh escaped Imeen as she rolled onto her back. Her hand grasped the ring and clutched it to her heart as she stared at the fabric canopy of her bed. Yet another thing to add to her list of failed accomplishments. Laballa's vision of the King's death was vague, and even Jasper was skeptical of the woman's foresight. But Imeen knew she would have felt worse if she hadn't tried.

"Do you see anything new?" the queen asked. There was a moment's pause as the two sat in silence. Imeen was used to it by now. There were times where she and Laballa would sit in this silence for hours waiting for her Hand to return to the present. This time, the silence only lasted a few minutes.

"Laughter," Laballa finally said with a tinge of fondness. "And your smile."

Imeen chuckled as she looked over to the clairvoyant. Despite her inability to see the world, she never doubted she could see it all in her visions. Laballa smiled sheepishly, her head tilting downward to hide a blush beneath the shadows followed by a small frown. The Queen did not notice.

"I do hope Captain Moraus journeys safely to meet our coming visitors from Cain'Loren," Imeen said as her own smile faded. "I know you haven't seen it, but I worry Thornwild might retaliate and come for Bastillos."

"If it will come to pass, I will tell you," Laballa promised. There came a moment's pause once again, and Imeen eyed her adviser suspiciously. Was she having another vision? She knew interrupting would do no good, for in those times Laballa closed out the world around her. But she was not seeing anything of the future, her headdress chiming as she turned her blind eyes back upward to reveal her features.

"You have a right to Thornwild by marriage," she said candidly. "It was the arrangement, was it not?"

"The arrangement was to begin uniting all the lands," Imeen explained. "And that arrangement died with Jasper."

"I believe it died with King Baronthorn," Laballa said in return. It was Imeen's turn to sit in contemplative silence. She hadn't the time to consider King Baronthorn would honor the union, especially since one of her own was responsible for his son's death. There was a small part of her that still resented Laballa for not having seen Jasper's death.

"We should still fight for what the arrangement stood for," Imeen finally said. "We must ensure the right successor is placed on the throne."

"It could be you," her adviser said thoughtfully. "If you own Thornwild you can insure the purpose of your union."

Imeen rose from her bed, her brow furrowing at the suggestion. It could be her. Her army is vast and capable; a force to be reckoned with. It had always been rumored that their former lands of Nyrim extended through Thornwild beyond their ruins, and that could be enough to rally her people behind the concept of such an expansion.

But she knew she would not be the only one vying for the land and throne. Already it looked as though she could have been guilty of King Baronthorn's death should anyone determine it was, indeed, foul play. The official word for now was that he passed of natural causes. Only she and Laballa knew the truth for now, it seemed.

"Bring me General Davroste," Imeen commanded. "If we are to move forward in any light, I need to confer with him."

Laballa stood and bowed her head low and dutifully. "As you wish, your Majesty." She left without another word, her robes fluttering around her like the wings of a dove accompanied by the sound of wind chimes until she was out of sight.

Now alone, Imeen walked out onto her balcony that looked out upon Lumin illuminated by the waning mirrorlight. Colorful glass windows cast an array across the city as if trapped in a beautiful magic. It was a shame Laballa could not see the city.

But then her eyes looked beyond the illuminated tiers down into the dark slums of the vast cave. Stalactites jutted down from the natural ceiling where their forefathers had not bothered to detail as if to point at the pockmark on Bastillos's grandeur. Her guests from Cain'Loren would travel the main road that would lead their carriage above and away from such a sight.

She was there the night Jasper was taken from this world, and in that moment she hadn't a thought to political ramifications. It was just the life of a man she had come to love leaving too soon, and she had been dealing with regret ever since. She almost did not wish to fulfill her duties as Queen and remarry for the sake of an heir and for the sake of political union.

Part of her hoped Cain'Loren would be unable to wed her to one of the available princes. Perhaps they will protest, yet still strengthen their bonds. She'd had a taste of love, even if just in its infancy, but it was enough for her to feel the rise of rebellion against an arranged marriage.

Her fingers idly played with the filigree band on her finger and lingered on thoughts of what could have been.

Allarith Moraus​

@Elle Joyner ​

The most infamous man in Bastillos was arguably Allarith Moraus, and a prime example of the political efforts to bring the upper and lower castes together within the Bastillosi army. He did not take to his title or fame, humbly dismissing the wonderment while politely keeping his comments to himself. The life he lived and the path he chose felt a burden, for there was pressure not just for him to perform but to act. And perhaps, too, it was the weight of guilt in surviving what made him so notorious.

Ever since that day in the mines, Allarith hadn't been able to escape the legend that now was associated with him. Even his own men under his command would whisper when they thought he couldn't hear. Captain Moraus rose to his rank when no one ever knew of him. He was approached by General Ravar and escorted to Luminhold so that the Queen herself could present the title. It was sprung on him so quickly, and rumor had it his acceptance was hesitant and that the Queen insisted.

Truth be told, he was afraid of accepting the title of Captain of the Queen's Guard. The former Captain had died many years ago, loved and revered for his own achievements, and when the position was offered to him, it felt too soon to accept. The upper caste had been spreading rumors that he had set up the attack from the Serpent's Coil and was in league.

Even now, years later after the incident that offered him fame, the rumor of ties with the Serpent's Coil rose once again after Prince Jasper's untimely death within Bastillos. While fingers pointed to a man named Isaac Dessai, some conspired to think Allarith played a nefarious part.

The notion made him sick, especially when he could catch unsuspecting gazes toward him as he passed. General Davroste assured him those of import did not believe he was involved, which offered some assurances, especially when given the task to escort an important party from Cain'Loren to Luminhold. This, he felt, was the task that could potentially lead to a promotion.

He had the entire trek to calm his nerves and focus his mind. The main road from Cain'loren leading into Bastillos passed through calm lands with little conflict from highwaymen or bandits. Perhaps the only conflict was passing through Thornwild in such a tense political time as these. They still performed their sweeps to ensure a smoother journey for their guests.

"What if we run into the king killer?" one of the soldiers quietly said to another. "I mean, he's still out there. And these are important people. Who knows what his motives were."

"The horses' hooves echoed through the system of tunnels as they patrolled, occasionally dissipating as they entered into larger chambers. It made their presence painfully known to anyone down the mirror illuminated passages. The main underground roads always carried mirrorlight where it could, and lamps were used where it could not. Bandetry was easy here, but today, it seemed as though the criminals had taken a vacation.

"If the king killer is even in Bastillos," Allarith piped in, "he's likely keeping low and out of sight. My guess is he's on the run. My concern is more for those inspired by his actions."

"Do you think there will be another uprising?" another soldier asked.

Bastillos had a history of civil war due to the mistreatment of the lower class. While slavery had been abolished, those who were once slaves now suffered poverty still, scraping by to survive while being punished just to ensure their family could eat.

"I don't know," Allarith admitted as they neared the main entrance gate that opened out into the foothills. The light that poured in from the openings was almost blinding even with the setting sun on the other side of the mountains. This was their stop for the night.

"Keep your mind focused on our current assignment," he advised. "We need to show our allies Bastillos is safe, and that's what we'll do. We'll let the others handle the civil unrest because that's what they're tasked with, not us. Alright?"

"Yes, sir."

Enestt Davroste​

@ze_kraken @Quake​

Even before the death of Prince Jasper, General Enestt Davroste worked tirelessly to aid in the political affairs of Bastillos, perhaps beyond what a general would typically take on. He felt a sense of duty, not just as a general, but as a father to the queen, and he loved his daughter dearly.

His time as King Regent, while he accepted the task reluctantly, gave him political prowess he still utilized to aid his daughter in current affairs. It was his suggestion to reach out to Cain'Loren soon after Prince Jasper's death. He had also helped to arrange the coming visitation with the High Prince of Nara, though the arrangement was made long before Prince Jasper's assassination.

He'd wondered if the High Prince of Nara would entertain the visit now. Bastillos thrived on trade, and it appeared the kingdom from the North was interested in their commerce. And he was interested in utilizing Nara to bolster their defenses. If Thornwild was to retaliate, having strong allies that surrounded the kingdom would be a boon.

Enestt kept a diary involving political affairs, keeping note of guest arrivals, ensuring guest quarters were readied and serviced, bolstering guard assignments while guests presided within Luminhold…

The architecture of most of Bastillos was open with few rooms having roofs for privacy. He sat at his desk that looked out beyond Luminhold into the city of Lumin where the waning mirrorlight cast a golden glow upon the white stone that glistened, and remembered his home in the Bastillosi city of Astal. It was a lowly city with hardly any cavernous coverage, and definitely nothing as splendid or beautiful as the stones in Lumin. There was a part of him that felt Lumin painted a false portrait of Bastillos. Here, their political guests would see the wondrous culture, grand artistic creativity, and unique architecture, but this was just one mere city, and Bastillos was vast within the mountains.

The slums lined the dark of the cavern, the glow of firelight within the carved huts that lined up through the cave wall creating the illusion of stars. There was the faintest hum from the air tunnels that could be heard when the moonlight barely gleamed through the mirrors. Bastillos was unique, but weak in far too many ways. He feared what could become of the kingdom with Thornwild's throne now ripe for the taking.

His fingers plucked the reports of political affairs throughout the land, and sea. The Princess of the Valuoar line has fled Velvulia. According to reports, after the passing of King Gerrart II, there was a churning internal maelstrom of heirs vying for the Salt Throne.

They never needed a reason to create ties with Velvulia. Being a landlocked kingdom, a kingdom of the seas held little value. They never crossed paths, and perhaps never thought of each other except for, perhaps, the teachings of geography or history where relevant.

While political unrest was his concern, Velvulia felt so far and away that the strife was merely words on a page seemingly irrelevant to more pressing concerns with Thornwild and the Bastillosi lower caste. But under the report was a letter sealed with an eagle that clutched two bolts of lightning.

His finger hooked through to break the seal, and he opened the letter curiously to read its contents. It was a letter from the princess on the run. Adrianna wrote to Bastillos requesting their aid in her endeavors to claim the Salt Throne. Enestt stroked his beard as he leaned back in his seat, mind mulling over this unexpected approach.

It would not be without its advantages, but it would need to be strategic. Velvulia was another kingdom that presided close to Thornwild; close to present danger. Princess Adrianna had more claim to the Salt Throne than the bastard, but she would have to fight against the current king.

Bastillos knew it was not always a king that could rule. Their long line of queens has proven strong. Perhaps the Velvulian princess could begin a new era just the same, and one that would strengthen the strategically imposing faction surrounding Thornwild in the wake of their line's end.

Enestt dipped his pen into the inkwell and began to write a response, concisely noting a time and place to meet to discuss details. This would be a task better handled by his more specialized force, at least until he could work out the kinks and discover if this would truly be an endeavor worthy of Bastillos's full force.

Laballa Sola​

@ze_kraken @Quake​

"I want him to know the sun," Queen Imeen said as she stepped out onto a balcony overlooking a lush valley. Cradled in her arms was a baby; her child. Laballa could see herself standing just at the archway with her veiled stare, her blind eyes unable to take in the scene as she could within the vision. She did not linger her seeing gaze upon her form, electing to look instead to her queen who smiled brightly at her son.

"Sometimes I wonder if the mountains are at all good for my people," Imeen continued. "The sun… I feel a difference in my own self no mirror light can achieve. Perhaps it is the colors. I wish you could see them, Laballa."

"If I recollect," the clairvoyant began, "I think I may have."

Laballa wondered whose eyes she was looking through at this moment. Perhaps it was a guardsman, for he looked away. This was a future, to be sure, and it looked a rather happy one. She only wished she had more control so that she could see.

The Queen caught on to what her advisor was implying, taking note of the only other individual in the room as she called out a name. "Isaac Dassai."

Her point of view quickly looked back over to the Queen and bowed his head. She was not familiar with the name. But there was a familiarity to some degree between him and Imeen as she beckoned him out onto the balcony, to which he complied dutifully allowing her a clear view of the splendor outside of Bastillos.

It was nearly midday as the sun climbed higher in a beautifully cloudy sky that cast deep shadows and vibrant rays of sunlight onto the valley below them. The valley was dappled in greens suggestive of Spring or Summer.

"We have much to discuss," Queen Imeen said. Her words were cut off before Laballa could hear anymore.

---

The shift back from future to present still carried its unnerving sensation and a creeping doubt. What Laballa could see felt so real when it happened. Just as real as the present she now presided, dark and unseen. Her ability allowing her to see within the visions felt almost cruel, but over time with acceptance she has come to view it more as little gifts.

What she had just witnessed, like all the others, was a possible path in the future, but it was not guaranteed. Through it she now knew there was a possibility of her Queen giving birth to a child she had longed for. Was this Isaac Dassai the father? No. They did not look to have such an intimate relationship. He was viewing the future through his eyes, and he could barely look at Imeen.

"It is a fine day for a walk," a familiar voice said to her. To her left stood a man, tall, her arm linked within his and wrapped around fine fibers. It was a strong man, and she could tell by his distinct smell of musk and mint it was her dear friend Enestt Davroste, the General. He was the only other person in this world to treat her so kindly after being presented with her innate ability to see into the future. And he, just like his daughter, would always wait patiently through her visions. Though unlike Imeen, he would often be the first to speak.

"The surface light doesn't seem overcast today. Luminhold is very bright, almost as if it were glowing." Enestt never asked what her vision entailed. She had once asked him why he wasn't curious like everyone else, to which he told her he was only interested if she wanted to tell him. And sometimes she would share what she saw, good or bad. It was likely he knew she had just come from a vision, though never expected her to share if she didn't want to. And in this case she did not feel it was her place. That child she saw would not be heir to the Bastillosi throne, yet there were other implications to its existence in the future. Could it be the heir to Thornwild?

Laballa took a step forward, Enestt following suit as they continued their trek to the throne room. Enestt held out his arm for her to hold, and she took it delicately with appreciation

"Do you know what happened to the messenger we sent to Thornwild?" she asked.

"He hasn't returned," he admitted with a soft sigh, "and he hasn't sent word to us of his delay. I've sent out men to search for him. If anything were to have happened... I would want to see him returned to his family for a proper burial."

"I feel ashamed we were too late," Laballa said as they passed through one of the gardens. The scents were sweet and fresh making her wish to linger for a moment longer. But they pressed on, for the queen requested their audience as council.

"You cannot place the blame on yourself, Laballa," Enestt said to her. "You can't control when you see what you see."

"There isn't really a rhyme or reason," she said in agreement, yet the notion still did not lift the weight of guilt from her shoulders. "I fear, though, that it will start a war. That Thornwild will blame us for taking their king's son. That we left their lands heirless and in chaos."

"If they declare war, they will have a lot more than our army to contend with," he said confidently. "At least, we would hope so. That is one reason why we are having guests in a little more than a fortnight. And hopefully not just from Cain'Loren. The High Prince of Nara is still interested in learning of our trade practices. With allies North and West, Bastillos will become even stronger."

The medallions laced within her headdress jungled and chimed as Laballa nodded her head somewhat. It was difficult to find confidence all would be well when she had not even seen a vision regarding the state of the lands for weeks. It had all been small things she couldn't piece to anything of substance. Nothing was presentable just yet, but nothing pointed towards seeing war or peace. They entered the throne room, the doors closing behind them to leave the three alone to discuss matters. She hoped this session would calm her nerves, but with the state of things presently, that would be difficult to achieve.

 

[ze_kraken]

​

Arthur

​

Never before had Arthur Salt seen so much color as he did when Seawolf made her way from beyond a blind turn towards the city of Lydel. Even during the moots and meetings of the council of the Salt Throne he had attended as a boy, with every clan and noble houses' banners streaming in a rainbow of colors and menagerie of sigils, paled in comparison to the fusillade of color lining the ports and docks of the city. It made for a pretty sight, one Arthur believed fell perfectly in line with the stories and tales he had heard from the raid captains as a child.

Not that any of them had dared assault a city, he had come to learn in his later years. We prey on the weak and defenseless - farmers and small garrisons. Our army is large, but undisciplined and suited to running in the countryside not fighting in the streets or sieging castle walls.

His thoughts drifted to Markus' siege of Crosham back home on the isles, and he tried to picture what the knight might have to say of the islanders' prowess in siegecraft on the mainland. Fortresses on the Serpent Isles were grand in their own stubborn right, but the castle overlooking Lydel dwarfed any castle Arthur had ever seen. Both practical and beautiful, its turrets were fringed with decorative struts and its walls lined in arches that spoke of expert craftsmanship that was as intricate as it was formidable.

"Ten thousand men could batter at those walls for a generation and do little more than dirty the decorations," Arthur said to Sabeth who stood beside him, grey robes and fire-red hair flapping in the sea breeze.

"And might be it just takes one bastard king to have them open their gates to fanfare and applause," Sabeth replied, looping her arm through Arthur's.

"I've no interest in being a king of the mainlanders - let that be a problem for another Salt King," he retorted with a huff. "I've my task - reunite the Serpent Isles under a real ruler, not some boy pretender."

"Aye, and what then? Will you live out your years as some cowardly pissant greybeard who might have ruled the coasts of Ellemar?"

"It took my grandfather nearly his whole life to unite the Isles - it took my father half of his just to reestablish what had been unmade when my grandfather was killed at port," Arthur's tone was deliberate, his words falling one after the other with purpose. "Aye, might be I dispose of Gerrart and subdue all the squawking gulls once they're done foraging for bread scraps in the span of two years or less. Might be, even, that I'll forge an alliance or arrange a marriage for some islander to prick some mainlander and make an islander son heir to some lands, but that is all. Besides, your waves say it is my son and not me that will rule the mainland."

"I would not be so sure," Sabeth said, that same chill haunting her voice as it often did when she made such proclamations. "A wave may come and break many different ways along the shore."

Seawolf began to sway into port, arriving at the first dock it could lay anchor. Arthur belted his sword Adder's Bite at his side and donned a plain white cloak which hung over gleaming steel armor. Vincent strode beside him, dressed more practically in boiled leather and chainmail, hefting aloft a banner with a red crowned serpent above a trailing white streamer indicating that the islanders had come in peace.

As the gangplank was lowered, Arthur inspected the brightly colored market stalls. More curious than the market stalls were the people - whereas islanders were all of the same stock, these mainlanders were of all shapes, sizes, and colors. He heard a plethora of languages, strange and foreign to his ears and as he made his descent along the gangplank with his Bloodsworn and attendants beside him, something caught his glance: a woman standing from the shadows in a nearby alleyway, her eyes standing out in stark white contrast to the dark grey stone around her.

Arthur continued his descent, keeping the woman within view as he stepped upon dry land for the first time in weeks. Around him the merchants and commoners of the market shirked away from the men in armor brandishing sheathed swords at their waists, and Arthur mused that perhaps Vincent had been right - butchered at port after the first time an islander had arrived with no intention of pillaging. If not for their white banner and otherwise peaceful stance, he wondered if they would make it past the market stalls.

Still, as he looked around, Arthur saw other men dressed in cold steel holding aloft spears and shields, swords and bucklers, axes and polearms. Sellswords and knights, of that he had no doubt as his followers formed a procession with Arthur and Sabeth at its center, Vincent holding aloft the serpent banner in front. Those in their way made space for the column. Arthur in his curiosity had lost track of the woman from the alleyway, and as his column came to a halt he knew in his gut that it was she.

"What is your purpose in waylaying Arthur Salt, rightful Salt King of the Serpent Isles and Kingdom of Velvulia?" Vincent harumphed, standing to attention, clutching the hilt of his sword.

Arthur, being a head shorter than his impetuous Bloodsworn, could barely see past the broad-shouldered man. He laid a gentle hand upon Vincent's shoulder and pushed him aside.

"Come, Vincent," he said. "Let the girl pass, she's clearly just here to enjoy the markets."

Only as Arthur looked, his suspicions were confirmed - it was the woman from the alley.

"Only, I believe she is, in point of fact, here for us," he amended, words trailing off as he examined the stranger. "I saw you when we laid anchor - tell me, who are you and why have you come to speak with me? Surely you know who I am and why I'm here, or else you're exceptionally dim-witted to stand before such warlike a company for curiosity's sake."

"Warlike?" A soft huff, a laugh escaped the woman as she eyed the entourage with a sly smile, her eyes pausing in particular on the bannerman, "A swift flick of my wrist, and I could've killed any one of you before your feet touched the docks. And this one?" Eyes intentionally rounding upwards with slow progression, she met Vincent's gaze, "I probably could've hit him before you made berth. Do you train all your men to walk like the elephants of Eiro'kosh?"

Without so much as a pause, her eyes flickered to Arthur and if there were any sense of reverence there, it hardly showed, "Queen Aimera sent me. I believe we have some things to discuss?"

"Aye, the Queen and I have things to discuss," Arthur agreed.

"You were under the impression her royal Majesty, Queen of all of Cain'loren would travel all this way to chat with an upstart bastard? That's almost endearingly dull… Either you relay your message through me, or I return empty handed and as indifferent as I arrive. I should warn you, however, her ladyship… doesn't much care for wasted time."

"And you're content to be her majesty's errand girl, are you?" Vincent jeered.

"Hush, Vincent, I do believe this woman just threatened to kill you. Don't make me wish she had. Tell me, what do I have to believe you will actually relay my words to the Queen?" Arthur crossed his arms and his brow furrowed as he considered the strange woman before him.

"Yes, Vincent…" Her eyes flashes with mirth as they danced his way again, "Behave, or you may just find what errands I do best." Returning her attention to Arthur, she smiled lightly, "Do you imagine Queen Aimera would send someone she did not trust? That would be awfully foolish, no? I assure you… she'll hear what you have to say."

"Aye it would be," Arthur allowed with a slight incline of his head. "But my question was not for the wits and good sense of her majesty, but rather of your credibility. How do I know you aren't some charlatan out to harass nobles and have one of your fellows pick my pocket while you distract me and my companions? What do you have to offer me that your word is true, and you will not simply vanish back into whatever pit you crawled from?"

Laughing softly, the woman shook her head, "First things first, you've nothing of interest I couldn't already have stolen on my own, had I wanted. Secondly, it's almost insulting to suggest I would need anyone's help when I'm quite as capable of picking pockets as I am slicing a man ear from ear. But the facts are, I've no more proof of credibility than you've proof of your own. You could be anyone… A spy. A paid actor. An assassin. Matters little to me, as I get paid whether your words carry any value or not. I suppose you'll simply need to trust me. Or else you can take your war elephant... get back on your boat there and go home. But I suspect you didn't come all this way for the scenery. Shall we, then?"

"Here?" Arthur gazed around the crowded port market. "Surely one as savvy as you has a place away from prying ears and eyes."

Laughing again, the woman shook her head, "Are all the people on your island so adorably simple? Of course not here. Unless you'd like your clandestine meeting overheard by half the fishmongers in Cain'loren…" Turning, she wiggled her fingers to indicate they should follow, "Do try not to alert the entire city as to our location, Vincent."

She led them along the cobbled road towards a building bearing a sign with a headless fish, the name carved in bold silver, "The Gutless Sailor". At the door, she paused, glancing over her shoulder at Arthur, "Might not want to drag everyone in with you… bit of a tight squeeze."

Arthur left four men posted at the door, among them Vincent. At first the large, brutish man had begun to protest but a steely glance from Sabeth caught his tongue. Arthur and Sabeth followed the stranger into the tavern, greeted by the low din of a busy port inn as the doors swung open. The stranger had been right - it was crammed inside, and though Arthur was not a tall man by mainlander standards he felt pressured to hunch his shoulders in as he followed the woman into a back room of the inn.

Around him the crowd paid him and Sabeth no heed, their attention fixated on their drinks and their chatter. Inside was much of the same colorful dialects and persons Arthur had observed from atop the deck of Seawolf. It was simultaneously reminiscent of every seaside tavern Arthur had seen along the Serpent Isles but otherwise so foreign, with its strange men and accented tongues. Even the drinks the men drank looked odd - they were brighter than the dark stouts islanders preferred.

If the inn felt crammed, the room the stranger led them too was barely more than a coffin. Its walls were claustrophobically dark, a lone grouping of candles cascading shimmering orange light along the walls. A plain oaken table sat in the middle of the room, alongside four chairs and a quaint rug with a pattern Arthur could barely make out in the darkness. The woman invited them to sit, and Arthur did so without hesitation. The wooden chair creaked and protested at the weight of steel and flesh put upon it, but held.

"Right," Arthur said flatly when it became evident the stranger was awaiting his words. "Before I speak my piece, might it be you tell me your name at least? And why the Queen is not accepting official visitors at court? I had not imagined to fall victim to the intrigue and subterfuge of mainlander life so quickly upon arrival, so forgive me if I am perhaps perplexed, or as you put it a moment ago, simple in my behavior."

Sitting, hands folded neatly on the table, the woman studied Arthur and his companion a moment, before smiling, "You may call me Miranda. And I had rather thought you figured that all out… It would be awfully imprudent for the queen to house you in the company of the man she intends to overthrow." Leaning back, her posture less rigid, Miranda shrugged, "Also why she sent me, I suppose, rather than come herself."

"So the rumors are true, then."

Arthur's fingers formed a steeple as he laid his elbows upon the table, considering the woman's words. He had heard rumblings of unease in Cain'loren, and it had been Sabeth to tell him to seek the mother and not the father. His eyes slid sideways to the priestess, and he wondered if what she had said had been true and the Nine had given her their foresight.

"I take it, then, that the Queen intercepted my letters and that, so far as I am concerned, none but yourself and the Queen are aware of my arrival? Though I imagine courtier spies will soon hear tales of the Bastard King having come to Lydel and relay what they hear to the king regardless, so I imagine that leaves our timing quite narrow doesn't it?"

He waved the thought aside with a brush of his hand.

"No matter. You're here to discuss actionable matters, not listen to my ramblings. You know I look to take the Serpent Isles, but no man rules alone, even if they call themselves King. It appears your Queen is in need of allies - as am I. I believe, given a few months to sort affairs in my own holdings, I might yet be of some value in overthrowing the king. I have raised a host to take Crosham, and once Crosham falls the rest of the Isles will follow. Once my brother is removed, I will be able to take what men and ships you need here and assist as you and your liege see fit."

"Discretion is a particular strength of her majesty. She has been planning this insurrection for some time, now. You hardly need worry. You are correct, however, in assuming she has need of allies. It would be, I imagine, mutually beneficial… and the queen has been quite vocal in indicating as
much to me. Rather a Bastard King than a simpering child, I suppose. As it is, she cares little how you conduct your own affairs, but it hardly benefits a queen to have no stakes in such progressive actions. She had some… Rather uncomplicated stipulations…"

"Speak plainly," Arthur said sharply. "What strings has your Queen seen fit to attach?"

"Firstly, as you've already mentioned, she expects your full support in whatever fashion necessary, when it comes time for her to… make her motions against the king." Pausing, Miranda glanced to the woman beside Arthur, and her lip twitched upwards
ever so slightly, "The second is a treaty by union. To ensure Cain'loren has something to gain from assisting in your own deposition…"

Arthur could feel Sabeth's steely gaze boring into the back of his skull at Miranda's words, but nevertheless he nodded.

"I expected as much, tell me which of the Queen's daughters has she decided to part with?"

"You're rather lucky. It was between the king's own bastard for a while there, but Aimera sees some sport, I suppose, in sending her off to the mountains. You'll get Princess Ainsley. Rather a pretty thing… Spirited, but obedient." Eyes darting to Sabeth, she grinned. "She'll make a fine, loyal queen, I'm sure."

"So I take it you'll relay the message to the Queen, then," Arthur said, fingers tapping against the hard wood of the table. "All further messages are to be sent to Markus Heidell at Crosham. It will be some time, still, before I return to the Serpent Isles and things must move apace even in my absence. I will return to the Isles in three months, or as close to it makes no difference but Markus will speak for official matters of state until such a time."

He paused, considering his next words carefully.

"Though I imagine, the Queen being one for discretion, will wait until my claim to the Velvulia is absolute and my brother is gone, no?"

"I would imagine the same. I also imagine she'd appreciate some degree of a good faith gesture. Something more concrete than your word. To ensure her own contributions are merited. I assume you can read and write?"

"Foolish is a king who cannot read what his councillors write in his name," Arthur stated dryly. "Aye, I can write - tell me what words to write for her majesty, and let us be done with this matter."

With a smirk, Miranda reached into the bag at her side, producing a rolled piece of parchment, "As is it, her majesty supposed you were no fool. You may read it, if you'd prefer… But for brevity, it details your dedication both to Cain'loren as an ally and force against the king, if needed, as well as your commitment to your future espoused. She expects an heir, of course." Eyes flicking to Sabeth again, she added, "A legitimate one."

Once again, Arthur could feel rather than see Sabeth's searing gaze but paid it no heed. He cleared his throat, about to speak when Sabeth spoke, slow and measured, icy cool tone replaced with hard-edged steel.

"I am sure Arthur will act within full accordance of this agreement - an honorable man, he is," she uttered, and Arthur knew the moment they were back aboard Seawolf that peaceful conversations and plans of the future they would build together would cease.

"Just my signature, then?" Arthur asked, tone drifting into somberness as he inspected the parchment.

So many honors and titles and empty words. Protector of this, and warden of that. It was not until the fifth or sixth line that Arthur found any reference of a tangible pact or agreement between Cain'loren and Velvulia. He skimmed the writing, admiring it for its penmanship and stylized letters: writing was a skill oft remarked as necessary and practical on the Serpent Isles, but few put time into making their print any more than scratchings upon a page. Arthur reached for the quill Miranda provided and put name to parchment, the scraping of the quill echoing along the walls, somehow louder than the din of the inn behind the shut door to their rear.

"It is done," he said, rolling the parchment into a tube and offering it to Miranda as she put a stop in the inkwell and fetched the quill. "I trust you'll leave us to our business, as I will leave you to yours?"

"Unless you give me a reason not to…" Miranda noted, with a coy smile, "But I trust that won't be necessary." Taking the parchment, Miranda rolled it and placed it in her bag before pulling out a second missive, "From her majesty. You'll find her own signature on the bottom. Her guarantee that you have her full support in your endeavors, whatever you need."

Rising, she looked between the pair, "That's all, then. Good luck." Turning, she however halted a moment later, glancing back at him with a smirk, "If your elephant ever wants a lesson in proper footwork, send him my way."

Arthur and Sabeth said their farewells, and Miranda vanished into the streets and alleyways as mysteriously as she had arrived. The silence between Arhtur and Sabeth was palpably tense, made all the more evident by her dagger-like stare that bored into Arthur as they proceeded back to the docks with Vincent treading alongside them. His procession joined him once they made their way back to the main docks, and before long Arthur stood back atop the deck of Seawolf overlooking the marketplace.

He had expected an audience with the Queen, and perhaps a voyage further into Cain'loren to meet with her. He had expected the stop to take a week, if not more. What was he to do with this excess time? And this Miranda troubled him - she was an unknown quandary, and that posed a threat. At the present moment, he was forced to no option but to take her threats at face value. Arthur knew not of her skill or purported deadliness, but his eyes drifted sideways to Vincent and thought better of trying Miranda or her Queen.

Then there was Sabeth. He could feel her gaze boring its way into the back of his skull, and Arthur thought bitterly whom he feared more: Sabeth or Miranda. Sabeth would have to wait, though. Arthur set about leaving one of his administrators along with a handful of soldiers and gold to see him through his stay - if he had need to send word to and from Cain'loren, best it arrive to and depart from a familiar name.

His pace was deliberate and slow, wishing to draw out the proceedings before he was left alone with Sabeth for as long as possible. All the while that gaze haunted him, until - just as the sun was beginning to set and cast the sky in an amber hue. His administrator had been set up in a nearby inn. His stores had been replenished. He had taken to walking the market. Seen the sights of a land that might one day be in part his. But just as no man ruled alone, no man could evade the inevitable forever.

Arthur and Sabeth had gone to his cabin, and without needing to be asked Arthur locked the door tightly behind him. He admired the shimmering, calm water of the docks cast in the orange glow of the sun. The water was just beginning to turn dark, and the setting sun left a brilliant amber hue atop the crests of ripples and small waves that dotted its surface. It was peaceful, but that peace shattered as he heard Sabeth's footsteps draw near.

"You were promised to me," she said flatly. "Not some mainlander whore."

"Aye," Arthur said, nodding. "I was."

"And yet you are going to marry her, fuck her, make her fat with child, and raise her child as your own," Sabeth added. "Where does that leave me? Your concubine? Your play thing? Will you leave me, and come to me only when you grow tired of performing your duty in the marriage bed?"

"I want to be with you," Arthur said softly, turning to face Sabeth and reach out to gently brush her shoulder; she flinched from the touch and stepped back.

"Then tell this Miranda that you will not wed yourself to the Queen's bitch," she said. "Find another way - if you stand by your promise to me, then find a way around it."

"It will be months before a wedding can be arranged," Arthur replied calmly. "We have many weeks yet sailing the shores of the mainland seeking allies, and before I return to Cain'loren I must need see to some matters in the Isles."

"Those are facts, not promises," Sabeth hissed, strutting along the cabin floor to gaze out the window. "Tell me you will send word to Miranda to call off the wedding. I will not accept any less."

A silence lingered between them as Arthur paced, mulling over the thought. Without a word, he reached for quill and ink and scribbled out a message to Miranda. When he was finished, he handed it to Sabeth for final review. She read through the letter, nodding as she reached its conclusion.

"This is acceptable." Sabeth begrudgingly allowed. "I have your word you'll leave it with your man we left in the inn?"

"I'll dispatch Vincent right away while there is still daylight left," Arthur said.

"Good, now go, do it, then," she replied, easing into the chair by the rear porthole. "And do not tarry long."

Arthur left the cabin after sealing the letter and flagged down Vincent atop the deck seeing to the preparations to depart on the morrow. The large man cocked his head, gesturing to Arthur's armor and belted sword.

"Looks to me you're still dressed for war," he jested softly. "Figured Sabeth might have undone all that by now."

"Now's not the time for jests, I need something of you," Arthur snapped, handing him the letter and adopting a hushed tone. "Take this, head for the inn we left Hayatt in and cast this letter to the fire. Return, and if Sabeth ever asks you, you delivered it to the man. No questions. Understood?"

"Aye, understood."

 

[Mobley Eats]

Princess Ysadora Eishbaul
Location: Vuldran

The unfathomable audacity.

Gratitude was a lost art, especially so on the shoulders of Totarians. What good did rebellion beget? None. Only the blood of their familiars painted the roads and when these apes gaped at their fallen brethren, sucking in airs of shock, their rage was directed at the wrong source. At the Eishbauls.

Mouth breathing pus boils.

But, perhaps, in some shape or form, Princess Ysadora could spare compassion for the thought and understand where the commoners' came from. Frustration never discriminated one man from another and it was having a jolly time nipping at the heels of everyone, she and her family included. And with the recent announcement of a certain king's death…

"Princess!"

Ysadora pulled from her musings. Running on the instincts of admirable field training, she yanked back on the reigns and her steed slowed its trot. Flames no smaller than the Giants themselves climbed up the foundations of huts and cabins, and casted a stretch of orange across the beast's midnight coat. Howls and furious screeches of yet another rebellion filled the night sky, yet the princess managed to follow the trajectory of that singular voice.

Several rows of bodies crammed themselves into three separate streets, holding post at a hastily fabricated barricade of wooden pikes. Their iron shields slammed against one another to block the interspersed hailstorms of pitchforks and torches; some of the more hot-blooded were scrambling madly over the barrier, though they answered to a speedy end in the form of spears skewering their bodies.

At center unit, a soldier donning finer armor approached Ysadora. Even with his helmet on, she could make out the pints of sweat and smeared blood glistening in the light. He beated a fist to his silver chest and bowed, albeit quickly. Rushed. An underlying panic unfit for a general of his position.

"Forgive my terseness, princess, but you shouldn't be here. We can hold off the horde with minimal difficulty." There was a hesitation to his voice that Ysadora noticed with ease. A lie swimming among truth; she'd grown up around so many of them, that detecting their existence posed as child play.

She hopped off Charcoal and slapped its hindquarters, warranting her steed to dash off in the other direction. She was loyal and brilliant of mind; a simple whistle could resummon her once Ysadora was ready.

The princess cut an unimpressed look the general's way. "I am the daughter of my mother, General Meinz." Swift but stiff with annoyance, she pulled her longbow free of her back and knocked an arrow, her aim zeroing in on the crowd of commoners ripping apart homes left and right. "Not by blood, but by what matters."

General Meinz shifted, his gaze snapping back to the rebellion then returning to Ysadora. The quiver of his tone beat against her ears. "Your loyalty to the cause is admirable, princess. Truly. But it's insufferable to force you to dirty your hands with this, when it's our objective to clean up this mess. Please--return to the castle."

His pleas went ignored.

Shoulders coiled tight, arrow perfectly leveled, one eye shut, Ysadora let the shot fly.

It was received by a man's eye socket. His corpse tumbled into the arms of another before his nerves could register the agony of his sudden death. The rebellion mass quieted, if only momentarily, before exploding into an uproar far more savage than before. Their attention was now trained onto Ysadora, who lowered her bow and raised her chin, posture proud and unmoving.

"The Giants have called your insolence into wreckoning!" Despite the sweet rise of and lull of her voice, it boomed with authority as unshakable as Drudge Mountain. "You burn our homes! Spread terror throughout Totaris! And for something as arrogant as," She looked pointedly at the general, "My heritage! I am not a princess of weak heart, but a descendant of Queen Quorella!"

She knocked back another arrow.

"We fight for our home."

Vuldran would not fall.

---

King Thriton Eishbaul
Location: Eishbaul Castle

"Yet another rebellion." King Thriton stood on his balcony overseeing the frigid expanses of his kingdom, though the cold was now being put to the test. Even from such a distance away in the safe confines of his castle, the flames of Vuldran bit cruelly at his eyes. A weariness that his age fought valiantly against weighed down his shoulders and pulled a long sigh from his lips. "My people can no longer take this."

All of the anger and upheaval and cries for redemption. No--retribution. A sacrifice. His dear daughter's head. Merely for the sake of maintaining tradition… It pumped the ruler's stomach full of a vicious illness. The fact that so many outside factors have bounded his hands behind his back didn't help to alleviate the guilt.

Turning his back to the discord, he sought out his wife's gorgeous face, both with purpose and a deep-seeded need to draw comfort from her presence. Thriton was a hardened man when dire situations called for it; however, behind closed doors, behind the royal facade, he frequently turned to his lifelong companion.

"It's time like these when I question my competence as a king--"

"None of that." Swift. Final. Roaring with a gentle repose that could degrade stonework under the abuse of river rapids. Refreshing to those she favored, but a stinging lash of the whip to her headaches. Queen Quorella rose from their shared bed and crossed the short distance to her husband; her gaze naturally fell to meet his, but a single moment of eye contact never failed to lift their spirits.

Except for now. A withering solemness enveloped both of them, echoing in tandem with the yells of commoners beyond castle walls.

Quorella smoothed back Thriton's salt-peppered mane, her habit for grooming unveiling itself. Thin, graceful fingers came to rest in the waves on the back of his neck. "What you're witnessing is the collective outlash of a child who's been put in extended timeout," she said, "Though I recall Kross and Ysadora acting far more favorably in comparison."

"As much as I adore your morbid humor, love, this goes beyond a tantrum. Our population count will not last at this rate. We…" Clearing his throat, Thriton rested his far larger hand over Quorella's, giving it a tender squeeze. "We've survived this long in isolation, worshipping the Giants as they are owed and working together as a community. Now? Those bonds are in peril. This outrage will persist, especially under Priest Crane's guide."

"Crane is the largest child of them all," Quorella hummed, but otherwise flatly. Detangling from the king, she looped around him and took her up station at the balcony this time. In stark contrast to Thriton, she studied the mayhem with cold calculation. Her rivlets of ginger seemed to burn in the light of fire, while her pale complexion danced with strips of moonlight. "I'm a mother and if there's anything a mother knows, it's that a child with power moves recklessly. Priest Crane will undo himself." Something woeful tinged her sigh. "His intentions are clear, love. He wishes to overthrow our rule and pave a path of death in his wake. Revealing his hand so eagerly was foolish, so we'll be the ones to use it to our advantage."

"You mean opening our borders." The response escaped Thriton as an answer, rather than a question. This was not the first time they've touched upon the subject and likely not to be the last. His innards were still soured by the acceptance of Prince Kross's betrothal to Princess Abrigel of Cain'loren. Not only did the decision deal a dangerous blow to his isolationist roots, but he couldn't fathom sleeping with such hypocrisy on his mind, as his love for Quorella, a foreigner herself, lived evergreen.

Quorella remained in place, not a single fiber of muscle capable of besting her immobile grace. "Yes. Crane relies far too much on the outcome of the Vuldran Massacre, but outside minds will not be as easy to sway. What non-Totarian would care for his cause? And his tendency to toss his pawns into death so frugally? Do you truly believe that the commoners' loyalty will last, especially as the death toll rises?"

Thriton joined his wife at her side; unlike her, he allowed himself to lean onto the rail, hunched frame and all. Too much strife infected his being to care about posture. A deep contemplation coursed through his weary veins. "Your mind is remarkable, have I ever mentioned it before?"

A ghost of a smile tugged at Quorella's lips, but it vanished quickly. "Yes, but you're free to repeat yourself."

"Your mind is remarkable. Your mind is remarkable. Your mind is--"

A gentle slap to the back of his head. Soft heat spread across the queen's face.

"You're aware of what a jest sounds like, you old dolt."

"How violent…" Thriton had half of a mind to tease the woman further and quench his love for catching her in her rare flustered state, but another round of screams from down below grounded him. "You make valid points, love, but what of Nerópolia? He's plotting with the marine forces as we speak."

"We have the loyalty of most, if not all of our highest ranking officers. What Crane has are a few boats and a bunch of young boys who were dazzled by the rebellion light. Impatient to make a name for themselves." However, a part of Quorella that was still attached to the trials and tribulations of her past could vaguely sympathize. That ferocious need to live beyond the limitations set by wealthy hands, to disapprove the arrogant leaders and jump headlong into righteous discord. She truly, deeply understood.

But this vigor was horribly misplaced. Worst of all, manipulated by Crane's puppeteer hands.

The queen was unsure of what brought on the change of topic, but she suddenly felt the need to address another matter. "What do we make of King Thornewild's passing?" she asked, yet an answer didn't come immediately. Clearly, Thriton had yet to draw up a decisive conclusion on the matter, specifically when it came to the politics of it all.

Thus, he began with his personal take on the development. "My heart goes to his loved ones. Not just family, but all those he had cherished in his life. I'm not… terribly familiar with how he ruled," A horrendous disadvantage of Totarian isolation, "But I'm aware that everyone is scrambling for keeps. So many kingdoms are moving, if not already on the move, but all we've done is offer a marriage pact."

"Better to take a first step than none."

"Shouldn't we be taking many more? I'm still not comfortable with shattering generations' worth of tradition for something so tentative, but…"

At long last, Quorella allowed herself to move and slid a hand up the length of Thriton's arm. Her fingers curled over his knuckles. "We have no choice and you know it. I may sound… dismissive of the death of our people, but I swear that I'm not. This wounds me as deeply as it wounds you. We have to open our minds first, before we begin to open our gates."

"...I know." King and Queen Eishbaul stood as one, their hands joined like the melding of Drudge iron ore and staring into the heart of Vuldran. "Kross has expressed interest in moving out with a hand selected squadron."

And with Princess Ysadora in tow, a desire that Thriton had denied vehemently. He couldn't stomach the thought of his sweet daughter being swept into the dangers of the outside world, especially now. However, Quorella was quick to speak the dreaded words into existence.

"Ysadora wishes to go as well… It's terrifying to think of, but I wouldn't be here if my own father had tightened his hold on me." She spoke cautiously for the first time in their conversation; the displeasure radiating from her husband proved to be palpable. "You're aware of how much Kross adores his sister. He'd fall on his own sword before letting anything happen to her."

"I know," he repeated.

The level of downtrodden defeat in his tone had potential to cleave Quorella's heart in two. And it did. Her jaw clenched. "They'll have the best warriors our militia has to offer. We'll make sure of it, love."

A stretch of silence.

"I know."

Another swift slap to his head.

"That repeating joke is growing as old as you."

"My skull is valuable, woman! Refrain from abusing it, please?"

---

Priest Tolbert Crane
Location: Nerópolia

The crisp Totarian air bit at Priest Crane's lungs, but tonight's sting proved to be crueler than usual. But, of course, he was never exactly a man of physical labor, such endeavors were set aside for the working hands in Pryon and Lanpool; thus, scaling the unfathomable number of steps up to Nerópolia was far from kind to his body.

Tolbert sucked in a caustic breath and righted himself as the final step was cleared, and he stood tall, brimming with a righteous fury. A beast caged by the polite clasp of his hands before him. A pair of heavily armored guards donning thick fur cloaks about their shoulders slammed fists to their chests and bowed.

"In Giants we trust," they murmured, gruff voices slicing the cold winds in sync.

Tolbert offered a nod, though his patience waned less than a moment after. He rolled his wrist dismissively, gesturing to the towering twin doors before him. They were mighty monsters of wood bolted shut by the iron locks, the metallic maws of Totar the Wrath Giant emerging from its framework. Blocks of ice crept around the edges, though visible indentations around the hinges were evident of the troops' efforts to chip them away.

"I've my own escort," Tolbert said, but made no move to point out the obvious. A handful of lower-ranked soldiers guarded his rear, their hot pink cheeks and noses frigid to the touch. "Allow me entry and alert Strauss to my presence. Matters are to be attended to. Immediately."

As if a whip cracked at their feet, the gatekeepers jumped to action and hailed a signal to several more troops manning the platform up above. A moment after, the gates heaved a withering groan, the snapped apart, flecks of ice scattering on the chilled winds from Krum River. Totar's metal mouth parted in two and spilled forth the warmth of torches and collective body musk from the inside.

Tolbert didn't fight his grimace. Despite this being far from his first visit to the marine stronghold, his stomach always lurched whenever the scent struck his nostrils. He made haste to enter with his men in tow and crossed the main hall swiftly, then scaled the spiral staircase even swifter. He moved like a man with little time, when the blasphemous Eishbaul Family failed to act, giving off the illusion of leisure resting on the priest's shoulders.

But Tolbert was no fool. He was an inspiration. A prophet on a mission.

Absolutely nothing about the royals' silence boded well with him.

A maze network of halls weaved through the secondary level of Nerópolia, yet he navigated on muscle memory alone and soon reached his destination. He entered his office with little grace, the equivalent of a spooked bison trapped in a man's body. There was no respect to be found in this area. He'd liberated it from Strauss's incompetent superior weeks ago--after executing said superior and sinking his corpse to the bottom of the Vrizen Sea.

"Such grace…"

Tolbert stilled.

Jaw clenched tight and blood pressure reaching for the stars, Tolbert's eyelids fluttered before he turned, coming face to face with his begrudging compatriot. Priestess Joeldi Maleev sported the epitome of comfort, reclining in the leather-padded seat and propping one heel on the desk. A stack of documents that Tolbert had yet to finalize were knocked astray.

"Priestess Maleev…" A hiss squeezed through Tolbert's teeth. "Your tendency for disrespect increases by leaps and bounds. Remove your nonsensical self from my station. Post. Haste."

Despite the venom oozing from his tone, Joeldi's smirk widened. Or, rather, lifted with an emotion that could've posed as amusement and yet, her pragmatic behavior muddled up the aura. Led most, if not all, beholders of her expressions baffled. Tolbert wasn't an exception.

"Graceless and rude," Joeldi's giggle filled the chamber like smock, "Oh, how the mighty Giant Priest has fallen. Shall I write an ode in your name? Well, I'm not terribly advanced with way of word--"

"You may stand now."

"I may. But will I?"

Tolbert's nostrils flared. There was no need in glancing back, as he could sense the confusion radiating from his men. His and Joeldi's combat for power over the masses warred one another from the first day of their alleged alliance. However, it was a small price to pay in the face of solidifying his cause to Totarians and utilizing all forms of priestly loyalty throughout the kingdom. Even with the Maleevs'... unsavory history.

Priest Crane slammed a hand to the desk and loomed over Joeldi, his glare scorching holes through her ghostly pale frame. "You will. You shall. And you'll present me the respect I'm owed. Or do you fancy a marvelous view of Totaris from the top of this stronghold, your head skewered on our flag?"

Unperturbed, Joeldi hummed and stood, albeit as slowly as possible. She pinched Tolbert's chin like a mother fawning over their adorable child. "Graceless, rude, and temperamental. The list grows faster than I can handle," she said.

Blood boiling, Crane flashed a snarl and reached inside of his robes, retracting a ceremonial blade. It was reminiscent of the signature craftsmanship of all royal weaponry; an anthropomorphic blade shimmering with refined sharpness, the Totarian emblem pressed into a filed down handle composed of ram horn, the sturdiest bone their homeland had to offer. However, it's hilt curved inwards towards the handle before jutting out gently at the tips, a stylistic touch forged for Priest Crane personally.

Whatever intentions he had of attacking were thwarted before he could draw his next breath. Joeldi proved to be faster and pressed her dagger tauntingly against the column of his throat. All traces of jest drained from her eyes, scanning him like horse dung on the bottom of her shoe. "Now now… I thought you detested the nonsensical arts, Priest Crane. Now's not the time for a blood letting. Don't you agree?"

Her thumb, which still rested on his chin, swiped the facial hair there before she pulled away, granting him breathing room. Just as Tolbert's lips parted to bestow a fiery tongue lashing, the rushed clanking of heavy armor echoed from the halls.

Another soldier burst through the door, knocking aside Crane's men in the process, and stood astutely before the pair. Sweat rolled down his tan visage and disappeared into the midnight forest of his beard. A deeper brown of the eyes and square jaw--common traits of a closer descendant from the original Totarians.

"Pardon my hasty entry, Priest and Priestess," he rasped, each syllable tumbling over one another. He beat his chest and bowed, all motions delayed and choppy, before pressing on, "Word of the rebellion in Vuldran has reached us. They're demanding more hands on the offensive."

Huffing under his breath, Tolbert resheathed his blade and adopted the posture of a leader once more. "Still yourself, Strauss. It's unbecoming." Strauss nodded, though he failed miserably to calm the nerves wrecking havoc through his system. "Now then, explain yourself. We've administered a sufficient amount of warriors to keep the royal hounds at bay, and they should be struggling enough as it is to calm the commoners without spilling blood." Tolbert held no qualms about utilizing the king and queen's obsession with mercy to his advantage.

"Allow me to guess…" Joeldi drawled from behind Tolbert. "The righteous princess." She spat out the word like poison, but her visage refused to crack.

Strauss nodded again. "Yes, Priestess. Princess Ysadora has recently lent her aid on the field, along with another battalion. Peasants are dying far faster than we intended."

"Amazing how this sweet young lady's presence seems to spur on further bloodshed…"

Tolbert noticed the building salt and miasma swimming under Joeldi's breath. For as long as their partnership had endured, he never once understood what sort of deep-seeded grudge she held against the adoptive royal. It clearly went beyond her being a foreigner, but Tolbert didn't possess the patience, let alone the care, to question Joeldi on the matter. Thus, he ignored her comment.

"...Then we withdraw. For now," he said, "It's not worth sending in another wave. We'd merely be feeding into the princess's plans, whatever they may be. I refuse to cater to that spoiled brat. Besides." He snatched up the documents Joeldi's offending foot had tipped over, shooting the priestess in question a dirty glare. "We need the Eishbauls to believe they are safe. They'll be granted peace and quiet, while we forge further alliance beyond Totaris."

Several pages worth of a letter rested between his fingers. "I intend to finish this by morning. Have your most experienced navigator and some of the intermediate warriors prepped for departure in the days coming. We may be setting course for Velvulia."

"And Bastillos," Joeldi added.

A withering groan sliced the back of Tolbert's throat. By the will of the Giants alone, he held back a caustic complaint and forced out evenly, "...Yes. To Bastillos as well. Tentatively."

Nonsensical. It was always the nonsensical with this woman. Joeldi had expressed apparent interest in rumors, something to do with a Seer woman of sorts collecting dust in the bowels of the earth. Mole people. At first, he had denied her request, but she claimed that if there was any iota of truth behind this woman's clairvoyance, she and Bastillos altogether could prove to be a fantastic ally.

It was a bittersweet notion to swallow, but Priest Crane was forced to accept far worse in his short lifetime.

Strauss bowed one last time. "Understood, Priest. Priestess. I'll send word immediately." His exit was mirrored by the rest of Tolbert's guards, who took up station outside of the office. The moment the door closed, he and Joeldi locked gazes, the mutual hatred crackling between them.

A short stretch of silence.

Joeldi reseated herself at Tolbert's desk, ignoring his furious shouts.

---

Prince Kross Eishbaul
Location: Totaris Gates

Sleep escaped everyone the night before.

And, he supposed, so did a few lives. However, Kross didn't have time to mourn the loss of Totarian numbers. His priorities resided elsewhere, specifically in awaiting his younger sister's return. Safe and unharmed. Of course, there were plenty of protests on his part; fibbing to their parents about Ysadora's whereabouts was not difficult for Kross, but allowing the young woman to jump headlong into danger was. Incredibly so.

But if Ysadora was anything, something she always would be, it was stubborn. More determined than the hotblooded rioters of their home, but with an altruistic mind that would surely lead to trouble in the near future.

Leisuring behind guarded walls while waiting for the people to die was a worst sin than spitting on Giants--those had been Ysadora's words. She spoke them with such fire, that Kross feared her fragile self would burst into flames. Even with the combat training he shared with her, his specialty in the arts of swordsmanship while her archery could quiver the boots of men, Kross could not risk her loving heart falling prey to the cruelties of the outside world.

...And yet, here she was.

"Are you ready, brother?" Ysadora marched past the gates on Charcoal and slowed to a stop next to Kross's pure white steed, Fraust. The excitement gleamed in her eyes, but in a way that he had yet to witness before. Something genuine lurked beneath, which momentarily irked the logistic machine that was his brain. Surely, his sister had expressed proper happiness in the past. Why would this instant be any different?

No matter. He couldn't allow his mind to stray.

"As ready as any man would be to dive into the unknown with their easily impressionable sister in tow," he muttered, a perpetual and stagnant boredom coloring his tone. There were many days and nights in which Ysadora tried to weed an inkling of emotion from his blank disposition.

She never once succeeded. Not ever since Lideth.

The princess rolled her eyes. "If you're going to be my travel companion, then you must adopt a lighter attitude than this. What will your betrothed think of such behavior?"

"I'm incapable of reading her mind." Kross sighed. "Though I'm certain many married men thirst for such a gift. I'm not one of them."

"Charmer."

"Charmed."

"By the Giants. You're a catch. Truly." Although her words were poised with the blade of sarcasm, a soft admiration shone in Ysadora's features. She risked teetering precariously on her saddle to reach over and ruffle the prince's brunette locks. "I hope you're aware that I'm still not entirely on board with this marriage."

Kross didn't bother fixing his hair. "And you assume that I am? It's simply a bond by contract. A political move. I'm not selling my soul."

"Only because you lack one," Ysadora countered, "Kross the Cold. Killer of many. Many of his kind. Proud heir to the Ring of Ice. And now… soon to be Krossy Boo? Kross to bear… these children? Oh, yes--lover A-Kross borders."

Kross cut a look her way from his peripherals, clearly displeased, but Ysadora's cackles couldn't be smothered. A noise unfit for the traditional behavior of a princess, but neither of them were fans of tradition when it came to how they carried themselves. "I'm tempted to Kross you off my cargo list. You're more than welcome to remain in the castle with dear father."

Like the snap of a twig, his sister's mood sobered. "I'd rather not."

"Mhm. A shocking sentiment."

The siblings' bickering was interrupted by a scuffle unfolding from behind. Guards crossed their spears, forming a barricade and pushing back a masked figure. Their barks echoed through the frigid Drudge Mountains and among the noise, Kross's ears picked up traces of "stubborn fool". Without thought, the prince hopped off Fraust and approached. A stern hand fell to one of their shoulders.

"Stand aside. This man is owed as much respect as any Eishbaul." Kross pushed the guards apart, revealing the small but bouncy form of Jester. He was a masked deviant composed of bells and infuriatingly cryptic words, but the prince welcomed his presence like the rising sun. "What brings you, Jester? Don't tell me you walked the entire length of the kingdom…"

"Feets sore and's a hurting galore!" Jester giggled, his feet bursting into a little jig. However, he patted Kross's chest--or, rather, rapped against it like knuckles to a door. He paused, leaned into while cupping his ear, then nodded to himself several times in confirmation. The royal fool jolted with epiphany. "Galore, galore! Blood and glory abhor! Dare ignore??" A disappointment wilt, the arms of his silly hat seeming to do the same. "Shame…"

Kross bit the inside of his cheek, smothering a grin. "I rarely abhor anything, let alone something as simple as blood or glory. Everything we do is for the greater good of this kingdom. You know that."

Jester unleashed an odd hybrid of laughter and exasperated groaning. Another jig fluttered through his feet, before he dipped into a sideways cartwheel. The maneuver buckled partway, however, and he welcomed the fate of falling on his back. He raised his gloved hands to the heavens and hummed a little tune under his breath. "Greater's the good! Greater's the bad! Greater and greater's is all we have!" He flipped onto his stomach and rested his chin on his fists, feet swinging back and forth. "Til the greatest is too bad~. Augh! Me's handmaiden! She crows!"

"Like the finest of crows," Kross muttered, choosing to overlook his anecdote. Regardless, the prince vowed to mull over it during his travels; he refused to take a single word of Jester's words for granted. While the Eishbauls claimed the royal fool to be nothing more than a mad servant, Kross sensed potential. An underlying wisdom. He refused to dismiss his intuition in favor of popular opinion. He hauled Jester back onto his feet and dusted off the fool's costume. "Now then--will you finally state your business? Or should I send you off with your winged handmaiden?"

Jester shook his head dramatically, jingling loudly. "Sword! Sword!" Reaching within the thick pelt of his cloak, Jester pulled a sword free and presented it to Kross. The blade was sheathed in finely tailored leather, embalmed with Pryon's symbol, but the princess recognized the fine detail of it's hilt and handle.

"Jester… I'm already in possession of a sword."

"Two's a do! Do you good good! Trust! Good blade, to trust and thrust! Formidable foe to meet, you must!"

Hesitation seized Kross. He reached for the weapon, glanced at Jester once more, then accepted the weapon. "I… trust your judgement," he muttered. The fool merely giggled and cooed in satisfaction, clapping all the while. Without giving Kross a chance to ask any further questions, Jester dashed through the gates and disappeared into the bloodied streets of Vuldran. The last of his form was swallowed whole by the squadron Kross had hand-picked, their horses clomping in unison.

Kross stared at the man's retreating form before forcing himself to return to Fraust. Upon mounting his horse, Ysadora pinned him down with a stare demanding answers. "What did that pragmatic madman want with you this time?" she asked.

"He was bestowing me wisdom. And," Kross stowed the second sword on the side of his saddle, "A parting gift."

Ysadora scoffed. "Wisdom. If that's what you wish to believe."

Kross shrugged. "Indeed. It is. Now then… Let us go. This silence in Totaris won't last long." With a nod, brother and sister set out to lands beyond the Ring of Ice.

---

Tags: @Elle Joyner , @ze_kraken , @Effervescent , @Quake

 

[Elle Joyner]

CHARACTER/KINGDOM SHEETS || INFORMATION || OOC​

---

CAIN'LOREN
FOR CROWN AND FOR LAND​

.

⚜

Abrigel Baelston

.

The orange glow of candle light flickered, as Abrigel made her way down the narrow passage that would lead to the hidden panel at the back of her bed chamber. These excursions were becoming increasingly more complicated, but she found leaving the palace by day ultimately impossible. Her father's wife was on the warpath, intent, no doubt, to drive Abrigel mad before shipping her off to the frozen lands of Totaris.

She was hesitant, initially, to pursue the fugitive's troublesome situation. There was something to say for his honesty, and while perhaps it was her own naivety to think she could trust a veritable stranger, particularly one accused of so heinous a crime, but his eyes spoke little of regret or guilt… only fear and sadness for a life he might never again have. Were he so good a pretender to trick her so efficiently, well, she supposed she had earned whatever fate that might tender. But she did trust him…

They had met a few more times over the week, but discussing a plan was challenging when coupled with the necessary secrecy, and they'd gotten little more done than to determine there was much to do to clear his name. But tonight Abrigel had posed the idea of going to the Thornwild council and speaking to them about the incident. It wasn't surefire, and there was no real way of knowing if they would be heard or not, but her father had little concern for those who did not serve his own purpose, and Bastillos would undoubtedly execute Isaac before he had much of a chance to defend himself. Thornwild would want the truth, certainly, particularly given the recent foul play against their own king.

It was inevitable they would get nowhere without action… and the longer they waited, the more evidence might pile up against Isaac - however fabricated it might be.

It worried her that Thornwild might not hear Isaac's case, either. But if there was nothing else to be done, she would find a way to keep him safe. Somehow.

"Abrigel!"

The curling fingers of dread snaked down her spine as her name echoed along the hallway. Slowly, taking a breath to compose herself, she turned to see Aimera standing in the doorway. She was dressed, which given the hour seemed odd. Her eyes filled with unpleasant scrutiny, she took in the sight of Abrigel in her cloak and mud-sodden riding boots. For a moment, no words were exchanged between the two, but when the queen spoke next, there was an unmistakable twinge of sadistic pleasure behind her gaze.

"Come with me."

Swallowing, Abrigel followed after Aimera, who spun on her heels and back the way she'd come. Catching up, Abrigel came alongside the queen, and while many questions lingered, she said nothing, the fear resonating in her stomach forming a cincture on her throat.

After a few minutes of silence, they arrived outside the Great Hall and pausing, Aimera turned and face Abigel with a delighted smile, "Go on, then. We mustn't keep our guests waiting."

"G-guests?" Paling slightly, Abrigel clutched her hands over her stomach.

"Oh yes, my dear. The caravan has arrived from Totaris. Your future husband is here." The doors opened as Aimera spoke and Abrigel's breath caught as she was ushered inside.

"Your Majesty, may we present Her Grace, Abrigel Baelston of Cain'loren. In all her glory…" Aimera remarked coolly, behind the pallid princess, and beneath her breath, unheard by any but the redhead, she muttered, "Filth and all…"

---

Calin Farthsworn

.

"You're sure? Absolutely sure?"

Drawing his fingers from his temples, Calin looked up at the woman standing before him. Her posture was recklessly casual, her arms folded in front of her, and an unnerving smirk at the corner of her lips as she took in the Captain.

"Yes. You told me to come to you if she made moves without consulting you first. You think I'd be here, otherwise? It's a risk in and of itself just being in this castle, let alone here with you, Farnthsworn."

"And you met with him, personally? This Velvulian prat?"

"Not the word I'd use for him. He's focused, Captain." Crossing one leg over the other, she shrugged, "And driven. The sort of drive his people will flock to, if he gets enough ground on this little revolt of his."

Sinking back, Calin shook his head, "He's a foolish, impetuous boy, no more fit to rule than that toddler brother of his sitting on the throne, now. Putting our stock behind someone willing to upset the order of his entire kingdom is… She isn't thinking clearly, and it shows."

"And you think the best way to reel her in is to act behind her back? C'mon Captain. Not even you're that foolish."

"You're toeing the line, Miranda." Calin spat, sitting straighter in his chair, "There's more at stake here than the damnable throne! If she isn't careful and she's discovered, do you imagine she won't tell the bastard everyone involved in her plans to try and save herself?"

A sigh escaped and pinching the bridge of her nose, Miranda nodded in concession, "Fair point. Which is why I agreed to report to you. But act wisely, Calin. Ordin might kill us if he finds out we've been working behind his back… Aimera definitely will."

"Thank you, Miranda…" Shifting forward, chin steepled by his fingers, Calin's expression shifted to the jack-of-all, "If that's all…"

"Yeah, yeah. I know when I'm not wanted." Rising, with a small smirk, Miranda gave a nod, "Goodnight Captain."

---

Raenna Baelston

.

As the sprawling hillsides of Thornwild gave way to thick black rock mountains, their destination loomed like a phantom before them… Bastillos could, of course, not be seen from the road, but deep beneath the craggy behemoth that was The Steel Guard of Ellemar, the city awaited. Night had fallen, and beside her Dansin sat, elbow braced on the carriage window frame, chin in his hands and posture lazy and bored. Her own expression remained placid, if not a bit stoic, but in her heart, excitement thrummed wild and unabashed.

Never before had she been permitted to travel so freely - with only two sections of their own guard on hand, left behind at the border as they were met by a small section from Bastillos. Theirs was a diplomatic journey, after all, and to be seen as hostile or paranoid would undoubtedly reflect poorly on Cain'loren. Her mother, Raenna suspected, had something else up her sleeve, but given Raenna's lack of worth in concerns to marriage and Crispin's bid on the young ward of the crown, there was hardly much more her mother could manipulate in her favor.

Yet she suspected all the same.

One of the Bastillos guardsmen, Allarith, had been permitted to ride in the carriage - something of a tour was anticipated, though there was little at current to see in the dull light. Raenna nevertheless turned now to the man, a brow lifting as she studied his face a moment. He seemed tired… resigned, perhaps, and Raenna had to wonder what his life might entail to bring about such a melancholic look. Or perhaps he was simply tempered by nature…?

Regardless, clearing her throat and sitting up, Dansin shifting his attention for a brief moment before returning his gaze out the window, Raenna addressed the man, "Tell me… Does Bastillos hold the arts in so high regard as is rumor? I've heard it's magnifi--…"

"Ho! Who goes there?" The voice cut across Raenna's query as the carriage jolted to a sudden stop, the whickering of horses overheard through the carriage windows. A cry split the night, then a thud and Raenna's hands came to her mouth as Dansin straightened, his hand on his weapon. His eyes shifted to the guard.

Footfall erupted from outside, and more shouts, as the clash of steel upon steel echoed, "Stay put, Raenna… And do not say a word!" Dansin hissed, his sword half free as he gripped the door, nodding to Allarith, "On my word, you take my sister and you run the opposite way, towards that tree line, understood?"

And kicking the carriage door open, Dansin bolted out, "Go!" [/b][/size]

---

Rosleigh Baelston

.

The sun had barely risen into the sky when the royal palace began the day. Everywhere one looked, something was being cleaned, or washed, or prepared. Servants rushed back and forth hurriedly, making last minute preparations for the day that had come. The kitchens had been preparing the evening's meal for the past four hours. Out in the courtyard, loose leaves from the cherry blossoms had been swept up, the alabaster tiles had been polished, and the greeting party had assembled in their proper places. Nara was not a kingdom that got many guests of outside royalty, and so when they did hospitality was taken to the extreme.

Kaji stood silently in the center of the courtyard as he awaited his guest. The few minutes of peace he had received while they waited for the Cain'loren princess had been the best part of his day, apart from the gentle sea breeze that was quite active that day. To his left had gathered the elders of the court, and to his right, the Highfather and his priests. Along the edges of the courtyard and on both sides of the prince stood the members of the royal guard in ceremonial attire. A large red carpet had been rolled out towards the gate, and a faint horn had just finished echoing in the distance, signaling that their guest was approaching.

The carriage was plain, for all of Cain'loren's supposed splendor. Ash wood, with a simple grey canopy and two windows, small slits that all but concealed the women within. Pulling up to the carpet, spiraled out for their arrival, it seemed almost incongruent, and staring out that small split in the side, one could hardly contain a sense of awe at the magnificence beyond those spartan walls. Heart hammering, the princess took in a shallow breath - daring to go no deeper as she feared a fit of coughing - waiting for the footman to open the door.

Sunlight beamed in brilliance across the extravagant court, and taking the footman's extended arm, Rosleigh Baelston stepped into its warmth. Reams of yellow unfolded around her, the skirts of her gown unfurling in their freedom - simple, too, but considerable more ostentatious than her means of travel. Golden waves fell along her shoulders, spilling into ornately stitched purple and blue flowers and slender hands folded in front of her as she stared at the welcoming party ahead, awaiting the escort that would bring her to the foreign assembly that was to be her home for the next several weeks.

Stepping away from the court wall, two of the royal guards approached the princess and her party. Unlike most of the royal guards, these two were women, and had been specifically chosen as escorts so as not to frighten the guests upon their arrival. Once in front of them, the pair removed their ornamental helmets and bowed deeply before extending their arms towards the welcome party at the opposite end of the carpet.

"Welcome to Kasai, the capital of Nara," the first guard spoke, smiling gently. "We are incredibly blessed to have you join us this day. If you would follow us, the Regent and the rest of the royal court will be pleased to welcome you. They have been expecting you for some time."

Giving a small curtsey, the two women beside her dipping deeper in their own, Rosleigh smiled at the women with a glimmer of fascination behind her eyes, no doubt spurred by their formidable positions in relation to their sex. It was well known throughout Ellemar that few women served in militaristic purposes and certainly none in Cain'loren. Straightening again, smoothing the folds in her skirts, she nodded.

"Thank you. Please… Lead the way."

The guards began their walk down the carpet and upon arriving before Kaji and the court, bowed once more before returning to their positions along the wall. Realizing he should probably say something, Kaji cleared his throat and stepped forward, doing his best to be friendly and hospitable.

"Welcome to Nara, Princess Rosleigh. The Nara family, it's people, and it's Emperor welcome you. I am Prince Kaji, and it is my great honor to receive you to our humble nation. I regret that my father could not be here to welcome you in person, but he is...unavailable, as you may know. I trust your trip was an amicable one?"

"Most amicable… And the honor is mine, Your Grace." Giving another curtsy, Rosleigh smiled gingerly, "It's quite lovely here. More so than I imagined. That's not to say I imagined it being anything but beautiful, but…" Pausing, she cleared her throat and for a moment, a rattling cough bubbled in place of the rambled words, nearly devolving into a fit as her hands rose to cover her mouth. One of her handmaidens stepped forward, and Rosleigh gave a timid but hurried wave of her hand, shaking her head, "I'm alright. I'll be just fine," Then, as if to change the subject, she continued, "The… the air here is drier. It's pleasant."

Turning slightly, she gestured to the small throng of men currently exiting their own coaches, before returning her gaze to the prince, "With regards, my father has sent all our best physicians. It is my greatest hope that they might find a way to ease your father's illness."

The prince smiled, unsure of what his guest had meant by dry air. He had never left Nara, so the idea of a wetter air seemed strange to him. However that was neither here nor there. "Yes,..well we hope you will enjoy your time here. Nara is a beautiful country." Upon noticing the doctors that had arrived with the princess, Kaji motioned for the servants to attend to them and gather their possessions. "I see I have much to be thankful for this day. You have my thanks, and I will be sure to write your father a letter as well. Now then, let us not stand out in this courtyard all day," the prince laughed. "These ladies will take care of your things and guide you to where you will be staying. Tonight there will be a feast and-"

"Ahem. If I may, your Highness…."

Kaji stopped, realizing he had forgot something incredibly important. "Ah, forgive me. The day has only begun, and I fear I am already losing my manners. Princess, this is Highfather Tsu," the Regent motioned towards the elderly, silver haired man by his side.

"Princess..." the Highfather bowed. "We are pleased to have you with us. We of the temple prayed for your safe journey..."

"How very kind of you." Bowing her head to the older man, she offered a warm smile, "I do hope that in our stay we might make use of ourselves and not bring to waste all this wonderful attention."

"Your Highness…" Approaching, her hand gently touching Rosleigh's arm, her handmaiden spoke quietly, "It's nearly time for--"

"Thank you, Anabet. If you'll forgive me… I must rest before tonight, then. A feast… How exciting. Until then, Your Grace… And Highfather…" A nod to each, and she turned to her handmaidens, who in turn, looked to their escorts, following the women in the direction they were led.

Kaji nodded. It was best not to hold them any longer than needed. He knew the servants would take care of everything, and he had no reason to worry. And yet, he still couldn't help but worry nevertheless. Princess Rosleigh was clearly not well. Forefathers forbid something should happen to her or one of her people! Kaji shuddered at the thought, imagining the ramifications of such an awful scenario. Breathing deeply to calm his mind, the prince watched his guests head off towards the western wing where their living quarters had been set up. Around him, the court had begun to disperse and decorations were slowly being taken down.

"Prince Kaji. It is time for the council meeting."

Kaji grit his teeth. "Yes, yes. Of course." Turning on his heel, the young prince headed off towards the throne room. His hospitality would have to wait until the evening. For now, it would be another morning of arguing policies and politics. How his father had dealt with it on a daily basis he would never understand.

---

"He seems nice, M'lady…" Anabet's voice broke through the silent torrent of thoughts, raging within Rosleigh's mind as she watched her ladies unpack her things. They had been at the palace only a short while, and already she found herself missing home.

"Hmm?" Looking up, a brow raised, as Rosleigh returned her mind to the present.

"The Prince. He seems quite nice. And not at all savage like those terrible rumors…" Shivering, Anabet fluffed out a gown, before hanging it on a hook in the wardrobe.

"Savage?" Concern knit her expression as Rosleigh shifted to her feet.

"Oh, it's nothing, Your Grace. Just… You know how people talk. Anyone who's not a Lorenite these days is some sort of terrible savage or beast or something awful. It's warm here… Welcoming. I think it suits you."

Cheeks slightly pink, Ros sank back down onto the bench at the foot of her bed, "...Perhaps we'd best to avoid such talk, Ana. We wouldn't want anyone to overhear and find offense."

"Yes, M'lady. Of course. Now, then. Time for your bath… We've apparently a feast tonight…"

---

Later that evening, as the moon rose high over Nara, bathing the lands in greying splendor and light, Rosleigh stood on the balcony of her room, overlooking the majestic city from above. Prince Kaji had not been to the feast, and while his absence was of note, she had not found herself without company. The people of Nara were, in fact, as far from savage nature as one might attain… Welcoming and kind, she found herself very swiftly enraptured by them, and all within one evening.

"M'lady! Your bed is ready…" She heard Keira call.

Breathing in as deeply as her fragile lungs might permit, Rosleigh smiled faintly… This, no doubt, was going to be a lovely venture. However it might end.

---

---

THORNWILD
HONOR OR DEATH​

.

⚜

Irin Danthos

.

"We cannot continue to ignore the ramifications of all that's happened… Every day we become more and more vulnerable to outside forces! How long are we expected to wait before a decision is made??" Banging his fist against the tabletop, Irin's eyes danced amongst the other members of the council, steely and cold, resolute in his frustrated ire, "The king has been dead two weeks now… And we are without a man on the throne. This senseless indecisiveness will be our ruin--"

"Now, really Danthos… That's a bit extreme. We've the means to protect ourselves, should the need arise… and this is hardly a small decision." Frowning, Abram Path folded his hands below one of his many chins, his jowls quivering, "Our decision cannot be made lightly… We risk open civil war should the people feel we've overstepped our bounds…"

"Then I beg you… esteemed councilmen… Set an interim ruler in the King's stead, may Baronthorn rest in glory. Someone to ensure we are not seen as weak to those who would find advantage in our predicament."

"And who would that be, Irin?" The soft growl came from Miser Thatch, who pressed his fingertips to his lips, brows knit pensively, "You?"

"I would, gladly, if it meant protecting Thornwild…" Straightening, Irin eyed the man, feigning a glimmer of severity, resisting the smirk that tugged ever present at his mouth, "Would you not?"

"I think we know very well there is not a man here who would abandon this kingdom in any of its needs, but the matter remains… Would it be the right man?"

Bristling, Irin's gaze narrowed, "Speak plainly, my old friend… Do you imagine I would be an ill fitting regent?"

"I think there was a reason His Majesty did not name you heir… and while I could not guess what that reasoning might be, I suspect I am not alone in feeling that our leader… interim or not ought to be someone our true king thought… appropriate for the position."

"He was awfully fond of this… People's Prince, yes?" Another voice, Marquet Darvel, spoke up, "Often spoke of how he admired the man's convictions…"

"You would hand our kingdom over to a vigilante?" Irin asks, irritation coloring his words, "Somehow I cannot imagine this to be a wiser course of action than one of our council members assuming the position…"

"I agree…" Path noted, "I see no reason why Irin here could not, at least temporarily, safeguard the throne."

"Shall we perhaps put it to a vote?" Darvel asked.

"My good men… I would ask that you consider the King's wish--"

"The king cannot make this decision. And while I respect your desire to protect Thornwild's interests, rash decisions could be… regrettable."

"Then for the moment I propose we put the matter to rest. We will reconvene when we've had time to determine what the people want… All in favor?"

As the 'ayes' echoed around the table, Irin's fists clenched tightly at his side.

Another day, then… but he would have his throne.

---

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