The Weight of the Crown

Elle Joyner · Jul 6, 2017

CHARACTER/KINGDOM SHEETS || INFORMATION || OOC

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

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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

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

"You'll simply have to insist the queen show you around! OH, I've heard it's so beautiful… And the men…"

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

"Right, of course. Sorry, M'lady." Straightening, Nadine set the brush down on the mantel and with a tight smile, bowed her head, "I'll leave to rest, Princess. Good luck, tomorrow." Nadine 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 cheek she rose and moving to her bed, sank down beneath the covers. Tomorrow she and Dansin left for Bastillos. They would meet a man who hailed from the underground city at the border and he would guide them the rest of the way. She wasn't escaping life in Cain'loren. She knew that, but whatever she told Nadine, the change would be nice. It was 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 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 he couldn't remember for the life of him what the poor creature's name was.

"My father doesn't deem it appropriate for any of my sisters to travel on their own with a male guide. Normally he insists on Crispin going, but well… I guess 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.

"And you promise to tell me? The minute you return?"

"Of course." He lied, his smile brilliant, "But if I'm going to be any useful sort of guardian to my sister, I should 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. The minute you return."

"You have my word." She bent and kissed him and was off like a feather in the wind, tightening the laces of her bodice as she went. Rolling his eyes, Dansin bounced back off the bed and made for the door at the back of his chamber, pulling it 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 pretty sure this one's name was Margo…

Crispin Baelston

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His mother's outburst at dinner was greatly disturbing… It was hardly the first time that something had happened

along those lines, and with tension only increasing in the palace, it wasn't likely to be the last time. Abrigel's betrothal to Eifion Valerys had come as a shock to all of them, but none more than Abrigel. The man, for all his intelligence and social graces seemed hardly the sort to tolerate her occasional well meaning willfulness, a penchant for aiding those in need, and for someone so soft and delicate as his sister, it was little wonder she'd taken the news poorly.

But his mother's attempts at moving up their marriage, and announcing it at dinner the way she had…? Rarely did Crispin find himself so disappointed in someone. And perhaps Abrigel's reaction had been less than proper, but to hurl a goblet of wine at the poor girl? This, decidedly, was why a king lacking in certain upstanding virtues was a 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. And it brought to mind his own impending union... Soon enough, he would need to come to terms with it. To decide...

His mother would never accept Abrigel… She was a 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 out loud. 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.

"M'lord…?" The door opened slowly and Crispin glanced up from his desk to see a familiar face in the frame.

"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.

"Right. Thank you…" As Douglas turned to leave, Crispin pried the letter open and pulled out the parchment from without, a small frown forming as he read over the words, color brightening his pale cheeks.

"That woman…" He muttered, setting the letter down, but 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.

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.

Azawa. She was being sent away to Azawa- piled into a carriage, the missive sent to the shore kingdom with absolute urgency. Her first venture from the palace, and undoubtedly, she would see nothing of value, cooped up in the walls of Castle Fall.

Across from her Anabet's fingers were busy working embroidery stitches onto a skirt, 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, "M'lady?"

"Azawa. 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, for a desert… 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. We'll be there in a few hours, yet. I'll wake you, when we've arrived."

Nodding, Rosleigh turned away, leaning up against the side of the carriage. In but a few minutes, she was asleep...

Ainsley Baelston

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Avenius,

I have received your letter requesting aid in the matter of your son. After much deliberation, and considering your generous offering to renew our peace treaty ammended to include Cain'loren's consiliatory use of the trade route between Thornwild and Silvern, I have decided to acquiesce. Ainsley will arrive in a fortnight, fully prepared to meet the agreed upon terms. I would warn you, however, Avenius, should anything unfortunate befall my darling daughter, there will be unfathomable consequences for Silvern. I leave her in your care.

Regards,

Ordin

This was the missive sent a little less than two weeks prior, to King Avenius of Silvern... A man who quite literally held Ainsley Baelston's future within his grasp. Lucien Gringoire had been abducted several months ago, and with little seen in terms of success amongst the emissaries sent after him, the situation had turned desperate.

And so it had turned to the young man's future bride to make her attempts at softening the hearts and minds of the savage northerners. Ainsley was young, and she had been raised as any princess might be, but courage lived within her heart and while she had never met the man she was to marry, there was a piece of her - a lofty, idyllic piece of her - that was certain she was meant to be his salvation. There was a foggy sort of daydream in the back of her mind, a princess, rescuing the prince for a change... him falling for her in awe of her bravery and sensibility. And perhaps it was foolhearty and a little childish, but she wanted so much to love him, as well.

Therefore, heart in one hand, her father's sealed treaty in the other, she rode to Silvern, arriving shortly before sundown on the aforedecided path, with a small garrison of soldiers, to meet Avenius's daughter...

The eastern carriage arrived at twilight. Beyla and her entourage waited on the mainland parallel to the Long Road. The only way, outside of a boat, to reach Silvernest. But the ancient castle wasn't their destination. Not quite as long, nor as grand, the Track was shrouded by leafy northern trees that swayed gently in the wind as the driver eased to a stop. Ever waiting, Beyla dropped from her black mare and bridged the distance between the two parties.

She, both a member of the royalty and clergy class; a deviant of the olden ways, stood ready to begin the unification of east and west. Beyla Gringoire, seventeen as of three weeks past, stood straight backed and proud, wearing silver Druen garb that was a little too finely made and shimmered in the growing darkness.

"Do I have the pleasure of meeting Ainsley Baelston? Princess of Cain'loren and the woman betrothed to my brother, Prince Lucien Gringoire?"

Ainlsey approached the small throng, anxiety tracing through her with each slowed step of the mount beneath her. It was indimating, being in this strange new land, under such strange considerations and the still of night.. the moon overhead and a few torches the only source of light.

Her father had instructed her to dress plainly... A blue frock with little ornament. It was meant that she would not stand out, and looking at the princess on the path before her she could only think it worked a little too well.

Beyla Gringoire was prettier than Ainsley expected her to be. Northerners outside of Cain'loren were all myth and legend to Ordin Baelston's middle child, and she had envisioned her kingdom to be the only thing civilized about their mountainous region. Approaching, her horse slowed to a trot, then stopped altogether, she looking across her shoulders at the sea of bright shimmering armor behind her and frowned. In but a few hours they would be dismissed, as her's and Beyla's approach was to be made with discretion. There was little comfort in the consideration, and not for the first time since leaving her lands, she felt a knot of fear in her throat and a sort of homesickness welling in her stomach.

Craning her gaze back to the younger princess, Ainsley nodded, "Indeed, I am. And you must be Beyla. You'll forgive my appearance. It has been a long journey."

@rissa

Ordin Baelston

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Before the fire, Ordin Baelston sat and considered his life. He did not find himself to be a bad man. He wasn't a good man,

either, and to this he could fully admit... but where in the middle of the two 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... need.

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.

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...

Aimera Baelston

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"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. 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?"

"I want to depose the king. The only way I can do that, is to show the people that he is unfit for the task..." 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 understand you're... quite capable in this area?"

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

Frowning, Aimera straightened, smoothing the front of her skirt down. There was something chilling in the way she had said it... so indifferent, 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. As long as I get paid, I don't 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."

Miranda

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The Mewling Lioness was a tavern that sat on the outskirts of Cain'loren's lower district. It was a hotbed for the

unsavory and those of ill repute... known for cheap food and wild brawls.

And Miranda had her own table.

The queen was was not the first to approach her, concerning King Ordin, but as it was, gold talked, and upon completion of her task, Miranda would never have to work again.

Unfortunately, or perhaps not so...
that meant it had become necessary to elimate the competition. At present, said competitord were to meet at the Lioness to cement plans. She had followed Leopold right through the front doors, and the ill-intended advisor had not so much as moved in well over an hour.

He seemed nervous, which undoubtedly came with trying to assassinate the figurehead of a kingdom, and fidgeting,
hands clasped before him on the table, he waved another waitress away, the depth of his anxiety apparently filling enough. Every now and again, his eyes would twitch to the door, but thus far... he was alone. His new partners, it seemed, were running late.

THORNWILD
HONOR OR DEATH

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Irin Danthos

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The little 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. He'd bought time… but there was much work to do.

Still, two elements had fallen. Only three remained. The brat of a ward… that damnable Prince of the People… and the council. The latter would be easy enough to sway, and the ward posed little trouble, but the Prince character. He would need to be handled aggressively.

But 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, 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

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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 now gone 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.

Balmir Goron

.

The king was dead. The king was dead and he was a fairy princess if that pitiful servant girl had anything to do

with it. No. There was no doubt in his mind that two acts of murder had taken place - and somehow, someway, he was going to get to the bottom of it all. Irin had his suspicions, of course - a wild accusation against the People's Prince - but one not entirely without merit.

The man was a vigilante, and while he most typically dealt with those outside of Thornwild's best interests, he nevertheless held some disregard for the king's authority. If he thought the king ought to be removed… forcibly?

But no… Though Rigor had never met him, he'd seen the man's work and privately, he'd admired it - he'd seen the control the man had, to ensure no one innocent was harmed in his quest to see the city safeguarded. But he was nevertheless capable of great atrocities… and murdering the king to ensure the best for Thornwild didn't seem entirely a stretch. Poisoning an innocent girl to play the scapegoat, though? That was where Irin lost Rigor. That, and the despicable way the man referred to the poor dead girl as 'that miserable creature' left a terrible taste in his mouth.

Rigor was a man who believe in law and order within the kingdom, and he would do his duty to bring the Prince to justice if that was what he was called to do… but often what was right and what felt right were not always to coincide.

"It's true then?" The voice interrupting his thoughts belonged to his brother, unmistakeable in it's familiarity. Balmir, for all of Rigor's sense of solemnity and command, carried a certain quality of freedom his elder brother could only dream of. Balmir had wanted desperately to escape family duty, but it had been Rigor that had eventually convinced him to enlist in Baronthorn's patrol. Now, day by day he watched the light in his brother's eyes fade a little more. Today, it seemed almost entirely gone.

"Bal… I was just coming to find you."

"The king? Is he really dead?"

"...Aye. Last night. I… I assume you've heard the whole of it?"

"Murdered. By a servant girl? I can't believe it." Frowning, Rigor watched his brother's expression shifting, noted the look of actual disbelief.

"...It does seem a bit odd, indeed."

"Rig… Look… I never wanted this job. You know that. You know it and father knew it as well. But I took it, because it felt like the right thing to do. Because you convinced me it was the right thing to do. Well, I've a chance now to make something of myself and I'd like to take that chance. I want to investigate what happened. I want to find the truth out for myself. With your permission, of course."

The frown twisted, and as a brow lifted, Rigor smiled faintly, "...That's not entirely the speech I'd prepared myself to hear. You're sure you want to take this on?"

"The man had faults… but he was a good king, and I stand by the oath I took, whether I stood by the desire to give it or not."

"Very well. But Bal... Tread carefully. Keep your eyes opened and trust no one but me. I fear this is a greater threat than we can anticipate."

"You've my word." Nodding, Balmir headed for the door again and watching him leave, Rigor sighed. Their father would have been proud, though whether or not Rigor was pleased with that notion, only time would tell.

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 Ardin - heirless after Jasper's death. To take the throne now, would require far more cunning. Far more maneuvering.

And 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, 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.

BLACK BAY
NO RIGHT BUT BY CODE

.

⚜

Kaden Feld

.

His heart wasn't in it. As much as he wanted to feel the level of excitement the rest of them, Kay could only think

of the many ways that it might go wrong. When Nanda had told them of her endeavors in Ariela, all he could think that was that she had gotten in over her head. It was only her brother alone, who agreed with Kay, and there was little surprise, considering Kay looked at Nanda much the same way...

But then, Kay also knew a little more about Ariela than the others. He was seven, when he had been sent away by his mother, and since that night, he had dreaded the thought of ever returning. Yet it seemed there was little choice. By the code, he was obligated to protect Nanda, and so he would...

Even if it meant going home.

Nanda Shey

.

It was time. The planning had taken months, and at long last, it was time. The journey would take days, and in this time,

Nanda would transform. The goal was simple and the plans already set in motion...

Their meeting had been happenstance, but through that unexpected stream of coincidence, Nanda saw a river of opportunity.

Ariela. And then Thornwild. Black Bay was making their move, and she would not disappoint her people. She would wriggle her way in. Into their hearts and minds and then, into their home. Her brother's last words resonated within her, that she, an outsider, might never be accepted... yet she could not return a failure. She had secured herself an invitation, but there would be a challenge ahead of her. She was not above doing whatever it took to beat out the competition, but it would be difficult.

She was ready.

TAGS || @BearEnthusiast, @Doctor Jax, @Tyrannosaurus Rekt, @Effervescent, @Mundane Monster, @rissa, @Shizuochan, @Starlighter

Bears · Jul 8, 2017

A R I E L A
"With beauty and grace, always."

ALEJANDRO MILLANESI-FLORENCIA ✵

The three of them each sat a side of the table. They bathed in the Arielan sunlight and took in the familiar scent of saltwater and roses along with their late breakfast. The current emperor of Ariela leaned back into his chair in silence while he let the weight of his words sink in. One of his guests, the beautiful redheaded Biancardi heiress, swallowed hard and opted to hide her shock with a lace fan. But the other guest, his son Alejandro, simply toyed with a handful of grapes.

"The King of Thornwild dead." The younger man repeated, his dark eyes flicking back towards his father as he tossed one of the grapes into his mouth. He chewed for a moment before chuckling lightly. "I think you should leave the jokes to me, father. You're terrible at this."

"I'm a ruler not a jester... don't think you are allowed to think otherwise just because you are my son." Stefan's expression hardened and he cleared his throat. Alejandro stared right back, his smugness unaffected.

"I just want you both to know what's truly important for our nation. With the social season starting tonight and how your aunt has been promoting the marriage of your cousin…" Stefan explained exasperatedly. "It will be easy to become distracted from what could be a great opportunity for Ariela."

"You wish to take Thornwild for your own?" Sarah spoke up suddenly, eyebrows furrowed.

"I wish to take Thornwild for Ariela." Stefan corrected without skipping a single beat. "If your father was still with us do you think he'd disagree?"

Alright, that'll be more than enough dad.

"You've made your case, father. No need to go and start digging up corpses." Alejandro interjected coldly. For all he was concerned, the subject had run its course. The crown prince stood up, his chair scratching against the ground in the process.

"Sarah and I will make sure to not get wrapped up in the festivities while you look to expand our lands. Let's leave it at that."

Alejandro walked away, unable to see the surprised grin that slowly found his father's lips.

LEONARDO GENOVESE ✵ tags: @Elle Joyner, @rissa, @Starlighter, @Doctor Jax, @Shizuochan

While talks of expansion took reign up in the Summer Palace, down below the rest of Anulesia seemed too entranced in festivities to think on dead kings and leaderless nations. Colorful ribbons hung above all along the streets and music seemed to be played from each corner, each home. The unique smell of salted rosewater mixed with the aroma of local eateries hard at work while Ariela celebrated the start to the social season.

This time of the year artistry is embraced, courting is encouraged and weddings are held! It's also the season of the ever-famous Auctions. The most capable young men of the realm marrying off to whatever noble lady paid the most for him in a very, very publicized manner? The drama of such a situation was enough to enamor plenty of Arielians.

Leonardo Michael Genovese walked down the sprawling cobblestone streets, casting away the tights and silks in favor of a loose and comfortable linen outfit. Beside him strode his closest friend and fellow chevalier, Alfonse.

"The whole city has really gone out on your behalf huh, Leo?" The blonde man teased, a mischievous glint in his grey green eyes. Leo smiled handsomely and shook his head while his friend continued. "What better way to celebrate the end of your life as a free man than to have the whole friggin' city singin?"

"Your exaggerating my part in this heavily, good friend." Leonardo laughed lightly, shoving the man towards the canal. Alfonse nearly toppled. "Everyone is simply using my situation as a reason to get really, really drunk."

Leonardo's eyebrow quirked and a smirk began to play on his lips as they meandered forward. He looked over to Alfonse who seemed to busy eyeing a woman at work selling vegetables to notice. "Which I mean... really doesn't sound like that bad of an idea right about now."

"I'm afraid that's a no-do today, bud. All of your important suitors are going to be riding in and we can't let you greet them smelling like you regularly sleep in a brewery." Alfonse was quick to reply, his attention snapping back to the chevalier. He laughed. "Trust me when you see who the Altieris are sending this year you'll thank me."

"Oh? Last I checked you have no sisters or female cousins…indeed I remember quite a common rumor stating that your line is cursed to forever bear annoyingly loud men." Leonardo rolled his eyes, stopping their walk to drop a few coins for a bard hard at work playing a tune.

"Pfftsh. Hogwash—all of it!" Alfonse exclaimed loudly, his voice drawing onlookers from everywhere. When he noticed he shrunk a little. "Yes, yes alright… we are sponsoring a woman but trust me when I say you'll know which woman the exact moment you see her."

"Hmph. Considering how excited you are, do me a favor and just take my spot—"

They paused and Leonardo felt his heart sink into his gut. Palace guardsmen. The duo could see a group of them rowing down one of Ariela's many canals towards where they stood. Leo knew without a doubt his aunt must've sent them searching for him.

"Duty calls, I suppose." Alfonse quipped though he was far from vibrant. The blonde offered Leonardo a comforting smile and a pat on the shoulder before turning to walk away. "Have fun with the she-devil, Leo. I'm gonna go make sure my sponsor has arrive all safe like."

ALFONSE ALTIERI ✵ tags: @Elle Joyner

Alfonse didn't bother watching Leonardo get dragged off. He knew well enough that his best friend was too much of a rule follower to try and oppose his aunt. An unfortunate trait, but at least it meant he didn't have to think of a way to ditch Leo later on. He was to greet Nanda at the front gates today and he figured keeping the identity of his sponsor a surprise until the ceremony tonight would be his best move.

That way… the nobles get a show, the two of them get to see each other and Alfonse gets to see Leonardo smile the way he wished he would smile at him. The upturned corners of the chevalier's lips wavered at the thought, but he steadied himself. Alfonse refused to be sad while the city all around him beamed.

Ariela is normally turbulent as all hell so when the city seems to be content you damn well don't waste the opportunity to sit back, smile and take part in the levity. So Alfonse remained as positive as ever and made his way all the way down and out towards Andalusia's front gates.

There he waited, sifting through the crowds until all he could see was the main road just outside the city. It stretched out far and seemingly into the sky, dividing the plains of Ariela in two.

ALEXEI FLORENCIA ✵ tags: @Elle Joyner, @rissa, @Starlighter, @Doctor Jax, @Shizuochan

Alexei had the entirety of the nation focused on the Genovese name. She may have not been Leo's aunt by blood but she had raised him ever since his pathetic little parents got themselves killed during her late father's regime. Leonardo had always been too passionate, too idealistic for her tastes… but at least the investment was finally returning to benefit her.

A regal image in her white floor gown and golden chains, Alexei strode through the halls of her wing in the Summer Palace. It was the same wing that the women competing for her nephew would be staying at during the competition. A few of them had already arrived, mainly the ones who came from out of Ariela, and Alexei had them escorted to the gardens.

What they were doing in the gardens was beyond her. They could be trying to recover from such a long journey into the south, or perhaps they were conversing and gauging one another out. Either way she intended to introduce Leonardo to them the moment he returned home. Local women were allowed to compete as tradition but almost everyone knew a foreigner would win by the end of this.

Alexei sighed, the tone of her words outright exasperated the moment she spotted Leo in his linens. "Off playing commoner again, I see. You'd think you would have grown out of it by now. You do realize we are trying to find you a wife right now?"

Leo just shrugged and offered a small smile. "What can I say? Being with the Order of Lions taught me to enjoy all kinds of company."

"Oh heavens dear, don't remind me." Alexei called out dramatically, as if such a declaration was enough to make her nearly faint. The woman turned away, waving him off with one elegant flick of her wrist. "Go hurry and wash up. You have some ladies to meet."

ZVEN THE SNAKE ✵ tags: @Elle Joyner

For an infamous assassin, Zven certainly didn't mind drawing attention to himself. It felt damn good to get out Ariela for once and while there were kingdoms he'd chose to go to before Cain'loren… this place wasn't too bad. In the two days he had spent so far, he learned that their booze was decent and their women better.

He hadn't come alone however. Selina had chosen to accompany him but he was meeting the contact alone today. Their little cat had a bad habit of disappearing on them, but at least she never failed to come back.

He wasn't nearly as informed about the job as he would have preferred… but Zven knew it involved killing the leader of an entire nation. It wouldn't be the first time for him, no that honor went to Empress Anastacia.

Zven walked into The Mewling Lioness with a confident gait, his dark eyes scanning the crowd immediately. A few points of interest caught his eye and the bar seemed welcoming enough but unfortunately today's visit required him to be strictly professional.

Zven spotted the nervous wreck of a contact and smiled sweetly to himself. Heh. The guy was obviously new to this kind of thing... and the more scared a man is to hire an assassin the easier it became to milk him for all his cash. Tall dark and handsome, the Crow quickly closed the distance and approached the sweaty man's table. He offered a short bow and a hand before flashing a smile.

"Leopold, yes? A little bird told me you're in the market for a bit of high steaks killin."

Effervescent · Jul 18, 2017

Isaac Dessai

The passing of Thornwild's King had yet to reach the ears of Issac Dessai. It was only the thrumming of his beating heart and the harsh padding of his sprinting footsteps across a grassy earth that he heard through labored breaths. He, a common man of Bastillos, had been framed for the murder of the Prince Consort who hailed from the very land to which suffered the passing of their great king. He'd mistakenly spoken out against the union in passing, and while even the upper caste quietly murmured of the union in disapproval, somehow he was chosen for the blame.

And ever since he had been on the run.

Weeks passed as tensions continued to ascend in unrest. The murderer was at large. Thornwild may very well retaliate for the transgression. It was one of their own pinned to have exacted the charge. 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.

It took far too long to snake through the seemingly never-ending tunnels burrowed within the mountains of Bastillos. Some willingly gave him shelter within their homes and even found him safe passage through trade carts headed out of the mountains. It seemed a bounty had been placed on his head, and his pursuers were eager for reward.

Cain'Loren was unfamiliar 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 summer sun laid a thick blanket of 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.

The nature of his travel made it difficult to find rest. Hunters were always right at his heels no matter how hard he tried to lose them. And so for weeks it was a constant stream of narrow escapes that eventually caused him to wonder just how long he could keep this up.

His will to survive 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, almost as if he was not on the run.

Day was turning to night as the sun slowly sank into the horizon of clustered rooftops. Isaac finally looked over his shoulder as he had been. There was no imposing silhouette or suspicious glances his way, yet there was still the looming threat that choked his stomach and twisted it into knots.

It was possible hunger was contributing. 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, Isaac's heart lurched in his chest as it seized in fear of what he saw... or thought he saw. It was dark enough to the point where shadows stood black like a void. Isaac spared no extra time to confirm his suspicions. It could have been a stack of hay upon a cart or another nightly wanderer headed home. But it could also be the hunters, and that was enough to quicken his pace. He had nearly sprouted into a sprint until he emerged from the other side of the alley and ran right into an unsuspecting red head.

@Elle Joyner

Queen Imeen

Delicate fingers toyed with a filigreed 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. 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 insure 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 was 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.

Starlighter · Jul 20, 2017

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EIFION VALERYS

A soft breeze glided through warm air, spreading the fragrance of fresh orchards and the crisp smell of the sea. Eifion stared without seeing at the main shore of Aryncair, entertaining too sour a mood to enjoy the view from his balcony or the pleasantness of the temperature. Not a cloud was to be seen on the horizon, but the thunderous look on his face would be enough to cause any sailor to be watching for the storm about to break. At the sound of light footsteps behind him, he turned.

Areylin stopped with her hands folded before her, wearing no hint of a smile. "She's been waiting for nearly an hour, Flare. Won't stop badgering the staff about what's taking you so long." Eifion gripped the railing till his knuckles turned white, then released it and forced himself to take a deep breath.

"Holy people should be better at portraying the virtues of the gods, like patience and civility for example" he muttered. Areylin almost broke a smile, but not quite. "I don't suppose you know what she wants this time?" His sister shook her head, and with a roll of his eyes, Eifion turned to follow her inside. They walked in step and silence through to the small study just off the main bedroom, and Eifion situated himself next to the broad window. Areylin continued on, and returned a few minutes later with Maj-Adesa Riecal, and two guards in tow.

The priestess bowed low, and Eifion acknowledged her with a nod. He kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back, trying not to imagine how satisfying it would be to strangle her with them instead. "Officiator" he greeted her, "What brings you here?"

"I wished to discuss something with you, Regent" she said, her jawline tense with annoyance. I suppose she probably wants an apology for being kept waiting, but she'll just have to be a princess and suck it up. "And offer my advice on certain matters." Eifion raised a brow questioningly at her.

"And just what matters would those be?"

"The death of Thornwild's king." Yes, of course. Of course that. "It's tragic, of course. A nation without a leader, however, is also a nation that needs a leader." His scowl returned in full force.

"Are you suggesting that barely a day after the death of a great king, I'm supposed to swoop in and take control of the most powerful nation on the continent? Just like that?" He snapped his fingers, and glared expectantly at her. Controlling a nation isn't as instantaneous as a servant fetching you tea. For goodness sake...

For a moment, Adesa floundered for words. "Well, I..... I wouldn't have put it in such crude words. But you must admit that this is an opportunity for us, Regent." Eifion took a threatening step closer to her, letting his hands hang clenched at his sides.

"Yes, it is an opportunity; an opportunity to show our support for a grieving nation, and to honour her king. But certainly not to take advantage of a time of mourning."

"Perhaps you fail to know what 'politics' are then, boy" Adesa snapped. Eifion almost smiled. He would have been insulted if her outburst wasn't such a deliciously convenient excuse. With a slight hand gesture, the two guards stepped forward to either side of her.

"Guards, escort the Officiator from the palace, please. Ensure the rest of the guard know that she is not to be admitted again until I order otherwise."

Adesa seethed and sputtered. "Regent, you can't -! "

"Yes" he interrupted, "Yes, as it happens I can."

As the door closed behind them, Eifion turned to his sister. She was wearing a contemplative look. "You aren't really going to show solidarity and compassion for Thornwild's loss, are you?" Eifion smiled, reminded again of how it felt to play harmless pranks as a boy.

"Oh, I have every intention of doing just that. But if she" he gestured to the door, "Is off spreading the word that I pointedly refused her guidance, then it'll be the last thing anyone expects me to be following, don't you think?" Areylin shrugged.

"Perhaps. But I wouldn't count on anyone being fooled that easily."

"No, but as long as the appearance is there." With a spring to his stride, Eifion turned to the door leading back into the main room of his suite. "Regardless, I'm still going to Thornwild, and I had my plans before she barged in here to begin with." His sister trailed a step behind him, letting one hand drag against the wall as she passed.

"I wish you the best of luck. I'll do my best to look after things until you return." Eifion nodded slowly.

"I know you will, Rey."

.

ESSE LOCKBORNE
@Bear Enthusiast @Elle Joyner @Doctor Jax @rissa @Shizuochan

Inviting as they looked, Esse couldn't bring herself to sit quietly on any of the benches around the garden. Instead, she strolled casually along the well manicured paths, taking in the brilliant displays of colour and enjoying the magnificent fragrance of flowers in full bloom. It had been a long time since she had been offered the opportunity for such simple pleasures at home. It seemed that business more often drew her to fishing ports than gardens.

This, she decided, was something she wouldn't mind getting used to. And not necessarily just the gardens, but what she had seen of Ariela as a whole, and the lifestyle enjoyed by the nobility here. She briefly glanced over the gown she had chosen to wear for the occasion, a pale yellow made from light layers of fine Naxin silk and lined with pearl white lace. Her servants had urged her to make use of her finest jewels as well, but she ignored them and wore none.

Esse paused in her walk, glancing about to see if she could catch a glimpse of the other women here for the competition. She wouldn't mind starting to get an idea of what her rivals were like, but she was also enjoying avoiding them. But.... it was getting boring.

A slow smile spread across her lips, and she turned to whisper to the servant girl hovering at her side. Several minutes later, the servant returned bearing a cup of infamous Arielan wine, but she casually waved the girl back and refused to take it. With a pleasant - if slightly mischievous - smile on her face, Esse approached the nearest noble woman, and bobbed a delicate curtsey.

"Pleasant weather they have here, wouldn't you say?" she said conversationally, foregoing introductions. As instructed, her servant took a step forward and accidentally stumbled, wine spilling from the goblet in her hand onto the front of the dress worn by the woman she had approached.

"Tera!" Esse exclaimed, feigning surprise and mortification with an aghast scowl. The servant rushed a hurried apology, whisking out a handkerchief to dab at the foreign noblewoman.

Inwardly, Esse smiled.

Aero Blue · Jul 20, 2017

The Brothers Palefox
Departing Eleton - POV: Aldren Palefox

The crown was heavy, Aldren reasoned, not because it was pressed under the weight of one colossal burden, but rather a thousand small ones. A single enemy could be dispatched with a single sharpened blade, but a rope with a thousand knots required delicate fingers. Eleton, Aldren further reckoned, was such a rope, with knots aplenty. The scorn of the entrenched nobles. The reckless abandon of his, no, Jagger's tribes. Their mutual hatred and cultural disdain. A fat King fit only to topple over in the face of the storm. A foolish Chieftain will did not weather the storm, but delighted in it.

If handled poorly, the rope was as if a noose.

The pendant around his neck felt tighter, for some reason, and Aldren pulled at it, tugging the brooch away from his wrinkled neck. He coolly regarded every noble face that glared at him. Individually, they were as flies, but the swarm was suffocating in its own way. It required a certain strength to wade through. The Innermost of Eleton's three walled circles was as thus. Once upon a time, it had been a sanctum for the nobles, a sanctuary for them to drown themselves in decadence. Now that the tribes had forced their way in, it was the rotten core of an apple, and the nobles could not abide it.

But they would have to.

The Nobles were a knot on the rope, and they would have to be handled in turn. Destroyed, appeased, or otherwise. Yet there were not his priority for the day.

"Brother! O, Brother! Look at the faces of these fat, farting nobles, pretending they don't know what horse dung smells like!" There was no good humor in those remarks, just the imitation of them. Poorly crafted simulacrums of joviality, contrived erratically. And there was no warmth in those eyes, not when one was scared and glossed over from blindness.

Jagger Palefox. His brother. And another knot.

His brother stood a man-at-war, clad in heavy armor, with the best horse-riders upon his back - from Clan Steedwind, Morrowfire. Even the Nobles betrayed hints of awe in their narrowed eyes and furrowed brows, but Aldren felt only tired disappointment. Jagger Palefox stood a man-at-war, but there was no war. Yet, as was his birthright, the Scourge would doubtlessly make one.

"Jagger. Where are you going?"

Jagger's laughter was rock-shards scraping against skin. He respected few, and loved no one else, not even Aldren. What Jagger loved was things - no, not things - but the taking of things. Aldren had won him his tribe, had won him his kingdom, but he was but a tool used to indulge Jagger's whims. "Brother, the men grow restless. And the horses, they crave blood. I ride for pleasure and red rain, as is our way."

Aldren felt his brother's hand upon his shoulder, and promptly threw it away. "Jagger, we have rode for many years together, having learned since we were but young. In my experience, brother, horses do not crave blood, they crave grass and hay, and they yearn for the yield of the harvest just as the men and women of your new Kingdom do. You have not forgotten your new Kingdom, yes? Hero of Eleton?"

More laughter, more rock-shards. "My tribes-people feed off the land, as easily as a Rahn-Djinni opens its mouth and feeds off the wind. As for the rest of these noblemen and women… they've fat enough on their bellies to last twelve winters, why should I care for their hungers? And this, this is not my Kingdom."

Aye, Jagger Palefox would never hold Eleton in as high esteem as he did. In Jagger's eyes, Eleton was at its pinnacle when it was the enemy, mounds of crops to burn, hordes of nobles to eviscerate. Subdued and neutered, Eleton was little more than garbage to the man. Aldren cursed his brother, the man with the disposition to toss aside the Kingdom he had all but won.

"For you, Jagger, I brought the clans and tribes into the fold. For you, Jagger, I outfought and outwitted Lords and Knights. Eleton was our spoils, Jagger. This is our Kingdom."

And for a solitary moment, something real shone in Jagger Palefox's eye - anger, perhaps. Yes, for a moment he was livid, before he resumed his detached whimsy. "No, Eleton is nothing - and besides, the fat King still sits upon his cushioned throne. But my Kingdom lies before you, Aldren."

Aldren felt himself tugging again at the bone-talisman around his neck, "What manner of nonsense do you speak of?"

Jagger spun like the storm, gesticulating wildly and openly, brandishing his arms like blades as he presented the clansmen behind him. His voice was as if gold melting under fire, and pooling through the halls - he was as gifted an orator as he was a savage, and his words were invigoration without effort.

"You see before you, brother, the steeds of Clan Morrowfire. They are my castle walls. You see before you, brother, the heavy infantry of Clan Shattermill. They are my moat. And you see before you, brother, the cavalry archers of Clan Stormclad; they are my high tower. And so you see before you, brother, my Kingdom."

There was blood upon Aldren's lip, he had been biting so hard; for he stood before Jagger Palefox, the man that would turn the rope into a noose. "And where, brother, do you intend to bring your 'Kingdom'?"

And yet the answer did not matter, for Jagger Palefox was the Scourge, and wherever he went, it was all the same.

===

The Sad King
Eleton - POV: King Alleric Millford of Eleton

In between the phantom limb and the gout, Alleric Millford still remembered the feeling of grass between his toes. He had turned to fat early in his youth; some had considered the soft, rosy cheeks to be a blessing. Now, it was pain. Now, it was longing. There were days of youth when he had freely frolicked in the fields, alone in serenity. Here, however, he was the old, fat King Alleric Millford the Unmoving, or rather the Unmovable, towed about by a dozen servants.

There was a helplessness in his circumstance, of the man who could not rouse himself to movement. And in that helplessness, life without agency, there was endless contemplation. Thoughts of everything that had passed by him, time, family, prosperity, happiness.

"My liege, the young Princess Cassandra." Tomnor Riddlerain was a good man, dutiful, and as shrewd as an honest subject could ever be, but his voice did not hold the capacity for reassurance. He was a sad man, as overwhelmed as the King himself.

And now his sweet Cassandra was leaving too. The Unmoving King could do naught but watch from his wheeled throne as his daughter's procession formed, aides and attendants to serve her in her new life. Maidens of graceful motion and delicate fingernails, all beautiful in their own way. The warrior-girl Nuada, lithe of frame with the handsome features. Yet they all paled before sweet Cassandra, her rosy cheeks, and the earnestness of her smile.

They would all be gone.

===

Friends Like These
Eleton - POV: Gilliard Palefox

The Princess looked sad, Gilliard thought.

Of course, it was Gilliard's nature to think everything looked sad. Evidently he had been wrong, as Chum from Clan Rockpool said that sometimes people's faces couldn't help but frown despite the best efforts of its 'wearer'. Interesting, and worrisome phrasing, although as far as Gilliard knew, Clan Rockpool had never indulged in the flesh of men. Still, Gilliard was sure the Princess was sad, despite the heated rosiness of her cheeks, despite the way she graciously greeted every Lord and Lady who had came to bid her farewell.

And if the Princess looked sad then, well, the less said about the Good King Alleric the better. Tomnor stood by the King's side, and he looked sad as well. It was a sadness he understood, for he had explained it to him, it was a tired sadness. A body so weathered and ailed that the lips could not help but frown, that the shoulders could not help but slouch. Shoulders…

Gilliard felt hands upon his own shoulders, coursing over him like a warm breeze, a lover's touch. Gilliard dared not move his neck, yet he strained his eyes, hoping to gleam impossible insight of the periphery. Whomever it was, her fingers were delicate, and she had a slight form, covered in the silks that the maidens wore. Invigorating. A secret admirer.

"Amazing." said the secret admirer, most definitely a man, "Has it been very long, Dear Little Palefox?"

Gilliard forced himself away, nimbly ducking under from the man's touch. "Damian, have you gone quite mad? And, where, oh where exactly did you procure a maiden's garb?"

Damian Dust, lithe, lean and handsome strutted in place before him. "Well, that seems obvious. I took it off a maid."

"You took it off a…" Gilliard started, before forcing himself to a dull quiet. He looked down from the balcony perch, and found relief that everyone was much too preoccupied with the dear departing Princess, "You understand, of course, that the Lords will have you thrown in a foul-smelling dungeon if they see you here? Why are you here, exactly? Oh, please don't tell me…"

"She's beautiful, isn't she? Face like the sun."

"Damian, have you ever tried looking into the sun before? It's like to scar the eyes. And coming here to… what, pray tell? Say goodbye to the Princess? That's liable to scar other parts entirely. You realise she's engaged to be married to some Cain'Loren noble, yes?"

Damian looked patently ridiculous, frankly, with an ill-at-ease beneath silken dress, "Yes. No…. and no? Why would I ever say goodbye to my, what are the nobles words again? Ah. My fair lady. We are, after all, going to see eachother again. No, my little Palefox, I came here to offer you a proposition."

And with that, Gilliard's heart sank.

"You've been my best mate for… about five years and some, yes? So it's only right that you, well, you're going to help me steal her back."

Then it drowned.

Doctor Jax · Jul 22, 2017

Haman Ofra
Ambassador of Il'Azawa// Bastillos, at the castle
@Effervescent

Haman took a deep breath, finding an odd nostalgia in the must and dank of the Bastillosi main city. While most would have found the many tons of rock overhead to be somewhat discomfiting, Haman thought it familiar. The qarab of Wadi'Halat was built very much the same, though of course not on this massive scale or of the dark stone Bastillos seemed to have in plenty. His horse Lali snorted beneath him as he rode through the streets of the carved city, and he shushed her gently as he glanced about.

"So this is where great Laballa lives," Haman muttered to himself.

The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of information. Haman himself had been spending Yeid with his mother and father when he was summoned to Muad'Divh, most definitely not a good sign. The first piece of information had been merely uncomfortable to find out -- someone, somewhere, in Azawa was selling a weapon underneath the King's nose. This was not something Haman was new to. The qarabs were known for their fierce competition, and if one Curat thought they could get away with selling a weapon to shore up the qarab's coffers, no doubt it would happen.

No, what made this doubly worrying was the next piece of information he'd received a few days hence: the king of Thornwild, foremost country of the land mass, had died, very possibly under strange and unnatural circumstances. Whatever the case, to have a rogue Curat pushing a weapon's trade above the rest of Il'Azawa would do more harm than good, especially if that qarab harmed other qarabs' business with a particular kingdom, weakening the entirety of the Republic.

Word had come to the King via Bastillos that Laballa, the renowned Seer, had knowledge of the swordseller's identities, or at the least where they could possibly be. Haman was hopeful, and even if this was a dead end, he would have visited Bastillos on the King's business, as well as his purse. There was also the fact that Haman had always wanted to visit a clairvoyant, just to ask questions about what it must be like to see the future.

It took him quite a long trek up the city to reach the palace, which was, of course, a gorgeous marvel of engineering and artisanship. Haman took a moment to admire the place, a small smile crossing his face as he was admitted through the gate.

"Yes -- could you please tell the Queen's Hand that Haman Ofra, representative of Il'Azawa, is here to see her? If I cannot meet her at this time, then I would appreciate if I could be pointed to the nearest, cheapest hostel. I'm quite tired, but I would hate more to tire Her Grace's Hand," Haman said politely, if with a slight accent, to the nearest guard, trusting the man to deliver his message. He was patient. He could wait.

Xitlali Mixtezuma
Princess of Azawa // Ariela, at the Seaside Market
@Starlighter @Bears @Elle Joyner

The Princess of Azawa found Ariela to be a strange, alien place. While she was well versed in geography and quite the adherent to cartography, rarely had she ever left the borders of her country, and never so far. Always she had kept close to the scrub desert of Azawa, or to the dunes of Creaz Pria, but Ariela was another place in its entirety, from the agricultural plains to canal-riddled Andalusia. Indeed, seeing so much water had nearly given her a shiver as her cart approached.

"Xitlali, we will be late," her guard, Omari, muttered under his breath.

The big Tlahat'Na wore his typical Azawi armor, a thick cloth gambeson with metal plates sewed into the brightly patterned fabric at intervals. He sweated beneath Ariela's heat, and Xitlali smiled pleasantly as she looked about the Seaside Market that she had demanded her guard allow her to see. The fish were excellent, the food a marvel, and the wares… interesting, to say the least. It was worth a look. There would be no telling how long it would be until she could get a glimpse of Andalusia while locked in that gilded cage they called the Summer Palace with the other cocks to fight for the hen.

"Patience, Omari. There will be many girls there to cluck and preen, and I'll miss none of them," Xitlali assured as she picked up a mirror and used it to glance around. Several men were staring at her, no doubt due to her exotic look as well as her raiment. She was dressed as an Azawi Noble, bedecked in finely crafted fabrics and a feather headdress. Knowing that she could draw stares was a boon.

"You threaten rudeness upon the host," Omari sighed to the young princess, who fixed a strand of hair in the mirror.

"Nonsense. We will tell them I tired after such a long journey. After all, everyone will be arriving on time. I would prefer to be memorable," Xitlali said with a bit of mischief in her smile. She looked to the merchant at the table and asked, "How much for this mirror? Omari, my purse…"

Itzla Morab
Head of the School of Abwa// Azawa, Itzlipoctaba qarab, the School of Abwa
@Mundane Monster

Itzla looked out the balcony of his spacious office, his mind wandering as he glanced around the city he had called home for some fifty years now. Had it really been so long ago that he was a Sunburnt fool who knew not the ways of the world? Beyond the railing, the buildings seemed to drip from the rock itself, grand structures boasting wooden walkways and carved, sandstone bridges, massive floors of small living quarters sprinkled with shops. It was a grand sight, one that few could see while in the hive of Itzlipoctaba.

"Sir?"

Itzla turned his aged head towards the man at the door. A Tlahat'Na held a missive in hand, dressed in a courier's bright black. He smiled and accepted the missive at his desk, the courier hastily leaving to do his next duty. With practiced fingertips, Itzla unknotted the special rope tying the missive together, a School of Abwa practice to ensure that no prying eye could so easily break open some important piece of research.

Itzla's eyes scanned the document within, and he nodded his head. The world was soon to change in a matter of days, and it was his hand that wrought it, for good or ill.

We have the package with us in Naxis and soon will give a demonstration. The package remains in good hands. We will not disappoint, Teacher. We do not believe the border guards will understand it when we pass below their eyes. We need only a few more days after we send this missive. Would you prefer we send a crow or courier?

Itzla took the sheaf of vellum and burnt it in a tray. Itzlipoctaba would do well, if Naxis accepted their offer, and what was more, he could begin to do some real research. He began to pen a reply to his two trusted students. Oh, how the times would change -- and Itzlipoctaba would lead it, if only from the shadows.[/hr][/hr]

rissa · Jul 30, 2017

THE SILVERN KINGDOM

↠ BY THE HEAVENS AND THE EARTH ↞

beyla gringoire -

"And it's to be a long journey still." Beyla said softly, bridging the short distance between them. On the moonlit road, Beyla stood before Ainsley with a conspiratorial smile and an outstretched hand. "There's much for us to do."

Beyla gestured to their respective guards and spoke in a voice that only strayed to those nearest. "Most of our guards will carry on to the castle. Some of our lords expect your arrival. There are plans to stall them until we return. Thankfully no one suspects our true intentions… And if we have the gods blessings, we'll be back in Silvern in two days time.

"Your father relayed the dangers of this parley, yes?" Beyla asked softly, fulling aware that their plan could turn south at any given moment.

In her saddle pouch, Beyla held a missive for the False Prince, one that would turn this debacle into something manageable. If things went smoothly and the northern raider was as smart as he seemed. Still, the danger was very real with only a handful of guards with not one, but two princesses in tow.

"We should arrive at Draga in the morn'. There's a monastery that's offered us sanctuary. We'll have to ride most of the night to reach it, but we'll have a clean bed and a wash before our parley with Yuri Laurod."

| tags: @Elle Joyner

josselin gringoire -

The scent of rosewater was overwhelming to the northern native. She was used to the crisp, earthy tang of Silvern, of the hearty musk that permeated the caverns, and the unique smell of the hot pools she and Luce frequented often. But here, in the southern lands of Andalusia, everything seemed overwhelming to Josselin Gringoire.

The sun was too bright, the smiles of the locals hid secrets in every upturn of their lips, and the land was entirely too flat. But she had a duty to uphold, one that had sent her hundreds of leagues away from her home. All in the hopes of winning some auction. It was a competition she didn't want to be a part of. But here she was, in a beautiful garden surrounded by other women… Other competitors.

Her seamstress had taken care to remove any extra lining and fabric to her gowns, and for that she was thankful. The heat made her fair skin blotchy and tender, so she took protection in whatever shade she could find. Protection came in the form of a tree in full blossom, and she sat beneath it upon a lonely seastone bench. She observed rather than engage and after awhile, was glad of her hesitancy.

Poor girl, Josselin thought to herself sadly, watching the gown soak up the Arielan wine. Too soon are these nobles playing their games.

| tags: @Bears

gwenna ashtoh -

Never had the heat of Creaz Pria bothered her so much. Not even during her first pregnancy, where she swore the gods were cleansing her soul with fire. Nor during her late night rages at the cultural differences between Creaz and Silvern. It was late afternoon and Gwenna prowled through the open space of her chambers, never settling in one spot for too long.

A tender breeze wafted through the arches, but sweat still poured from her, matted the hair at the base of her neck, and sent the fabric clinging to her skin. Pausing near the submerged pool she let out a frustrated sigh. Her husband was off at a meeting, without her, and her daughter, Alyse, laid sprawled across one of many chaises, snoring softly as she dreamed sweet dreams.

Lowering herself to the floor, Gwenna dipped both feet into the clear, mosaic patterned pool and tried her best to settle her turbulating mood. It wasn't long before she heard noises emanating from the entry halls. She waited impatiently, ripe with curiosity, hoping that it was Amkhel with good tidings.

| tags: @Tyrannosaurus Rekt

Elle Joyner · Aug 5, 2017

CAIN'LOREN
FOR CROWN AND FOR LAND

.

⚜

Abrigel Baelston

.

The streets in the Court were dangerous at night, even for one with a reputation such as Abrigel's. She might have

been welcome by most, but there were still those who would unabashedly take advantage of the young princess, and she knew better than to linger. It was her haste, however, that seemed the folly that night. As she rounded the corner, the sudden force of another figure came unexpected and powerfully, and with a small cry, Abrigel bounced off the hurried stranger, and backwards, landing hard on her back in the muddied streets.

Every muscle in his body urged him to continue on without pause, but it was his bleeding heart that caused him to abandon his instinct to run as soon as he realized what he had done. His hand reached out for the woman to help her back up onto her feet with a string of apologies.

"I'm terribly sorry," Isaac said to Abrigel. "Are you hurt?"

Her eyes turned upwards, and silhouetted by the moonlight behind him, she could only make out the shape of the figure above her, but the genuine nature of her apology was soothing, and as he stretched his hand towards her, she pulled herself to her feet, her cheeks flushed nearly as red as her hair. There were two small scrapes across her palms and another on her elbow, but brushing herself off, she shook her head with barely a grimace, "Oh, no… No need to apologize. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been going so fast… Are you well?"

Tucking her hair behind her ears, she smiled delicately, "I didn't jostle you, too badly, I hope?"

In the growing darkness, his pallid and sickly complexion was not so noticeable, nor was the aching in his muscles and bones from his constant travel as he hoisted her to a stand. Looking over her shoulder, his paranoia crept back into fruition. "I, uh," Isaac began as he looked behind him. "I'm fine, thank you. You're not to blame. No need to concern yourself with that."

He returned her smile with his own, and just as genuine. "I'll be sure to watch where I'm going better," he said as he clasped his hands around hers before release. "Do take care."

His fingers, calloused and rough, brushed the scrape on her palm and she flinched, gingerly, as she dropped her hand to her side. The pain, however, seemed forgotten as she studied his own reactions. Even with the smile, pleasant as it was, she could see the pallor of his skin, the bruise-like darkness beneath his eyes, eyes stretched deep with what looked an awful lot like fear. She should have left it alone, let him pass, let him continue, but a natural sense of compassion kept her in place.

"...Are you sure you're alright?"

A smile briefly brightened Isaac's expression at her concern for a mere stranger. She and he were much alike in that way. "I'll be better once I find food and shelter," he said. "Do you happen to know of a place I could seek sanctuary? I'm afraid I don't have much on me in the way of currency. And this place is rather unfamiliar to me."
Abrigel's own expression lightened at his words and nodding, she offered a smile, "Indeed, I do. The palace isn't far, and you'll more than find shelter there. Food as well. I can take you there, if you'd like. I'm Abrigel…"

"Isaac," he said in return, his smile now in a more permanent fix. "And that would be most kind. But I don't wish to burden you further. I do well with directions, I promise."

Biting the edge of her lip, Abrigel shook her head, "...It's not trouble, honestly. I'm headed that way, as it is, and I would hate for you to get lost in these parts. The Court isn't a place for strangers." Gesturing ahead, she started towards the cobbled path that would eventually lead home, "...Where are you from?"

"Bastillos." The answer left Isaac's lips without thought into the ramifications. Any man with better common sense would have fabricated a lie or avoided the question in vague or cryptic answers. He was an intelligent man, as much as he could be given his upbringing without a complete and formal education, but his trust and compassion got in the way of a survivalist mindset. Abrigel had put him at ease in nearly an instant, and he already trusted the stranger enough to answer the question honestly.

He followed her down the darkened path grateful for her assistance. Fatigue and sickness were beginning to take a firmer grip upon his body as his mind made preparations for a proper rest. He may very well get to rest! How long had it been since he could even sleep well enough?

"Why isn't the Court a place for strangers?" he asked.

"The people here are angry… They've been neglected too long. It makes little sense to lash out at each other, so they tend to target those on the outside." Shaking her head, she looked back the way she had come, "They aren't bad people. Just.. tired and hungry. They've lost too much and it's taking its toll."

Turning her eyes to Isaac, she managed a small, weary smile, "I do what I can, when I'm able, but even that isn't enough, anymore. Too many mouths to feed, with too little to offer. And the king… He's far too preoccupied to consider change. Someday, though, I'll see the Court restored." Chewing the edge of her lip, her cheeks flushed again and she lowered her gaze, "I'm sorry. It's… it's a bit of a passion of mine. Bastillos, you said? You're quite a ways from home… What's brought you to Cain'loren?"

Collab with @Effervescent

Crispin Baelston

.

My Darling,

I apologize sincerely that it has been so long since our last correspondence. My heart has yearned to write to you, but as of late, matters of state of been something of an abhorrent distraction. Your letter has brought me much needed joy in a time of great strife.

I long to see you… By day I think endlessly of your smile, of the light in your eyes, the warmth of your laughter. Memories of your gentle touch carry me through my endless and tiresome affairs of court. By night, I dream of what our lives might be someday. Might have been…

But alas, ours is a love burdened by duty, and as we press closer to the time where we must part ways, I cling only to that which sustains me. The recollection of those brief, yet burning moments when I was in your grace.

Soon, my love, we will answer to responsibility, becoming slaves to our obligations, but in my heart, you shall remain the first and foremost, for all of time.

I look forward to the gala in a few weeks time. Perhaps, though we must say farewell thereafter, we may have but one more moment… and in that moment, eternity.

Yours,
Cris.

Sealing the letter with wax, he handed it to the man waiting patiently beside the door before sinking back in his chair. In but a few weeks, their annual Gala of the Hind would take place - hunt, followed by a weeks long celebration and festival. In that time, he would see both the love of his life, and the woman he was to wed… and he would, because of duty to his father and to the crown, choose the latter.

It was a complicated web, woven from heartstrings, but Crispin would always, always strive to do what was right…

Even if it meant seeing his brother forever tied to the former.

@rissa

Rosleigh Baelston

.

"Your majesty…" Rosleigh woke to the gentle shaking of the carriage pulling to a stop, and sitting up, met her

maid's pleasant smile, as the woman gestured out the small, square window in the door. "We've arrived…"

In terms of its appearance Azawa was nothing like Cain'loren. It was hardly the only distinguishable difference, yet it was certainly the most apparent. Sand stretched as far as the eyes could see, an ocean of gold, glistening in the brilliant light of a white sun. As she stretched her neck to get a better view, Rosleigh breathed out.

"It's like… It's like being in an hour glass. So much sand."

"It's certainly hot, that's for sure." Fanning herself with her gloves, Anabet shifted in her seat, "We'd best get you inside, before you melt. Come on then. Let's see what sort of hosts they make in Azawa."

@Doctor Jax

Ainsley Baelston

.

Ainsley had no wealth of excitement for the journey ahead. She was tired and exhausted, and more than anything,

she desperately yearned for a hot bath and a comfortable mattress. But she also understood the importance - her importance in this particular quest.

This was her future husband and the best thing she could do for her kingdom… really the only thing she could do for Cain'Loren was to find him and bring him back to his home.

Looking to Beyla, Ainsley nodded and smiled politely, "He made it abundantly clear, yes. But I'm prepared. I may not have met him, but I am bound to your brother, Princess, and I have every intention of doing whatever is necessary to see him safely returned to Silvern."

Nudging her horse to move, she continued forward, glancing over to the princess again, "We'll get him back. I know we will…" And with that sentiment, she settled in for the rest of their journey to the monastery.

@rissa

Miranda

.

Miranda had a taste for pretty things, and more often than not, that included pretty people. But even pretty

people and pretty things were expendable. She had learned long ago that even those things which one loved most dearly could wound, and the scars upon her heart were too numerous to allow for any forbearance.

Leopold's man was a fine picture of a man. Lean muscle coursed the length of his tall figure, ending in a face like carved stone, bronzed and fair. He walked with purpose, and it was enervating, but there was little other reason for his appearance there than what she had supposed to moment he had entered. Leopold was a lot of things - a slimy, wriggling fish of a human being - but he wasn't stupid. Judging by those features, particularly by the widened bridge of his nose and the domed arch of his brow, as well as the olive skin and the dark hair, he was not from Cain'loren - more likely, he was from the South. If she had to guess, she would have figured Ariela. That made this all the more enjoyable, certainly, but it also meant that Leopold was willing to spare no expense in getting the job done.

And that meant he was either very desperate… or determined. Of course, his reasoning meant little to her. Whatever arguments he had with the king that made him convinced assassination was the only option left, she hardly cared. The queen had ordered her to shut down the would be killer by whatever means necessary, and then take care of Leopold, and so she would.

But in the meantime, she could appreciate the view… and she certainly did, staring unabashedly, and without apology, her lip quirked in a smirk as she watched over the exchange between the king's trusted advisor and the foreigner. Whatever their meeting was, it was quick. Leopold seemed more anxious thereafter, and as he rose he cast a nervous glance around before tossing a small leather sack on the table, muttering something under his breath. In another breath, he was gone - whisked out the door like a breeze, into the darkening streets of the city slums.

Rising, Miranda stalked closer with a casual air, unconcerned with formality as she reached out to trail her fingertips in tip-toe along the stranger's arm, "Well… Not every day we get folk from Ariela visiting. You're a long way from home. Must be lonely…"

@Bears

THORNWILD
HONOR OR DEATH

.

⚜

Irin Danthos

.

Irin's footsteps echoed down the Grey Hall, swift and deliberate, the expression he wore one of fixed focus.

Along the hall were dozens of doors, sturdy brown oak, within which were the many dormitories for Thornwild's army. At the end of the hall, one door in particular held his attention.

He called himself V, and he was a shadow… a monster, a figure of legend… and Irin's lap dog. Knocking twice, Irin stepped back, and after a moment, the towering figure appeared on the other side, wearing an all too customary scowl, his dark eyes narrowing down on the advisor.

"Sire?"

"...V. I have a job for you. As I'm sure you're aware, the king's passing has opened the door for a rather unique opportunity. The throne is open, and I intend to fill it. Unfortunately, there are a few… loose ends that I require are tidied up, before I make my bid."

"...And you want me to do the tidying?"

"Indeed. Starting wiith Eleton."

Aeona Stavros

.

After Jace had gone, Aeona sat in the throneroom for several more minutes, contemplating everything that

had happened over the short span of a year. Her surrogate brother, and then the man she considered to be a father, both murdered… and Jace, revealed to her ask the People's Prince - the famed vigilante, wanted for acts of treason against the crown. The man she loved, a traitor to the man she most admired.

It was, of course, all Irin Danthos's doing, she knew. He detested the People's Prince for what he stood for - and he had poisoned the minds of those on the council to believe the same. That he was treacherous and a risk to Arden's life. And now, somehow, Irin would find a way to prove that poor serving girl had killed him for the Prince.

It was all too clear, but the reality of it was there was little to be done. She was but a ward, and now, with no one to care for her, she would undoubtedly be cast aside, forgotten or dismissed by whomever settled into Arden's place.

Rising, tears blurring her vision, she trailed her fingertips along the wooden edge of the throne, shaking her head, "I wish I knew what to do, Arden. I wish you were here to tell me. If I go with him… if I leave the palace, I cannot stop what will come to be. But if I stay… I risk losing everything. You were always there for me. Like a father… I don't know what to do, now that you're gone. I'm frightened… I just want… I just want to hear your voice, one more time. I want you to tell me what to do…"

"We'll all miss him, my dear girl." Whipping around, nearly toppling from the dais, Aeona spun to see Irin standing in the doorframe of the throne room, and for several solid seconds, she was certain her heart stopped. Clutching a hand to her chest, she shook her head.

"I… I'm sorry. I thought I was alone."

"No need to apologize, Aeona. I'm sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to inform you that I'll be away for a few days. I've business, over in Bastillos. This mess has greatly complicated things, but there are still several matters to discuss concerning Prince Jasper's death, as well. I pray you'll be alright in my absence?"

Bowing her head, Aeona nodded, "Of course, My Lord. Thank you."

He turned to leave, but pausing, glanced over his shoulder, and for a moment, she was sure his lip twitched upwards, into a smile, "...Rest assured, my dear… It will be filled by the right man. The throne. I will see to it."

As he walked away, Aeona sank down at the foot of the throne, shaking her head, and as his footsteps receded into the distance, she ground her hands into fists, "...Not by you, then…"

Jace Ore

.

"Your behavior is reckless, Jace. And you of all people should understand that we cannot afford to be reckless,

now… at a time like this?" Coffer set his pipe aside as he rose from his chair to resume the state of pacing that Jace had found him in earlier.

He was a worrier, but this time, it seemed, his defenses were raised for good cause, "The king was murdered, Cof. And you and I both know what that means. I know I shouldn't have gone, but whoever is responsible for this, they'll be after her, next. I need to get her out."

"Damn bleeding heart…" Coffer muttered, gritting his teeth, "She's a ward, Jace. A ward with no king to back her. She's got less a chance of makin' it to the throne, than I've got. She's not worth targeting. But she could get you killed, if you don't start focusing on what really matters."

"She matters, Coffer. Every damn one of them does! What do you think we're fighting for, if not the people?"

"You sure you're fightin' for all of them, still? Or just the ones that give you a--"

"Enough." This time it was Grady who interjected, his voice a cool note in the flames of Coffer's irritable wrath, "What's important now is that we figure out how to get the council to see our side. They'll determine who rules, and you can bet every kingdom in Ellemar is gonna be after Baronthorn's seat. Envoys are already in the city, as we speak, and more'll come. If any one of them can convince the council they've right to rule, we'll be in a worse position than ever. At least with the king, we knew what we were facing… But you think anyone from Cain'loren or Eleton, or hell… those damn natives in the far south are gonna care what happens to the people? What if it's Bastillos? Those bastards are responsible for this mess in the first place..."

Frowning, Jace rubbed his brow, "Arden cared… He just… He lost sight of it, after Jasper…"

"Don't rightly matter, does it? They're both dead and there's no one left we can count on but you, Jace. So get your head on straight, hm? We'll get your girl to safety, but you need to steer clear of the palace. Worry about your job, yeah?"

"...I'll send notice to the council. Just get Aeona out."

BLACK BAY
NO RIGHT BUT BY CODE

.

⚜

Kaden Feld

.

The journey had gone as smoothly as anticipated. By road was hardly their preferred method of travelings,

particularly in an unfamiliar direction, but the Pirates of Black Bay were nothing, if not adaptable. Nanda was decked to the nines, her gown lavish and expensive - stolen off a caravan they discovered along route.

She was a sight to behold, and would undoubtedly catch the attention of all present - but for the little minx's ways, she had no intentions of being predictable, nor did she intend to show up where she ought to. Their plan was simple, but it was dangerous, and very well could end their entire scheme in one fell swoop, but if anyone could pull it off, it was the younger Shey.

Yet the anxiety only increased in Kay, the closer they came to the shores of Ariela. How long had it been since he had seen her? It seemed a lifetime, yet Kay could remember it as though it had only been a fortnight. The way his mother begged and pleaded for him not to look back, how she had made him promise that he would never return.

And here he was, yet somehow, in his heart of hearts he had to think she would understand… that she would comprehend his actions. This was for her. This would honor her.

Nanda Shey

.

Like a field of roses, they would wait, lined up in the gardens, nearly every size, shape and culture represented,

displayed as though they were were waiting to be snipped at the stem and set in a vase. But Nanda, she was a wildflower… and she would not wait on bated breath for the prize to arrive. As far as she was concerned, she was the prize.

She was not an anticipated guest. This much, she knew. For Leonardo had not been told to expect her, and had no doubt set it in his mind that their final meeting would, indeed, be the last time he would see her. But clever Alfonse.. He had a flair, of course, for the dramatic, and wanted her to meet him at the gate. Her arrival would come on the cusp of the ceremony, when, no doubt, Leo had already resolved himself to believe he was destined to wed one of the wilting roses, boring, weightless and vapid as a summer breeze.

Her brother had warned her, with irritating adamance, to be wary of her emotions. It wasn't a necessary reproof… While she found Leo's company enjoyable enough, she also understood all too well that he was a means to an end. Still, she was a young woman, prone to natural proclivities, and Leo was an attractive man, aesthetically and in spirit. If her heart sped up a little, and her cheeks flushed at the thought of him, what did it matter?

The procession ahead of her slowed, and Nanda glanced up with a small smile, as Ariela's majestic splendor came into view. Black Bay was a town built on the ruins of their fallen foe, but Ariela appeared hewn from sun and sand, a treasured gem on the horizon. The gates weren't far off, and through them, the crowd moved nearly oblivious to the small caravan headed their way. Through the throng, she could already see the familiar head of blonde curls moving towards them and her smile broadened as she slipped down from her mount, patting the horse on the flank before approaching Alfonse with a nod.

@Bears

TAGS || @BearEnthusiast, @Doctor Jax, @Tyrannosaurus Rekt, @Effervescent,@rissa, @Shizuochan, @Starlighter

Effervescent · Aug 16, 2017

Isaac Dessai

"A similar neglect," he said softly in response. With the sleeve of his dirtied shirt he shielded a small cough. "Bastillos suffers a similar sort of conflict between castes. I'm of the lower tier… We're all hard working citizens but lack the means for proper care. Even the mirrorlight doesn't quite reach us. Not many get the chance for sun treatment and a physician's care."

Isaac chuckled at his ramblings. "Apologies, I can be a bit passionate about the caste gap. I believe that's why I've been framed for a crime. A very terrible crime. That's what brought me here."

She stopped as he spoke, almost against her own will and turned to face him, blinking, momentarily pressed beneath the weight of those words and the implication of them. Framed. Most people who were guilty of something wouldn't opening admit they were accused of a crime to begin with - perhaps it was flawed logic, and perhaps it was a little of her detrimentally compassionate side ekking into their conversation, but she wanted to believe him… and yet believing him meant ultimately little in light of what he had revealed.

She knew a touch of what it was to have an unfair stigma blacken the entire world around you… and it broke her heart to think what he must have suffered, simply for caring about the lot of the poor in his kingdom.

"...You're a fugitive." She murmured quietly. There was no judgment in her tone, only a sudden and impacting sadness, and reaching out, she touched his arm, "Whatever happened, whatever it is you've been accused of, you're safe here. As long as you're in the palace walls, I'll see to it."

The sudden pause had caused him a bit of panic. This was a sign his journey towards sanctuary was at an end, but how could he deceive someone so helpful? She stated his status with understanding in the situation. He was a fugitive; a wanted man on the run from a coming judgement. But despite this new understanding, she kept her determination to help him to a place of safety, only that place was apparently within the walls of the palace.

Isaac's eyes turned up to the rooftops. Heading to the palace was not favorable considering what he had been framed for. Cain'loren was still in good standing with Bastillos, but he could potentially cause tension without reason. "I-I don't know if I should go there," he admitted as he took a step back. "The crime. It's political in nature. This could end badly if we're caught. I'll find another way. I'm so sorry to have bothered you."

Shaking her head, she let her hand drop, but only so far as to catch him by the hand. Why should it have mattered what happened to him? She hardly knew the man, and for all she knew he was simple a brilliant actor, perfectly guilty of the crime he claimed he was framed of. But in his eyes she could see an honesty that she didn't see in most - deep, fixed in those brown depths - a genuine nature.

"...Please. It's not bother. Let me help you. You won't make it on the streets, here… not in your condition. I've gotten fairly good at sneaking in and out, and they won't even notice another servant wandering around, if I find you a uniform that'll fit." Smiling faintly, she shrugged, "Really, you'd be helping me, anyway. I'll get absolutely no sleep, worrying over you all night."

It was true he was a haggard mess as his sickness continued to further. The hesitation still lingered as his body pulled so slightly against their linked hands. Did he want to risk her safety and standing by agreeing to her ploy? It could still work just as well, for who in Cain'loren would know his face? The tension between their arms loosened as he took another step towards Abrigel.

"As long as you agree to feign innocence should I be discovered," he said. "I want no trouble for you. Especially since you've shown me nothing but kindness."

She didn't wish to lie to him - to promise something she knew, ultimately she wouldn't follow through on, but she was certain if she didn't agree, he wouldn't come, and with night pressing on, it wouldn't be long before they were both discovered by the evening patrol. With a ginger smile, she nodded.

"Agreed." She started forward again, but paused, biting her lip as she considered the other potentially pressing issue, "Ah. There's something you should know though, before we arrive…" Looking to him, her smile shifted into something a little more sheepish, "I don't work there. It's my home. The palace."

At first, Isaac didn't fully understand her statement. Confusion pushed his brows inward in a furrow as he looked the woman over. "I don't understand…" he said as his voice trailed off and a pit in his stomach formed. Who had he run into? If she did not work there, the explanation into her housing narrowed to only a select few choices, all of which felt rather intimidating given his circumstance.

Tucking her hair back, Abrigel shrugged, "I'm a princess, Isaac." Looking up, she smirked faintly, "See now, why you don't need to worry about getting me into trouble?"

"I suppose you're right," he said softly as he followed after Abrigel. "You're not concerned, then? Of my presence here as a wanted criminal, I mean."

"It would concern me a great deal more to think of you on your own out here, particularly with the state you're in. It's bad enough I'm out here at night, and I live in the city. Just… promise me you'll be careful, and you won't go getting yourself caught, and we should have nothing to worry about..."

Isaac had never met a member of a royal house. The closest he came was a noble's palanquin where they made eye contact as she passed. Abrigel's kindness towards him was not something he questioned, but it was something he never would have expected from a princess. Perhaps that is what made Cain'loren a seemingly better place than Bastillos.

"I don't plan to," he assured as he followed. "Why are you out here at night, if I may ask?"

More color bled into her cheeks as she rubbed the spot on her palm where it had grazed the cobbled ground, her eyes cast away in consideration, "My… my father is a good man, but he doesn't always consider those beneath him. The people in the Court are starving, and we've so much waste. When I can, I bring whatever there is to distribute among the families… It's not always much, but to them it's enough."

Releasing her hand, she glanced over to him, "I've tried bringing it up to the council, but mine is not a popular voice among my father's advisors."

"The voice of reason often goes unheard," Isaac said. "But don't give up hope. Eventually the right ear should hear you out. We were making progress in Bastillos, you know. For the longest time most people were ignoring the concerns of the poor, even the middle caste. But we never gave up speaking out against injustices. I… well I think that might have garnered the negative attention that brought me here. I like to think it's all for a good reason, though."

Chuckling gingerly, Abrigel shook her head, "While my father's wife lives and breathes, she will see to it that I'm never heard. But I can't blame her. Not really… not knowing how it must feel for her to have to live with his mistake…" Rubbing her arms, she looked over to Isaac, and her smile faded, "...You said you think they framed you? What… what was it for?"

She had asked for further explanation into his vague response earlier. Isaac ran his hand nervously through his dirty locks and grimaced faintly at the predicament. Telling lies went against his nature and beliefs, but continuing avoiding to answer could be just as bad. "A murder," he said quietly. "A very unfortunate murder. I have no one to prove my alibi. But the less you know, the better. I am an honest man, your majesty."

"I believe you." She had no cause to, nor did his story warrant any reason she might, but if Abrigel was nothing else, it was a good read of character… and Isaac hadn't given her the slightest apprehension, "And please, call me Abrigel. There's an inch of these lands I'll ever own some day. The propriety is hardly necessary. I prefer it that way, to be honest. There are some days where I wish…" Frowning, she shook her head, "Hm. Nevermind that. I'm going to see to it that you're safe here, Isaac. Consider it my new mission."

"What do you wish?" he prompted with genuine interest. "No need to nevermind when we're now practically friends. First name informalities grants it!"

Smiling delicately, Abrigel shook her head, "I suppose I don't wish for a different life. I'm blessed, and I can hardly complain in my circumstances… but there are days where I wonder how things would be if my mother had survived. If she had never written to my father…"

"The king?" he asked. Her story was becoming more clear to him without Abrigel having to spell it out. "Hmm. Perhaps then I wouldn't have such a fortunate sanctuary. We may not have even crossed paths! I'm a believer in the philosophy that all things happen for a reason. Even my own situation. Otherwise what's the point of it all?"

He looked down at her hand, though in their movements it was difficult to catch a good glimpse. It was clear, though, she was favoring one. "Is your hand alright?"

"That's a very wise philosophy…" She mused, with a slightly brighter smile, "And I for one am glad I was where I needed to be." Looking down at his question, she unfurled her hand with a small chuckle, "It's alright. Just a scratch... "

"Not bleeding or anything?" he asked further. "I've seen a lot of seemingly small injuries result in some unfortunate circumstances. Does your castle have a royal physician or something fancy like that? You should still get it looked at."

His concern, as if she had not already determined he was of better stock than his fugitive status would afford him, was certainly an indication that he was no hardened criminal to fear. Holding her hand out for him to see, she laughed gently, "Can barely even call it a scrape, see… Just stings."

It took so much effort for Isaac to keep a polite distance. In his world, or rather former life now that he was on the run, there were hardly any boundaries. The lower caste couldn't afford to look down upon each other or shy away from a helping hand. And so he nearly brought her hand closer to inspect it, but luckily caught himself before he could and clasped his hands behind his back to keep himself more polite.

"And you can move it like normal?" he continued to ask. "There can still be issues at the bone."

"Honest…" Wiggling her fingers, she smiled enough to bring a slight wrinkle to the bridge of her nose, "But if it makes you feel better, I'll have it looked at when we return. Though explaining it won't be easy."

"You'd only have to say you fell," he said. "There are plenty of places to fall. Even in here. But you don't even have to lie in this situation. The truth is you fell. You can even say you fell walking back to your room. Even then, that isn't a lie. People fill in the spaces with assumptions. I've...uh… I've had a lot of run ins with officials."

Her smile fading ever so slightly, Abrigel shook her head, "...How long has it been, since you've been running, Isaac?"

Isaac shook his head somewhat bashfully at the question. "I don't know, honestly," he admitted. "Easier to count the days out here. I spent some time in the dark before I breached the surface. I hope… Will this be an issue? Even before I've been on the run I've had… problems. Most lower caste in Bastillos do."

"Not at all… It's just… I'm sorry that you've had to go through all of this. It must be terrible. And lonely." Abrigel knew a thing or two about loneliness… about what it could do to a person. She spoke with the weight of understanding. Of sympathy. "I hope even if we cannot find you a way to get home again, at least you'll be able to make something of a home here. For however long you stay."

@Elle Joyner

Laballa Sola

"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 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 for why we are having guests in a little more than a fortnight."

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.

Allarith Moraus

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.

Despite all of that, he took the position, granting his family income beyond what they had ever imagined possible. His first task as Captain of the Queen's Guard was as an escort for the party from Cain'loren. 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. They still performed their sweeps to insure 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 captain'll handle him real quick," said another. "I don't think there's much to worry about."

"He's only one man," Allarith piped in, "but he's still dangerous. He took out four men and got away with it." He looked back at the party with a lofted brow as he waited for the notion to sink in. There were four of them, and one of the soldierslooked around to count the party.

"Oh," he said in realization.

"Oh," Allarith repeated, and huffed a small laugh before turning back to the road ahead. The smile faded as the pressure once again found its place deep in his gut. A commoner from the outskirts of Luminhold was announced as the murderer. Isaac Dassai; a man of the common caste. His name wasn't something familiar to him, but after hearing of his dealings he did not see him a murderer. It would ruin his cause and the voice of the lower caste.

But who was he to argue with such a thing when he barely knew the facts? It was not his business to question, especially with mouths to feed. And so instead he kept the notion in the back of his mind. While Isaac Dassai fled, the true killer could still be at large within Bastillos, and he had a foreign dignitary to escort safely to Luminhold.

Starlighter · Sep 3, 2017

.

EIFION VALERYS

@Elle Joyner @rissa

Eifion had always known that it was impolite to stare, so at the present moment, he justified it in terms of admiration. Since leaving the three royal ships his company had taken from Islaryn and the coast had long since vanished into the horizon, all he'd seen was land. Of course he'd always known that the majority of the world was like this, but spending these last days riding without encountering more water than the odd stream or small pond, he was starting to wonder how the Wilderen people hadn't gone off and died of thirst hundreds of years ago.

While to him the countryside did err too much on the side of dry to be comfortable, he was beginning to find a deep appreciation for the mere solidity of it. It was so strange to think that these people would never have to fear the rising tide of a winter storm destroying their homes and land, or struggle to find enough space to build homes for themselves.

"Sire."

Eifion glanced to his right, acknowledging the fat old man at his side who had spoken.

"We are approaching the city. I would advise that you cease your gawking, and perhaps try to present yourself a bit more…. Regally?"

From his left, he heard a quiet chuckle that was quickly cut off by a forced cough. Eifion straightened a bit in the saddle and gave Sai a stern look. The older man shrugged, entirely unconcerned. "This is why I am here, Sire, and if I'm not to speak my mind, let me have my horse and I'll return to the ships."

"I don't mind it, Marca. Just remember that you are not here to entertain Jaren."

Sai harrumphed quietly to himself but held his tongue. Eifion turned his look on the guard riding to his left, but there was no further need to comment. Jaren knew when to be quiet, and truth be told, the antics of a scholar who didn't find himself to be funny seemed the only soul alive able to coax a smile from that man. Particularly when he wasn't supposed to.

As the city loomed, he couldn't resist a brief glance back at the rest of the guards accompanying him. It seemed wrong for soldiers of the sea to guard by way of riding. But, if all went as it ought to, soon enough the aide of Silvern would mean the end of an army restricted to functioning only aboard their ships.

Or so he hoped.

Looking ahead once more, Eifion narrowed his eyes at the city. Time to pay our respects to the dear, departed king.

.

ERIAD LORAF

@Elle Joyner

Eriad paced the floor of his chambers with his hands clasped tightly behind his back, his brow furrowed in deep concentration. He barely paid attention to the rhythm of his steps, or the colours that flashed past through the window every few moments. He was entirely somewhere else at the moment.

The fool is going to Thornwild. Bloody Thornwild! What can that ignorant boy possibly have going through his thick head?

However much the common people had come to applaud him, to see him as their hero and saviour, he knew the truth. Eifion didn't have a cursed clue what he was doing with that crown on his head. Truthfully, it was a wonder he hadn't gone top heavy and fallen from a window headfirst into the sea.

The message informing him of the Regent King's plans to travel to Cain'Loren with a stop at Thornwild on the way was vague, but unlike that idiot boy, he wasn't a fool. He could tell that Eifion was only wasting his time in Thornwild to gauge the nation's vulnerability.

And it could hardly matter less. The blind fool might as well have enemies in half of Ellemar's nations - and the other half aren't his friends.

Time and again in his career, Eriad had heard his native people say there was no saltwater in his veins - too much time spent on solid foreign ground, and he'd dried right up. For far too long, Islaryn had done their best at keeping to themselves and staying neutral. In the process, they had come to where they now stood - with few friends, and nearly an entire continent with the potential to be their foes. They were too wrapped up in themselves to understand the other nations of the world - or the threats they could become at any time.

.

TERIN THE BARON

A fool was a man who craved attention.

A spy was a man who should never be noticed.

So, Terin supposed, the logic of the man who recruited him - (what was that fellow's name? Not that it was of any consequence now) - went something along the lines of contradicting both philosophies in a twist of deception - making the most obvious mistakes, but in truth creating the most clever disguise - a fool one could hardly hope to ignore combined with a spy who hoped never to be looked at twice.

Islaryn's foreign spy to Thornwild. Thornwild. The greatest interest of contemporary times. Spied upon by an ignoramus, or a genius?

All in all, however, Terin was not one to waste mental efforts on philosophies. He was a spy, he was allowed to perform as he wished, and he was still alive and free as a chicken.

Terin let his eyes track a juggling ball arcing high up over his head, and took a flailing backward step in a dramatic attempt to catch it. The maneuver ended with the entirety of his balls splattered around him on the ground, and his own behind meeting the hard street with a stiff thud. Laughter and giggles gurgled from his small half circle of onlookers, and he slowly rose, dusting himself off.

He cast a sheepish glance at the onlookers, then bent to begin collecting his balls. With his long fingers stretched out, he easily reached under the first ball and flicked it away, giving the appearance to anyone watching that the ball sprang away from him of its own volition. Frowning, he caught up to the ball, and reached for it again, performing the same trick.

This time, another round of bubbly laughter greeted his efforts. From there, he began running in literal circles, chasing himself dizzy ever an inch away from victory over the rebellious sack of sand.
Once satisfied that the joke had run its course, Terin gave in to the tilting, whirling street, and over exaggerated its effects. In all honesty, he had taught himself to weather the effects of dizziness and balance quite well, but that did not serve his purpose at the moment. He stumbled about, in an awkward shuffle something like a drunkard's walk. Then, to add to the effect, he began a haphazard dance, and eventually landed flat on his face.

Uproarious laughter and even a smattering of applause erupted from his audience, and from his prone position, he waved a droopy hand of acknowledgment. Gradually, the little gathering began to split and wander off on their separate ways, and the Jester-Spy was alone in the streets.

Aero Blue · Sep 5, 2017

The Ward
Eleton - POV: Gillard Palefox

Gillard Palefox noted the stone steps, surface eroded away by the footsteps of many a languid noble and hurried maid. He noted the tapestries upon the wall, balls of dust having begun to gather upon them; they gathered around the outer border of the upholstery, while the center, the face of the painted Lord, the golden chest of the embroidered Knight, remained pristine. And even then, such artful depictions had begun to lose their luster - when he had force set foot upon here, they had been so majestic.

He had read his fair share of stories, the products of pillaging and the spoils of war his father had put to use schooling him in the ways of those that were unlike them - the nobles, the kings and queens, princes and princesses. The fairy tale had graced his mind early; even now he could still hear the gravelly voice of a younger Aldren struggling to make it through a bedtime recital. Now, of course, his father Aldren was older, and far more literate, while fairy tales meant less and less.

The Keep, and the High Tower, however, had always had a place in his heart. Granted, their use in literature was not so versatile; the home of the fair maiden, the final tribulation of the Knight who sought to rescue the princess, the tomb of the tragic lady. Tomnor Riddlerain, he knew, had only ever thought of them as bricks of stone to shield from the rain. He was a simple man, unaccustomed to flights of fancy or fairy tale.

He entered the keep to see the simple man pouring over books and treatises. "My Lord."

The King's Protector, Eleton's finest sword, and one who had aged beyond his years. Back bent, eyes squinting; Gillard could almost envision him as one of the wizened scholars, with milky eyes that saw little, and teeth fit only for soft bread with soup. Even his reactions seemed dull, his motions hindered, belying the fierce warrior many believed him to be; in Gillard's imagination, he could hear Tomnor's back creak as he rose to address him. "Gillard, what brings you here?"

He was Tomnor's ward, a decision made by Aldren. Lord Riddlerain was one of the few Eletonians his father had regarded with any amount of respect. He had come to understand why - both men were deliberate, careful, stringent, and sad. They were sad because, Gillard imagined, they held the weight of entire Kingdoms upon their shoulders. When Gillard noted the sleepless rings upon Tomnor's eyes, he immediately regretted his intrusion.

He was the principal advisor to the King; Tomnor needed to know Damian Dust's intent to threaten a matter of crowns and nations. Yet he could not. They had forgiven the Foot-Prince of Clan Dust much, but for this they would kill him. And Tomnor, Tomnor did not deserve yet another mountain upon his shoulders. "You are troubled, Gillard."

He was. Oh how very troubled he was. Tomnor's eyes were sad and tired, and yet they saw much. Perhaps they could not help it. Perhaps that was why that seemed so sad. "A matter of old… matters, my Lord. Old friendships."

"I am sorry to hear that."

He should have walked out, simply left and allowed Tomnor to return to his treatises. He did not. "I have, at times, found that it is difficult to balance the demands of my current station, and of who I was. Duties and sentiment. I have been able to stave off the worst of it, I think, because I do not do, I never have. I simply read, watch, and I listen. But now,-"

"Someone is forcing your hand."

More and more, he had come to respect Aldren's fondness for Tomnor Riddlerain. "Yes, someone is forcing my hand."

"Then do." Tomnor spoke slowly. It was something he had taught Gillard; speak slowly, and one will impress upon the fact that every word they say matters. "Time, as much as old friends, wards, lieges and lovers, forces our hands. It does this because the world cannot abide a man who simply reads, watches, and listens. You are the Ward of House Riddlerain, you are the Son of Clan Palefox. In a worldly sense, these things do not matter so much as the fact that you are of the world. So do. Change things for the better."

And as Tomnor returned to his treatises, Gillard Palefox had new purpose: he had to find Damian Dust.

===

The Dreaming Girl
Outside Eleton - POV: Cassandra Millford

Her dreams had never taken her here before. Her dreams were of fields of white lily, that smelt of cinnamon, with a breeze that carried the petals to the ground and formed a lovely mosaic. She dreamt of open spaces - she had reasoned, foolishly, naively, that such was the way of an open heart and mind. Alas, dreams were the romanticized simulacrums of hollow, middling realities.

Her reality, she found, was awfully crowded. All around her carriage were her father's soldiers, Lord Riddlerain's best men, and a bevy of attendants that she had remembered from her short, frolicking years. They crowded around her in formation and moved in lock-step, bound in time. For a moment, she imagined them to be a formidable army, for there were many of them, and she sat at the heart of them all, the Lord in her oaken carriage.

Her hands lingered at the wooden walls, fingers tracing the aged circles. She found that it was necessary - elsewise the carriage was likely to shrink and envelop her, and suffocate the life from her. Her fingers traced ever more frantically as she felt her lungs grow heavy, felt the breath seep out of her…

I had not dreamt to be here…

"Princess, are you quite well?" Nuada's visage peered through the silken veil. She was a beauty, Cassandra had always thought, yet there was something fearful about her; she was square-jawed and fierce, and her green eyes some of the most frightful weapons she had ever seen. For now, however, Cassandra was thankful; Nuada's intense gaze had always had a way of scaring her back from the brink.

"Yes." Cassandra pulled her hands away from the carriage walls, "I am quite well, Nuada. How far have we gone…?"

"You were fidgeting, my Lady. Your fingers moved as if possessed by demonhounds. Your breathing, too, is labored. I am unsure of further ways to protect you from the elements; shall I procure the rest of the blankets from the pack, perhaps?"

Nuada was her favorite. The Lords and Ladies had always favored her with respect that they didn't mean, greeting her amicably as their eyes judged every new blemish upon her face. Nuada, however, was entirely uncertain of the concept - indeed, Cassandra imagined the Warrior-Lady would consider false flattery to be mockery at best. "I don't feel sick. Thank you for your concern."

"Not far."

I should teach her how to have a conversation…

Cassandra peered through the veil, and felt, for the moment, liberated. Outside the three rings of Eleton, with not a stony wall in sight. "I dreamt, Nuada, of dancing through winds and puddles with.... My betrothed."

She did not know his face, and so a myriad others took its place in her mind. It lingered, for a while, upon the face of the Dirt-Runner, the Horse-Rider. Vividly, she could begin to feel the frolicking wind upon her, the thrill-joy of a galloping horse, or perhaps two galloping horses riding alongside one another, chasing the storm.

"Nuada… may I come outside?"

===

The Lonesome King
Eleton - POV: Alleric Millford

She was like the last droplet of rain, the final trickle before the silence. A silence that one expectantly awaits to be broken by yet another drop, but another drop never comes. The final drop of the storm. Cassandra was gone, his daughter was gone, and all he had left to wonder was if he would live long enough to see her again. When his attendants began to turn his trolley away, Alleric had almost wished to beg and plead for them to stay their hand, so that he could but stare at the empty space his daughter had been.

He did not.

"Rest. I wish to rest, please."

The servants gave their silent acquiescence, and Alleric found himself counting the minutes before he could exile himself away to dreamful sleep. In his older years, he had found that he could no longer remember the various Halls of Ecramond - he only remembered the few turns that lead him back to his chambers, the ones that served as his escape.

His servants did not turn left upon Sanctity Hall. Why had they not turned left upon Sanctity Hall?

"Servants? Men? What… what is the meaning of this? This is not the way to my chambers? I…" The words froze in his mouth, not out of fear, but of a realisation. If they meant to lead him to a quiet assassination, what of it? It would make for a far better rest. With that realisation, came calm, came relief. "... Carry on, then."

Too many turns, too many empty halls that the King himself did not even know existed. Too many of them until the servants finally allowed themselves to halt the King's trolley. They had arrived at an atrium of sorts, quaint and meager in space, but of impressive make nonetheless. The walls and flooring were ivory - blemished by time and uncaring.

The men dispersed, and for moments, King Alleric sat alone.

And then they came. Lord Lothorn, of the House which created the three ring system. The three patriarchs of House Toles, three severe men who had been born on the same day. The Lords Cragem and Thorne, who had lost their eldest sons to Jagger Palefox. Lord Robinlace, who had been Cassandra's betrothed.

Lord Lothorn was the eldest amongst them - he was even Alleric's elder, although few would be able to tell; the man had retained a lithe figure and strong face. It was he who spoke, "My Liege, we apologize for accosting you in such a manner, yet the moment is dire, and the opportunity to salvage it fleeting. We hope you will understand."

"I need to rest. My daughter, she-."

"Has left the city, which makes her far more safer than the rest of us, trapped here alongside the Palefox's savages." Lord Robinlace was adept at maintaining a veneer of civility - he had abstained from doing so here.

"Although, not for long, I'm afraid." Laufrey Lothorn resumed, "Jagger has departed from the city walls; no matter where he goes, calamity will follow. However, he has left, in his wake, a rare opportunity. He has taken with him man and horse aplenty - enough for our own forces to even the odds. To retake our Kingdom entirely; your Kingdom, that is."

"War? Here? In our very walls?"

Lothorn's smile was terrifying. "War. Here. In our very walls."

"No, impossible. You cannot. Aldren disbanded Eleton's armies, did he not? Replaced Eleton's standing armies with his own? Your men?"

"Ready and willing. We would not simply allow Aldren to make such a maneuver unchallenged."

"The consequences, the consequences, Laufrey. Men will die for this, and for what? We have shared our walls for some time now, and without calamity. Aldren Palefox has been more than reasonable; he's enlisted his own people to aid with our harvests. I won us an accord, we had peace."

Morris Robinlace's visage contorted into blind rage, brow furrowed. Spit flew from his mouth. "You won us an accord? An accord, yes? You've done nothing but sell our home away to the same person who slaughtered Randall Cragem, who desecrated the body of young Fran Thorne and sent the mangled corpse back to us on a bloody horse! You have won noth-!"

"MY LORDS!"

The voice did not ring out from amongst the circle, yet the King knew who had announced himself. One of the two scourges that had beset themselves upon Eleton, the subject of so many of his nightmares. His salvation from this moment, ironically enough, was Aldren Palefox, Second Chief of the Clans, Grand Commander of the Army.

Alleric could not turn his back to look - such a feat was beyond him now. Yet in his periphery, he saw the man, a blur that rested his armored hand upon his shoulder. "The King's daughter has left. We should allow him time alone, to gather his thoughts, and to rest."

Jeers and footsteps followed; Aldren had brought his clansmen. The jeers intensified as they noted Morris Robinlace, his hand frantically reaching towards the hilt of his blade. Alleric prayed that the man would see sense; he did not wish to see his blood spilt. "Sir Robinlace, have you developed an itch upon your hip? A misunderstanding would be tragic."

"What brings you here, my Lord?" Lothorn spoke, his calm matching Aldren's own.

"Nothing in particular, I would hope. But then again, our hopes are rarely gratified. You have the King in a most suspicious circumstance. I can only pray that nothing sinister is afoot. Of course, that reminds me; has planning for your uprising gone well?"

Oh, if only Alleric could will himself into slumber. To not be awake for any of this.

"Our Liege had an accord with you and your tribesmen, Aldren. As his loyal subjects, we intend to honor it." Lothorn's smile was cold steel - it clashed with Aldren's own. "We will allow you to remain in our home, so long as you fulfill your service to our King."

"You will allow me?" Aldren held his hand up to pacify the mocking jeers of his people, "I am ever so grateful. I have enjoyed my time here in this wonderful place. I feel as if I can call it home. My brother, however, he feels differently. He despises every bit of this Kingdom, every nook, and every cranny, every smell. And of course, that, my Lords, is why you should exercise caution. Lord Edwyn Toles?"

"My Lord?"

"Why is it that you keep twelve wives? I am wondering." Alleric noted the veins that emerged from Edwyn's neck, frozen in place, as rigid as his enraged countenance. The others did not appear surprised at the revelation. "Surely you do not still feel passion for all twelve? There is one you love most, the one the rest of Eleton knows as your rightful and lawful beloved. Yet the others, you visit them in the night. Not often, granted; sometimes you go months without ever seeing one. But you return. You cannot find it within yourself to relinquish your grasp on something you do not truly love. Strange.

Of course, there is also the matter of your thirteenth wife, who saw fit to relinquish you. You had grown so very dispassionate towards her, after all. Naturally, you could not allow it, for it jeopardized the secret, which in turn jeopardized your power, your control. And so, you dealt with it."

Alleric started as he felt his trolley lifted from the ground. Aldren's men surrounded him, shielding him from Lothorn's contingent. Aldren continued, "My brother Jagger has no love for Eleton, my Lords. But in many respects, he has the same disposition as the good Lord Edwyn here.

Escort the King to his chambers. We are finished here."

Elle Joyner · Oct 3, 2017

CAIN'LOREN
FOR CROWN AND FOR LAND

.

⚜

Abrigel Baelston

.

The hardest part, decidedly, about sneaking out of the palace at night was sneaking back in. It was considerably

more difficult when aiding a fugitive.

It wasn't just a matter of getting a scolding from the guards, now, and Abrigel needed to be cautious. She was on thin enough ice with the way things had gone at dinner, and it was all she needed to do, to get caught aiding a man accused of murder. But it was that heart of hers, all too open and willing, determined to her own detriment, that would undoubtedly get her into trouble someday, but that propelled her now to risk far too much, to help Isaac.

And so, like a puzzle, she plotted out their path to get inside, starting with the back gate. A guard patrolled regularly, back and forth across the ramparts, and on his person, a hunting horn, that would signal not only the other nearby guards, but everyone within the palace as well. Their timing needed to be absolutely perfect, or their cover would be blown. Pausing near the wall, Abrigel held out a hand to signal Isaac to wait. Her words held a weight of seriousness, but there was the barest hint of a smirk at the corner of her lips as well. She would never take his circumstances, or her own, lightly… but there was something terribly exciting about it, as well, "...When he turns round again, we'll need to run as quietly a possible, into that alcove there. We'll only have a few seconds… Ready?"

With a slight nod Isaac signaled he was ready and understood what needed to be done. Abrigel seemed to be well aware of the nuances about the castle showing just how long she had been sneaking out. It reminded him of what he had done a few times back in Lumin. His eyes looked from the guard to the alcove and back as anticipation grew. And just as he turned his back he rushed forward in light and quick footsteps towards the alcove.

Abrigel followed along, with the same soft, cautious steps and when she had stopped behind him, she pointed to a narrow path along the stone wall that was shrouded by a row of small trees, billowing with wide-petaled white flowers. Looking up at the wall, she gave a firm nod, then made it for the path. At its end was another alcove, this one dark without the arrowslit to bleed in the moonlight. Here, she leaned up against the wall and breathed in, before speaking in a whisper, "The next the trickiest. We'll need to break across the main lawn, to the servants entrance. There are a few trees that block the view, but there's a lot of open space as well. I'll go first, so you can watch the path, and then you'll follow along. Wait for the sound of pebbles falling. The north wall has a weak space, and when the guard passes over it, pieces crumble down…"

As she spoke, there was the sound and her eyes moved to Isaac, before she nodded, "Be careful…" and with a smile, she turned and darted out of the room, making much like a rabbit, in zigzag patterns along the lawn, until she reached the other side.

Calin Farthsworn

.

"Rash, Amira… Too rash."

The queen sank to the chair before the Captain's desk and frowned, folding her hands in her lap "Careful, Calin. I am still your queen."

"You won't be, if you husband gets wind of what you've been doing. Really, Mira... That She-devil? Have you lost your mind, entirely?"

"She's good at what she does, and I need this to work! If this plan fails, and he's able to secure Thornwild? Do you understand what that would mean?"

"I'm not so sure you understand what failure means…"

"Of course I understand! But what am I to do? He's tied my hands! And I will not suffer this outrage, any longer! He makes a mockery of all that we stand for… And absolute, utter mockery."

"He is the king, and your husband."

Rising, her hands smacking hard against the desk, Aimera glared at the Captain, "You don't think I know that? Someone has to do something!"

"I told you to let me handle it…"

"Handle it? All you have is a damnable letter! That's not enough to dent his reputation, let alone put Crispin where he belongs! It's not as if I intend to kill him!"

"Don't you? You've hired a killer, after all."

"She'll play her part. But she knows the limitations, and she's not stupid enough to dishonor our agreement."

A sigh escaped, and Calin pinched the bridge of his nose, "...Aimera. It was foolhearty and overzealous. I cannot help but think you allowed your judgment to be clouded by your feelings…"

"Do you blame me?"

"Not at all, My Queen. But surely you know the dangers of failure…"

"Then help me, Calin. Help me not to fail…"

"I will try. But from now on, we do this… my way. Understand?"

"You're dangerously close to insubordination, Cal…"

A small smile twitched at the corner of her lips, and Calin shook his head, as he returned the expression, "When we've concluded this mess, Mira… you can have me hung if it still bothers you."

"...I just may. Goodnight, Captain."

"Goodnight, Majesty."

Raenna Baelston

.

It was a three hour journey by carriage to the border of Cain'Loren. Decidedly, three hours was far too long a time

to be spent cooped up in so small a space with Dansin. Raenna understood all too well Dan's need for a bit of rebellion. Theirs was not an easy life, nor was there much fun in it, but that was their lot in life, and that he never seemed to take anything seriously was more than a touch disconcerting.

Having him on the journey wasn't a necessity, whatever she had told her maid, but it was a way to get Dan out of her mother's hair and give him the opportunity to do something of use for the kingdom. But it didn't take long for her to regret suggesting he go with her…

When their small caravan finally arrived at the meeting point, she was grateful then, to step out and breathe the fresh air again. For a moment, she savored the silence, before Dan joined her, stretched, to crack his back, turning to his sister as he straightened.

"So where's the majestic escort? Late? Why am I not--"

"Dansin. I really didn't think I needed to remind you… this is a meeting of diplomatic importance, which could very well keep Cain'Loren from war in the future. Please do try and not make an ass of yourself?"

With a shrug and a smirk, Dansin sank down on the steps of the carriage, "Just saying… they're late."

"We're early, you dolt…"

But only by a few minutes. The Bastilliosi escort rode into view within the foothills of the tall mountains. Captain Allarith Moraus urged his horse forward in a trot to approach and address the caravan from Cain'loren in formality as he bowed his head to Raenna and Dansin.

"I hope you were not waiting too long," he said. "I'm Captain Moraus of the Queen's Guard. Are you in need of any refreshments before we head on?"

As the escort arrived, Raenna nudged Dan's foot, to urge him to stand, before she approached, bowing neatly at the men, "Hardly more than a few minutes. And we were early, after all. Thank you for your escort, Captain Moraus. I am Princess Raenna Baelston, and this is my brother, Prince Dansin."

Dansin inclined his own head, but seemed to have lost interest in the conversation, fiddling with something beneath his nail. Rolling her eyes, Raenna looked back to the captain, forcing a smile, "He doesn't travel well. Do your men need a rest, or shall we depart?"

Crispin Baelston

.

Anger was not a feeling that Crispin Baelston was accustomed to. Generally mild in manner, the prince rarely

allowed his emotions to dictate his responses. So rare, in fact, was it to see him in a fury of any kind, that many wondered if perhaps he lacked passion, altogether.

The ire with which he greeted his mother's 'surprise' was so uncharacteristic, that it naturally became the talk of the gossip mongers within the castle kitchens. The young princess from Eleton was coming to visit… Would arrive soon, in fact. This, apparently, had been sprung upon Crispin early that morning, a meeting, face to face, with the woman he was to marry. With a ball to follow, in a fortnight.

What the castle staff did not know, however, was that his anger stemmed both from a place of agonizing loss… the knowledge that all too soon - far sooner than he had anticipated - his heart's desire was to be obliterated by obligation and law… and a place of certain fear. Of acknowledging that his life was not his own and soon enough, he would face a future of decisions made for him…

He wasn't ready, and it hurt…

He would prepare for her arrival. He would greet her an eager and courteous husband to be, and their lives together would be fair and, he hoped, happy… Even if he would never love her. Even if he could not.

Waiting in the foyer, he paced back and forth, ardently balling his hands into fists as he walked. It would be a few hours, yet, before her arrival, but he had been told to wait… no doubt for fear he might try and bar himself in his room. It wasn't an entirely unattractive notion, but Crispin was an honorable man, and it wasn't, after all, Cassandra's fault that he felt absolutely no affections for her.

But duty was duty, and little to be done with…

Rosleigh Baelston

.

The Curat of Itzlapoctaba wrung his hands as he waited at the gates of the city, the high wall seeming to engulf the

small guard surrounding them. If all went well, this could be a wonderful relationship between the qarab and the larger, more powerful country of Cain'Loren, but should things go sour...

It would not do to have a dead princess on their hands. Mohamid had warned that the disease the princess was afflicted by could be any number of incurable ailments sure to kill her, and kill her soon. His son was a man known for his caution and his wit, but the Curat could not pass up the opportunity to help his city, not now when their trade contract with Creaz Pria to the south was in danger. Turning Itzlapoctaba into a medical haven would do wonders for trade, especially with the added credit of a cured princess.

Omari watched as a carriage came towards the city, brightly outlined against Azawa's deserts. He smiled pleasantly, brushing off his gold-and-black Curat robes. He had a sedan waiting for her already, as carriages and carts were prohibited from the very heart of the qarab.

As Ros stepped from carriage, aided down by the hand of the footman, she shielded her eyes from the bright sun overhead, taking in the surroundings with a thoughtful expression.

It was unlike anything she had ever seen... All magnificent and glittering. If she was doomed to die in such a place, at least it was a beautiful sight to behold.

"There..." Her maid remarked, gesturing over her shoulder, "That appears to be our man. Quite different looking, isn't he? Swarthy..."

Smiling, Ros nodded, "It's all so pretty. Come along, Ana." Moving towards the man, Rosleigh paused as she neared and fell in a practiced curtsy, "Her Grace, Princess Rosleigh Baelston, of Cain'Loren." Anabet chimed, bowing, as well.

Omari ibn Aldoul smiled, flashing bright white teeth at the young princess. She was quite a bit his younger, that was for sure. He had not expected her to be quite so green. He felt self-conscious, all of a sudden, before this Cain'Lorenite, an aged Azawi with a missing tooth, wrinkled skin, and dark tan.

"It is a delight to have you, Princess Rosleigh, and to you, young lady-in-waiting. We hope you enjoy your stay here in Itzlapoctaba. I am afraid your carriage can go no further, but we have here a sedan upon which you may sit as we bring you into the city. Purposes of logistics, you see," the Curat stated, gesturing to the brightly colored seat with its four young and well-muscled bearers. "You will be staying at the Peacock Palace for now, my own personal home. My son, Mohamid, will attend to you there."

"No cause for formalities," the maid offered with a small smile, "Anabet will do just fine, Sire. We thank you kindly for taking in the Princess. Gets pretty damp up our way this time of year and it won't do much good for that cough of hers."

"It's greatly appreciated." Rosleigh added, as he gestured to the sedan. A brow quirked and she smiled delicately, "My word... If that isn't the strangest thing I've ever seen. But don't they get tired?"

"Oh, they're quite fine, no worries. Don't fret over them, Princess. Allow me..."

Omari led them towards the sedan, preferring to walk himself.

"If you prefer other transportation, of course that can be arranged. However everything is drawn by man, and I doubt you'd prefer walking," Omari chuckled as he stood back and allowed the four men to do their work, lifting the sedan.

Rosleigh laughed, but the sound was truncated by a harsh cough, Anabet's expression crumbling into a frown as she drew closer to the young girl, clapping a hand on her back. It lasted perhaps longer than either of the Lorenites were comfortable with, but when it subsided, Ros simply smiled, shaking her head and Ana led her to the sedan.

"I don't mind walking." The maid commented, nodding to Omari, "I'll keep you company."

The Curat bowed his head with regal acknowledgement to the young servant, understanding that it would do no good to argue with her young charge being in as rough shape as she was.

The robed official led them into the city, surrounded on foot by a ring of guards two feet deep, walking in a rectangle around them at a leisurely pace. Itzlapoctaba's banner swung from the open gates in the qarab's colors, a startling gold flower design printed across a deep red field. Once past the gates, the temperature dropped immensely, though the dry desert air pervaded regardless. Within the city, massive columns of shops, houses, and edifices seemed to hang from the rock, obscuring the rays of light drifting down from the holes cut into the ceiling of the mesa.

After nearly a half hour's walk, Omari pointed up to a grand structure built like a wedge into the street, nearly five stories tall. Windows like honeycombs peered out on all sides, the whole thing a hive of activity.

"That there is the Itzlapoctaba School of Abwa," stated Omari with pride. "I went there as a boy, the same as my father, and his father, and his father before him. We may visit them soon, as their doctors are some of the finest in the land. No one knows better the ways of the flesh. Are there such places as this in Cain'Loren? You will have to forgive me -- I know little of your cities. I am a... what is it again... a homebody."

As they walked, Rosleigh became immediately fascinated by her surroundings, falling into a contemplative silence that did not break, even when Omari began to speak.

It was Ana who answered, shaking her head, "Oh no, Sir. Cain'Loren has doctors, but nothing quite like this l. It's all so beautiful. And so very different... But you ought to visit, some day. We've fields unlike anything in the world... Just an ocean of purple. It's exquisite."

Omari smiled gently at Ana. She reminded him of his wife -- no doubt, Ima would shower the two in hospitality. She had always been fond of exotics, and the two pale-skinned women stood out miles. They would be the talk of the qarab post haste, hosting a princess.

"I would love to, if ever the life of a Curat allowed for such pleasantries," Omari said, his eyes sweeping the crowds around his guards. Should a runner intercept them, he would have to take leave of his guests, unfortunately, but such was life running a city. "Perhaps I will fall back this election cycle. Let some newbuck move into the Peacock Palace. Ah -- I should explain. Curats are chosen by the people once every ten years. In the meantime, they live in the palace as their personal abode until the next election cycle, and if they are supplanted, they must find themselves a new foxhole."

Omari grinned devilishly. Competition was always fierce, and there was nothing like a good smear campaign. It was all in good fun, of course -- with hired knives to sweeten the pot now and then.

Smiling faintly, Ana shook her head, "That is rather an intriguing way to determine who makes decisions, though. I would like to think if King Ordin ever allowed the people to make such bold choices, it might go favorably, but I suppose we never know, do we?"

Looking up into the sedan, she smiled gingerly at Ros, still transfixed on the landscape, "He's a good king, though... even if he was never meant to be. And I don't care what the people say about at that. What happened to his brother wasn't anyone's fault, far as I'm concerned."

Omari raised his eyebrows in curiosity.

"My apologies, but I was never very good at current events or foreign histories. My humble beginnings had me with a telescope to my eye before I sat on the Curat's seat," stated the politician. "I was not aware that there was contention over your dear father's throne. Though I imagine accidents happen, and the line of succession gets... contentious."

There was a reason politics were not hereditary in Azawa. In such close living conditions with so many of your own relatives, especially with multiple wives and divorcees in the mix, just deciding who inherited what could get tricky. A throne would be quite a bit worse.

"King Ordin's brother died. Drowned in a canal." Ana frowned softly, as Ros shook her head, taking care as she opened her mouth to speak, not to upset her lungs, her voice soft and slow.

"...It was an accident. My father loved his brother with all his heart, and it broke him... what happened. But everything thought because my grandfather was ill, my father went after his brother to get to the throne." Rubbing her arms, she turned her eyes to the older man, "But enough of that. It's too pretty here to talk of such sad things. Are we nearly there?"

Omari bowed his head. He recognized that sometimes he overstepped his bounds in such things. Curiosity often overrode courtesy in Azawa, where people were quite -- well, nosy was a kind word for it. When the sprightly princess asked, Omari flashed another gap-toothed grin, and he professed, "Yes, yes, we are quite close now. In fact, once we go about this bend, you will see the Curati palace. You can't miss it."

Indeed, the moment they rounded onto the main thoroughfare, it was obvious which one was the Peacock Palace. A grand edifice carved straight from the red sandstone shone with millions upon millions of tiny, blue-and-green tiles laid out in geometric patterns. The skylight far, far above made the entire structure glitter, from the flying balconies all the way to the terrace gated off at the bottom.

Omari led them up the stairs, immediately sending off a servant to find Mohamid and inform him their guests had arrived. Hopefully the scatterbrained son had not forgotten their engagement...

"Welcome, dearest guests, to the Peacock Palace. Your luggage has already been taken up to your rooms, and we shall take our leave in your sitting room. For your comfort, Princess Rosleigh, we have placed you at the bottom floor so as to avoid much walking up stairs. I assure you, however, the view from your room is still exquisite."

Exquisite was not quite the word for it. It was majestic... beyond, even. It was easily the most beautiful sight that Rosleigh, and certainly Anabet had ever encountered, and both women fell immediately to silence upon the first glimpse, driven by awe.

When they arrived at the steps, Rosleigh turned to Omari and bowed her head, her smile warm and gracious, "That's most appreciate. Keep Loren is all stairs, and it can be a bit taxing." And the view wasn't something she was worried about, at all. It seemed impossible that it could be anything but extravagant, wherever she went.

The middle-aged politician gestured for them to lower the sedan, and the four men gently set it down on a stand at the top of the steps. The concave doorway loomed before them, and Omari made a face as he noticed the absence of a certain wayward son. No doubt, he'd gone to the rock races or some such.

"If you will follow me... Princess Rosleigh, if you do not wish to walk, we also have wheeled chairs," Omari stated merrily, clapping his hands twice to summon a young Tlahat'Na woman with a black braid pushing the aforementioned vehicle.

Without further ado, he walked through the smaller door into the atrium of the palace, which opened to a cloistered foyer full of pillows, settees, tables, and screens. He quickly headed off to the side towards the living quarters, where a very short set of stairs led down into a surprisingly cool and airy venue. His skin seemed colored cerulean from the blue window tiles -- from here, it was obvious that the facade, which seemed solid, was actually made of windows covered in bright blue and green glass. A quartermaster opened the door to one of the rooms, and Omari gestured.

Within was just as splendid as without. The quarters were spacious, a generous suite with several rooms for Rosleigh's entourage, sporting in the middle a spring full of plants, fish, and even a single parrot on a long chain sitting upon its perch in the middle. The room was bedecked with sweet aromas from lanterns, the walls hung with tapestries, the floors parqueted with Itzlapoctaba's famed red tile.

"If you do not find your accommodations fitting, I will of course have you placed in more amenable surroundings," Omari stated, waiting for the two women's response.

As Rosleigh stepped inside, she shook her head, her fingertips gingerly brushing one of the magnificent tapestries as if afraid it might crumble at her touch.

"It's perfect. Thank you" Looking to Anabet, she smiled, "I had better rest. It's been a long journey. Shall we meet for dinner? I would love to hear more about these glorious lands..."

Omari inclined his head.

"It would be an honor. We shall sup upon the terrace, and perhaps then you shall meet your doctor -- that is, if he is not late," Omari said, the last bit a grumble as he glanced out the door. Mohamid's head was empty as a gourd where matters of social convention were concerned, though there were few who could best him in his field.

"I will leave you to unpack and recoup. If you need anything, Metzla will help you," Omari said, gesturing to a large Tlahat'Na man standing by the doorway, dressed quite incongruously in delicate patterns that clashed with his scarred face and broken nose.

Rosleigh looked to the man, eyes widening ever so slightly, and Anabet covered a snort of laughter at the younger girl's reaction, before bowing her head to Omari, "Thank you, sire. "

Both princess and maid turned and disappeared in the inner chambers, and there Rosleigh rested for the remainder of the afternoon.

As evening poured streaks of violet into the brilliant sky, Rosleigh dressed and she and Anabet, emerged to find the odd spectacle of a man they had been led to.

Anabet inclined her head, "Metzla, was it? Would you be so kind as to lead her majesty to the Curat's terrace, please?"

Metzla looked up from his seat, a rather large scroll crossing his lap. He nodded solemnly, standing up without a word while he re-rolled the scroll -- bound soft vellum, expensive -- and tucked it into a special holder on the settee.

"Follow me, if you will," the big man stated, his woodblock face hardly changing expression as he walked out the room and waited patiently for the two women.

With that, they began towards the terrace through a series of maze-like hallways. Metzla gestured to a large, arched doorway that led to the back side of the terrace, a table laden with appetizers set out for the young princess and her maid. Omari and a portly woman holding his hand -- his wife -- sat at the table having a heated discussion.

"You were never harsh with him, and this is why he is like this," Ima stated, swinging her goblet in an arch to point at him accusingly. "He gets it from his uncles."

"My brothers have no part in his tardiness, and you were never one to reprimand him either. Ah! Good evening, ladies. Do sit down. I will flog him when he comes home, I assure you, Imana," Omari said without missing a beat.

Anabet led Rosleigh to her chair and helped her into it, before sitting herself, the young princess smiling delicately, in spite of the account they had entered in upon.

"Ah. I take it my medicinal savior is absent, once more? Hm. No worries. I'm sure he's only kept by something more important." There was no irony to her tone, even as Anabet gave her a curious expression.

Ima cocked her head to the side with purses lips while Omari coughed into his fist.

"Oh, quite the opposite. He--"

Suddenly, a young man hustled through the door, wearing a thick blue tunic with gold trim over, his black hair in disarray as he slunk towards a seat next to Rosleigh. He could not be more than a few years older than her, his beard coming in in patches on a skinny face.

"My apologies Mother--"

"No, no, don't you grovel to me! Apologize to our guests. You have kept them."

Anabet buried her face in her hands to hide her soft chuckle, as their latest company arrived, to his mother's ire, but Rosleigh looked to him with a gentle smile, as though she had positively no idea that anyone, at all, were disturbed by the moment, inclining her head with a polite nod.

Anabet, who had composed herself, lowered her hand, "May I present Princess Rosleigh Baelston of Cain'Loren."

It was evident on the young man's face that he had not expected such a guest, nor was he prepared for such news. He glanced at his father, then back to the young lady next to him, his mouth flapping open. Finally, his mother stated, "Mohamid, if you do not greet his young lady, I will take this knife--"

"My grandest and greatest apologies, Madame Princess," Mohamid said with little accent, getting out of his chair to humbly take a knee before her. "Had I remembered we were to have such an esteemed guest, I would not have been late... even if I had not hoped to be late this evening."

This last, slightly scathing comment was shot towards his mother, who imperiously crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. Omari quickly interjected.

"Well! With that out of the way -- Mohamid, do take a seat now, that's enough -- we should start with dinner! Help yourselves."

Anabet seemed caught up again, and tried desperately to contain her amusement, while Rosleigh eyed the prince with a curious expression, brow lifted, not all that unamused herself. She nodded to his apology, gesturing to the chair beside her own.

"Please, sit. It's perfectly fine. I'm sure you meant not harm." A sudden and harsh cough followed her polite dismissal and Anabet's expression sharpened, sliding a goblet to the princess with a frown. Rosleigh took a drink, before settling back in her chair.

"My apologies..." She breathed, deeply, then smiled a strained smile, "Comes and goes."

"Goin' a lot less often, these days..." Anabet muttered.

Perhaps contrary to most's reaction to such a sudden bout of hacking, Mohamid leaned forward in anticipation, his eyes lighting up with an intense curiosity.

"While I do not wish to mix pleasure with business, I do wish to ask, how long has this cough plagued the Dear Lady?" The young man asked, scratching his stubble.

"My whole life, I'm afraid." Rosleigh answered, and her words carried the weight of someone all too accustomed to the question, "I was born with weak lungs. Though it's gotten worse. It's not likely... Well, the doctors in Cain'Loren don't suspect I'll ever improve."

Shaking her head, Anabet's eyes rolled as she waved off the sentiment, "They don't know their hands from their... Ah." Clearing her throat, she sat back, "At least, I'm sure they don't know what they're dealing with."

Mohamid sheepishly smiled as he mentioned, "I have worked in Cain'Loren and, pardon my judgments, but you are not entirely wrong."

His father gave him a warning look, but the soft-spoken doctor rubbed the back of his neck as he went deep into thought.

"I shall know more tomorrow when I do a more thorough examination. I have dealt with several who have soft lungs. If not a cure, there will be treatment," Mohamid stated pensively.

"But we shall speak of business later," his mother said firmly, giving him a pointed look. "Ah, here is Korabi -- and she has some finely roasted goat! Let us speak of finer things! Can't be gloomy over such a good looking dinner."

Immediately, the three began to take from a large plate of arranged goat in a mild curry.

"What is cuisine like in Cain'Loren? Can you cook?" asked Ima immediately. "While we love our cooks, most of us women prefer to make things ourselves, even in the higher houses. Thank you, Korabi, this is wonderful."

The head cook, an older woman with a flattish face and a harelip, smiled and inclined her head graciously.

"My pleasure, madame Ima."

Rosleigh nodded to Ima with a polite smile and the conversation moved on, but both she and Anabet shared a glance that suggested, indeed, they had come to the right place.

As the meal arrived, Rosleigh looked on in curiosity, turning again to the older woman with a small shake of her head, "I can't say I've had the opportunity. We've a rather traditional system where it comes to nobility."

"Doesn't let her do anything, her mother." Anabet remarked, quietly, almost under her breath, before clearing her throat again.

Rosleigh smiled, "I can't say it's not something I've wanted to learn, though. Perhaps you might show me something, while I'm here?"

Ima's face immediately lightened at the offer.

"Oh, yes, I would love to show you! Perhaps when I am not so busy with the weaver's union, we can spend some time cooking something. We are very particular about our cooks. They are perhaps the most trusted people in a household," Ima said, inclining her head towards the kitchens past the door. "Don't tell Korabi, she'll get a big head, but she is easily the best cook in the qarab. Found her in a slum outside the city when I was but a young maid while this one was gazing slackjawed at the sky."

She playfully jabbed a fork at Omari, who shrugged.

"It put food on our table. Which reminds me, I must see to the portents for tonight. Must see what the future holds," Omari stated, excusing himself.

Ima turned back to the girls while Mohamid demurely finished his food. "Now, tomorrow we shall have a full day. I do not wish to tire the Princess, so I shall keep all our sojourns close to the palace in case we must retire. But, we shall visit the Physician's Floor at Abwa with Mohamid before perhaps going to the Hall of Artisans to look at wares -- I need a few new rugs besides."

Blinking, Rosleigh's brow lifted, "You were a maid?" There was no indication of disapproval - only a pleasant lilt of surprise to her tone, and her smile was warm, "Forgive me, I'm just... Well, it's nice to see servants treated so well. We try in Cain'Loren, but it is difficult for some in the more noble ranks to see."

Anabet smirked, shaking her head, "...Her majesty is too kind to us. Really..."

Her cheeks flushed, Rosleigh shook her head, her gaze returning to Omari with a polite nod, as he excused himself, before turning back to his wife, "That sounds wonderful." Swallowing a mouthful from her goblet, she looked to Anabet, "You're welcome to stay here and explore for yourself. I've no intention of keeping you chained to my side when there's so much to see. And I imagine I'll be in good hands."

Ima nodded enthusiastically.

"The palace is yours to explore. All doors which cannot be opened to you are, of course, already locked. We only ask you respect these locked doors and do not attempt to climb through the windows -- like someone I know."

She raised an eyebrow at the quiet Mohamid, who only smiled a small smile and took another small bite of his food.

"What is it you prefer to do, Dear Lady? Honored Maid? Feel free to ask," Mohamid threw in, just in case his mother's forceful suggestions had dissuaded them from other considerations.

Chuckling, Anabet shook her head, "I'm perfectly content staying here... To be honest, the journey's left me a bit tired."

Rosleigh nodded, smiling faintly at Mohamid, "And I think I'd rather like to see the sites. I don't get out much at home. At all, really." Pushing her chair back, she rose, and Anabet with her, "It's been wonderful, but if I'm to remain on my feet tomorrow, I'd best get some sleep. She bowed her head to Ima and then to Mohamid, "Thank you very much for your company. I await more of it tomorrow. Goodnight."

Mohamid smiled tentatively and nodded his head to the young lady. "Indeed. Good night, Dear Lady, and to you, Honored Maid."

Ima gave the same pleasantries, and before long, the table was cleared.

THORNWILD
HONOR OR DEATH

.

⚜

Irin Danthos

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When corpses fall, flies with gather, without discrimination. Baronthorn was not yet in the ground, and already,

they swarmed. Islaryn, it seemed, was the first buzzing nuisance to spread their wings… but no doubt, only the precursor for infinitely more and more curious visitors.

It was hardly a surprise to hear of the arrival of the emissaries from the shore kingdom. What did come as something of a shock to Irin, however, was that the prince himself was among them. This, indeed, was a fascinating development, and one for which his plans could be… temporarily placed on hold.

His arrival at the gates was subtle, with little pomp or ceremony, as he awaited the royal caravan.

Jace Ore

.

From his perch on the edge of the gabled roof, Jace overlooked the small crowd below. They had gathered some

time ago, to watch the Fool perform in the streets. He was good, no doubt, with a practiced dedication to his art, but Jace had always found jesters to be tiresome, and a bit disconcerting.

There was something in the way they hid their faces that never quite appealed to the People's Prince, however ironic a sentiment that was. Idly, he wondered what sort of man would make a laughing stock of himself willingly, what sort of person might stoop to such a level. But the real world wasn't driven by romantic notions… it was driven by survival, and one did what one must, to survive.

Slowly, the crowd dispersed as the Fool's routine ended and with a shake of his head, Jace clambered carefully down from his position, lowering himself to the street. As he approached the Fool, he dug into his pocket and fishing out a coin, tossed it to the man with a bow of his head, "Well done, Good Sir. Quite a show."

TAGS || @Doctor Jax, @Effervescent,@rissa, @Shizuochan, @Starlighter

Aero Blue · Jan 11, 2018

The Fast and the Foolish
The Forests Outside Cain'Loren - POV: Gillard Palefox

Gillard had acknowledged that it was within the realm of possibility for Damian Dust to drag him across the entirety of the continent; something or another about a 'love that spanned the world'. He had, however, deemed it supremely unlikely. More 'reasonable', he had imagined, was that Damian would simply kick up a ruckus in Eleton, frighten the nobles with some lewd display, and slander the King. That he was here now, many a day's ride away, sweating in the forests en route to Cain'Loren, compelled him to an entirely new level of disappointment.

Damian was supremely stupid, and supreme stupidity was a quality one could get by with, provided one wasn't also incredibly clever. Princess Cassandra's convoy would naturally avoid the forests, which allowed Damian's merry lot of delinquents natural cover in their 'hunt'. And so they trekked, bathing in their own cold sweat, as they kept Cassandra's retinue of carriages in few through the shroud of green. Of course, Damian hadn't at all considered what they would do once they reached the gates of Cain'Loren, hadn't yet thought of what peace-ruining faux pas he had in mind.

Eventually, Cassandra's procession had stopped for the night, and a line of carriages morphed into a circle of tents as the Eletonians made camp. The largest tent was positioned in the center - Princess Cassandra, and Nuada the Devout, her sworn sword. A myriad other tents fanned out from the Princess's one, filled with the watchful eyes of guards and serving ladies.

Their own camp was not so sophisticated; a fire, and a few stupid boys to sit around it. Little in the way of creature comforts, although Damian's friends seemed comfortable enough. The crackling of burning sticks and foliage interspersed with the gentle whisper of the winds, and the singular, nasal whining of a rooster. That could be attributed to Cluck of Clan Yellowgrass, the chicken-dancer. The emaciated, yet supremely energetic, man had owned a coop in Eleton, with his sole condition for joining their fellowship being that could he bring his favorite rooster, Cluck. Cluck of Clan Yellowgrass, and his rooster, Cluck.

Wane was quiet, a robust young man, greying hair and a fearsome stoutness. Little Locke was dimunitive, yet red-haired and fiery, loud even in his contemplation. And then there was Damian, the fastest man in all the tribes, finally at ease in stillness, his tired form resting in front of the fire. The five of them had all been the best of friends once, when they were just hot-headed boys who rode in the hordes of Jagger Palefox. Now? It was the four of them, and Gillard by his lonesome, Aldren's son playing at nobility.

"Now that we've made camp, will you try and talk me about of this again?" Damian was full of snark, but bereft of vitriol. That, at least, had been helpful; he never listened to a word, but at least he never took offense.

Gillard took his own place in the circle around the fire, plucking a leaf from the ground to toss into the orange flames. "We're a day or two's ride to Cain'Loren; and, yes, most would give up at this point. But then, most people are incredibly short-sighted. Until we get past the gates of Cain'Loren, we can always turn back. The horses will be rode to ruin, maybe, but we'll buy some from villagers along the way. Or, we'll run back - I recall that being a specialty of yours."

Damian regarded him with a sad wistfulness, and for a moment Gillard felt offense at the fact that it seemed almost like pity, "You'd let go of a dream that was right there in your hands, wouldn't you?"

"If there was a blade at my neck? Yes, I would. I'd let the dream drop from my hands and shatter on the ground. Then I would find another one, with my neck still attached. You've never let a little annoyance like staying alive guide your actions, have you?"

And that was for good reason, Gillard sadly noted. He was the son of the Tribes, a group of nomads who had done the unthinkable and conquered a Kingdom. Worse yet, was that he was the fastest of them all, the one that burned the brightest. He had assaulted a nobleman, stolen his wife, and found himself rewarded with the reverence of his people; small wonder that such a man would be plagued by delusions of grandeur.

"Staying alive. Not so important to me as it is to someone like you. You remember Timo, Clan Shattermill?"

"Of course, legend of the Katet Games; won the foot-race every year for twelve years straight. We were too young to see him run, weren't we? Yet everyone would always say, 'Damian's fast as lightning on ice, but he's just a fowl compared to Timo, stallion of Clan Shattermill!" Gillard laughed - it was good to remember things like these. He had read all the histories of the Eletonians, but the tribes, they had history too.

"He was a legend, and then his fiftieth year came, and his legs didn't work so good, and he found that he'd get tired before the sun even left. And now, he's probably in his tent, fast asleep, and he'll wake up when the sun's no longer at its brightest, left behind by all the young men of the day. That's life, Gill, and it'll never be such a precious thing to me."

Damian had almost all the traits one needed to die young, Gillard lamented. He was iron willed, full of determination, but the rational world was an anvil and hammer. "Timo Shattermill has children to warm his soul, and grandchildren too; one of them might even surprise you during next year's foot-race. Besides, I think you're undervaluing a long, blissful sle-."

"Your uncle put one in every ten men of Dust, Storm and Shattermill to the sword. My father, and some of my uncles died that day, unfulfilled. That will not be me. I never hated your uncle for it; we would not be the best of friends if I had. Some of my clan think I'm a fool for that, but I can't help the things I don't feel. And I can't help the things that I do feel. For her. "

That's because you're a fool.

We Happy Two
Cain'Loren - POV: Collab between Cassandra and Crispin (@Elle Joyner)

Cassandra's gaze passed by walls of white sandstone, and found herself transfixed; she pictured winter, of banks of snow frozen in time. Eleton was stone and leaf, haphazard collections of fruit and vine hanging over the walls like unkempt hair. The Wall Gardens had been devised for pragmatism and efficiency, but the walls of Cain'Loren were a simple white. That was a precious thing, for few sights in this world were as beautiful as a simple white.

"My grandfather came here, once before, on a mission of God." Nuada sat across from Cassandra. She was a dutiful sort, and she sat impassively as the various marvels of Cain'Loren passed her by. Her eyes were fixed only upon her ward. "A great Kingdom, feasts and festivals a plenty. He came during the Hunt, and caught himself a boar the size of a great steed."

Cassandra felt the chill of cold, even as she looked upon the warm smiles of those fortunate few in the Northern District. They would be of her people now, all those people she could not fathom - that she had not even heard stories of. She'd nearabouts be a Lady of Cain'Loren, and that frightened her. At the very least, her sworn sword seemed comfortable enough, her mind filled with the knowledge of her grandfather.

"Their words are For Land, and For Crown. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Forgive me, my Lady, I cannot recall."

Keep Loren was a beautiful building, Cassandra noted, as the procession arrived. A wondrous palace, its brick and stone shaded over like plastered pink and heavenly white. Beautiful as it was though, the Keep only reminded her; For Crown and For Land… wasn't everything?

The prince would not keep his lady-to-be waiting. Despite his sour mood, Crispin harbored no ill will towards his future spouse, and while, perhaps, there was a weight of sadness in what needed to be done, he understood above all else that duty reigned. Love was a lot to ask, when one already had so much, and he was not a selfish man.

Upon the arrival of her carriage, Crispin and his footmen approached, to greet the princess. The door was opened and Crispin himself held a hand to the young woman, fixing a pleasant smile to face as he glanced inward to gaze upon Cassandra.

"Princess… On my honor, it is wonderful to finally meet you." She wasn't, somehow, what he had expected. Pleasant and round, she had a sweet, kind looking face and warm eyes that spoke of a deeper warmth within. There was nothing at all sharp about her, nothing that spoke of the spoiled pretense most in her station were more ought to carry. That, at least, was some comfort.

"Was your journey alright? Have you or your lady any requirements?" It was all customary notions, yet somehow there appeared nothing disingenuous to the prince's offering. In truth, he was pleased to find his imminent bride at least something of a relief.

The princess, too, felt a certain relief as she took the hand of her betrothed. The Prince, with his soft features and his easy courtesy, cast a tall, kind shadow. Perhaps she had heard a fairy tale once before, of a Prince, pale skinned and with hair that was bronzed-gold. She offered as warm a smile as she was capable, and felt herself descend from the carriage with a certain clumsiness.

"The journey was long, my Prince, but we were all so excited to finally see Cain'Loren." Cassandra began. Slowly, so that she could weigh her words with the courtesy expected of her, "And its fair prince, to meet you, as well, is wonderful!"

Inwardly, the princess recoiled, knowing that something had gone terribly, horribly amiss in the construction of her last sentence. "Many of my father's men and women accompanied me, and cared for me. Could they be given a place to rest, my Prince?"

If he noticed her error in speech at all, Crispin didn't know it, and in fact, there seemed to be no unkindness in the man at all as he nodded, enthusiastically to her suggestion, "Of course, Princess. There's been a meal prepared in the grand hall, if you would follow me." Turning, he gestured to the palace, before offering his arm, "I confess, I've been nervous all morning. It's an odd thing, only just meeting a person you're meant to marry."

The words gave the Princess pause, as she accepted Crispin's arm. She had not considered that he had perhaps felt as she had, or at least some approximation of it. Apprehensions, anxiety, even fear. "I, as well. But then, my sisters tell me nerves are a specialty of mine. Being nervous, I mean."

There was sympathy there, followed by more of the same; an anxious gnawing at the pit of her stomach. The Prince Baelston was woven from dreams, soft and statuesque, but she was not the kind of girl songs and stories would be written about. In her father's court - in her own retinue, even - she counted many fairer than her. She wondered, then, if the Prince was disappointed, "My father says that, when it comes to their children, fathers and mothers always think very hard, plan very carefully, and that our happiness… is always a part of their best-laid plans."

She thought on the truth of it all as the Prince led her to the grand hall, where the scent of roast deer and honeyed plums pervaded the air.

There was a smile, warm, but absent, as Crispin nodded. Whatever her father had said, the happiness of his children was never the first though on Ordin Baelston's mind. If it had been…

But there was no point in thinking about her, now. Not when he needed to put her behind him… Not when their destinies were not to be intertwined. How funny it was to think how things worked out… or didn't. How funny that he should envy a brother who possessed so little that Cris did not, himself… and yet possessed the world and light and reason, all the same.

Cassandra seemed like a nice girl, and while she was perhaps not fair, she wasn't plain, a handsomeness to her features that would produce pretty children, stout and strong. And it wasn't her fault, after all, the way that things had worked out.

"Indeed." He answered, again, nodding, "I hope I do make you happy, Cassandra. I will try, anyway. Ah. Here we are…"

The hall had been laid for their guests with the uttermost care and consideration - for if there was one thing that Keep Loren was known for, it was the nature of their hosting. The famed grey stag had been dutifully prepared in many a format - from roasted loin with potatoes, to sausages, to venison paired with dried, salted fruits, and beside this, whole fish, crisped and served with turnips and fennel. There were breads, still warm, and a thick, red soup, and pudding of figs, the whole thing smelling of lavender, which had also been picked from the fields, displayed in ceramic vases throughout the room.

Approaching the table, Crispin pulled out a seat for Cassandra, before settling into one, himself, "Please… Help yourself."

She nodded gratefully, allowing herself to sink into a seat and bask in the various aromas. The sweet scent of figs and risen bread, coalescing with the savory smell of meats, layer upon layer of irresistible richness. Eletonians could find their way around a feast, and Cassandra was no exception. Still, she found her appetite hopelessly diminished.

"I hope I will make you happy too, my Prince."

Starlighter · Jan 11, 2018

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FLIES TO A FEAST

Brought to You in Collaboration with @Elle Joyner

As the line of horses entered the gates, Eifion took note of the singular representative sent to greet them - a gesture that hardly imparted feelings of an honoured welcome. While outwardly he did not allow his demeanor to show his concern at such a reception, it bothered him. If this was any accurate indication of the sentiment towards Islaryn that was felt by Thornwild as a whole, the execution of his intentions for this visit would either be easier or much harder than he had anticipated.

The streets cleared to make way for the entourage as they approached Danthos. Eifion reined in his horse, and those behind him followed suit to bring them to a halt. He inclined his head to the man sent to greet them and waited for him to initiate the process of formalities.

Irin was, generally speaking, quite a magnificent showman. There was a reason that he had been so entrusted by the King, and also why for so long, his own deceptions had gone unnoticed. He was, by all consideration, a markedly good actor.

As the prince and his men arrived, the advisor plowed forward into a deep, sweeping bow, bringing himself upright with a wave of his hand, "Your Grace... I apologize for so humble a greeting. I was only just made aware of your visit. Welcome to Thornwild." Eifion took a moment to glance quickly to his right, and after receiving a nearly imperceptible nod from Sai, he bowed his head politely and forced a fleeting smile.

"Thank you; it is a pleasure to be here. And I'm sure that under the circumstances you have far greater concerns than visitors knocking at your doors. You have my deepest sympathies for the loss of the King."

"I thank you. It is, indeed, a most terrible tragedy." Putting a hand to his chest, Irin nodded, "I knew His Majesty for quite some time, and his passing... it's still difficult to comprehend. Please..." He swept his hand behind him in a broad gesture, "Rest your horses. My men will take them to the stables. You must be exhausted from your journey. Do come inside..."

"It would be our honour." Eifion dismounted and passed off the reins to the handiest attendant, Sai and Jaren not far behind. For the older, larger man it was a bit more of an ordeal to make the journey from saddle to ground, and in the meantime Eifion allowed Danthos to usher him inside.

"I must apologize for the imposition; I would have sent word of our coming sooner, but I confess that it was not our original intention to travel this route."

A brow quirked, though in truth Irin was hardly surprised by the visit at all. Flies, after all, were quite predictable.

"No apologies necessary. You are most welcome, and even in such troubling times, we are honored, always, by the visit of such noble men. I take it, then, you've reason for this detour? May I inquire as to where Your Grace was headed?"

Eifion was forced to admit, this man was an excellent talker. He knew his way around a conversation better than most knew their own homes, and that was a skill he both envied and admired. And, to an extent, found irritating.

"Cain'loren" he answered, "I'm engaged to Lady Abrigel Baelston, and am traveling there to see her. When I received word of the King, we were already close and it seemed a waste not to visit and offer our condolences and support; I hope for the Council to be assured that our friendship remains firm despite the uncertainties Thornwild may face."

Irin bit back a smile as he nodded, "Cain'loren, hmm? A fine kingdom to align oneself to, I'm sure." As they entered the palace, he turned to the prince with a small nod, "The Council will be pleased to hear as much. I know personally, my concerns have been great that Thornwild will become a target in these trying times... Your support is most welcome."

Finally catching up with them, Sai Marca positioned himself near Eifion's side but remained silent and out of the way as the conversation continued.

"Undoubtedly a duly warranted concern. If they wish to hear it from me, I would be more than happy to assure the Council that so long as our alliances stand, Thornwild need have no fear of any threat approaching from the sea."

"I daresay they would be most relieved. I've only just tried to assuage their concerns this morning that we need review the treaties in place. I imagine your reassurance would be most welcome... And enlightening."

Sai Marca took a step forward then, glancing quickly to Eifion for approval before turning to Danthos and interjecting himself into the conversation. "We understand entirely if the Council is taken up with other matters at such a time, but would it be possible to meet with them to discuss such things while we are here?"

"Indeed... I can arrange it, personally. I imagine they'll be quite prepared to put aside other business to accommodate his majesty. It will take perhaps the afternoon to gather the members, but if you and your men would like, you may rest in the hall, until then. I will have food and wine delivered... anything else you require."

Eifion's expression warmed slightly. He hadn't expected it to go quite that easily, but all the better. Perhaps Thornwild was a better host than he had first imagined. "That sounds excellent; I am sure we will require little else."

Flies to the carcass.

"Very well. If you'll just follow me." The men were led down the length of a hall and into a room with a grand, sweeping arched doorway. The enormous hall was sparsely decorated, simple iron work and tapestries of a hunt the only company to a massive wooden table and the chairs that surrounded it.

Gesturing, Irin nodded, "Here you are, your majesty." With a bow of his head, he straightened towards the door, "I'll send a servant by with some fare and then see to the council. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

"Thank you; you really are too kind" Eifion said, making an effort to smile politely. He moved to take a seat at the table, Sai not far behind. He thought he heard the man mutter something quietly to himself in a foreign language, most likely to the effect of an assessment of the comfort of his chair.

Meanwhile, Jaren slowly wandered his way around the perimeter of the room, one hand resting idly on his sword hilt as he examined the tapestries, checking for anything out of the ordinary. Once satisfied, he returned to stand near the entryway.

Irin was gone for some time, and in his absence, several servants arrived, carrying trays laden with food, pitchers brimming with wine.

He returned perhaps an hour later, stepping into the room with an air of fatigue, "Gentlemen, my apologies. I've managed to convince the council to see you. If you're ready?"

Eifion was the first to stand, acknowledging Irin with a slight bow of his head. In all honesty, he was a little surprised the man had managed to gather the Council that quickly, not that it was much of an inconvenience to wait. It allowed more time to think about what he was going to say and to relax after the long ride.

"Yes of course; after you," he said, gesturing to the door.

Nodding, Irin turned and stepped out into the hallway, in front of the men. It wasn't a long walk - only a few doors away, another room waited, this with a similar table, round and surrounded by great wooden chairs. Six of these were occupied by men, a myriad of ages, though none younger than middle-age, each one wearing stern, stoic expressions.

As Irin entered, he stepped aside and bowed, courteously, "May I present his Lordship of Islaryn, Regent Eifion Valerys. And to you, Sire. The council of Thornwild. Please, gentlemen... sit."

Receiving a knowing look from Sai as they entered the room, Eifion straightened his posture and pasted on an entirely serious expression. He bowed formally as Irin handled the introductions, and assumed the seat most directly opposite the Council. Sai slowly maneuvered in to sit beside him. Rather than taking one of the remaining chairs, Jaren stood behind Eifion's right shoulder with his sword hand resting casually on the hilt of his weapon.

"My lords, you have my gratitude for taking the time to meet with me. I must apologize for the inconvenience of so little warning."

As Eifion sank into his seat, Irin followed suit, looking to the surly, solemn men across the way. There was a tone in the room, a sense of sobriety that only came with men far too overworked, too overwhelmed.

"No gratitude necessary, M'lord." One of the men answered, folding his hands before him, "I imagine you will not be the first visitor from afar to interrupt our convergence. I find myself curious, however, what it is we can do for Islaryn at this time."

Eifion found that forming a concise answer was more difficult than it should have been. For the first time since leaving Port Aryncair, he almost regretted coming here. He replied with as much self-assurance as he could muster.

"Our chief reason for visiting was to offer condolences for the loss of the late king; a terrible unexpected tragedy." He faltered slightly, unsure how to proceed from niceties to the real reason that he was here. Thankfully, Sai stepped in before the silence would be noticed.

"It also seemed convenient; we wished to assure your Lordships that we remain ever your steadfast allies. However, as there does not seem to be an immediate successor about to take the throne, there is naturally some uncertainty for us. There is no way to measure how an unknown ruler will handle the alliances of his predecessor."

Lowering his gaze to his hands on the table, Irin smirked ever so slightly, as the council members straightened, a throat clearing before the eldest of the small group spoke, an edge of irritation behind his voice.

"...I must say, I credit you for waiting this long, at least, to voice your concerns. Some of our neighboring kingdoms did not give so much consideration. How intriguing that our land has acquired so much attention as of recent... when we've had very little diplomatic stature, previously. Tell me honestly, young man... do you intend to bid for the throne? Is that why you've come?"

With a side glance, Eifion restrained Sai from answering for him. An intelligent man would have allowed someone wiser and better versed in the handling of diplomacies to handle such a blunt yet delicate subject or at least conferred with them to gain an opinion.

Eifion, however, believed that was only necessary if one did not already know what such a wise and intelligent person would say, and he knew that Sai would politely deny the claim.

He leaned forward, bracing his hands against the table and leveling his gaze at the elderly man who had spoken. Half a beat of silence passed before he raised his voice to speak.

"The thought has crossed my mind, I'll admit. But, I do not really know Thornwild, or her people, in the way that I know and am able to rule my own. I'm not about to waste my time making arrangements to wield authority over a nation that will crumble through my fingers. So, tell me...." he glanced at each of them in turn, inquisitive but firm. "In your experienced estimation, would Thornwild even take me as her king?"

While those around the table appeared to show no indication of having even listened to the younger man, the one who spoke smiled faintly, their fingertips tapping their chin.

"I appreciate your honesty. Most men would have balked at the idea... Suggested it to be unreasonable or show offense at having been asked. I find it refreshing that you don't deny the thought occurred to you."

Sitting back, he studied Eifion for a moment, "As for what Thornwild might do, I cannot say. We are her council, but her people have changed over the years. We've lost much, and I imagine they're ready for something new. I return the question to you, then... do you think you could rule Thornwild?"

Eifion's lips twitched with the barest indication of a smile. He hadn't expected that to go over quite so smoothly, rather anticipating much the same reaction from them as the Councilman had described most would give to their question. Perhaps this particular man was habitually forthright. It would be a useful thing to remember in the future.

"To be perfectly frank with you, I don't think any man was ever born or made to rule a kingdom, and yet we do all the same, despite being categorically predisposed to being terrible at it. I've had one kingdom land on me unexpectedly already, and it wouldn't be unfair to say that I've made a decent go of it. That success, however, was equally if not more so due to those who supported and advised me as were my own efforts."

He paused, drilling a firm gaze into the men of the Council who had been lacklustre thus far, daring them to speak up and challenge him if nothing else. "With a seasoned Council such as yourselves who know Thornwild and where she stands working with me, I do believe I am able."

The other faces softened at his words, and the man speaking smiled, nodding his head.

"Thank you. You've given us something to consider... I will say. There's little we can say for Thornwild's certain future... But you may indeed find yourself at the forefront. I understand you've business in Cain'loren. Are you aware they too have made motions towards Thornwild's throne?"

A sickening dread turned in Eifion's stomach. He'd heard rumors of course, but none of it had ever been fully substantiated. As much as it failed to surprise him, the news opened numerous avenues of political suicide if he made the wrong move.

"I am," he said with a nod, "Although I have had little time to explore the exact nature of their intentions."

The man smiled, faintly, and shook his head, "Then it seems as though you've some thinking to do, my young man. You'll need to decide which diplomatic moves are the most important for the future of your country. I don't imagine this will be an easy decision... And I don't envy you."

"No one with any sense would" Eifion answered, his tone bordering on dull. "I do assure you, however, that our affiliations with Thornwild are of significant import both to me, and our nation as a whole, regardless of our relations with other entities. Especially those with whom our position is not yet solidified. Whatever comes of our discourse with Cain'Loren, it will be pointless without benefit for our alignment as well."

Smiling again, the man nodded. "Very well, then. In two weeks time, we will play host to a memorial gala for the king. It is my hope that you would return then... As it seems we've some matters to discuss. But for now, it's best you see to your future bride. Thornwild's, Islaryn's and Cain'loren's futures may very well intertwine, Your Grace. Let us hope they are for the best."

.

THE FOOL AND THE FARMER
(PART I)

Brought to You in Collaboration With @Elle Joyner

The Fool spun in place, reaching up towards the coin flying in his direction, and snatched it out of the air between two fingers. He quickly rolled it over his knuckles before tucking it into his pocket and leaning into a dramatic bow.

He spoke with a flare of despairing drama, hoping that the subtleties of his accent would fail to show through and that the sheer ridiculousness would ensure he wasn't taken even a bit seriously.

"Alas, but for my humiliation to be deemed a low amusement for the eyes of noble men where I aspire to but a pure talent void of failure." He cackled gleefully, and simply for effect spun in a full circle while still slightly bowed, almost pretending that the man was no longer there.

He straightened slowly, peering at the man before him with a maniacal smile. No one ever ventured to approach him directly outside of his performances, and curious as he was about what this man could want, he was equally skeptical as to the nature of the intentions at hand.

A brow raised, and while it could not be called entirely amused, Jace's lip curved ever so slightly upwards. The Fool, for whatever he was, was good... And Jace could afford a man his due, even if he was unsettling to look at.

"...Not much difference to me, truth be told." He muttered in response, "Between a Fool and a nobleman, these days. Except one knows his worth, while the other only imagines it greater than it is. Haven't seen you 'round here, before. Not many come to this part of town on purpose..."

Terin sniggered gleefully, clapping his hands together and rubbing them together while rapidly tapping his heels against the ground - something like an overzealous child in a state of euphoric anticipation. He jabbed a finger in the man's face and quickly drew it back.

"I didn't say noblemen you dear darling daffodil you, I said nobler men." He sniggered quietly to himself again, allowing a moment to think of a proper justification for being where he was. It wasn't often that he heard idle comments demeaning the socially blessed, and when he did it occasionally led to more.... interesting talk.

"Oh, I move about, here and there you know." He stretched out his arm and walked two fingers up and back down it, imitating a torsoless running person. He lowered his voice to a hoarse whisper and shuffled close enough to just slightly invade the man's personal space.

"Lately I've been having a turn 'round the palace if you catch my jist. But see I find the more money a man's got, the more loathe he be to part with it, eh? So, now and then a man's got to graze in greener pastures, you see?"

"Once..." Jace continued, wrinkling his nose at the wagging finger, before brushing the back of his palm across the bridge, "Those two things coincided. A strange time we live in, that they no longer do."

As the man pressed closer, Jace didn't move, but for his hand, which very casually rested at his hip, where a small concealed blade would be his dearest ally in cases of trouble, "Honest labor isn't appreciated by those content to sit on their fat backsides, anymore. You're better tolling for coin in these parts, even if it's an odd sight to see." A brow quirked, he stepped back then, surveying the man curiously, "Not a friendly place, these days, the palace. I'd watch my step if I were you."

Feeling the need to move again, Terin danced lightly back on the balls of his feet, shaking his head back and forth just enough to get a slight jingle from the bells on his hat.

"The palace has friends for those who seek to aide her better ends" he chirped in a sing-song voice, coming to a standstill facing sideways. He turned sharply, tilting his head over to rest one ear almost flat against his shoulder.

"Even if they aren't keen to pay for it," he said, speaking more seriously, "Now and again they do enjoy a bit of a show, I think. They've not thrown me out yet, so I must not be doing everything wrong. I imagine it makes for a better story than I'd make on my own, perchance could it be, how a lad lowly as yourself is so wise on such matters?"

"Prince Jasper was my best mate, growing up... before those dogs in Bastillos murdered him." Looking to the jester, Jace frowned in thought, "I learned young enough you can't trust anyone with enough money to hide who they really are. Not all masks are as obvious as the one you wear, Friend."

Looking down the path, Jace frowned in thought, "How'd you like to make a little extra coin... hm? I might have a task for you."

Unable to help himself, Terin burst out in shrill, nervous laughter. The best friend of the bloody murdered Prince. He'd never have guessed it to look at the lad.

Calming himself, he nodded vigorously and gave the spot where he'd tucked away the coin thrown at him earlier. If there was more where that came from, he was all for it. Unfortunately being so far removed from his employers meant that receiving his wages happened on rather an infrequent basis, and if he could make a few extra coins on an errand or two, why not?

"As long as it's not enough coin to make me fat and lazy - got to keep a nice figure, you know - and not a chore that'll lose me any health, I'd like that plenty fine."

Chuckling dryly, Jace shook his head, "It's simple enough... There's a girl in the palace. The ward of the late king. Her name is Aeona..." Reaching into his pocket, he produced a small purse, and thumbing out a few coins, he held them to the jester, "I will double this, if you can get her out, safely, and bring her to the western gate of the city."

The Fool slowly wiggled his fingers out in the direction of the offered coins only to freeze abruptly, staring unblinkingly at the man offering them. "And might I be so bold as to confirm that her beautyness will anticipate an envoy of yourself to be sent for her?" he asked, a note of suspicion in his voice. If by some chance this man expected him to abduct an unwitting young lady, he might find himself seeking the uncomfortable company of Thornwild authorities.

Smiling dryly, Jace nodded, "She'll expect it. Tell her Jace sent you."

With a deft flourish, the Fool made the coins vanish, smiling perhaps a little maniacally. "Very well sir; you shall be reunited with your dear lady as soon as my poor self can contrive it."

"Just be cautious..." He noted, with a small nod, "If you must, abandon the plan... but it must be absolutely certain her departure is not discovered. When you've delivered her safely to the gates, I will award you another payment."

The Fool slowly rubbed his fingers together, nodding eagerly. "Yours truly is the very soul of discrete..... ness," he coughed slightly, then went on. "One last item, if I might add; am I simply to leave her at the gates, or will there be someone who shall meet us there?"

"Indeed. I shall meet you. Just wait by the gate until I arrive." Frowning in thought, Jace pulled a simple metal ring from his thumb, holding it to the Fool, "Give her this. She'll know it's me."

The Fool snatched the ring quickly from his hand, and quickly dropped his arm with an exclamation of surprise, pretending to have dropped it. He caught it easily, however, and cackled quietly to himself as he tucked it away with the coins. "Excellent, excellent, very very good. I shall see you in the short time then, yes?"

He began skipping backward, nodding his head to make the bells jingle quietly. "The gate with the pretty lady in a jiffy, yessir."

Watching the man go, Jace shook his head, hoping silently he hadn't made a mistake. When the Fool disappeared, Jace turned back in the way he had come.

.

DAMSEL IN DISTRESS

Brought to You in Collaboration with @Elle Joyner

Terin skipped cheerfully down the street, humming shrilly to himself on and off. It was practically impossible to go anywhere unnoticed, and he'd learned quickly that the way to make the most of it was to get noticed as much as possible. Heads turned and passersby shot him either irritated or amused looks, and he heard a child or two giggling off to the side.

He had quite a ways yet before he reached the palace, and hoped to have a decent plan in mind before arriving there. Equally important, however, was the matter of communicating what he had learned to those who would make use of it. He'd heard rumors that the Regent himself was coming to Thornwild, but as to whether or not he had arrived, he couldn't be certain. He sincerely hoped not, for if he was indeed here, that would place him in the very self-same palace that a young lady of interest needed extracting from.

And that would mean that if he were to fail on his mission and be discovered, the consequences could fall immediately to the Regent, who would in all likelihood be assumed as the originator of the plot, which would in turn generally not be a desirable outcome for anyone.

Well then, best not to make a mucky mess of it.

Through the last few streets before he began approaching the palace gate, Terin put together the essential elements of his plan. For now, the most important bit was to get the attention of the lovely Lady Aeona and communicate his intended purpose. If he could not attract her presence by way of his usual performance, there was a slightly riskier act he could use, though it ran the risk of being all too easily traced back to him once the Lady was discovered missing.

Regardless, there were the gates, and here was the Fool. It was time to begin. Slipping into a maniacal smile, Terin hunched over and launched into his most tried and true method of attracting the attention of everyone around him, without exception.

He began dancing and squawking like a chicken.

***

"Like a chicken! I know... I hear..." As Aeona passed by the younger serving girl, a brow quirked at the words that met her ears. The elder of the pair laughed brightly, and shook her head.

"Just dancing around, out there. Bloody mad, the man. I can't understand why anyone would want that sort of job."

"What sort of job is that?" She asked, and the women paused, turning to face her.

"Ah. Lady!" With a curtsy, the younger smiled delicately, "So sorry, Miss. Didn't see you there. We's just talkin' about the Jester's all."

"Jester?"

"Aye, Miss. By the gates... Dancin' like a fool."

"Thank you." Giving a nod, Aeona turned and with a curious expression, headed off in the direction the women had come from, oblivious to their continued chatter, as it turned to the topic of the Thornwild Ward...

Outside, she pulled her cloak around her and crossing the yard, she made her way to the gates, where she could make out the unusual noise... her eyes falling finally on the figure, dancing around with ridiculous airs.

Blinking, she paused and leaning up against the stone, she smiled to herself, before reaching into her pocket for a coin, tossing it to the Fool.

Amid the flurry of flapping and squawking, one might never expect the fool in the midst of it to be entirely aware of the onlookers. He saw a few trickle down to gawk from the other side of the gate, but it was at this particular point that he realized there was rather a significant problem.

He had no idea whatsoever what the lovely Lady Aeona looked like or any way to identify her.

His thoughts on this unwanted complication, however, were interrupted when he turned sharply and found a coin flying towards his face. In less time than most would take to blink, reflexes honed by years of precise practice regarding airborne objects reacted for him. Terin snatched the coin from the air much the same way he had before, and for the space of a moment, he was still.

When his brain caught up, he quickly recovered and launched back into the familiar routine, exaggerating it to distract from the momentary pause. He moved a little closer to the gate, mindful of the distance. On one rather memorable occasion, he'd gotten a little too cozy without being invited in, and it hadn't been particularly well appreciated by the guards.

He took a second glance at the young woman who had thrown the coin, and an idea struck him. A friend of the man who hired him was logically going to hold similar values and opinions, and this particular Lady was the only onlooker thus far to have thrown a coin. The rest were gawking and whispering, assuming him to simply be mad rather than to be putting on a skillful act.

So, he erred to take a chance. Maneuvering just a little closer still to the gate, he withdrew the ring Jace had given him, and with a deft flick of his wrist, flashed it briefly before the eyes of the young lady, pausing for a single beat to meet her gaze and give a slight nod of his head.

Aeona might not have noticed at all, had she turned away as she intended. It was hard to find joy in frivolous things, as it was, and most particularly with the darker tone the recent events had taken. But she was, if nothing else, polite, and he had put on a good show... good enough that she had thought it proper to reward him.

As it turned out, the reward was her own. She saw the flash, the familiar shape of the ring and her heart gave a start as she pushed closer to the gates, eyes widening for a moment. Prepared, fully, to convince herself she was mad... or desperate, she spotted the nod and gave up on reason, instead gesturing the Fool to a small door in the side of the wall, before making her way there, cracking it open.

Gracefully bowing out of his performance and allowing a few moments for the onlookers to cease their relentless gawking, the Fool approached the door and casually leaned against the wall next to it. He spoke softly, keeping his voice low enough to avoid catching any attention.

"My lady; I apologize for the unorthodoxy of my ah, 'entrance' if you will; but there seemed no better way to meet with you."

Looking behind her, ensuring at first that she wasn't seen by any wandering or curious eyes, Aeona nodded, smiling faintly, "It was clever... I might not have come, otherwise. Did... did he send you then? My Jace? Is he alright? Please say he's alright..."

He spoke slowly, focusing on keeping his tone level and speech free of silliness. Being as accustomed as he was to idiocy, it was something of a challenge to converse like a sane man.

"Aye, he was fit as a far away fiddle when I spoke to him not an hour ago. He sent me to retrieve you with all due haste... but I must confess that we may have some difficulty reaching the agreed upon rendezvous if pursued; how quickly will your absence be noted?"

Smiling then, Aeona straightened, "Not so quickly, I imagine. I anticipated Jace would take me away, soon... and I've been careful to keep myself to my rooms. They won't notice I've gone until supper time. But we should move fast..."

"Excellent, marvelous!" Clearing his throat to subdue his instinctive dramatized reaction, Terin turned his head to take stock of the street and their surroundings, then looked back to her and gestured urgently, reaching to take her hand and guide her through the gate.

"Now, if we're not going to attract notice, I'm afraid we'll need to do a little something about your appearance; if you would be so kind, I recommend that you let your hair down and mess it a bit."

Releasing her hand, he bent to scoop up a handful of dirt from the road, and smeared it across her face, dusting the excess onto her skirts and gown. "Apologies," he said hastily, "but fresh faces and clean clothing will attract attention where we're going."

Aeona made no protestations, as he moved to smudge the dirt, pulling the comb from her hair to shake it lose. She'd been all too aware there might be a need for discomfort, and it was a small price to pay, indeed.

Holding out the comb for a moment, she considered the gold and jade piece and smiling, handed it to the clown, "Please. For your troubles..."

Hard focused on choosing the most optimal imminent course to reach their desired destination, Terin broke his concentration to swivel and face the Lady with a quiet, "Hmm?" and then a surprised "Oh!" He waved his hands frantically in a gesture of refusal.

"No dreary dreadful dilly devastation no no no!" he exclaimed in a whisper, "I assure you our - ahem, er - mutual acquaintance has gone to far more than sufficient levels of due compensation, m'lady; and folly me, I'd be at a loss for what to do with such a familiar gift from a lady, no no no; twouldn't have a use for it, I'm most frightfully afraid...."

Laughing softly, Aeona shook her head, "I didn't mean for you to wear it. Please... at least take it. And if you've no use for it, you may as well just give it away. I won't have any need for it, where I'm heading. What you're doing... it... it's quite dangerous, and I wouldn't feel right if I didn't... Just. Please..."

Terin scowled, spinning the comb playfully through his fingers. With a flourish, he tucked it into a pocket disguised under a myriad of patterned decoration just above his knee, clicking his tongue in disapproval.

"Ah, well well; we haven't time to argue now, or we'll be caught before we've even done anything to be caught about."

With a flourishing gesture that morphed into a dramatic bow, he indicated a small side street. "If you please, madame, freedom awaits a-thataway."

Indeed, it seemed to lift Aeona's spirits considerably, and she followed the jester without another word, soft feet padding after him with an anxious swiftness. The gate was a small hike, but their journey went without incident. Upon arrival, a skinny young boy pushed off his perch and approached them.

"M'lady. The Prince sends his regards and 'pologies he can't be here himself yet. Got you a carriage though. And uh..." Turning to the jester, the kid fumbled inside his pocket, before handing over a small bag, "His Majesty asks if you would escort the lady out of the city. He'd like a word when he arrives."

Buried somewhere beneath the ever smiling facade, the Jester frowned. Thus far, his involvement in this matter had not had anything to do with any 'Prince.' He shot a brief assessing glance at the Lady, and noted that she seemed unaffected by the comment; meaning, therefore, that if she was expecting it, there was no cause for concern in regards to his immediate errand.

This business of getting in a carriage and escorting the lady further, however.... the man who hired him had contracted him only to bring her thus far, and at the moment he accepted the proferred coin and made it vanish into some invisible crevice of his costume, their arrangement had been fully satisfied.

He hesitated, sizing up the boy, mentally calculating the situation. His first instinct was to avoid attracting the attention of someone as notable as a royal; there could be dangerous consequences if anything were to go awry, especially if the nature of his true reason for being in Thornwild was discovered. And yet, on the other hand.... here for the taking was an opportunity like no other. The whole matter of spiriting away important young ladies at the bequest of a Prince veritably reeked of political intrigue.

Unfortunately for his more cautious side, aforementioned reek might as well have been blood to a hound.

Although it may not have been necessary, Terin delivered a low bow to the boy upon making up his mind. "But of course, but of course." He stepped over to the carriage to assist the Lady inside, then followed by joining her.

rissa · Apr 4, 2018

x

silvern

out with a bang! part 1
Collab with @Doctor Jax

The Leader of the Hashashin bundled up in his coyote furs, despite the fact it was quite warm by Silvern standards. He had been told to meet the representative, Gretch, at a remote location for the purposes of the demonstration, and so he was standing in a valley full of pines, the other men granted him by his "benefactor" already set up on the other side of the valley. He shivered as the wind blew through the trees, the road behind him small and graveled, a stark difference from the well-kept roads through Azawa.

"Where is he?" he mumbled to his compatriot, who merely shrugged. "It's too cold out here..."

Gretch Redborough, known to many as the Red Skipper, rode up and into the mountain valley on a horse too big and too unruly for his liking. He preferred the wooden planks of his river boat and the comforting sounds of lapping water. But horses? They were fouler creatures than the haragasil his mother warned him about as a child. The damn thing had nearly bucked him off twice now and once, for near an hour, refused to move a single hoof until he was given an apple, sliced in fours, and a bucket of grain.

Lord Harlan's guide was still skittish from his outrage, but Gretch had settled into a resigned unease, growing bored and more anxious to be back upon his boat. But first he had to meet a foreigner, about some foreign weapon, from some foreign kingdom he could scarcely pronounce. He could have navigated the pass himself, despite being bred for a life upon the water, and could have chosen a better mount at that. The pines stretched for miles over his head and the bush thinned out considerably the higher they traveled. He neared the predetermined location about an hour late…

He nearly leapt off his horse in elation to be upon the ground and when he walked, he walked with an awkward swagger that was more befitting a deck. The man was tall, shaggy and broad shouldered, wearing leather trousers, boots that had seen finer days, and a wolfskin vest that revealed large muscled arms, riddled with scars. Still, his scratchy beard lifted in an apologetic smile before he spoke.

"Quit yer southern complainin'," Gretch jested, his voice scratchy and hoarse. "It ain't even cold."

The crime lord's first thought was empathy for the man wrestling with his steed. Most Azawi used camels or mules, not these cumbersome horses. Taking a horse had been a bit of a challenge for them as well. He scoffed with a slight smile, shaking his head.

"Perhaps to you Northmen. Me, I will be glad to go back to my sands," he grumbled. "But enough complaining. You are the King's emissary?"

"Aye, that I am." Gretch replied with a half-laugh and dip of his head. "I hear I'm in fer a treat this afternoon. Care ta' tell me about why ya' traveled so far from yer sands?"

The Adder shifted his shoulders a little bit, slightly wary. It was obvious he was not comfortable in this situation, outside his homeland with an unknown payload. He glanced back to the man who had come with him, one of Morab's students.

"We believe your king might be interested in something. Given how Thornwild is a writhing nest of snakes at the moment, and surely your neighbors may take advantage of that instability..." Ahambra said, glancing at Morab's assistant.

The young man, squat and dark-skinned, came forward. "We have created an explosive chemical, Dearest Guest. Something we find that would be of great interest to your people for purposes of defense."

For purposes of defense...

Though nothing changed in his demeanor, Gretch's eyes became wary and the hair above his lip began to twitch whenever his nose did. But curious he was. Taking a step forward, he clasped his hands together and bowed his head to both men.

"Thank ya', gentlemen. You've tickled my interest fer sure now. Should I be excited or nervous, ya think?"

Ahambra looked to his benefactor's "assistant". He had been told little of what was to actually happen, or what sort of weapon he was transporting. The most he had been allowed to know was that it had to be kept cool, dry, and still. While Ahambra was the "leader" of the convoy and owned the men doing the job, payment depended upon his and his people's obedience.

The small man smiled and said, "It would be appropriate to be nervous, yes."

The assistant nodded to Ahambra, and the man sighed through his nose. He took out a whistle, blew it twice sharply, then a long note, and he takes out beeswax and a blindfold.

"As you can see, this is a rather sensitive weapon. We cannot have others know exactly what it does," the assistant did as Ahambra -- and his men likewise -- put beeswax in their ears and blindfolded themselves. Any who would mistake them for vulnerable would learn that the Adder's men needed neither eyes nor ears to know danger, but for now, they remained inert.

Satisfied that all five men -- besides the second assistant -- were deaf and blind, the assistant gave a sign to his partner.

"Please, move your eyes towards that stand of poplars there on the other side of the mountain. My assistant is preparing the solution. You see him running now, yes? I suggest you cover your ears," Morab's student said, smiling serenely with his fingers in his ears.

And then, there was a deafening and sudden pop. The trees bent momentarily as the stand of poplars snapped and jumped into the air from a massive explosion that sank into the bones of the men four to five hundred feet away. the trees surrounding the blast area -- which was almost fifteen to twenty feet in diameter --
were on fire. Ahambra stiffened, sensing something had happened but unsure what.

"What tha-"

Tripping over a tree root, Gretch stared up in awe and trepidation, glancing between Ahambra and the burning treeline. And then over at his assitant. Exhilaration lit his face, but realization sobered his eyes.

"Gods be damned." Gretch muttered as he rolled back onto his feet. "I ain't never seen nothin' like that..."

"This is the might of my master and his servants. This, we can offer you as... protection. If you wish for another demonstration, I can arrange it. An explosion of such size would obliterate dozens of lines of men, as well as injure many more with pieces of metal from the casing itself," the assistant said coolly, unshaken by the blast.

"Is this something your king would be interested in?"

a gathering of minds part 1
Collab with @Elle Joyner

"Yes. Yes, I think we'll manage to bring him back..."

A twinge of unease fluttered through her stomach, wondering what else they'd bring with them. Who knew what kind of corruption and debauchery the upper echelon of raiders would bring to Silvern. But the time to fret over that was gone, signed away by King Avenius in his missive. If Yuri Laurod agrees to the conditions within, he'd become Lord Laurod and gods knew what would come of that...

Shaking off her doubts, Beyla mounted her horse and trotted alongside the Cain'lorian princess. After a stretch the Lord Commander halted the procession and trotted over on his red stallion. Explaining the process once more, he wished the pair of them good luck and with four guards, two from each kingdom, they were off into the northern wilderness. Not much was spoken as they meandered their way down long unending tracks, narrow range passes, and thick woodland roads.

"Not far, if I remember correctly. The monastery was one of the first ones built, hidden away from the sins of men." Beyla smirked, as if she didn't believe that were possible. "I apologize for being so quiet, princess, but I'm sure we'll have the time familiarize ourselves soon."

Ainsley glanced over to the other princess, smiling delicately, "You needn't apologize. I haven't felt much like talking, as it is."

Her nerves were something of a hindrance, and she would be only too glad to get some rest... But more glad when the mess was entirely resolved.

"Are you frightened, Beyla? For your brother?"

"I... I am. And I'm frightened for us, as well. I've skill with a blade but what use is that against an entire village of raiders?" Inhaling sharply, eyes dancing with determination, Beyla smiled against the darkness of her nerves. "But he is my brother and your future husband. We come bearing good tidings... So hopefully that puts us in good favor."

"It can't possibly put us in worse favor? Can it...?" Paling a little, she tightened her grasp on the reins, "I've never been much for politics. This will be my forst diplomatic endeavor. Women aren't really accustomed to these things back home."

She almost shrugged, because truly she didn't know. The raiders had been a threat to Silvern for decades and only just recently had things calmed... And a new front began.

"I doubt they'll find something to anger over in the missive, er... Well, there are some conditions they'd have to follow, but what do they have to gain by hurting us...? If they lay a hand on our heads everything they've worked for is all for naught. I don't think Laurod is that foolish."

Beyla took a moment to throw doubts to the wind before replying. "I...I'm not sure how that must feel. Women are... well not revered in Silvern, but we're given more freedoms than most. I think you'll enjoy it, Ainsley," Beyla said softly, flashing a conspiratorial smile. "I know I do."

"It's a bit intimidating, truth be told. I'm not entirely sure what to make of it all. I was shocked my father agreed to it." Looking to Beyla again, she smiled, "What... What's your brother like?"

"He's like an autumn evening... Brisk and full of life. My family is very close, you see," Beyla smiled fondly before continuing. "He's seven hours younger than Luce, haha, and he's been trying all his life to catch up. He's impulsive and doesn't quite think things through, hence the mess he got himself in... But his intentions are always true of heart."

There was a moments pause before she continued. "I-I know what you mean. Part of the reason I took my vows was because of that fear.... Being married to an old fat warty lord, eugh." She shook her head and smiled softly, "But I have no doubt my brother will like you Ainsley; you'll be the savior in his dark time of need."

"Oh goodness." She laughed, then, a gentle sound and shook her head, "I've never imagined being someone's savior. I've no real idea what I'll even be able to do, to help. I'm not exactly skilled at all this."

Laughing along with her brother's future wife, Beyla prayed that the gods blessed them with a safe and prosperous... adventure. "We begin a dance of wills, you and I... Against the future Lord Laurod." She shrugged then, a whimsical, nonchalant gesture, "But first we need to bathe and get a few hours of sleep. The monastery is just ahead."

-

A few hours til midday the pair arrived at the border, illegitimate though it was, of the Draga territory. She had been given word that an escort would be waiting for them. No one was there, so Beyla continued forward, despite the small cough from one of her guards. It was a half hour later that the sounds of hooves in the distance could be heard.

"Are you ready?" Beyla asked softly, turning to Ainsley with a reassuring smile.

But she wasn't ready... she wasn't nearly, remotely ready. In only a few moments, her life was going to change forever, and there was no sense of preparation she would have undergone that might have made it easier. Swallowing, she looked to Beyla, and unwilling to give away her fears entirely, she bowed her head in a curt nod.

"Let's go..."

Within a few heartbeats a small escort arrived, three men and two woman, most dressed in typical Silvern garb. The smallest man was in the front and it was he who spoke first.

"Princess Beyla," He announced sharply, "We were told you'd be waiting for us at the border. Nevertheless, nevertheless... It's nice to meet you and your esteemed guest. Princess of Cain'loren I believe, what a pleasure."

Flicking a brow into her hairline, Beyla stared at the small man before her. If memory and intuition stood true, he styled himself as Lord Yoren and was said to have little patience and a sharp tongue to boot.

"Princess Ainsley Baelston of Cain'loren," Beyla corrected, bowing her head in the woman's direction before continuing. "We waited," For a minute or two... "But your company didn't arrive. But here we are, why not lead the way?"

Ignoring Beyla entirely, the man turned to Ainsley with a scrutinizing eye. "What business does a southeastern princess have in the north?"

There was a weight of wariness to Ainsley's expression, her own eyes trained on the head of the small party with a soft frown. His intentionally dismissive air and the nature of his condescending scrutiny were as nerve wracking as they were irritating.

Men like that... they fancied themselves a place above others, and she would have none of it. Countless times her father had instructed her to bar her tongue... But what good was passive neutrality when one could just so easily speak their mind and still retain peace? What good was silence when speaking out could effect just as sufficiently. Some men needed to be put in their place...

"You know perfectly well what business I have here. I have come to see to it my husband to be is safely returned to his home and his family, and that this affair is laid to rest before matters are made diplomatically unfortunate. So perhaps we can continue? Or did you have any more ridiculous questions with which to waste our time?"

"Diplomatically unfortunate..." As Yoren turned puce, a quiet hint of a laugh emanated from a honey-skinned woman near the back of the escort line.

"Enough of this," The woman said softly, her voice surprisingly rich. She wore a handsome white dress, made of fine material, covered by a battered, war-witnessed cloak. "Welcome, princesses. If you will, follow me. Allow me to escort you to your brother and husband-to-be."

Beyla glanced over at Ainsley with a single raised brow, wondering if she had just met the infamous Lala Laurod.

Frowning, Ainsley met Beyla's glance with a simple shrug. She had expected fury or indolence, but laughter? There was nothing about that behavior that made sense, and if she knew anything at all about these sorts of matters, the unexpected was more dangerous than anything predictable.

But giving her horse a nudge, she started forward, regardless, "If I may ask... Who are you? I'm not exactly familiar with these lands, and you've yet to introduce yourselves."

"I am Lala, Lady Lala Laurod, if all goes well and our mutual affairs become one." The woman spared a glance behind her, eyes roving across Ainsley. "It is a brave thing you're doing. Did you come on your own free will or did your king send you?"

"My father sent me, but it would have been my choice to come, even without his blessing. There's nothing brave about it. I did what was necessary, because it's the right thing to do. I'm afraid I can't return the compliment. There's nothing brave or honorable or right in kidnapping a man to win a title." Frowning, Ainsley glanced over to the woman, "What is the point of all of this? Do you and your people honestly think you'll be respected after this? That they'll open wide their arms to you at Court? I'm sorry... I just don't see reason in it. Not at all."

"We've never been respected, princess, or taken seriously." Lala replied with a wave of her hand. Slowing her mare to ride between both women, she continued. "My people are tired of the fighting. Have you not noticed the decline in bloodshed over the past four years? My brother is to thank for that.

"I don't expect either of you to understand, though, and I will concede that I haven't a clue what to make of you two. Just know, please, that we are not here to argue over our past differences. So excuse Lord Yoren's behavior. He's always been quite rude."

"Indeed." Ainsley agreed, her eyes flashing to the man in question, "If they're sincere, I suppose your reasons are noble enough, Lady Laurod, but I can't say much for how you've gone about seeking peace. But I imagine how my future husband has been treated will decide quite a lot of matters. We shall soon see..."

"That you shall." Lala mused with a small dip of her head.

She struck forward then, to guide the way to her people. The farther they rode the more treacherous the path became, however. Spruces and pines grew larger, never having been felled. The bush became thicker and in some places, would snag a hoof in two rode side by side. When they began to traverse higher ground, the air seemed to seep from Beyla's lungs, and the few raiders who noticed couldn't help but snicker at her discomfort. Before long they came upon a shallow peak, where they'd need to lead their horses down on foot.

Beyla, still perched on her mare, glanced over at Ainsley. "How are you faring? Are you scared of heights?"

"More scared of present company," Ainsley mused quietly, "It is rather high, though..."

Beyla nodded softly at Ainsley's reply, sparing a moment to glance at all the unfamiliar faces. Before she had time to decide whether any of them seemed friendly, the second woman in the group strode forward, her heavy cloak and mail adding bulk to what was most likely a lean frame.

"How is your balance?" The question was directed at Ainsley, though the coppery haired woman glanced between both princesses.

"My... I'm sorry? My balance?" A brow quirked as she looked at the woman, frowning softly.

"Yes, your balance. It is possible you may lose your footing. How good is your balance?" Nadya said with a confused frown, as if something was getting lost in translation, though they all spoke in the same tongue.

"It's well enough... I can manage." She swallowed, however, as she glanced around her, entirely unconvinced by her own statement.

"Then let's go."

Nadya led her horse down first, the winding path barely wide enough to accommodate their large horses. Beyla peeked her head over the crest, glancing down at the winding pass that crisscrossed back and forth until it reached even ground. When her jaw dropped open, it wasn't from the height, though it was breathtaking, it was from the town, nestled within the valley below.

There were homes, not tents. Beyla glanced wide eyed over at Ainsley, wondering what she'd make of the revelation. Everything she'd been told about the northern raiders... It was misleading... if not outright lies.

"Enjoying the view, hm? Tell your sister to get going. I'll follow after her, and then her guards, yours, and then you."

Nudging her horse forward, Ainsley met Beyla's gaze with a shake of her head. She had been told very little about what to expect, but judging from the expression on the other young woman's face, this was not it. It seemed awfully developed for a community that were rumored to be little more than uneducated raiders. But then, they had already proven themselves clever enough in their actions, if not dangerous.

As Ainsley made her way down the pass, Beyla followed slowly, opting to lead her horse down on foot. The trek was indeed steep and precarious, and a few times Beyla slipped, teetering dangerously, only to steady herself and with a deep, shaky breath, continue on.

Time crept slowly and as the village grew and they traveled farther down the mountain, Beyla's worry magnified. Everything she had been told... Everything she had believed... It was all a lie.

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The Weight of the Crown

Elle Joyner

Moop.

Bears

Guest

Effervescent

|| Perpetual GM ||

Starlighter

Consider this the hint of the century

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice

Doctor Jax

Disease Empress

rissa

the clairvoyant pterodactyl

Elle Joyner

Moop.

Effervescent

|| Perpetual GM ||

Starlighter

Consider this the hint of the century

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice

Elle Joyner

Moop.

Aero Blue

he hears his master's voice

Starlighter

Consider this the hint of the century

rissa

the clairvoyant pterodactyl