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  1. In Memory of LAJ_FETT: Please share your remembrances and condolences HERE

Fantasy A War of Kings

Discussion in 'Role Playing Forum' started by spycoder9, Sep 10, 2012.

  1. JediMasterAnne

    JediMasterAnne Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 24, 2004
    IC: Safia Rolmar Kildare
    The Mountains of Mirwyth
    Shodaire, the Tower of Stone
    Dining Hall—the Wedding

    Even in the chaos, she heard a groan, and saw Lawrence struggling where he had fallen, reaching out to her. Seeing him lying there, broken and bleeding…he might be dying there in front of her. Tears stung her eyes. How could her father do this?

    The priestess had not moved, and though Safia was now very afraid of the woman, she took the risk, passing the woman to kneel beside Lawrence and taking his outstretched hand. The blood from his wounds was beginning to pool, and a crimson stain began to form on her white wedding gown.

    “I’m so sorry, Lawrence,” she managed, her voice shaking. Her entire body was shaking. “I didn’t know…”

    Another horrifying possibility occurred to her, and her blood ran cold: Karridan knew. Was this what had shaken him so badly? Was this why he had tried to convince her to run away? If I had listened, would this still have happened?

    “I’m so sorry,” she repeated.

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  2. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    Illiza
    Dining Hall, Shodaire, the Mountains





    Illiza stood perched above the dying groom, his grieving bride at his side.

    She looked down on the beautiful princess, whose sadness was apparent in her golden eyes.

    In the way the girl held herself. . .it looked so much like the father. . .what her father had asked of her. . .the horrid things. . .he had cried. . .

    The bloody glass fell from her fingers. It struck the floor with a slight ping that was lost amongst the screams and shouts. Guests were fleeing the room, though many were trapped in the way of fighting soldiers. Several of the Desertmen had acquired various weapons. Some were flinging candles from the floor, lighting a few of the Mountain men on fire. The flames consumed a few.

    V’hallar is protecting them.

    Illiza smiled then.

    He was pleased with her. She had done well.

    She raised her hands high above her head again, as rivulets of blood trailed down her arms. Droplets fell from her fingertips to her face in a blood-shower.

    Suddenly, someone had gripped her arms.

    Her eyes jerked open, and the grin dropped from her face. Men stood at her sides, each holding her elbows. One, a black-haired one, one of the Princes maybe, he snapped her elbow backwards, instantly breaking it.

    She only laughed.

    The King was now stepping from his position beside the large candle. His steps were slow and deliberate as he neared her. As he stopped a few away from her, he smirked. “You did well, Priestess. Very well. Your god will reward you.”

    He then looked to the dark haired man.

    “Burn her."

    The men dragged her sideways then, though she didn’t fight them. She didn’t even really squirm. She simply stared at the crowds, at the beautiful young woman sobbing in her chair, at the aged lord who was trying to avoid burning candles, at dying knights writhing on the floor. Her eyes finally came to rest on the dying groom.

    Lawrence. . .”

    She murmured his name softly, over and over again. Even as they tied her hands roughly behind her back. She only stared at him and his bride, whispering his name continuously. As they lifted the luminary candle and touched it to her robes, she only hissed.

    The flames spread up and down her, while her murmurings grew in strength. As the fire licked her hair, burning away the age V’hallar had cursed her because of her falsities, she screamed his name. Her cries rose in an unending pitch that echoed throughout the entire room.

    Her vision became clouded with a burning, flickering hotness, though she could still see the masses. Those still in the room were hiding their faces, while some paid no attention.

    But her screams couldn’t be ignored.

    V’hallar had rewarded her, yes he had.

    Death, release from this world, the best present of them all. . .

    As the fires boiled her skin from her bones, in an ecstasy indescribable in words, her howls had become unintelligible.

    Sweet burning. . .

    A death of ash of flames. . .

    So sweet.
     
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  3. Mitth_Fisto

    Mitth_Fisto Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 29, 2005
    IC: Abott Tuckman
    Location: The Naked Broad, Sailing by the Winter Bridge into the Capital of Mirwyth

    Standing on the dock of a bay was always a surreal experience after being aboard ship, he always had half a notion that he should be watching the tide drift away for some odd reason. A certain finality to the mere voyage being over, but also a testament that he wasn't leaving until business had been done or lagers had been emptied. Although resting his heels did sound nice, but he did not have the luxury to allow time to slip away. Tugging to straighten his cloths he nodded at the deadly woman, the Temptress.

    "Well, shall we Captain?" he simply stated as he gestured toward the path that left the docks. If needed they could hire a ride but the simplicity of being down on one's luck traders were that you did not have such money to spend. After all the more profits you gave to feed a stranger, the more you asked to be robbed; as his Aunt would of put it.

    The journey, albeit long, was uneventful. The Temptress seemed to hold her own court after making sure her ship was set to rights, and from then on, much as on the ship, she was silent to him. With no one else around they needed to talk with, nor anyone else they knew they made it a silent steady trek to the castle. An odder place he could ne'er mark upon the chart of his life than the mere fact he had left a castle only to cross the seas to another. If that t'wer not a singular notion upon the events of his life than it was becoming far too interesting for him to live it. Luckily no one else had stepped up to take it from him, well not officially, but he still had no plans to drink anything he allowed to pass by the Temptress.

    Reaching the guards, all stiff and secure in what they have to do or die, he simply nodded "Message for the Lady." He nodded and waited until one of them dained to close the distance so he could whisper it confidentially to the man. With a bob of his head he removed his hat like a bowl to block his words from reaching the other. "Tis only for her, the Lady: 'Blood runs deeper than stone. Anchors bury both.' Savvy?" The guard nodded and to his own amazement seemed to show a hint of recollection within his dim hard eyes. As though something other than drills and women had room within that head.

    The guard motioned them to follow and soon they were traveling through un-hallowed halls whose secrets held within their beams could ruin nations he had no doubt, and so another secret was to be added he thought until the room they were led to was not a room, but a balcony well appointed. Left alone for the moment as the door was closed he muttered, "Well at least we can die in the open air if this fails." he never liked the idea of hidden deaths within a sealed room, too close to having been killed after being led into your tomb.

    At the creak he started and turned away from the view to see a fancy morsel of cracker and wine being brought out to them. Smiling he took a goblet but did not drink, instead he looked at the Temptress, "Shall we?" T'was a better way to ask if she thought they would kill them with her own method, but doubted any true death would yet be dealt. Although a nice burial among trees had never been upon his docket, it was a thing to think about.

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  4. Ktala

    Ktala Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 7, 2002
    Lorain Ashkey - The Fair Groves, Kalkheim
    13 Days Before the Wedding

    Lorain smiled when Fleet came over to sit with her, and leaned against her shoulder. It was hard not to play with his hair, as he sat listening to her. She felt him give her arm a gentle squeeze, when she mentioned her father. But otherwise, he was quiet. By the time she had asked him, if he had ever been on a boat before, she barely felt his head moved. She looked down, and smiled.

    Fleets eyes were closed, and the sounds of gentle slumber reached her ears, as his breathing was slow and steady. Lorain chuckled softly, the poor boy was simply worn out from the day's activities. In truth, she could understand it. Since they had arrived to Fair Groves, it had been mostly a whirlwind of activity. They had taken it so much, and had told their tale over and over again to the royals of the city. But they had done what she had promised to do. That was all she really cared about. And now she looked down at Fleet's sleeping form and smiled once more. While her journey had started with loss, the Gods had been kind, and had also given her something more. She could only imagine what Fleet and Kali had endured. She remembered the scars she had seen on Fleet's back earlier. His young life had not been so kind to him so far. Lorain was determined to make it better. The simple fact of just having Fleet with her, had changed her. "I think Da would have liked ya too." she said softly, as she adjusted her self slightly, so that Fleet could stretch out as he slept. She laid his head down on a cushion, at simply sat next to him, her eyes looking around their room.

    While the Royals here had so far been kind, and had at least offered them food and a bath, Lorain would not let down her guard. The main person, from Lorain's understanding had not been reached yet. How that person would react would say much. But it did seem pretty sure, that the father, would be sending out some type of search party to rescue his son. If they were lucky, the pirates ship would still be hugging the coast line. No reason why they would not. Who would believe a woman and a small boy to be much of a threat. or for that matter, that they would survive the crossing of the desert expanse. Truly the gods above were watching over them then, that they had run into brothers of the sands. Lorain listened to the sounds around them, as she sat, still playing with Fleets spiky hair. If their luck continued to hold, perhaps she could ask for clothes, and a small bit of cash, so that she could obtain some weapons. Some REAL weapons. Or better yet, a blacksmith's shop. Lorain stood up gently, making sure that she did not wake up Fleet. She softly walked over towards the door, and opened it, looking to see if there was a guard, or other person nearby. If there was, she would ask if there was indeed a blacksmiths shop nearby. Once she got a response, Lorain would walk back to Fleet, and grabbing some more fruit and juice, would curl up beside him. If there was anything to read nearby, she would, otherwise, she would just simply sit and listen to the strangeness of their surroundings. She would sleep later. But so far, their entire trip, she has been on watch, on guard to make sure that they stayed safe. She would not relax now, simply because they were within the cities walls. For Lorain, they were unknown walls. And now that she had Fleet to take care of, until she felt safe, she would keep a watch while he slept.

    So, Lorain softly sang, while Fleet slept.


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  5. Jedi_padawan_leigh

    Jedi_padawan_leigh Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Feb 13, 2003
    OOC: Combined post with Spy :)

    IC: Gwenn Cliffe
    The Golden Anchor


    "No, no, not above the fireplace," Nathaniel chuckled, "Only in the Great Hall."

    Gwenn blinked in suprise "Oh.." She had meant her last comment to be taken in jest, but it appeared that the king did have ancient dragon bones in his possession, unless he was just joking with her. Perhaps she would see firsthand when they arrived at Delmaristead. "How much further ta Delmaristead?" she asked as she turned her gaze back across the sea.

    Just beyond these rocks, actually," And the smile that lit the King's face was one brighter than any Gwenn had seen from him, "I don't expect it to be as fine as it was when I left, but perhaps Korianton has gotten things into order."

    Gwenn noticed her fathers smile as he spoke of his home island. She nodded in understanding "Maybe people will calm some when they see ye returnin'" she said as she stepped away from the rail, crossing her arms across her front. "What's it like there?"

    "It's beautiful," Nathaniel nodded, "The salty sea smell lingers over the entire island. It fills even the castle. And there's so many different people there, people from all over. People from the Great Continent, people from the Southern jungles. They come from everywhere."

    "Hmm. Ya know, I’m six an' twenty an' never set foot off of Breezecroft till now" Gwenn said matter-of-factly, a thoughtful look on her face. A thin smile formed on her lips then "Got te know the island like the back of me hand, Knew the best spots fer fishin' an tha best coves te find shellfish an' othe critters. Me an' Lucas used te..."She paused, her grin faded a little as she thought of Lucas. How was he? What was he doing right now? Was he coping alright?

    "Did you love this boy?" He asked simply. He had heard her mention some of him over the past few days

    Gwenn’s eyes flashed slightly at this question; suddenly the bastard woman was feeling slightly uncomfortable. Letting out a quiet sigh, she started pacing the deck, her worn boots thudding softly with her steps. “Well…We grew up together; always felt we had a bond… just lately it become somethin’…more”

    Love. . .” The King didn’t look at her, though a smile twisted his lips at her anxiousness of the conversation, “It’s an odd emotion. It can rip someone apart, if they let it.” Then he looked at her. “Don’t let it rip you apart, Gwenn. If fate wants you to see him again, it will happen.”

    "It were just hard sayin' goodbye, and with people talkin' of war...I worry about him" She paused for a moment as she gathered her thoughts. She really hoped Nathaniel would not be offended with her next question. Letting out a soft breath she stopped her pacing and turned back to her father "Is this how ye felt? When ya parted ways with me mother I mean..."
    "
    Possibly," He said, "Though the true pain came years after."

    "Oh..." Gwenn said softly, a silence settling between the two as she tried to think of a way to steer the conversation off that particular topic. Shrugging her shoulders slightly, she turned on her heel and walked back towards the railing, looking outward, trying to spot any sign of land beyond the jagged rocks that made up the teeth. "What will ya do when ye get there?"

    "We'll have the welcoming feast. Unneeded really, especially considering the shortage in Breezecroft, but the loyals would throw a fit if I shirked it. And," He paused then, meeting his daughter's eyes, "This is the worst time to cause fits among loyals, wouldn't you say?"

    Suddenly, a cry rang up from the smaller craft ahead of them.

    "Land ho!" They cried, shrieks growing louder by the second.

    The Golden Anchor rounded the final rock.

    And there lay Delmaristead.

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  6. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    (I was going to use a seemingly ironic song for this post...but then I remembered this one and thought "Yes, this is the only song for this post...." I hope you agree.)

    IC: Ser Lawrence Kildare
    Dining Hall, Shodaire, Mountaints
    Wedding Day



    His wife held his hand.

    Even before she said a word, Lawrence knew that she had not abandoned him. She had not forsaken him. She was blameless. Even though he knew he may never see her again, that he may bleed out before he could open his eyes again, he let his eyelids flutter down in a moment of thanks. Safia had loved him all the time--and loved him still. He had that even now.

    V'hallar be praised.

    Lawrence opened his eyes again. He had seen a lot of battle in his time. He could tell that it was still raging around them. It was just enough chaos that they might be able to get away. It was not a big chance, but it was enough of one that they might--

    There was a rush of feet that Lawrence heard near them. Was this it? Was this the end? Had the time come?

    But no, they passed him by. They passed Safia by.

    They came for Illiza.

    As blood continued to seep out of his body, Lawrence watched as Desmond Rolmar, his father in-law, ordered Illiza set aflame, alive.

    Cremation was a holy rite of the people of the Desert. It was how his mother had returned to the earth. It was how he had honored the lives of the bandits that they had killed. Fire was cleansing. It let the soul waft to heaven, to the light of V'hallar.

    Setting a living being on fire was the punishment of V'hallar, and it was not for men to deliver. In this, Desmond Rolmar sinned against Lawrence's god.

    "He will break us," she had said.

    Illiza said his name. Lawrence tried to stop his ears as she repeated it over and over.

    "He has broken me," she had said.

    Illiza screamed his name. Lawrence could not block out her cries as flame consumed her body, her flesh melting into flame.

    "He will break you," she had promised.

    As Illiza inexplicably turned to ash, Lawrence knew now that he would not live. Even if Safia could take him from here, even if they could escape, he would never escape. He could flee the men of the Mountain. He could make it to Kalkheim, to his men, but he could never escape the divine judgment that was coming for him. He had been lost from the moment that he had transgressed with Illiza. Lawrence knew that now, knew that he was damned. There was only one thing that he could do now.

    "Run," he wheezed, the very words burning in his lungs, "Run Safia."

    He wanted to tell her more, that only she between them had a chance at life, that any affection she held for him would not be served by remaining by his side in death. He could only live through her now. They two had been made one by matrimony. He would live on in her. But she had to go now. If Desmond suspected...she would be lost too. If he would break the sacred oaths of hospitality to kill a man beneath his own wedding bower, then Desmond Rolmar would stop at nothing.

    "Go now. Go now and leave me..." Lawrence pleaded with whatever energy he could muster.

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  7. JediMasterAnne

    JediMasterAnne Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 24, 2004
    IC: Safia Rolmar Kildare
    The Mountains of Mirwyth
    Shodaire, the Tower of Stone
    Dining Hall—the Wedding

    She only vaguely heard her father speaking to the priestess, but she heard enough. Her father had asked the priestess to attack Lawrence? Was that what Desmond meant?

    She cringed when the king gave the order to burn the priestess, and she didn’t dare to look. She tried to shut out the woman’s screams, but it was hard to ignore when she was screaming Safia’s husband’s name. Why, the princess wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

    Lawrence’s voice, strangled and filled with pain, brought her focus completely back to him. “Run. Run, Safia.”

    Run? Leave him there to die, surrounded only by the people who had betrayed him? She opened her mouth to protest, but he repeated his plea, silencing her objections. “Go now. Go now and leave me…”He wanted her to go. He was giving her permission; he didn’t want her to stay and torment herself by helplessly watching him die.

    She didn’t want to leave him; she knew she couldn’t do anything for him, but at least she could be by his side in his last moments, as a wife should be. But how could she refuse his last request of her?

    Tears flowed freely down her face as she gently squeezed her husband’s hand in hers, then leaned over to softly kiss his forehead, his cheek, and, one last time, his lips. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “Forgive me.” She didn’t know exactly what she was apologizing for, what she was asking forgiveness for. For her father’s actions, which she’d had no control over nor any prior knowledge of? For leaving him here, even though it was what he was asking her to do?

    She lowered her voice and whispered in his ear, so only he would hear her. “I love you.” She squeezed his hand once more and quickly kissed his cheek again before letting go of his hand and slowly getting to her feet, moving away from him before she lost her nerve.

    It was the hardest thing she had ever done. Lawrence might have told her to leave him, but Safia could not see how she was ever going to forgive herself.

    She started to move away from her husband, though her eyes never left him; better not to look at her father, or whatever remained of the priestess, or anyone or anything else.

    She almost jumped out of her skin when a hand grabbed her arm, and she even let out a little scream. And though the owner of the hand was familiar, initially she was not sure if she was relieved or frightened to see him. Did he think she was part of this heinous betrayal?

    Sir Rickard’s first words, however, eased her fears, if only a little. “This way, Princess. Quick!” He started to pull her towards a side door towards the front of the hall, away from most of the fighting. He was trying to move with haste, but his shoulder was bloody from the arrow he had taken earlier, and the wound and the resulting blood loss were obviously affecting him.

    Though she willingly followed Rickard, she kept looking back to Lawrence. As she and Rickard neared the side entrance, she stopped to look back to her husband one more time, and froze in her place as she saw the king move away from where the priestess had been burned alive, and start to move towards her fallen desert fox.

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  8. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    13 Days Before the Wedding



    The Desert of Mirwyth
    The Fair Groves



    A Blacksmith's Shop



    The blacksmith’s shop was a dark cauldron filled with raucous laughter and heavy banging.

    A hearty man in all black garb came from the back rooms when he heard his visitors arrive. There was a small bell, like the ones tied to performance horses, hung over the door, and it gave a small ring whenever someone entered. Taking his gloves and mask off, he gave them a toothy grin.

    “Nice to meet ye!” His voice was loud, but not unfriendly. It held an inner warmth to it. “My name's Hektor, blacksmith extraordinaire! What brings ye to my shop?” He ruffled Fleet’s hair and gave a laugh similar to the ones that came from the back rooms.

    When Lorain had asked a guard about a blacksmith’s shop, he told her Zooey had requested they be adorned in the finest of metal. A gift from the royal family, which they could keep even if they didn’t accompany Ser Caliban. The same royal guard had accompanied them when they finally departed. He gave his name as Bren, and had seemed rather friendly with Lorain and Fleet on the way over.

    “Good ser,” The guard pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket, “Mi’lady Zooey Kildare, sister to our beloved Lady Ginnifer, requests that these two be clothed in fine armor from head to toe. Preferably in the same style you made Ser Caliban’s.”

    “Hmm,” The blacksmith put a finger to his chin, scratching the small beard that had grown there. “Royalty, aye? Odd enough. . .but I’d be glad to do it.

    “Whadda ya say, boy?” He smiled again at Fleet, “Ready to be a squire?”



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  9. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    12 Days Before the Wedding


    The Capital of Mirwyth
    WinterBridge



    The Naked Broad


    The Lady entered upon the first nibble of crackers.

    Bedecked in a glimmering red dress adorned with thousands of stones, she swept into the room with an air of secrecy. Her eyes were an icy blue, like that of pure Mountain snow, and her hair a cocoon of red curls that framed her petite face. Her lips seemed pinched some, though that stemmed from her fear of the meeting.

    She strode forward to the balcony and stuck out her hand for Zia.

    “It’s Lady Laurae Ember.” The foreigner woman accepted the noble woman’s greeting coldy, staring the woman directly in the eyes. The Lady then turned and shook hands with Abott. “I assume you’ve been sent by King Nathaniel?”

    “No, King Reynard sent us, and we’ve come to slit your throat,” Zia grinned ear to ear, though it was a cruel joke, and one not too hard to believe.

    “You gave Nathan’s code at the gates.” The Lady laughed none of the woman’s joke. “We must make this as short as we can. Did the King send you?”

    And now it seemed she was ignoring the foreign woman, instead focusing her chilly eyes on Tuckman.




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  10. Ktala

    Ktala Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 7, 2002
    Lorain Ashkey - 13 Days before wedding
    The Desert of Mirwyth, The Fair Groves - A Blacksmith's Shop


    Lorain had stayed awake the entire time that Fleet had slept, carefully watching over him. She wished she had something to draw upon, but instead, asked a guard about the possibility of a blacksmith's shop nearby. His response had totally surprised her. Zooey had commanded that they be, how did the guard had put it, 'adorned in the finest of metal.' She wondered what the heck THAT meant out here among the desert people. After Fleet had woke up from his nap, and giving him a moment to eat a bit, the guard had told them he would lead them to the Blacksmith's shop. Lorain smiled, giving Fleet a wink, as she gathered their things, and moved to follow the guard.

    The guard, who they found out as they walked, name was Bren led the way. So far, he seemed friendly enough. Lorain hoped that indeed he was a friendly as he seemed, but after her last encounter with those Knights, she kept just a small bit reserved, but she did make the point to speak quite politely and friendly to him. He led them to a building, and Lorain could already smell the smell she was beginning to miss so much. The smell of hot metal and ore being worked. It reminded her of her father's forge. The blacksmith’s shop was a dark cauldron filled with raucous laughter and heavy banging. Sounded like a good shop. If there was laughing, that was a good sign.

    A hearty man in all black garb came from the back rooms when they came through the doorway, a small bell announcing them. Taking his gloves and mask off, he gave them a toothy grin. “Nice to meet ye!” he greeted them. Lorain offered a bright smile as she gave him a nod. She looked around, trying to see if she could see a shop guild or brand about the place. “My name's Hektor, blacksmith extraordinaire! What brings ye to my shop?” He ruffled Fleet’s hair and gave a laugh similar to the ones that came from the back rooms. 'Blacksmith extraordinaire?! Well, we will see about that!' Lorain thought to herself. But at least this place looked hopeful.

    “Good Ser,” The guard pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket, “Mi’lady Zooey Kildare, sister to our beloved Lady Ginnifer, requests that these two be clothed in fine armor from head to toe. Preferably in the same style you made Ser Caliban’s.”

    “Hmm,” The blacksmith put a finger to his chin, scratching the small beard that had grown there. “Royalty, aye? Odd enough. . .but I’d be glad to do it." He then looked back down towards Fleet. “Whadda ya say, boy?” He smiled again at Fleet, “Ready to be a squire?”

    Lorain did her best not to look surprised. Armor as a gift? A precious gift indeed. While she did enjoy the fact that the armor would hide them from any who might be looking for them, she will have to make sure to teach Fleet a few tricks. As ships, armor and water were not known as the best of mixtures, she gave a small grin. She looked up at the blacksmith.

    "Aye, Hektor, by chance, when ya armor ya made for Ser Caliban, did you make it with Mariner's straps?" she asked him. She seriously doubted that he did, as they were in the middle of the desert. Mariner Straps, was a way in which armor could be released quickly, especially if you were wearing armor on a ship, or near water. If the man was a blacksmith worth his salt, he would know what she meant. "Also..would ye happen to have any battle hammers?" she asked with a grin.

    Lorain looked back down at Fleet, and gave a soft chuckle. A squire. Fleet? Why that would be something indeed. Lorain looked back up, and smiled.






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  11. greyjedi125

    greyjedi125 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 29, 2002
    IC: Fleet-Thirteen Days before the wedding
    Fair Groves, The Kalkheim, A Blacksmith’s Shop

    The boy woke up suddenly, his dream already forgotten. His surroundings were alien-and for the briefest second-he did not know where he was…and then he saw Lorain.

    A warm smile came to his face as pleasant memories rushed back and flooded his mind. The bowl of fruit that awaited him was a very welcomed sight.

    *****

    Bren had been quite friendly unlike the other, more stoic, guards of the Kalkheim. He’d actually answered all his questions quite amicably, even the tricky ones. Fleet was pleasantly surprised by this, and inwardly added Bren to his mental ‘contact’ list. The guard hand’t given off any weird vibes, not even once.

    Pretty soon, they were at a Blacksmith’s shop. With a smile already on his face, Fleet looked up to see Lorain’s reaction.

    A bell sounded as they entered the shop and Fleet couldn’t help but to think how much like a trap or alarm-string the ‘bell’ seemed to be. It was something to keep in mind. The sound of metallic banging and laughter filled his ears, the smell of heated metals and various other unrecognizable scents filled his nostrils, which he flared and then crinkled. A large and pleasant man came out to greet them. Fleet raised his eyebrows at the man’s get-up. Is that what Lorain had been talking about all along?

    Hektor, as the man was called, was strong. Although he was ‘gentle’, Fleet could feel the strength and large size of the man’s hand as he ruffled his hair. It was very different than when Lorain did it, of course. Still, the man also seemed genuine, so Fleet smiled politely and allowed it. Hmm…perhaps only the nobles had high strung theatrics in their lives. Mmm, no…that wasn’t entirely true.

    “What brings ye to my shop?” Hektor asked. Fleet looked from Hektor to Bren, as he too was curious.

    “Good ser,” The guard pulled a slip of parchment from his pocket, “Mi’lady Zooey Kildare, sister to our beloved Lady Ginnifer, requests that these two be clothed in fine armor from head to toe. Preferably in the same style you made Ser Caliban’s.”

    Fleet’s jaw dropped almost to the floor. He could hardly believe what he’d just heard. He wanted to say something, but no words would come, so stunned was he by the sudden and unexpected pronouncement.

    “Hmm,” The blacksmith put a finger to his chin, “Royalty, aye? Odd enough. . .but I’d be glad to do it.”

    “Whadda ya say, boy?” He smiled again at Fleet, “Ready to be a squire?”

    Fleet blinked several times. So many images and possibilities were going through his mind, though pray tell, a bit fantastical. A smile blossomed upon his face. Finally he looked at Lorain and beamed a smile at her, before turning back to the blacksmith.

    “Aye!” he said and offered his best approximation of a salute. “Thank ye, ser. I be ready ’n willin’.”

    Though he had little concept of what he was really getting himself into, Fleet vowed to be at Lorain’s side and do the impossible to stay there.

    Everyone seemed to be in good spirits as they laughed. That was a good sign as far as he was concerned. Fleet had no idea what ‘mariner straps’ were, but he was no longer surprised when Ma’ Lorain mentioned something that was ’special’, ‘mysterious’ or ‘unknown’. To him, she was a fountain of knowledge.

    “Also…would ye happen to have any battle hammers?”

    Fleet couldn’t help it, especially after seeing Lorain’s wolfishs expression masked behind her grin. The giant woman could not wait to get her hands on a pair of hammers. Fleet released a heartfelt chuckle..then laughed. Yeah, Lady Luck might be fickle, but she was truly smiling upon them now.


    @Ktala, @spycoder9
     
  12. Mitth_Fisto

    Mitth_Fisto Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 29, 2005
    IC: Abott Tuckman
    Balcony, WinterBridge (Capital of Mirwyth), Castle

    Letting his mouth work on the cracker he allowed the passing of her name and question to be answered by the Temptress. Someone who had hoped would be able to handle the situation based off of what the Scabbard had said about her previously being in line for the job he had secured. Surely she had some subtlety to work to even have been in the running, it only made good business sense to be able to placate one's customers, especially when uneasy.

    Then he nearly choked on his nibble of cracker. Well, so much for subtle, he would have to remember that for later. Temptress may have the ship and means to guard it, but she lacked people skills beyond the docks.

    The woman, Cold Eyes, looked now at him solely. The question was to him, and to him alone. The Temptress had effectively cut herself off from ever having business relations with this woman without him, and so his position as 'Admiral' was better secured in these business ventures. "Of the Isles alone M'Lady." he simply said with a nod. The fact that the woman had used the King's first name did not pass by unnoticed. "From his lips alone I gave his code and come to do good work." Well, what else would one call a food mission? Good work seemed nice enough and gave room for bragging rights to future customers, a good angle is always the needs of those in need to get a better price.

    TAG: spycoder9
     
  13. Stryker01

    Stryker01 Jedi Knight

    Registered:
    Dec 4, 2012
    A special flashback-combined ;)


    Some years before tWoMK
    Martyn Forsythe
    Great Hall, Kalkheim, the Fair Groves


    The great hall, brighter than the rest of the alcazar in the morning sun, was quieter than usual. The room was fuller than usual, but then again this was not an ordinary time. The Lady of the Fair Groves had died. The center of the hall featured the most light, and it was in this light that a wavy haired, dark blonde woman stood with her back to the door by which Martyn had just entered. She was looking at the plush seat that was inhabited by the Lady of the Fair Groves--and now sat empty. The noise of the large doors opening to admit Martyn (and behind him Lawrence) got the attention of the blonde--indeed, the entire hall.

    Ginnifer Kildare, dressed in a purple gown, turned around from where she stood at the bottom of the short steps that led to throne of this Desert realm. The noise of an entire room's subtle movement followed her eyes that lit upon Martyn.

    "Father," she said, "Father. Today our heart breaks."

    "Yes. . ." Martyn nodded absently as he eyed his daughter. "Yes, it does. Do you. . ." His face pained as he struggled to think of what he was to say. "Do you have her ashes?"

    "Yes." Ginnifer answered. She turned away from her father and walked to the Lady's seat where she bent her knees, her back obscuring her work. When she turned around, she was cradling an urn with her right hand, positioned under its base, against her chest. It was not the most grateful pose, nor the most secure looking one. However, Ginnifer's silk gloved left hand was, as everyone knew, not much use to her when it came to nimble tasks. The way she was using it to pin the urn against her chest was about the most for which she could use it.

    "Here are the earthly remains of Lady Emilie Kildare, first of her name, protectrix of the Fair Groves, my mother," Ginnifer announced to the entire hall, "Her remains joined V'hallar in fire in keeping with our precepts so that they might join the divine spark that is warmed by V'hallar's warm glow. Her ashes shall feed our hard soil and the trees of the Fair Groves will grow in memory of her and those who came before her."

    Carefully, Ginnifer walked the ashes across the room. The path was clear of obstacles that could trip her, but Ginnifer moved with caution all the same. She came to her father. "It is right and proper that you should commend your wife and our Lady to the ground," she said in a low, private voice, "if you wish."

    "I. . ." He watched his daughter, who held the urn, which held the remains of his wife, "Yes, I'll take her."

    Martyn reached out and took the urn from Ginnifer, making sure not to drop it. It felt strange to be holding Emilie after all these years, even if it was in this condition. He could feel eyes on him, eyes on the urn, eyes on his daughter.

    And as his hands gripped the pot, even his eyes had turned to look at Ginnifer. Such composure. . .Emilie raised her well.

    "Lady Ginnifer Kildare," Martyn smiled at her, lowering his voice his voice so that only she may hear. "You would make her proud."

    Once Martyn had accepted the urn, Ginnifer turned and walked slowly back across the great hall, the eyes of everyone there, including her father, upon her. With deliberate step, she mounted the stairs that led to the Lady's seat. With dignity and poise, Ginnifer sat down, occupying the space that not even a full rotation of the sun that scorched the Desert before had been held by her mother, now reduced to ashes.

    A priest of V'hallar came forward, carrying in his hands a coronet of a thin gold band. He too came up the steps, resplendent in crimson robes evoking the fire of the Desert god.

    "Sirs and ladies, I here present to you Ginnifer Kildare, third of your name, your undoubted Lady. Wherefore all you who are come to this day to do your homage and service, are you willing to do the same?"

    All those present in the hall voiced that they did.

    "Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the people of the Fair Groves according to its laws and customs?" the priest asked.

    "I solemnly promise to do so," Ginnifer said, looking straight forward. Her gaze, it seemed rested upon her father.

    "Will you to your power cause law and justice, in mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

    "I will," Ginnifer said, her eyes not wavering.

    "Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the laws of V'hallar and the true profession of His scriptures? Will you to the utmost of your power maintain the Fair Groves in the worship of V'hallar? Will you govern in His light and be guided by His truth?"

    "All this I promise to do. The things which I have here before promised I will perform and keep. So help me V'hallar."

    "Then let what has been said in the darkness be heard in the light," the priest said, "I anoint you Lady Ginnifer, Protectrix of the Fair Groves. V'hallar save our Lady." And with that, he settled the coronet upon Ginnifer's wavy golden locks.

    The whole hall knelt, including the priest and Ginnifer looked upon them.

    A new era had begun.
     
  14. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    9 Days Before the Wedding


    The Isles of Mirwyth
    Delmaristead


    The Docks



    At first glance, Delmaristead seemed small.

    A towering castle, made of the same stone it rested upon, jutted up to the highest cloud. From the top spire, a flag fluttered in the breeze. It was warm breeze that clung to the island that morning, a warm and gusty breeze that threatened to blow hats off heads and goods from hands. The closer the Golden Anchor sailed to the island, the longer it spread on, and the wider it grew. This castle, it was only the first branch, a smaller side wing to the larger castle within. Even a few of the sailors who had seen this sight many times in their life gasped at the view.

    Bells were ringing louder and louder as the ships edged on. Victory bells, singing of Nathaniel’s greatest hopes, and he raised his hands in the air. Though the first sight of the docks proved a saddening view. They were battered and broken, with pieces of driftwood and planks still floating in the waters. Workers were out repairing them, but it was apparent that a battle had been fought there.

    The island spread on farther than the eye could see, a mass of villages and shops, eventually thinning out to grasslands.

    A sizeable crowd was waiting at the dock for their arrival, though they weren’t nearly as large as the Breezecroft mass. It appeared that many of the Delmaristead population still held their grudges.

    “Don’t say a word,” Nathaniel whispered to her as they approached one the most intact docks, “The explaining can come later. For now. . .enjoy the lands.” He grinned at her before turning back to his lands. The crowds rose to an appropriate level of happiness. There were a variety of people there. Some wore bright robes. Some wore stark white robes. Others wore barely any clothes at all. A few had ebony skin darker than that of the stone. They all cheered and clapped with an ecstasy at seeing their King.

    The boat docked, and a ramp was extended. The King strode off the ship first, gesturing for Gwenn to follow him. Several of his advisors were swiftly hurrying behind me, eager to see him onward, but he made sure that she was right behind him before carrying onward.



    TAG: Jedi_padawan_leigh

     
  15. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    13 Days Before the Wedding


    The Desert of Mirwyth
    The Fair Groves



    A Blacksmith's Shop




    “Mariner straps. . .” Hektor eyed Lorain with a wide grin, “We got a couple in the back. Ain’t many around here that need ‘em, but we got ‘em.”

    Then he turned around and gestured for them to follow him through an open doorway. All around, men were banging on hot metal and forming different metal things. A few glanced up to see the visitors, though they spared them no mind.

    “Now, battle hammers,” Hektor gestured to a wall of weapons. All of them glimmered and glistened with newly formed metal. Daggers and swords and shields, the entire wall was filled with more weapons than Fleet had probably ever seen. And in the middle, several pairs of battle hammers were strung up. “Pick ye a pair that feels the best. And get somethin’ for the kid. I trust ye know ye metal well ‘nough.”

    The blacksmith then wandered from table to table while Fleet and Lorain picked a weapon or two, commenting on whatever they were working on.

    “Look at those swords. . .” Bren pointed to three or four swords, all of which had a hilt that formed into a sneaky orange fox. All of their blades glowed lime green, “I wonder which member of House Kildare turned those blades down.”




    TAG: Ktala, greyjedi125
     
  16. Ktala

    Ktala Force Ghost star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 7, 2002
    Lorain Ashkey
    The Fair Groves - A Blacksmith's Shop

    “Mariner straps. . .” Hektor eyed Lorain with a wide grin, “We got a couple in the back. Ain’t many around here that need ‘em, but we got ‘em.” Lorain nodded her approval. "Good. We'll be needing em." she replied as Hektor turned and gestured for the group to follow. Lorain followed, feeling quite comfortable as they passed a doorway. Men were busy, working on hot metal, forming different items. It smelled of home. A few men glanced up, but continued their work.

    “Now, battle hammers,” Hektor gestured to a wall of weapons. Lorain looked over at the wall, and then grinned. 'Be still my heart...' she thought to herself, as she loomed upon the wall. Daggers and swords and shields, the entire wall was filled with many weapons. And in the middle, several pairs of battle hammers were strung up. “Pick ye a pair that feels the best. And get somethin’ for the kid. I trust ye know ye metal well ‘nough.”

    "Aye." Lorain replied, as Hektor went back to his work, checking on the work the other blacksmiths were busy working on.

    “Look at those swords. . .” Bren pointed to three or four swords, all of which had a hilt that formed into a sneaky orange fox. Lorain traced a finger on the design hilt, as she looked over at Fleet with a grin. The fox that they kept seeing while in the abandoned city came to mind. Lorain gave Fleet a quick wink, wonder if he thought the same thing. Lorain noted that all of their blades glowed lime green. Bren continued, “I wonder which member of House Kildare turned those blades down.” Lorain looked over at Bren. "Turned down? Is that why de blades be tinted green?" she asked him. Maybe that was a way they marked the blades until they could either be remade or destroyed. Not like they could sell them, with the houses symbol on it. But the hilts could be changed. She looked over at Bren curiouslly. "So, alls House Kildare carry de same hilts?" she asked him. If that was true, she wondered if Willis also carried his, or did he hide behind another sword. It would make sense for him to change. She doubted that he would be still alive, if they had a clue to who he was. Or else, they knew EXACTALLY who he was. And they held him for something else. A scary thought indeed.

    Lorain looked down at Fleet, who was busying eying the many weapons and shields that covered the wall. "Aye. If ya wants a shield, I would suggest a small one." she told him with a grin. She pointed to the daggers and smaller swords that hung on the wall. "Whatevers weapons ya pick, test it. Hold it in yer hand. Ya donts want something too heavy, or too big, so dat ya injure yerself." Lorain picked up a small sword, and held it out, balancing the blade on the side of her hand. "Ya wants one with a good balance. Something that feels comfortable to ya. Dont worry about the size. Pick something dat feels right for you, like Hektor said. If it feels shaky, or loose, put it back."

    Lorain gave the weapon a quick spin, and then placed it back up on the wall. She now put a neutral face on, as she reached up, and picked a set of daggers that looked to be the correct size. She flexed her arms and wrists, feeling how the hammers moved in her hand. And as she had told Fleet, she checked to make sure the bond between the hilts and the weapons head was solid. She visually inspected the weapons closely, checking how they were put together. She checked the metal, looking for a good mix and flow. Not like some of the crap metals she had seen, sold in some street markets. Bad mixtures of ores, that would cause a weapon to shatter. Bad heating. So many things.

    She also checked out a dagger as well. Something she could slip within her clothing or boot. As she watched Fleet work with different weapons, she watched him. She did not know how well he was with a weapon. She remembered his brave stance, when he had tried to come at her with a stick, when the first met. No, he needed something else. Lorain looked up, and scanned the wall. She was looking for a crossbow. Something Fleet could use, without having to get too close to the danger. If she didnt see one, she would ask Hektor about it. Lorain looked down at Fleet once more, to see how he was doing. As she waited for Fleet to make his choices, Lorain watched the other men, as they worked on the hot metals.


    TAG: greyjedi125, spycoder9
     
  17. greyjedi125

    greyjedi125 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 29, 2002
    IC: Fleet-Thirteen Days before the wedding
    Fair Groves, The Kalkheim, Blacksmith’s Shop

    Things were getting exciting now as they made their way inside the shop proper and into the forging area. Fleet regarded everything with an expression of unending wonder. The whole blacksmithing process was fascinating, despite the heat. The look of molten metal and the different shapes it could take seemed almost magical. Heaps of unwieldy and unrefined ore was eventually transformed into something useful and in many cases, beautiful.

    Impressive at it all looked, he knew he was not 'burly' enough to be a blacksmith, and his fascination was the kind one experienced as a spectator.

    Before them now was an entire wall which displayed weapons in all its breathtaking awesomeness. Fleet couldn’t make up his mind on what to look at first. He exchanged many glances with Lorain as he grinned at her and looked at what she did, inferring the finer things on what he should do. How did one choose? There were just so many!

    Long swords, short swords, bastard swords, blades, daggers, hammers, axes....name it.

    Case in point, the Kildare Swords. Those were definitely impressive looking.

    Bren did mention that these particular ones had been rejected. How odd.Fleet wondered why, as they looked perfectly fine to him. Why would they be hanging and displayed if they were 'badly made'? Was that it?

    Then there were the shields. Those looked good too! Those reminded the young urchin of the time he and a couple of other lads did sneak into one of the gladiatorial games some time ago. The big combatants with the big weapons and armor looked impressive enough, but it became obvious that the smaller contestants with swords and shields, at least for the most part, fared better. Fleet made sure to take note of that.

    “Aye. If ya wants a shield, I would suggest a small one.” Fleet heard Lorain say as she grinned at him. He nodded in understanding and grinned back. Yes, a small shield would be the way he would go. He then listened very carefully to Lorain’s instruction regarding how to choose a weapon. As she spoke, he reached for a small sword, one that looked ‘right’.

    The sword looked fancy, but it was a bit heavy. Fleet ignored the axes as they tended to ‘fly’ out of his hands. It was the same for hammers, sadly. In the past, daggers had served him best. He returned the 'fancy looking' weapon and tentatively reached for one of the ‘Kildare Swords’, one of the smaller weapons in the assortment. Hmm. It did have a nice balance to it.

    But two things made him put it back. Not only was he not a ‘Kildare’ by name, but the 'family' sword had been rejected for some reason he could not fathom. That made things ‘unlucky’ in his mind. Second, it dawned on him that the sword might have been fashioned for a woman due to its size. Now THAT had been the deciding factor.

    Displayed a bit lower and to the left was a plain short sword which called his attention. This third option was darker than the rest, with a hilt wrapped in black and red leather, but it felt light and well balanced, so much so that it surprised him. He’d even glanced up at Lorain in mute approval...followed by a wide grin. So, this is what it felt like.

    Wow!

    This one was a keeper, that is, if they would let him have it.

    Fleet’s mind was now flowing as he inspected several daggers with a serious expression on his face. The same dynamics applied. Wheight, balance…feel. After several tries, he decided on one he knew he could throw if he wished, before proceeding to look at shields. In his mind, it had to be small as Lorain suggested, as well as maneuverable. The young urchin already knew that ’speed’ was his best trait and his best defense. As he looked at a number of shields, he was also thinking of armor. There was no way he could manage full armor, that would slow him down considerably. Perhaps he could have a few pieces to protect important areas. Not to say that every area was not important.

    This was turning out to be quite an incredible experience. It was almost unbelievable….and surreal. Shaking his head lightly, Fleet shook off any mental distractions and did his best to stay focused. Despite the excitement, he knew this was important as well.

    “Hmmm.” He mused aloud, as he looked at the shields and placed a hand on his chin in imitation of grown adults.

    In his own estimation, a circular shield was preferable to a triangular one, since it would have a more natural balance and it was the same size all around. He’d seen one gladiator holding a dagger and a sword while also having a smile shield. That one had been a sneaky combatant. Fleet smiled at the memory as he decided on the shield of preference. A simple number that he could fit easily and was sturdy and light.

    “I think….these will do.”

    Looking from Lorain to Hektor, he returned his gaze to the three items he’d selected, then nodded in satisfaction. Though he was unsure if he kew enough about weapon selection per se, but he was told to pick what felt right, and these items did feel right. After a pause, Fleet turned to Bren.

    “So, what’s wrong with those….” He said, pointing at the various Kildare swords.

    “Are they cursed?”


    Tag: @Ktala @spycoder9
     
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  18. Trieste

    Trieste Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    (An update by PM from spycoder9 contributed to this post.)

    IC: Ser Lawrence
    Dining Hall, Shodaire, Mountains
    Wedding Day

    Lawrence reached up lamely as Safia squeezed his hand and kissed him. He wanted to caress her face, to give her that in this moment since he would be unable to touch her face in the years to come, years that they should have had together. He wanted to give her so many more moments to carry with her for the rest of her days, but he knew in his heart that every moment he took with her now could very well cost Safia her freedom, if not her life.

    Three times Safia kissed him before she apologized to him. “I am the one who is sorry,” Lawrence replied. It would be cruel for Safia to think she was responsible for what had happened here when she was the least to blame. What justice was there in this land, in this life, if that should be her fate? “You deserved better.”

    A statement that Lawrence knew applied on so many levels. He should have been a fine husband for any woman, including a princess. Now he was a man disgraced by one night, paying the price for so many minutes of reckless abandon. Such was the divine balance that weighed the acts of men. It was said that at a person’s death V’hallar would weigh their heart. Should it be heavier than a feather, the deceased would be denied entry into paradise.

    Given the last five minutes, Lawrence was, firstly, not optimistic about his heart's chance of beating the scale and, secondly, pretty sure he was going into shock if his mind was thinking about feathers in his current predicament.

    “I love you,” Safia said before kissing him once more.

    That brought Lawrence back around. Love was a word that poets often talked and sung about. It was a word that was bandied about freely. It was a word that had lost its potency.

    When Safia kissed him, Lawrence knew that she and him had rediscovered the original meaning of the word. How terrible that they should have love wrenched from them by horror.

    Lawrence wanted to tell Safia that their future would have been great, that this great sorrow had robbed them of so much. He was certain of that now. He had ridden from Kalkheim to do his duty and nothing more. Lawrence Kildare had arrived at Shodaire and found love. The only way he could show Safia that he felt the same way about her was to force her to leave him now.

    In truth, the tactician in him didn’t see how she could make it. Not now, not with her father so close as he watched Illiza burn. No, Safia would never escape. She would suffer when he could suffer no longer. Desmond Rolmar—he was no king in Lawrence’s eyes anymore—was now capable of anything. Paternal bonds of affection would not restrain him. He had let his daughter suffer on her wedding day. He was capable of any depravity.

    Lawrence put a hand to his lips as if blowing a kiss at Safia as she receded. He steeled himself for the inevitable, for her father’s strong hand to grab her and consign her to a life of pain.

    And then Ser Rickard, who had started this journey as a boy, took Safia by the arm and started to lead her out of the hall like a man, collected in the heat of battle. He was headed for a side entrance, one that Lawrence had not noticed during the ceremony or in the chaos. That door was hope that Safia might survive this and escape, not to mention one of his men might survive as well. The survival of Ser Rickard would be an equal victory to Lawrence to Safia escaping this place.

    Lawrence closed his eyes and said a prayer of thanks. Not to V’hallar—he wasn’t sure exactly what his standing with the deity was at the moment and he imagined that continued communication might do more harm than good—but to Rickard. The young knight, if he made it out of the Mountains, would see to Safia to safety. He knew it. More importantly, he would tell the tale. Mirwyth would know what happened here. Yes, they would know Lawrence’s shame and in their minds (if not in actuality) he would be condemned to the purging fires of his god...but they would know the perfidy of Desmond Rolmar. His name would be smeared with dung in every house of standing in Mirwyth. He had broken the laws of hospitality. His word would not be worth the air used to speak it.

    The wounded knight opened his eyes and looked away from the exit that Rickard and Safia had been headed towards. He looked anywhere but there, afraid that someone would follow his gaze and stop them. Soon enough, he had something towards which to bend his thoughts without any effort.

    The King approached his son-in-law slowly, almost circling him.

    “Sins require retribution, Ser Lawrence,” He spoke clearly. Slade was driving his sword through a Desertman’s chest. Synthia Rolmar sat hunkered in her own chair, sobbing away into her hands.

    “And what better retribution than being able to watch you lose everything you care for?” Desmond smiled, and bent down so that the knight could see into his dark almond eyes. There was no mirth inside of them. “A priestess? Really? You broke your vows with a priestess?” He laughed out loud. “Surely you could’ve done better. . .” He spat on the knight’s face and rose on his haunches.

    As Desmond rose, so did Lawrence. True, he could only struggle to raise his torso higher, placing his arms behind him to support his body. The very effort sent new shards of pain through his back, spreading forward into his stomach. If he hadn’t known it before, he knew it now—these were death wounds.

    “Think on your sins,” Lawrence said to Desmond, mustering his final reserve of strength and bravery, “I did not cast the first stone.”

    Desmond apparently had no intention of thinking about his sins, or perhaps even acknowledging he had any. “Karridan.” The King reached his hand out to his eldest son. The dark-haired knight unsheathed a mighty sword the glimmered in the candlelight. Desmond closed his fist around the hilt, turning it over several times.

    “Truth be told, Kildare,” Desmond looked up from the blade and grinned, “You would’ve died either way.”

    So that was it then. This had been planned all along. The knowledge gave Lawrence no comfort. Not even knowing that this was not about what he had done with Illiza soothed his pain. The death that flailed around the knight was about something bigger. Why Rolmar was turning on the alliance so carefully forged with the Desert was beyond Lawrence’s understanding. Perhaps such knowledge would be granted to Lawrence Kildare in the hereafter.

    This only made everything that had happened, and it had happened so fast, that much crueler. If they had wanted to kill him, then they should have left Safia out of it. It could have been done in the night. It could have been contrived as if by accident. Instead they chose now, when it hurt Safia the most. The betrayal of the customs of hospitality, the outright gall of desecrating a holy ceremony, the utter lack of honor to have a man stabbed in the back...it was all disgusting.

    In that moment, his death assured, Lawrence saw Desmond Rolmar as the subhuman wretch that he was. The crown Desmond wore had no more place on his brow than it did on the head of a cow.

    Desmond Rolmar raised his great blade above his head.

    “When you get to Hell,” the King stared at him, “Tell you Mother I said hello.”

    Lawrence began to laugh. It wracked his abdomen painfully, already on fire, but he couldn’t help himself. He looked at Desmond, laughter punctuating his words.

    “You...have...no idea—”

    The blade came down with a finality that led to black.





    Two foxes ran in the sand, kicking up plumes of fine, sandy mist behind them. The sand stretched in every direction around them, rolling and undulating beautifully, peacefully, serenely. The two animals enjoyed the supreme animal joy of running. Their bodies were the picture of efficiency of motion. They chased no prey other than the horizon.

    The light beige sand faded into white and became cold before the change could even be registered. The sand lost its airy lightness and the realization dawned that it had replaced by the hard crunch of snow beneath their feet. The vulpine animals did not even register the change, perhaps because the forest made for a more fitting habitat for a fox. The pair ran on unheeded. Soon they were darting between trees and rocks and bushes. It was much more challenging and enjoyable ground than the vast, empty desert.

    They passed a horse, likewise in the middle of some race, its rider a woman with light, flaxen hair, her cheeks flush from the bite of the cold air. Where she was headed, the foxes didn’t know, but her path diverged from theirs as they went deeper into the forest.

    And the forest brought danger.

    Arrows zipped through the crisp air, impaling themselves in banks of white fluff. Puffs of snow registered where the feathered arrows missed their marks. The foxes ran on, unharmed, but now with the urgency of survival. They knew they were being hunted and it could be seen in how they moved, no longer a straight run but with dodges and darts in their path to evade this danger that bore down on them. A straight path meant death, but serpentine could bring life.

    The baying of hounds only spurred them on harder and the arrows missed by less now. Neither fox looked at the other, but each moved in perfect complement to the other. They knew the other’s ways and they knew the maze of the forest by instinct. On these two things alone they had gotten out of worse scrapes than this before.

    One took the high road and another took the low path. Both would meet on the coming ridge and from there it would be downhill, free and clear. The hunters would be lost forever. The high road fox burst onto the ridge in all speed—presenting his profile against the pale gray sky in the process.

    That was where the arrow found him, its force launching him off his feet and tumbling down the side of the hill until his coat caught on brambles. Torn, cut, and trapped his pursuers found him, barely alive.

    The low path fox had known when she came out the other side that her companion should have met her there. She knew that the worst had happened.

    She watched as the hunters took off his head.



    Kalkheim, Fair Groves, Desert
    Wedding Day

    Ginnifer Kildare’s eyes opened as she willed herself awake. It was one of those dreams that, in the middle of it, she realized was a dream and she thought to herself, I need to wake up. It had gotten her heart racing a little bit. Intense dreams with unsettling things (she wouldn’t call them nightmares for she had left childhood and its conceits behind years ago) had that effect on her sometimes. The darkness of her cool chamber was welcome, the heat of the dream rolling off her like the arid lands she ruled.

    The Lady of the Fair Groves ran her good right hand through her hair and took a couple of deep breaths to calm her heart rate back down. It did the trick. Serenity restored, Ginnifer rolled over in bed and pulled her silken sheets up and over her shoulders with her good hand.

    The high priest of V’hallar in Kalkheim said that dreams were sometimes messages from the god of fire. They must always be interpreted by one anointed to V’hallar to be properly understood in the context intended. Never should a layperson, even a noble one, attempt to interpret dreams. Ha! Ginnifer had no intention of telling any priest, especially the high priest, about this dream or any other dream she had or would have.

    The maester of the alcazar had once told her that there was some thought that dreams were a reflection of one’s inner self, one’s desires and fears. That, Ginnifer thought, was a more likely explanation, though she thought the maester had a tendency to be fooled by the desert and see oases where there was only sand. The maester had enough things to do to keep Kalkheim and the Fair Groves in good state, especially these days.

    Ginnifer would keep her own counsel on these dreams. She dismissed them as passing moments whose provenance was unimportant. In her experience, dreams were quickly forgotten. By tomorrow morning she would be surprised if she remembered anything about what had awoken her in the night, if she remembered even that.

    Even so, as she shut her eyes again and settled back into her downy pillow, Lady Ginnifer Kildare reflected that she would be glad when her Knight Commander returned with his bride. It should not be long now.

    TAG: spycoder9 JediMasterAnne



    GM Approved
    Name: Lady Ginnifer “Ironfist” Kildare
    Age: 26
    Gender: Female
    Appearance: [​IMG]
    Additionally, Lady Ginnifer’s left hand is badly burned as a result of a childhood accident, reducing it to little use. She does not show her hand in public, preferring to wear a plate steel gauntlet on it at most times and a glove on other occasions. This has earned her the moniker “Ironfist.” Though commonly used, it rarely is to her face.
    Homeland: The Desert
    King: The King of the Desert
    Occupation: Lady of House Kildare, Protectrix of the Fair Groves, and sworn Bannerwoman to the King of the Desert
    Family Banner (if applicable, just describe): An orange fox on a lime field
    House Words: What Has Been Said in the Darkness Shall Be Heard in the Light
    Biography: No land of Mirwyth is more misunderstood than the Desert. It is not simply a vast expanse of dunes of sand, devoid of vegetation. There is great beauty there...and great wealth for those with patience and foresight. When House Kildare claimed what would become known as the Fair Groves, they exercised both. Then the bleak lands had yielded little. Given time the Fair Groves bore fruit—literally. Season by season, the citrus trees that House Kildare oversaw took root in the arid soil and bloomed. Seeds from these forebears were planted and tended with care. Now the oranges, lemons, tangerines, limes, and grapefruits of the Fair Groves are traded throughout Mirwyth. They are not a great house, but House Kildare has been schooled by the Desert to be well pleased with well enough.

    Why exactly House Kildare practices female primogeniture is disputed. Some say isolation forced on them by the Desert and the resulting infrequent contact with other noble houses meant that eventually there were only women left to lead. Others stories claim that Covina Kildare so captured the heart of her husband that he handed her his right as a wedding gift. Other accounts say that she stole it from him when he was in his dotage. Whatever the reason, women have lorded (ironically) over House Kildare for generations.

    Upon the untimely and surprising death of her mother Lady Emilie, the mantle of leadership descended upon the shoulders of Ginnifer Kildare. As her antecedents did, shortly after Ginnifer became Lady she presented herself before the Lord of the Desert and curtseyed before him (for it would not do for a lady to bend the knee) and pledged the banner of the Fair Groves to him. That being done, she returned to Kalkheim, the seat of the Fair Groves, and resumed her daily affairs.

    Though time has not shortened the distance between the Fair Groves and the other cities of the Desert, word of the rebellion against King Fenton have reached the halls of Kalkheim. So too have the summons of the newly proclaimed King of the Desert, who now calls his bannermen to his cause—including his sole bannerwoman. From the seclusion of the Fair Groves, Lady Ginnifer is skeptical of why the Desert should meddle in the affairs of greater Mirwyth, especially given how the Desert has thus far remained untarnished by recent strife (aside from recent troubles with the pirates). But as a pledged bannerwoman, to resist the call would sully the name Kildare—not to mention providing more fodder for those who think less of a house that allows itself to be ruled by skirts.

    Finding herself torn between caution and honor, prudence and opportunity, and security and ambition, Lady Ginnifer brokered a deal to withhold the armed might of the Fair Groves from the inevitable fight by arranging a marriage between her brother and the new princess of the Mountains to make some tie to the rebel cause. This satisfied King Mors and allowed Ginnifer to keep her might of weapons in her own lands.

    Ginnifer hopes that the fact she has not entered into armed conflict with Valona will cause Fenton to pass the Fair Groves over when considering military action—as would the numbers of her garrison. However, she also knows a broken vow of marriage can sometimes produce more strife than a thousand swords. Lady Ginnifer waits to see how the dice fall in her gamble.
     
  19. Jedi_padawan_leigh

    Jedi_padawan_leigh Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Feb 13, 2003
    IC: Gwenn Cliffe
    The Isles of Mirwyth, Delmaristead - The Docks


    The castle of Delmaristead was one of the grandest buildings that Gwenn had ever seen.

    The colossal stone castle seemed to reach as high as the clouds, the flag that blew atop the tallest spire dancing amongst them in the warm breeze. On the ships approach to the island, the castle grew in size as more of the buildings came into her field of view. She thought the Moorecroft’s castle had been grand, but it was nothing compared to this. Some of the sailors on deck joined her in admiring the view; a few gasps and excited murmurs caught her ear.

    Bells rang out as they sailed closer to the docks. Gwenn glanced sideways to look at her father, who raised his hands in the air. In victory or relief, Gwenn wasn’t sure, perhaps a bit of both. It looked like Korianton had succeeded in restoring some degree of calm, but the pursuit of order had not been an easy affair judging by the state of the docks area. A fight had broken out here, that much was plain. Broken planks floated upon the water and jetty’s were splintered and damaged. There were workers already out attempting repairs, but from Gwenn’s experience it could be a time consuming task. A bad storm had wrought havoc on the Breezecroft docks a few years ago, and it took a good while to get the wooden piers and jetty's structurally sound again.

    Gwenn let her eyes wander beyond the docks for a few moments, taking in the view. Beyond the docks the island stretched out as far as her eyes could see. Numerous villages full of homes and businesses filled the terrain beneath the castle, the villages giving way to grasslands in the distance. Her attentions were pulled away when the crew started to make preparations to dock, orders were given and relayed, and Gwenn looked towards the mostly intact jetty they were making an approach too. There was a large crowd awaiting the ships arrival. Some wore bright robes. Some wore stark white robes. Others wore barely any clothes at all. A few had ebony skin gathered cheered and clapped happily at the return of their king. The people who made Delmaristead their home were as diverse and varied as the king had said they were.

    “Don’t say a word,” Nathaniel whispered to her as they approached one the most intact docks, “The explaining can come later. For now. . .enjoy the lands.” He grinned at her before turning back to his lands. Gwenn nodded slightly in understanding. The boat finally docked, the vessel secured and a ramp was extended. The King strode off the ship first, gesturing for Gwenn to follow him. As she walked down after him, Several of Nathaniel’s advisors were jostling for position around him eager to spirit him away. One of them almost knocked Gwenn off the ramp in his haste to disembark and attend the king, but she managed to regain her footing and avoid a sudden cold and salty encounter. She shot the man the briefest of dirty looks, before remembering where she was and quickly fought down the annoyance as she continued down the ramp.

    Her father kept looking backwards to see if she was still behind him as they walked through the crowds of people before continuing to move forward. As she walked she looked left and right and up and around, taking in the sights and sounds and smells. This place was quite different to Breezecroft, and would probably take some getting used to.

    “So…this is me new home…”

    She mused inwardly as she continued to follow the king and his entourage.


    TAG: spycoder9
     
  20. JediMasterAnne

    JediMasterAnne Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 24, 2004
    IC: Safia Kildare
    The Mountains of Mirwyth
    Shodaire, the Tower of Stone
    Dining Hall—the Wedding

    Safia was glad she couldn’t hear what Desmond was saying. She still wanted to try to run, to get away from here so she wouldn’t have to see what she already knew was coming, but her feet seemed to have turned into stone blocks, rooting her in place. Rickard was still gripping her arm, but like her, he had stopped to watch the scene unfolding, and was no longer trying to get to the door.

    She had thought that nothing else would shock her now, but the already deep feeling of betrayal further intensified when Karridan handed Desmond the house sword. It was one thing that he had known, another entirely for him to stand there and put the sword in Desmond’s hands.

    She didn’t actually see the blade fall; she finally managed to tear her gaze away, to spare herself the sight. A few moments after, she foolishly dared to look back, to find Desmond standing over Lawrence’s body, bloody sword in his hand—fitting, that the Rolmars’ house sword was named Despair, she found herself thinking. Just this grotesque sight was enough to make her go whiter than her gown, but when she happened to glimpse what remained of her husband—

    She gave a little cry of shock and turned away, falling back a little to lean against the wall, tears once again slipping down her cheeks. Her eyes cast about for something to focus on so that she would not have to look on that horrible sight, while her mind desperately tried to make sense of everything that had just happened.

    Lawrence was gone. He was dead, betrayed and slain at the hands of the man who had raised her. Safia and Lawrence should have had a lifetime together, but instead, she had gone from a newlywed bride to a widow in the space of a few minutes, as her marriage was brought to a violent and sudden end.

    And Desmond had done it.

    Why?

    The question burned through her mind over and over. It seemed like such a pointless thing. A pointless, undeserved death, from where she was standing. Perhaps her father had found out that Lawrence had broken his vows, but that certainly didn’t warrant a death sentence. What could possibly be going through Desmond’s head that made this justifiable in his eyes, she couldn’t begin to fathom.

    And what about her? Did Desmond not care what effect his actions had on her? Was this truly the same man who had brought her up, whose blood flowed in her own veins? The only parent she had ever known, who claimed to want only what was best for her, claimed that he only wanted her to be happy, claimed to love her? Fathers who love their daughters don’t do things like this. For all that Fenton Reynard was called cruel, Safia couldn’t see even him stooping to killing Maela’s husband on their wedding day for no apparent reason. And Desmond thought himself better than Fenton?

    Safia let her back slide down the wall, sinking into a sitting position on the floor. There was no point trying to run now. Anything that happened now, couldn’t be more painful than what she had already endured. She didn’t think she would even care if Desmond turned on her next; death might be preferable to living even one more day with him.

    All day, she had been taking one emotional blow after another, telling herself each time that it couldn’t possibly get worse—then it always did.

    If there is something worse than this, I do not want to know what it is.

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  21. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    [​IMG]

    Ser Rickard Dondare
    The Dining Hall, Shodaire, the Mountains



    Ser Lawrence was dead.

    I swore to protect him.

    The Knight Commander of the Fair Groves’s head rolled away from his body. His blonde hair was speckled with blood. His blue eyes remained frozen open forever.

    Ser Rickard was awakened from his shock as he felt the piercing gaze of the King fall on him. The pain in his shoulder was sharpening by the second, but he wrenched it anyways, gripping the Princess’s arm again.

    I swore to ensure Ser Lawrence’s safety.

    And I failed.

    Now he’d have to ensure the widow’s.

    “Mi’lady!” Ser Rickard shouted at her, over the noises of the dying, the crackling of the fires, and the clanging of weapons. Synthia’s cries had all been drowned away then. He bent on his knees, ignoring all of the pain, all of the terror, all of the fear.

    This was what he’d been born to do.

    “He asked you to leave!” Rivulets of blood ran down his arm then, sending the hair on his arms into a frenzy. “You cannot deny him that last request. You cannot! I won’t let you!” And with that, Ser Rickard wrenched her off her feet, sweeping his arms around the back of her wedding dress. He held her fragile body in his weakened arms, and the pain truly seared in his shoulder, but he ignored it.

    He would die carrying her if he must.

    Rickard flashed a glance over his shoulder once more as he went through the side entrance. Ser Malcolm Granville (Rickard never once thought of the wretch as a knight) drove his blade through the chest of a Desertman’s, before turning and striding towards them with a purpose. His sword dripped blood on the stone floor with each step.

    Ser Rickard ran.

    The Desert knight ran down hallways with the bloody bride. He didn’t even understand where he was, and all of the rooms and halls were blending together in his mind as a searing white began to take over. It blossomed at each staircase they came too. He steps grew slower as his mind grew foggier, and time began to swallow his mind in an all-consuming maw that left him wondering how long it had been since he had left the Hall and whether all this was real and why he was here and why Lawrence had –

    A sword pressed its end into his neck.

    Only gently.

    He froze, as his eyes began to cross. He couldn’t focus anymore, but the face did look vaguely familiar. Sort of. . .wolfish.

    “Give me my Princess,” The voice growled.

    Everything was so white, he couldn’t even make out the Princess’s face though the fabric in his hands. He was dropping her. His legs were shaking. He couldn’t control his arms anymore. . .

    The floor was around him.

    Why was it all so cold? Where was the Desert sun?

    “Come here, mi’lady. . .” The voice purred. It purred.

    There was the sun, there it was. Rickard reached for it, praying for its warmth, crying for its protection.

    It had no warmth though.

    It was a cold sun that covered him entirely, until only a thin sliver of darkness remained.

    The widow in the wedding dress was in the darkness.

    I failed her too.



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  22. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    12 Days Before the Wedding


    The Capital of Mirwyth
    WhiteBridge

    Balcony


    “Thank you,” The Lady bowed her head at him, though she continued to eye Zia as she sat down in a small chair.

    She picked up a small piece of fruit then, and popped it into her mouth. Each bite was a slow process, as the two travelers were left to eat, or watch her. She cast her eyes out on the view of the balcony, at the gushing waters and people strolling the stone pathways.

    “We have two boats,” She finally spoke, “Quick vessels. They get where they need to go. They’re filled with fruits and animals waiting to be eaten. Fresh. You can check for yourselves, when you get down there. Nathan. . .can you tell me how he is?”

    She laid those haunting eyes on Abott yet again.



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  23. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    13 Days Before the Wedding


    The Desert of Mirwyth
    The Fair Groves



    Blacksmith's Shop


    “Not all of House Kildare has the same weapons,” Bren answered as she scoured the wall for something for Fleet, “Ser Lawrence doesn’t even carry a sword, but a scimitar. It’s just, these blades have such fine craftsmanship. . .”

    Hektor stepped in at that.

    “They were made fer Ser Caliban,” And the way he said it, there was an edge to his voice, “He chose. . .to use a blade from a different blacksmith.”

    “Ah. . .” Bren seemed rather at a loss for words at that, and it was then that Lorain would notice a crossbow, near the top right. It was dark, and rather shadowed, but looked like the perfect size for Fleet.

    “Fine choices, son,” Hektor patted Fleet on the back as he looked over what the boy had picked, “You’ll make a fine knight out there.”

    “Any news about the war?” Bren asked nonchalantly, picked up a dagger and running his finger along the edge. A pinprick of blood started at his fingertip.

    “They’ve all been the same. That wedding up North between Ser Lawrence and the Princess. And then Fenton drawin’ his troops in to the Capital. Same stuff that’s been goin’ around for weeks now.” Hektor shook his head.

    “War’s a bad business,” Bren agreed.

    “And has the Lady returned?” He asked.

    “Soon, I think,” The guard replied, “But I just hear what the other guards say.”

    “Aye, I hear the same,” the blacksmith walked back to his men, patting a few on the back, scolding a couple.

    “Made your choices?” Bren asked the two travelers as he placed the dagger back on the wall, almost reluctant to give it up.



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  24. JediMasterAnne

    JediMasterAnne Jedi Grand Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 24, 2004
    IC: Safia Kildare
    The Mountains of Mirwyth
    Shodaire, the Tower of Stone
    Corridors--minutes after the Wedding

    She was still in a sort of daze as Ser Rickard—who was probably in no physical state to do so—picked her up and carried her out of the hall, running through the maze of corridors. She vaguely wondered where he planned on taking her, but as long as he was taking her away from the dining hall, she didn’t particularly care.

    They hadn’t gotten far when she realized they had been followed, and by no one she wanted to see: Ser Malcolm Granville.

    Rickard was slowing down, and she could hear his breathing growing more and more labored. She was about to tell him to put her down when Granville, either having caught up to them or taken a shortcut to head them off, held a sword to the Desert knight’s throat.

    “Give me my Princess,” Malcolm growled.

    His princess?! The words made her temper flare up, bringing her mind back out of the numbness that had been slowly creeping over it.

    The blade hadn’t broken his skin, but Rickard’s shoulder wound had become too much for his body to support himself and her. As Rickard collapsed and seemed to lose consciousness, Safia managed to awkwardly catch herself before hitting the ground, regaining her balance and though he beckoned her to him, she began moving away from the wolfish knight. She wasn’t sure where she could go, and she wasn’t sure if she wanted to leave Rickard here, but there was no doubt in her mind that Granville had known about Desmond’s plans, and she had no intentions of staying here alone with him.

    “I don’t belong to you,” she said with a ferocity that surprised even herself. The only person I belong to is dead, she thought sadly. “And I’m not going anywhere with you.”

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  25. greyjedi125

    greyjedi125 Chosen One star 6

    Registered:
    Apr 29, 2002
    IC: Fleet-Thirteen Days before the wedding
    Fair Groves, The Kalkheim, Blacksmith’s shop

    Bren was once again accruing favor with young Fleet, as the guard took the necessary time to answer his question. He didn’t know what a Semitar….Simistar…no, wait, Scimitar, ( yeah, that was it ) looked like. But Sir Lawrence sounded like a fascinating person. Everytime his name was mentioned, the speaker's eyes would light up.

    Hmmm. So, the blades weren’t cursed?

    The blacksmith, Hektor, joined the conversation regarding the rejected swords.

    “They were made for Ser Caliban.”

    Well, he certainly didn’t seem happy about that for some reason.

    “He chose…to use a different blacksmith.” Hektor revealed without elaborating further. Fleet wondered if Ser Caliban was the type to commission poison swords or jagged ones. Fleet had a feeling he would find out soon enough.

    “Ah…” Bren said at the revelation. Fleet looked up at the blacksmith with an apologetic look on his face. “Well, I like ‘em well enuff.” He said in Hektor’s defense.

    This seemed to please the large metal forger, as he walked over and patted Fleet on the back, even as he appraised his choices in arms. “Fine choices, son. You’ll make a fine knight out there.”

    Fleet’s face lit up immediately. “You think so?” he said, sounding happy that he’d picked something worthy of mention, and hopeful that someone like Hektor would think he’d have any potential to be a man-at-arms.

    “Any news about the war?” Bren asked nonchalantly, which immediately caused Fleet to listen intently to the ensuing conversation. Long ago, he’d learn to listen when adults spoke. The things they said were not only useful, but could often times save your life.

    When it was mentioned that Ser Lawrence was to be married to a princess up in the northlands, the young urchin’s blue eyes lit up. He’d only heard about weddings and the merry events they were. Was the Princess pretty? Of course, she had to be. Otherwise she couldn’t be a princess. Ser Lawrence would have a beautiful wife to be randy with, instead of some tavern wench, and soon they’d have little Lawrences and young princesses running around.

    Fleet looked up at Lorain just then. He imagined she’d been listening to, so he wanted to ask about the wedding, but as he stepped to her, he followed her gaze against the wall filled with weapons.

    “Oh.”

    He recognized the weapon she was gazing at. A crossbow. He crinkled his nose and inadvertently flinched at an unbidden memory. The last time he saw that weapon, was when ‘hired bandits’ attacked the fugitive orphan camp. Many of his newly made friends were slain by crossbow bolts, and he saw them laying motionless on the floor, bleeding out to death.

    “Made your choices?”

    Bren’s voice brought the young adventurer out of reverie. He smiled an nodded, easily masking the look he’d just had on his face. Bren had cut himself with the dagger he’d been inspecting, which made him wonder if there was another way to test for a weapon’s sharpness. He’d ask soon enough.

    Focusing back on the business at hand, Fleet brought over his choices in arms for Lorain to inspect.


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