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Fantasy A War of Kings: The Entombment of Emperors

Discussion in 'Role Playing Forum' started by spycoder9, Jun 1, 2016.

  1. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008


    Palace of Ashes
    the Desert


    Mors Santagar’s body lay under a sheet, the decay having taken such a hold that it was unfit for human eyes. The priestesses of V’hallar descended the stairs into the sandy parlor of the King of the Desert’s final resting place. Their robes flickered like the flames on the torches lining the walls.

    “Accept your child into the afterlife,” one said, the tallest of the bunch, blonde haired and sandy skinned.

    “And seek persecution against his murderers.” the second recited, taking a torch from the wall. The woman tailing behind her followed suit.

    “Lead him into your hallways of light.”

    “Cleanse his soul with the flame.”

    “Recreate him in his new home.”

    The women circled the corpse, seated on top a flat bed of wood.

    “V’hallar, Lord of the Light, Father of the Flame,” as the tallest one spoke, the other women raised their torches higher. “Mors Santagar returns to you.”

    They lit the wood as one.

    The King of the Desert became a pyre.





    Courtyard of Shodaire
    the Mountains


    Desmond Rolmar’s body lay in a wooden box. The top still lay wide open, revealing the corpse of the king. He was paler than before, but his skin had been wiped clean of the blood that had stained it days before. His eldest son stood beside his casket, silent and solemn as he watched the mourners pay their respects.

    “He will be missed,” one farmer muttered under his breath as he laid a chicken egg beside the coffin. “He left his mark on this world.”

    “Thank you,” Karridan nodded. What does it say about him, that I am the only child here? Desmond's daughter lay in her bedchambers nursing wounds that might never heal, while his other son skulked about the castle, avoiding Karridan at every turn.

    The mourners were few and far between. Mostly common people, coming to acknowledge the man they had only ever seen high above them.

    The nobles… their absence was expected.

    Karridan waited in the frosty spring air for several hours, as the last string of mourners paid their respects. When the time was up, the son closed the father’s coffin and carried it into the woods, with the help from others. When they found an appropriate place, they took his body out and laid it in the hole.

    The baby tree was planted over him.

    As the others left, Karridan spat once on his father’s grave.

    “Look what you’ve left me with.”

    The son walked away.

    The King of the Mountains became a tree.





    Tombs of Delmaristead
    the Isles


    Nathaniel Delmari’s body lay beside an opened, watery tomb. He seemed almost at peace on the ground, his body barely touched by the death that had claimed him. His successor stood watch over the proceedings, prideful to a fault.

    “He must be lain down gently.” Korianton Rynquist chided the servants. They went about his body confused. “I won’t have it his body gets damaged before we get it in the water.”

    The servants helped lift his body up, holding it precariously close to the grave of fluid that awaited him. Behind them, rows and rows of other tombs, both empty and occupied, spread as far as the eye could see. Korianton gestured to the priest.

    The man, covered head to toe in shimmery garb the color of the sea, reached into the water prepared for the king. He lifted some in the cup of his hand and put it to Korianton’s lips, where the new king took a long sip. Using his wet fingers, the priest wiped the remaining water on Korainton’s cheeks and forehead.

    “Chiarynn, welcome your follower to his home under the sea,” The priest began. “Welcome him, Mother of the Ocean, welcome him with open arms. May the gifts he bestowed upon his people be returned tenfold to him in his new home, in your palace. Send forth his love into his heir, so that it might live on in this corrupted, temporary world we dwell in, so that his kindness might make dwelling here less fraught with despair.”

    He gestured to the servants. They lowered his body into the water. The man sunk slowly.

    “May he rest.”

    The tomb was sealed with a stone block, slid right into place over him. Korianton kissed the stone once, followed by all of the servants.

    The King of the Isles became the sea.





    Backstory


    [​IMG]


    When King Hanrey Reynard succumbed to a subtle drop of poison in his wine several years past, his son took the throne with big shoes to fill. Fenton Reynard was not like his father. So desperate was he to separate himself from his father’s perhaps overly passive reign that he created dissension amongst the major lords ruling beneath him. The outcries to his reign reached a fever pitch, after beheadings and hostages became a common complaint from the nobility throughout Mirwyth.

    In response to Fenton’s actions, the three lords plotted. Each became king of his own land (the King of the Mountains, the King of the Isles, and the King of the Desert) and denied any authority Fenton might have other them. Fenton reacted venomously, dispatching various forces to gauge the might of each new king’s military force.

    Through various, unrelated events, it did not seem to end up mattering whether Fenton was the Rightful King, or the three up-jumped lords deserved kingship. In slow succession, the kings died. The King of the Desert felled by an assassin, the King of the Isles poisoned by his allies, the King of the Mountains stabbed in the back. Even Fenton himself was not exempt from it, disappearing in a bloodthirsty riot throughout the capital city.

    With all of those fighting out of the way, it would be assumed things could go back to the way they were before. But now it was too late. Even though the kings were dead, their heirs will prove to be the true shakers and movers of the war.

    In a land already riddled with mystique and confusion, the true war comes for Mirwyth.





    [​IMG]


    Welcome to the second installment of A War of Kings: The Entombment of Emperors! This game closely follows the former. No prior knowledge of its predecessor is needed to submit a character sheet. I, as Game Master, would be happy to catch anyone up to date if they would like to join, and I am love integrating new characters into the overall fold of the game.

    I have drawn much of my inspiration for this game from A Song of Ice and Fire, although other works have begun to influence. This is a relatively dark game, set in a gritty fantasy world on the brink of war. If grimdark games aren’t your strong suit, you might want to steer clear of this one.

    With all of that being said, if you are still interested in joining, go ahead and create a character…





    Characters


    [​IMG]


    Think medieval. Think fantasy. Think unique. I love new spins taken on the old fantasy tropes, especially within characters. Disabled knights, ugly princesses, the list could go on. Think different when creating your characters. You can basically play any sort of character you would like, going from a lord or a lady to the measly peasant. I can include you in the storyline either way.

    A side note, for players returning for Part II, be sure and update your character sheets to include all of what took place in Part I.


    Name:
    Age:
    Gender:
    Appearance:
    Homeland (the Mountains, the Isles, the Desert, the Prairies, the Capital):
    Allegiance (the Mountains, the Isles, the Desert, the Capital):
    Occupation:
    Family Banner (if applicable; describe or picture):
    Family Words (saying the family/house uses):
    Biography:





    Finally, the rules. Not much of a list, but mainly the basics.

    1.) Obey all of the standard role playing thread rules.
    2.) Private Message your Character Sheet to me for approval before posting.
    3.) Enjoy the game! I want it to be as fun for you as it is for me!
     
  2. galactic-vagabond422

    galactic-vagabond422 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 11, 2009
    (GM Approved)

    Name: Rebecca Dragon

    Age: 21

    Gender: Female

    Appearance: Taller and stockier than most women, though in her steel cuirass and helmet it is difficult to tell that she is indeed a woman. When her helmet and mail coif are removed she is rather plain looking but with bright red hair, kept short to fit under her helmet. Her eyes are a steely blue that seem to look right though a person.

    Homeland: Mountains technically but, she spent most of her life in the Prairies

    King: None, though she stands against the Rightful King

    Occupation: Sell-sword

    Family Banner: None

    House Words: A dragon is more than scales and talons

    Biography: Rebecca was the only child of Hephzibah and Roger a seamstress and carpenter in a small village along the coast. While Becca was still just a babe, bandits attacked the village slaughtering the inhabitants and putting buildings to the torch. Her mother was slain in the attack but, her father survived by killing an attacker with his hammer then taking up a sword to defend his home. All he could save was his daughter. He set off for the nearest town with Rebecca tied to his back in a rudimentary sling, and carrying a long wooden trunk. In town Roger kept them fed doing odd jobs ranging from masonry to carpentry. One day close to Rebecca's thirteen name day she felt overwhelmed with homicidal urges. She wanted to feel another living creature's life blood on her hands. She captured a rat and was about to disembowel it with a simple knife when her father stayed her hand. He explained that this was the curse of the Dragon's Blood, that she would feel the need to kill and if she didn't she'd go mad. With a somber demeanor Roger took Rebecca out into the field and captured a white rabbit. She wanted to slew it as soon as they had captured it but, again her father stopped her, it wasn't yet the time.

    In a simple shack he'd built, Roger lashed Rebecca to a stake and sat on the ground out of reach, with the rabbit in his lap. Becca's blood burned in her veins, her eyes were wide lusting to kill the furry creature. Her heart called out for its death and horrible screams and curses tore from her throat. At the point she thought she would truly go mad with want, he father released the quarry. The rope that had bound her snapped like twine and she fell upon the rabbit with a fury she had never known possible. She tore the poor beast apart with her bare hands smearing the gore across her face and chest. As the blood cooled and congealed on her skin she felt the rage leave her body. Looking to her father his eyes were downcast, a stoic expression on his face. This was the same ritual he was put though by the people that raised him, and he had prayed that she would not inherent his curse.

    They never returned to that town, living out in the wilds. He taught her how to wield a blade, how to put on armor, and how to care for armor. He also showed her how to control her urges, mostly by hunting game but, she never felt fully sated after a hunt, they were rarely as visceral as her first kill. So her life continued with a burning coal of blood lust scorching her heart though, her father's training kept it from becoming a conflagration. He explained that he was once a mercenary, trained by a mysterious group that saw his curse as something to be fostered and controlled. After sowing so much death and destruction, he found his good heart couldn't handle what his blood demanded. He settled down in the village content to live out his days as a commoner.

    With that village gone he devoted himself to training Becca in the ways of war in the hopes of finding a way to channel her tendencies into something good. It was eight years after her first kill when men found their hut in the woods and attacked them for trespassing. They were so swift that Roger didn't have time to get fully armored facing the attackers in nothing but his arming doublet. His bastard sword slew most of them but the last ran him through with a spear. Overcome with emotions Rebecca rushed out of the hut and took up her father's sword.

    It was not a duel as one hears in legends but, a fierce encounter with fists and limbs flailing about looking for an opening. Eventually she found herself atop her opponent and begun striking the prone combatant about the face with the pommel of her sword. She did not stop until his body was stilled and his face unrecognizable. Once again her face and hands were stained with warm blood, and for the first time in years she felt at peace.

    Tears fell from her eyes as she cradled her father's body, with the last of his strength he ran two fingers down the paths her tears had made, declaring her a Dragon. She packed up what meager possessions she had, including her father's armor and weapon, and set off for the nearest town. She had the training and the desire to become a sell-sword and she wants to become that.

    One day passing through a forest, she came upon a man and a woman struggling. The man was dragging the woman by the hair, calling her a witch. Rebecca drew her father's blade, her blood burned within her veins, crying out for death. She leap forward slaying the man swiftly and smearing his blood upon her face. However she didn't feel at peace, her blood was not calmed by the lifeforce cooling on her face. She tuned the woman, asking why her blood was not sated.

    The woman gave no answer only lunging for the knife the man had once held. Rebecca stopped her with a swift kick to the shoulder. Soon the armored woman set herself atop the captive holding her blade close the older woman's throat. Becca offered her blade and her strength to the woman, who claimed to be of royal blood, just so long as she didn't walk under the cursed banner of white and black. The prone woman spat back and then pleaded for her death.

    The warrior gave the woman the death she so wanted. Again Rebecca felt no peace, no serenity as the blood spurted from the neck of her victim. She burned the bodies upon a hastily made pyre. Enraptured by the orange tongues of fire that consumed the corpses she had made. Her blood flared inside her, as hot as the flames that mesmerized her.

    After the fire went out and the bodies turned to ash, Rebecca was surprised by two more travelers, a man in armor with a sword by his side, and a blind woman, who could almost see right through Rebecca. They were looking for two people, a man and a woman, the same man and woman the warrior has just turned to dust. Rebecca lied, lied about who had killed the woman, the queen. Raven, the blind woman seemed to accept this lie.

    Then the black haired woman did something peculiar. She spat into her hand and pressed it into Rebecca's cheek. Slowly all of her rage left, her soul experienced a calm she'd only felt once before. Instantly she bent her knee to the woman that had dowsed the fire that had burned in her veins for years. She once again offered her sword and body to protect Raven, she wanted to stay close to the woman that can cool her blood, and give her at least a few moments of peace.

    Rebecca does not know where her path with lead her but, she knows she will follow her charge anywhere, and do anything to keep her safe
     
  3. Trieste

    Trieste Force Ghost star 5

    Registered:
    Apr 10, 2010
    GM Approved

    Lady Ginnifer “Iron Fist” 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 “Iron Fist.” Though commonly used, it rarely is to her face.
    Homeland: The Desert
    King: Presumably the new King of the Desert, her father
    Occupation: Lady of House Kildare, Protectrix of the Fair Groves, and former sworn Bannerwoman to the deceased Mors Santagar
    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.

    Ginnifer was pledged as a bannerwoman to Mors Santagar, Lord and later King of the Desert. From the seclusion of the Fair Groves, Lady Ginnifer was 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). 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 Lawrence and Princess Safira 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 now has a brother dead at the hands of the Mountainmen, a cousin in the hands of pirates, another cousin on a diplomatic mission, and a father on the throne at Dawnsgrace, capital of the Desert. It is to the last destination that Ginnifer and her siblings journey at the request of the new King of the Desert. Despite all her planning, the Fair Groves are no safer than they were when all this began.

    This troubles Lady Ginnifer greatly.
     
  4. JediMasterAnne

    JediMasterAnne Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 24, 2004
    Spycoder Approved!!!

    Name: Safia Kildare (née Rolmar)
    Age: 20
    Gender: Female
    Appearance:

    [​IMG]
    Homeland: The Mountains
    King: The King of the Mountains
    Occupation: Princess
    Family Banner:

    During the Reign of Desmond Rolmar/Early War of Many Kings: Golden crown, knight, and horse on a royal blue field.
    [​IMG]

    During the Reign of Karridan Rolmar/Traditional: White snowbird on a sky blue field.
    [​IMG]
    House Words: “Having Power is not as important as what you choose to do with it.”
    Biography: Safia is the youngest child of Desmond Rolmar, and the only girl. Her mother, Corrine, died when she was born, and though her father appointed a tutor to teach her proper etiquette for a young lady of high birth, Safia preferred to practice sword-fighting and archery with her brothers, Karridan
    and Ectarion. She retains something of an independent streak, but will be ‘lady-like’ for official occasions. Recent events, however, have severely damaged her spirit.

    Prior to the splintering of the kingdoms, Safia was betrothed to Matheus, Fenton Reynard’s eldest son and heir, and although the engagement was arranged by Desmond and Fenton, Safia and Matheus fell in love over the course of their betrothal. Unfortunately however, their relationship ended when Safia’s father, dissatisfied with Fenton’s brutish rule, broke away from the Kingdom of Mirwyth and declared himself King of the Mountains. Usually a devoted and adoring daughter and a loving, playful sister, Safia became distant and cold towards her father and brothers. Though she loved her father and understood his disdain for Reynard, she was torn between her loyalty to her family and her feelings for Matheus, who, because of Desmond’s actions, was now her enemy.

    In the early months of the War of Many Kings, Desmond received and accepted a proposal of alliance to the Desert kingdom, to be sealed by the imminent marriage of Safia and Ser Lawrence Kildare, the Knight Commander of House Kildare and one of the finest warriors in the desert kingdom. However, immediately following the ceremony, Desmond turned on Lawrence and the Desertmen, killing them. Desmond himself was slain shortly after, by Lawrence’s squire, Miche, and Desmond’s eldest son Karridan became King of the Mountains. One Desert knight, Ser Rickard Dondare, attempted to flee the Wedding with Safia, who had known nothing of Desmond’s plans, but Rickard was injured and lost consciousness before they were able to escape. Safia was overpowered and raped by the vicious Ser Malcolm Granville, who afterwards left the unconscious Desertman in the room with the Princess and framed him for the crime.

    Name: Evaleene Davers
    Age: 28
    Gender: Female
    Appearance:
    [​IMG]
    Evaleene has various scars from battles and fights, but most are either small enough or faded enough to escape notice, or hidden by clothing.
    Homeland: Daversport—an island off the Great Continent, ruled by her father. The Davers home is Castle Daverston
    King: Her father, Isen Davers
    Occupation: Princess, Captain of the Fleet
    Family Banner: A green sea serpent on an aqua blue field
    [​IMG]
    House Words: You can't cross the sea merely by standing and staring at the water.
    Biography: The daughter of Isen and Cressida Davers, Evaleene is the eldest of four children. Her younger brothers are Alfred and Ross, and her sister is named Brigitta.
    Though she’s pretty enough, Evaleene is a brash, rough young woman. Not one to stand back and let others do the fighting for her, she likes to be in the thick of things, and when the battle is over, she’s just one of the guys, drinking and sharing battle-tales with the men under her command. She leads a small fleet of her father’s vessels, charged with the protection of the waters around Daversport, and has taken on pirates, smugglers and other sea-going ne’er-do-wells on a handful of occasions.
    However, despite her active, rough-and-ready nature, Evaleene has more conventional ambitions for her future. She wants to marry well and have children, but at the same time is uncertain of her ability to adjust to such a docile lifestyle.
    Word of the brewing war in Mirwyth has reached Evaleene’s father, who is seizing the opportunity to expand his influence by sending Evaleene with troops to aid the Reynards in their efforts to quell their rebellious lords. This alliance, however, hinges on one condition: the marriage of new king Matheus Reynard—who still harbors deep feelings for his former betrothed, Safia of the Mountains—to Evaleene.
     
  5. Jedi Gunny

    Jedi Gunny Yahtzee Host star 9 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    May 20, 2008
    Name: Gareth the Wanderer
    Age: Unknown, likely in late-30s or early 40s
    Gender: Male
    Appearance: Appearance similar to this, except he wears a sandy overcoat and cloth face shield to keep his face protected from the elements.

    [​IMG]

    Homeland (The Mountains, the Desert, the Isles, or the Capital City): The Desert, although that’s what the stories say
    King (King of the Mountains, King of the Desert, King of the Isles, the Rightful King, None): None
    Occupation: Wanderer/Hermit
    Family Banner (if applicable, just describe): N/A
    House Words (A saying the family uses): Personal motto: “Where you are from is irrelevant. The Desert is harsh and unforgiving, and it does not discriminate in choosing its next victim.”
    Biography: Not much is known about Gareth the Wanderer. Some say he was born in the middle of the Desert, the product of black-magic sorcery. Others believe that he is the long-lost offspring of a powerful family of the Desert regions. Still some believe that he is nothing but a myth.

    Gareth has never been easy to follow. When travelers through the Desert encounter him, they never quite recreate the same story. But the common threads are his strange attention to detail and his method of dress, a blue tunic that looks out of place in such an unforgiving environment, the pants of a journeyman, and traveler’s boots that always look a little more worse for wear each time he is encountered. No one knows much about him; he appears for a little while each time before slipping away like the sands of the Desert. He is as much of an enigma as a man, and this has led to many theories about why he wanders the Desert.

    Some believe that he is looking for allies to unite the fractured peoples of the Desert against whom they see as an unjust ruler. Others see him as a hermit, a wayward monk who travels through life seeking higher purpose. Yet others believe him to be a treasure seeker, looking to exploit any tales of riches to be had in the sands. He could be a hoarder, wandering to keep the secrets of his finds and his reclusive life alive from the eyes of outsiders.


    But none of these are completely correct. Gareth is searching for something – his own identity. Only he knows where he comes from and why he chose this life. But his life has become consumed with finding the pieces that will finally answer his biggest question, the question that made him the man he is today. He has vowed not to stop his wandering until he fully comprehends his past and what he must do to find some sense of normalcy. What those answers are, no one knows.
     
  6. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    TEASER #1:

    [​IMG]
    Artwork created by: HanSolo29


    IC: Safia Kildare
    The Mountains of Mirwyth
    Shodaire, the Tower of Stone
    Chambers, 4 days after her wedding


    Over the next few days, Safia kept to her chambers, sleeping the hours away—when she actually could sleep, anyway. More than once she woke up screaming from the nightmares that plagued her, haunting visions of Desmond standing over her with a bloody sword in one hand and Lawrence’s head in the other, and of her rapist—though his face kept changing in her dreams; sometimes her attacker was Rickard, other times he was just a dark shape above her, and in others still he appeared as a terrifying monster, not even human.

    Karridan came to check on her every now and then, and Ectarion even stopped by once or twice, but other than the maids who came and went bringing her meals—which she barely touched—Safia saw very little of anyone else, and she found that she preferred it that way. She was angry at just about everyone, and if it happened that she was not in bed—and therefore unable to fake being asleep—when someone other than the maids came in, she refrained from speaking to them as much as possible, mostly communicating by either nodding or shaking her head.

    The first day after the wedding had been most surreal for Safia, as she was still in a state of shock over everything that had happened, and it wasn’t until that night that the numbness had broken. As she had laid down to go to sleep that night, it had occurred to her that Lawrence should have been laying there beside her, and the realization that he was not there, and never would be there, set her off. She had cried herself to sleep, only to be awakened a short time later by the first nightmare. This cycle of tears, sleep and nightmares continued over the next couple of days, with sporadic interruptions from the maids or her brothers.

    Today was no better. She was currently sitting in bed, picking uninterestedly at the roasted vegetables and chicken one of the maids had brought up. She had absolutely no appetite, but when Karridan had noticed that she wasn’t eating more than a few bites of any given meal, he had ordered the servants delivering her meals to stay with her until she had completely finished one item from her plate. She had eaten the bread roll and a few bites of the potatoes, so the maid had left satisfied. Before she’d left, the maid had opened one of the windows, saying that it was a good, clear day outside, and that perhaps letting some fresh air in might help the princess to feel a little better.

    The occasional cold breeze whispering across her face and through her hair actually did feel good. Giving up on her dinner, Safia set the tray aside, slid out of bed, pulled a robe on over her sleeping gown, and took a seat by the open window. Watching the servants going about their business on the courtyard and listening to the twittering birds and the rustle of trees in the wind would be welcome distractions.

    Or not. As she sat down, she quickly noticed a crowd gathered in the courtyard, and she saw a quartet of guards dragging someone towards the castle wall. Was that Rickard they were pulling along? He was putting up quite a bit of resistance, but with the shackles on his ankles and wrists, he couldn’t shake off the guards, and they were able to march him up the steps and onto the battlements, where Safia could just make out Karridan. Another guard stood beside the Mountains’ new king, holding a rope tied into a noose. The other end of the rope was wrapped and tied around one of the castle merlons, a makeshift gibbet.

    As the guards forced Rickard to his knees before the king, Karridan unrolled the scroll in his hands and began to read from it. His voice carried on the wind, and even from her window, Safia could hear every word:

    "I, Karridan, of House Rolmar, King of the Mountains, Protector of the Realm, Supreme Lawman, sentence Ser Rickard, of House Dondare, to death by hanging. You have been charged with the crimes of fornication with a priestess, the rape of the widowed princess, and the murder of the former king. For these offenses, you shall hang." After the crowd had hissed and screamed their displeasure at the knight, Karridan solemnly rolled the scroll back up. "Any final words?"

    "You're wrong," Ser Rickard cried out, "It's all wrong, I was saving her! I was protecting her from him--"

    A woolen bag was placed over Ser Rickard's head and tightened by the noose. Save for the howling wind, the only sound throughout the entire courtyard was the desert knight's moaning. Karridan gave the men a nod, and they seized the sentenced man. He was tossed from the battlements.

    The rope went taut.

    Safia winced at the snap the rope made as Rickard fell to his death, and the smack of his body against the wall. She watched him swing for a moment before she got up and went back to her bed.

    Oddly, she didn’t feel anything. Seeing Rickard for the first time since that night had not roused her anger, nor had she felt afraid or uneasy. His death did not bring her any sense of relief, or the feeling that justice had been done. She felt…indifferent, perhaps, was the best word for it.

    It was the same way she’d felt when Karridan had told her of Desmond’s death. There had certainly been no tears then, not for him. No sorrow for the loss of the only parent she had ever known. No relief in the knowledge that he could not hurt her anymore, and that her husband had been avenged.

    Nothing.

    She still felt the pain and anger brought on by Lawrence’s death, the slaughter at her wedding, and her rape, but she felt nothing for Desmond, or Rickard.
     
  7. Vehn

    Vehn Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Sep 14, 2009
    GM Approved!
    [​IMG]
    Name: Geoffrey Rhayaad
    Age: 42
    Gender: Male
    Appearance: Muscular, tall, and wears a cowl while performing his job.
    Homeland : The Mountains
    Allegiance: Not Affiliated
    Occupation: Executioner
    Family Banner (if applicable; describe or picture): N/A
    Family Words : "The first cut is the deepest."
    Biography:

    There was a time when Geoffrey Rhayaad was a respected man in his small town located in the territory known as the Mountains. There was a time when people would look him in the eyes and ask him about his family and how life was going. There was a time when he had an honorable profession: that of a butcher.

    That time is long since in the past. Those days are long gone.

    Geoffrey, forced to pick up additional work after taxes were raised in his area, picked up a new trade. A trade that paid a great deal more than that of a butcher. A trade that is widely regarded as the worst job in all the land. A trade that only a select few know that he performs. The grim and hated role of the public executioner.

    Geoffrey traveled the land in search of work. When a lord needed an axeman he was the first to respond. When a dirty job needs doing he did it without hesitation. During his official capacities as executioner he hides his face underneath the black cowl to protect himself and his family from retribution. His greatest fear is that someone will discover his identity and strike out against the ones he loves.

    As Geoffrey gets older he has become more selective in the jobs he takes. No longer filled with bloodlust, the veteran executioner is hoping to one day put down his axe for good and retire in his home town. As taxes continue to rise, as the daily grind of living gets harder, he wonders if he will ever be brave enough to stop killing in the name of a king.

    Any king.

    Tag: spycoder9
     
  8. Shekel_1383

    Shekel_1383 Jedi Knight star 1

    Registered:
    Jan 2, 2016
    [​IMG]Character Sheet: GM Approved!
    Wymar Hail
    Age: 32
    Gender: Male
    Appearance: Slightly above average height, with the lean, muscular and slender body of a knight. His face is sharp - his hands dexterous and nimble. A rugged, yet well groomed, beard covers his lower face. Deep, blue eyes, with a faded scar running across his upper right brow down to his nose. His long hair brown hair is brushed and tied back. Never one for blending in with the common folk, he wears various aesthetic layers over his armour. Died green cloth hangs from his waist, tied up from across his chest, around his shoulders and looping down his right arm. The scabbard of his bastard sword swings on his belt, his sword engraved with various runes. He's never actually found out if they do anything or not - but they certainly look nice.
    Homeland: Brought up by his father in the castle of house Brendle. However, he travelled as much as he could.
    King: The Rightful King
    Occupation: Knight of House Brendle
    Family Banner (Not of House Brendle, but of his own): A flame, ignited atop a horizontal sword - both coloured gold upon a red backdrop
    Family Words (Not of House Brendle, but of his own): With Fire and Sword.
    Biography:
    The merchant lords of house Daturan were never known to be anything but - different. While the rest of the families and houses of Mirwyth concerned themselves with courtly intrigue, the Daturans only wanted to live a life of peace, wealth and relaxation. They first came to power through the the growth and sale of a psychedelic plant native to the rolling hills of South Eastern Mirwyth - the Salanis Weed. After a generation or two, the Daturans afforded a keep of their own, with their own house banner and their own personal retinue. The current ruling lord of house Duratan is Lady Lianna, an affluent, yet lustful and hedonistic woman.
    By chance, Lady Lianna met the Lord of house Brendle, Lord Julian, while attending a ball in the capital. Together, they sired a son - Wymar. However, this love would not blossom, it seems. Lord Julian went on to have several other wives, and more importantly, have several, more legitimate sons. Lianna journeyed back to her homeland, leaving Wymar to be raised by his father.
    This was perhaps, not the greatest of choices.
    Lord Julian despised, albeit discretely, his first, bastard son. Wymar was thus never legitimised, and must bear the customary bastard surname of Hail. Julian's other sons were treated like proper kin, loved, taught and respected. Wymar, however, was left to grow up on his own. He spent a lot of time down in the city, with the common folk, and developed a mutual respect for them, learning their charisma and dry sarcasm. He was taught to fight by the Castle's master at arms - something he poured his heart and soul into. Day after day, night after night he trained. After years of practice, Wymar became a better swordsman than all of his brothers, though they never dared admit it, for fear of the shame of being bested by a bastard.
    There was one member of his family who actually cared for Wymar, however. His youngest sister, Kynlee, cares deeply for him and genuinely loves Wymar. A beautiful little girl, with black hair and startling blue eyes, porcelain skin. Rather innocent of the world for a girl of ten, naive in a way, but has a heart of gold. She holds Wymar to the standard that all men need to be, without her, he would just be a drunk, forgotten bastard rotting in an inn somewhere far away. If there is one hope in Wymar's world, it is Kynlee.
     
  9. Ktala

    Ktala Jedi Grand Master star 6

    Registered:
    Sep 7, 2002
    OOC: Posting as Directed! :D


    Name: Lorain Ashkey (Lor)
    Age: 17
    Gender: Female
    Appearance: A very LARGE girl, at 6 feet, she draws attention. Long brown hair kept tightly braided, and grey smokey eyes, she can looks quite feminine when she wants, but usually keeps it well hidden. Her body shows the effects of working with hot metals, when not covered. Muscular, and very tanned, She is often dressed in tanning leathers,
    with bits of chain to protect herself from the heat she works with. A huge leather apron covers her, and high boots, making it even harder to tell she is female. A blue scarf to keep away the dust and soot usually completes her normal appearance.
    Homeland: The Desert
    King: None: Whoever pays for the work

    [​IMG]
    IGNORE the costume!! ...But the body build.. and attitude hehe ;)

    Occupation: Blacksmith/Weaponsmith
    Family Banner (if applicable, just describe): Symbol - an A large hammer over an Anvil
    House Words (A saying the family uses): A hot flame, and a sure strike.
    Biography:Lorain, called Lorel by her father was his first child. Her parents, (Fendon and Murel) loved their child, born in the high mountains. Her mother, was from the mountains, and met her father as he came through, plying his trade. As a Metalworker/blacksmith, he makes quite a decent living, as his services are always needed. For ten years, as Lorain grew, her father noted her size and strength, and for ten year, allowed her to study in the trade. It was during this time they moved to the land of sand, the desert. Not too long afterwards, her brother Mangus was born. Finally
    glad to have a son, her father let her continue plying the familiy trade, until Mangus grew large enough to help, and then started to train him in the family craft.

    Lorain however was not going to stop, simply because her father now trained another. She began to developed her own skills, using some of her inventions to help her ply her trade. She moved from blacksmith, to weapons making, often sitting back and listening to other traders as they passed through their lands, plying them for secrets.

    When not in long dresses, hiding her well muscled body, she is dressed as her father and brother, with long leathers, pants and tunics, and blacksmiths apron. Quickly realizing that she would never be a 'little blossom', so father taught her to fight, and she can take a punch better than most men. Her favorite weapons are twin hammers, that she uses
    in her shop, and are quite hefty. Around the fires, she frequently keeps her face wrapped to avoid breathing in the smoke, so most do not realize she is female at first.

    And she likes it that way. It frees her mind to come up with the many designs for
    weapons and other crafts.

    **Update***

    Much has happened to Lorain since the the king went mad, before he was killed, supposedly. Her father, murdered by pirates in an attack on the desert city of Caraba, saw her captured. She met Willis Kildare, another captive on the ship, who helped her to escape, and asked her to bring word to his family back in Fair Groves, well into the desert. Since the man enabled her escape, she honored his request. On her way there, she ended up jumping ship, and found herself in the deserted village near Aqarda. There, she found a young boy, and a dying woman, who seemed to have been beaten rather severely. Accosted by supposed Knights of the mad King, Lorain escaped the knights, taking the young boy, who's name is Fleet, and the woman who had helped him, Kaili. But she died from her previous wounds, an and it was up to Fleet and Lorain to quietly bury the woman, and then escape the town. But not without a death of one of the knights that was chasing them.

    During their crossing of the desert, they bonded. Lorain took Fleet as her own son, giving him her family name. They made it to Fiar Groves, and told the Kildare's what had happened. A rescue mission was formed, and they gave the task of leading it to another brother, Ser Caliban. But he was arrogant, and refused to listen to any others council. Together, they traveled to the Castle Ravenloft, where they were delayed by the castle's solders, who wondered why such a large group of warriors traveled through their lands. Lorain was happy for a night within sound walls, while Fleet made a new friend, with the little lady of castle Ravenloft, who appeared to be the same age as Fleet. BUt that reprieve was short lived, as the pirates they searched for, came to them in the night. A bloody, horrible battle broke out, which saw Lorain and Fleet fighting for their lives.

    Lorain was knocked unconscious, and left for dead. When she awoke, Fleet was no where to be find. As she searched the grounds, she found a dying Caliban, who told her two things. One, that his brother was still alive, and two, that he saw them take Fleet with them. He also mentioned that their might be some kngihts left, being told to regroup in a certain spot.

    So now, Lorain is on her new quest. To be rejoined to her son, Fleet.

    And to make the pirates burn, any way she can.
     
  10. greyjedi125

    greyjedi125 Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Apr 29, 2002
    Spycoder Approved![face_dancing]

    Name: Fleet Ashkey
    Age: 13
    Gender: Male
    Appearance: Fleet is an average height youth, but on the lean side, as he is poor. Still, he is energetic and wiry. Fleet is a great sprinter and somewhat athletic. He has brown hair and bright blue eyes.
    [​IMG]
    Homeland: unknown
    King: none
    Occupation: Currently Adopted. Former orphan and urchin.
    Family Banner: none yet.
    House Words: None, except a saying among survivalists, 'Live another day'
    Biography: Fleet has always been poor and lived in the orphanage. All he has known is hardship and he quickly learned to adapt to the survive. He has forgotten whatever name he was given, as he earned the name 'Fleet' while outrunning 'would-be' authority figures, captors, bandits and the like. Despite sometimes being allied himself with shady characters by force or by necessity, He tries his best to do good. He remembers one of the matrons at the orphanage always being kind to him, and telling him he had 'noble eyes', however, saying such things aloud sparked many a 'brawl', hence the phrase was never again mentioned, though he wondered if there was 'more' to the story, for he had strange dreams of a castle every now and again. Now, Fleet travels looking for work, surviving to 'live another day' and perhaps, just maybe, the lady of fortune would smile on him, at least once in his life.

    UPDATE:

    Fleet wondered what ‘The Gods, Both Old and New’ were doing, as his life took several unexpected turns. Kaili had found him, almost starved to death, in some nameless town. She took pity on him and nursed him back to health. Kaili was a kind woman, who had shown him compassion and for a time they traveled together. The pair had reached another town that came under attack by a raiding band of pirates. It was during this incident that Kaili was mortally wounded, defending him.

    Fleet, who was about to be murdered, was saved by Lorain Ashkey.

    The large woman managed to save Fleet and bandaged Kaili as best she could, but it was to no avail. Kaili died not long after. Fleet felt a great deal of guilt over her death and vowed within himself to get stronger. Kaili also mentioned a name before she died. Jakob. To this day, the name and its significance remains a mystery, but Fleet has not forgotten neither that name or Kaili, and as such, he’s vowed to uncover both mysteries.

    The town Lorain and Fleet found themselves was deserted, for it too had been raided. Soldiers came causing trouble and they managed to escape into the desert, but not after inadvertently killing one of the so-called soldier.

    In the desert, they met a pair, an Uncle and Nephew who accompanied to the Kildare stronghold. There, Lorain delivered her message and Fleet became intrigued by their infamous warrior and Prince, The Desert Fox. Now, the two were to accompany Ser Caliban and his squire, Olyvar , in search for the lost Kildare brother, Ser Willis.

    During their travel, Fleet and Lorain formed an indelible bond, as she taught him about the world, how to better survive, and more. Lorain eventually came to adopt Fleet and he proudly took her family name, Ashkey, as he swore his undying loyalty to his new ‘mum’.

    Soon, the pair found themselves at Castle Ravenlfordwhere the company of men came to rest. Fleet met the lovely Lady Claryssa and formed a close and powerful bond of friendship with her.

    Their happy time would not last, however.

    The Ravenford came under attack, by the same pirates who’d previously captured Lorain and Ser Willis. The wholesale slaughter was overwhelming for Fleet, who had never been in the middle of such an event. Ser Caliban was unable to provide a suitable escape route and soon was lost amidst the frenzied combat. It wasn’t long before Fleet and Lorain became separated, as Fleet moved away to rescue a damsel he believed to be Lady Claryssa.

    Despite his alertness, the youngest Ashkey was taken by surprise by an Axe to the back of his skull.


    Darkness and pain was all he knew thereafter. Perpetual darkness and the pain of loss.
     
  11. witchdoctor07

    witchdoctor07 Jedi Master star 1

    Registered:
    Aug 14, 2007
    GM Approved!!!:D

    Name: Sir Ellister of Havenwood ( aka Ellis)
    Age: 30
    Gender: Male
    Appearance: Ellister stands about 6’0 tall. His skin, while light, has been thoroughly tanned from years of being outside on the path. His body is sinewy and hardened from years of training with weapons of every sort and hunting. He has shaggy auburn hair that he usually keeps tied back. Ellister’s eyes are yellow, with pupils like that of a cat’s, a feature brought on by his mutations. He has what one would call an average but still handsome face, with a cleft chin, an aquiline nose, and thick beard. He has two scars on his face, one that runs along his right cheek but he conceals it with his beard and the other that runs from the bridge of his nose to under his left eye. He also has numerous other scars over his body from both monsters and man.
    [​IMG]

    Homeland:The Prairies
    Allegiance: Holds no allegiance to any kingdom.
    Occupation: Hunter
    Family Banner: No Family Banner
    Family Words: None
    Biography: Ellister was born an orphan and didn’t even have the chance to look up his parent’s faces and remember them. He was discarded on the side of a muddy road in early spring outside the town of Havenwood. Wrapped in nothing but swaddling clothes he was certain to perish in the cold morning air. His savior came in the form of a man dressed in light armor and a long wool cloak, riding a massive horse, and wearing a long sword on his back. His name was George of Blithe. George was what people knew as a “Hunter”, a sword for hire that hunted all kinds of foul creatures that terrorized village folk in the night, who took children from their beds, and sometimes would accept contracts to deal with unsavory bandits or deserters who were terrorizing the locals. George raised the boy as his own and named his Ellister.
    As Ellister grew so did his curiosity in George’s profession. He would sit next to the fire at night in the stone keep’s main hall and look up at the paintings on the walls of men with swords and spears fighting gigantic monsters. He would listen to the stories of the other Hunters who lived in the small keep located at the foot of the mountains in a narrow valley. At night he would sneak around the keep and look at the old books in the library which listed all species and subspecies of monsters; he would also look and smell all the decoctions and potions they kept in their brewing area, but they smelled foul. One day Ellister’s curiosity got the better of him and he tried to handle George’s sword which hung from the wall, which led him to be quickly chastised by George. However, George knew Ellister’s curiosity would not be stemmed, he knew it was time to teach the boy everything there was to know about Hunting.

    Years passed and Ellister was near 10 years old when George sat him down and told him it was time for his training to begin, but it came with a price, a price George wanted to make sure Ellister could accept before his training continued. The mutation procedure needed in order to become a Hunter was relatively safe, but it had not always been so. The procedure required that a young child let go of all worldly attachments and fully commit themselves to the path, then they would be doused in a special elixir and then cleansed in fire. Once the transformation was complete, the boy would be a Hunter. This transformation fortified Ellister’s body and mind, making him faster, stronger, and enhanced his longevity. This gave him the abilities that no ordinary man had, and gave him the ability to live on far past the years of the average human. All these traits were necessary in order to contend with monsters; however, these mutations made Hunters themselves monsters in the eyes of the world, necessary monsters that were needed to kill monsters. This was the only life Ellister had ever known and being a Hunter is all he could imagine doing, so he accepted without pause. The transformation took perfectly to Ellister’s body, turning his once blue eyes to yellow cat-like lanterns that would faintly gleam in the shadows. His training took years; years of honing his body and mind for the path which was laid before him. During the day he trained with weapons and completed rigorous exercises, and at night he would ply himself to reading the many books Hunter’s needed to read in order to know their prey as well as the world outside the keeps walls.

    The day came when Ellister was finally ready to start out on the Hunter’s path. He was only 18 but was already as hardened as some veteran soldiers, but for a hunter he was still green behind the ears, considering that most Hunters were already more than 100 years old, making Ellister the youngest among them. Most Hunters did not have surnames since they were bastards or orphans, so they always took the name of the place they were born or found, in Ellister’s case, Havenwood. He set out as soon as the snow had melted which blocked in the valley every year and wasn’t passable until spring. There was no shortage of work for a Hunter, especially these days where Hunters were few and far between. He gained experience as well as many scars and close calls with death in his years on the trail. By the time he was just 25 his body was a map of experience, drawn from a great many scars brought on from both steel and claw.

    The ancient monsters and magic beings that used to roam the land are all but forgotten now; replaced instead by the monsters of war. People have now all but forgotten about Vampires, Werewolves, Ghouls, Griffins, and Wraiths. Hunter’s now lead a solitary life, going village to village finding work where they can dealing with highwaymen, bandits, or the occasional wild animal. However, many Hunters had strayed from the path and instead turned to a life of treachery where they prayed upon the weak, became heartless bandits or worse yet, assassins. This deviance gave an even worse name to Hunters; once celebrated warriors who were now equated to common gutter trash. If his years as a Hunter had taught him anything, it was that he did not belong in the world of men, and never would. People would jeer at him when he would ride into their village. They would spit in his path, and speak obscenities behind his back; however, Ellister did not want it any other way. He came into this world alone and he would walk it alone, always defending those who despised him and his kind.

    Now came the time of the sword and the axe, war had come to Mirwyth in the form of a rebellion against the current King. The world balanced on the edge of a blade and people watched for what would happen next. The war became commonplace in the world as men marched off to war under the banner of their respective king, the villages were left defenseless except for the old, the women, and the children; an easy hunting ground for monsters, monsters that people had seemed to all but forgotten since the war began. All except Ellister; he continued on with his Hunters work, ever oberservant of the things that lurked in the night. Hunters had an unwritten ethical code to stay away from the political conflicts of man the best they could, but sometimes this was not always possible though, as Ellister would soon find out.
     
  12. HanSolo29

    HanSolo29 Manager Emeritus + Official Star Wars Artist star 7 VIP - Former Mod/RSA

    Registered:
    Apr 13, 2001
    GM Approved!

    Name: Emilia Reynard
    Age: 41
    Gender: Female
    Appearance:
    [​IMG]
    Homeland: The Capital City
    King: The Rightful King - Matheus Reynard
    Occupation: Queen of Mirwyth
    Family Banner:
    [​IMG]
    House Words: Let Me Soar
    Biography: Ever since birth, Emilia had been groomed for the throne, easily overshadowing the likes of her older sister, Lucia Brendle, who had been the unfortunate victim of a freak accident as a small child. The resulting scars, which marred her for life, would harbor ill thoughts and dissenting opinions between the two sisters, most of which could be said to be borne out of jealousy. Lucia firmly believed that Emilia had stolen her birthright from her, forcing her to seek out the guidance of their older brother, Julien Brendle. This alliance would continue to drive a rift between family lines for years to come.

    Despite the internal turmoil within the Brendle household, Emilia was soon betrothed to the eldest son of the king, Fenton Reynard. As a result, she had been whisked away into a life of luxury, having been pampered with gifts and blessed with the opportunity to gain an education. After several years of such benefits, she grew into a wise and beautiful young woman and it soon came time for her to wed Prince Fenton.

    Married life treated her well and Fenton and Emilia became a popular couple throughout the kingdom. The pair even welcomed three children into the world - Matheus, Seymour and Maela. But all would not remain peaceful and as the children grew older, the land would in turn grow more and more wary of its leaders until it finally culminated in the assassination of the King.

    The shockwave shook the kingdom to its core and even the ascension of King Fenton to the throne could not stop it. In fact, things would only get worse. Some say the crown went to Fenton's head, turning him into a very cold and ruthless ruler. It was only a matter of time before a schism split through the kingdom, dividing it into separate parts as the men from the different regions declared themselves king to get them through the tough times.

    Emilia watched from afar as the kingdom began to collapse into itself. She came to despise her husband's methods and in fact, blamed him for the deterioration that was spreading further throughout the land each day. Whether Fenton himself sensed this, was unclear, but Emilia soon found that she needed to take matters into her own hands. She needed to remain discreet and innocent to stay below the radar, but things would soon be in motion. She came to the horrifying conclusion that her husband needed to be stopped and she intended to usurp him through the marriage of her eldest son, Matheus, to Safia Rolmar.

    Unfortunately for Emilia, things did not play out according to plan. Due to her husband’s own stupidity and unbridled arrogance, relations broke down between the Capital and the Mountain regions. In response to such an affront, the Mountain King retracted his promise to marry Safia to any son of Reynard, and instead, turned to the Desert for guidance. The resulting relationship would see Safia betrothed instead to the Desert Fox. This forced Emilia’s hand and set events into motion.

    A few short weeks later, Fenton Reynard, the rightful King and Emilia’s husband, was dead after falling free from his chariot in the midst of a civilian revolt. His body was never recovered, but the unfortunate accident allowed Emilia to move forward with her plans to ascend the throne by using her son, Matheus, as the puppet. Matheus would soon wear the crown, but not before Emilia’s sister, Lucia, returned to add her own kind of chaos to the mix.

    Knowing Emilia’s secret about Fenton’s fate, Lucia threatens the Queen with blackmail in order to get her to cooperate and to make up for the mistreatment and the abuse she had endured over the years. With Matheus’ coronation now in full swing, things reach an epitome when Emilia makes the decision to silence her sister forever. As night falls upon the land, and the sounds of celebration waft along the breeze, a valiant knight from House Reynard departs to carry out the deed as the Queen watches from a lone window high above the castle.
     
  13. Stryker01

    Stryker01 Jedi Knight

    Registered:
    Dec 4, 2012
    Spycoder Approved


    Martyn Forsythe
    Age: 50
    Gender: Male
    Homeland: The Desert
    Allegiance: Himself
    Occupation: Former Lord of the Fair Groves, Current King of the Desert
    Family Banner: A three headed cheetah on a black field
    Family Words: Fight for Life, Home, and House; Don't and Die.
    Biography:

    House Forsythe was known throughout Mirwyth to be a formidable family. Martyn’s father, Fridrek Forsythe, displayed his power and strength when the pirates invaded forty years prior. Martyn’s mother, Camella Forsythe nee Dondare, gave birth to ten children over the course of her lifetime. Three boys, seven girls. Four of them died in their childhood, but to Martyn’s displeasure, his elder brother held steady throughout his premature years and became the young warrior their father wanted both of them to be.

    Martyn was never the warring type. He found the spoken tongue to be his favorite weapon, and through it, found himself approached with a marriage proposal. A beautiful girl of fifteen years, Emilie Kildare already held in her hands all the Fair Groves of the Desert, but also the blessings of her kind and forgiving people. Martyn was torn between his father’s hateful glare and the prospect of being the Lord of some of the most important lands in Mirwyth. Perhaps he would be under his wife in command, but Emilie was strong. She could handle things better than even his own father. So he accepted the proposal and moved to Kalkheim with his new wife.

    Life was not pleasant.

    Emilie may have been strong, but kind? Not in the least. The hardships she had suffered early in her life stuck with her throughout all of her years. Martyn was one to pick the battles he knew worth fighting, so for the most part he appeased his bride. When she wouldn’t change her name, he hadn’t opposed. When their son had been born, and she had cursed the gods and her husband, he had comforted her and told her that their next child would be the girl she wanted. He had been right. Seeing Ginnifer had lit a fire in his wife’s eyes. He had never seen her as happy as she was then. In rapid succession came Zooey, Chelsee, and finally their youngest, Landon. Emilie was disappointed in the boy, handing the bundle to Martyn before falling asleep. He was the one to name their final child Landon, after a brave knight frequently sang of by bards. Martyn and Emilie never rekindled their marriage, even after her time for having children passed.

    Martyn was proud of all of his kids. Lawrence the knight, Ginnifer the heir, Zooey the spare, Chelsee the warrior, and Landon. . .his favorite. It was horrible, as a father of five, having a favorite, but Landon loved his father, more than all of his siblings. Chelsee was just as sweet to Martyn, trying her hardest to please him. Never could she be knighted, for fear of inciting other houses, but she would’ve made one mighty warrior. Often Martyn compared her to his father Fridrek, but she possessed more love than Martyn’s father could ever fathom. Landon, on the other hand, was sweeter in words than sword. He knew his way with a sword, but Chelsee could kill him three times before he could even get the sword up. Landon possessed a sharp tongue, and in most ways, he was just like Martyn.

    Emilie’s passing came as quite a shock, though Martyn welcomed Ginnifer’s ascendancy to ladyship. Emilie had whipped their daughter’s mind to shape.

    Never had Martyn expected to see the lands be split into fourths. Desertmen pitted against Capitalmen pitted against Mountainmen pitted against Islandmen. It was only after the enormity of the situation had sunk in that Martyn realized the position he found himself in. He watched his children sign their deals with the devil. Lawrence foregoing the vows of celibacy and knighthood he had so taken since birth to wed a mountain princess, while Ginnifer committed the first open act of treason in the war.

    When his children’s cousin was captured by pirates, he and Callista Halleth nee Sand were dispatched to beg King Mors Santagar for troops. It was on his arrival to the Stank of Dawnsgrace, where he and his entourage were forced to enter the castle through sewers, he realized what shape the Desert was in. Finding the deceased king and his heir forced his spinning mind into realizing what situation they were in. He could only capitalize on it…

    Through feeding the masses, rerouting trade routes, and repairing the city walls, Martyn cemented his way into the hearts of the commons. They declared him their king, and while the nobles were uncertain, they bowed to him as well.

    On unsteady legs, he rose to his position.

    Then a raven came. Lawrence was dead, slaughtered at his wedding. It was a bloody mess that made no sense, but Martyn knew what he must do. He had the power now, for once in his life.

    He called his children to the Oasis of Dawnsgrace…to him.




    Callista Halleth nee Sand
    Age: 24
    Gender: Female
    Homeland: The Desert
    Allegiance: The King of the Desert
    Occupation: Faithful Follower of V’hallar
    Family Banner (her husband's): An orange and black tiger on a yellow field
    Family Words (her husband's): Befriend Us and We Lick; Fight Us & We Bite.
    Biography:

    Bastard children are common in Mirwyth.

    Lords bed women after long stints of being separated from their wives. Knights break their oaths but repent the next day. Whatever the situation may be, most of the time a bastard child has a parent remaining to care for them.

    Callista had neither.

    By luck, she was rescued by a priestess during a ceremony honoring V’hallar. She had been placed where the fires would consume her tiny body before anyone would realize she was there. The priestess delivered her to the Sultan of Caraba, who after some deliberation, took her in as his ward. Callista was raised by the Sultan’s side, watching V’hallar worship first hand. At nine years old, she participated in the honoring itself. As she grew older, she considered becoming a priestess for V’hallar. After deliberating with the priestess who had rescued her, she learned of all the restrictions that came with being a priestess. Still, she wished to be one.

    She was only priestess a year. When she was found in a compromising position that not only scarred her physically but also emotionally, Callista was stripped of her priesthood. Callista felt her life was without purpose and went into a downward spiral. She might have had a premature death had Regina Kildare, the younger sister of the late Emilie Kildare, not approached the Sultan and proposed that Callista be married to her son Evander. He agreed, and Callista found herself in a place where she could put her past behind her. Evander was not the most pleasant of men, but compared to his mother he was an angel. Over her time in the family, she learned from Evander many things… secrets. Callista comforted Evander and softened his burning anger. Callista carried their child and soon gave birth to a boy, whom they named Severin.

    Her life had not turned out how she had planned, but she had a husband and a son, and lived in a nice place in the desert. That was something many a bastard would dream about.

    But she is not a regular bastard. She was a ward of the Sultan of Caraba, a former priestess, and a new member of House Halleth. Callista would find a way back in V’hallar’s arms. Not even Regina Kildare could stand in her way.

    Accompanying Martyn Forsythe to the Oasis of Dawnsgrace inevitably involved her in one of the most risky situations of her life. Perched between returning home or staying with her new king, Callista found herself, for the umpteenth time in her life, pleading with V’hallar to take her back into His arms.
     
  14. greyjedi125

    greyjedi125 Jedi Grand Master star 5

    Registered:
    Apr 29, 2002
    Teaser#2

    IC: Fleet Ashkey
    Not quite sure where

    "Wake up."

    A brutish voice snapped the silence that had consumed Fleet's mind. Combined with the constant rocking, heat beat down on the boy's face, especially on the eyelids of his unopened eyes. When he opened them, he was welcomed by the bald head of a snarling man. Fleet was almost his height, but he would soon realize he was seated on a horse. His arms and feet were bound, and there was even a gag in his mouth, preventing him from talking. As soon as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he would see there were in a meadow, where a mass exodus of dirty, bloody men marched along unsteady. Some collapsed, but for the most part they kept marching on.

    The worst part of waking up was the headache. It was in the back of his skull, a dull ache that continued down his neck. Every time he moved his neck too quick, Fleet received a fresh shot of pain through his skull and down his back.

    "The horse's 'bout to give out. Ya can walk." The man lifted Fleet from the horse's back and into the grass. Shaky legs were a trait shared by Fleet and his horse, except while Fleet could master it, the horse only made it a few more before collapsing into the ground like the men before.

    Fleet was confused very confused. Where was he? He could hardly see. His head was pounding so hard he was afraid he'd been brained. Then he suddenly remembered what had happened. His blue eyes grew wide.

    Mum. Claryssaa.

    Fleet tried to move and found that he was bound, pain shot through his head and neck. A bald man with a snarling face was the first thing he saw. The man was speaking, but Fleet was quickly taking stock of his situation despite of the alarm and anger that was coming to him. There was a throng of men walking and he was on a horse. He had been captured by the men his Mum had told him about. They were likely going to sell him. Fleet tried to say something, but the sound was muffled. He'd been gagged. His heart began to race and adrenalin began to rush, but that only made the pounding on his head feel a lot worse. He needed to calm down and think.

    He needed to escape.

    The man said something about the horse, then set him down. Fleet let out several muffled cries and glared at the man. He hoped once, twice, then fell as he tried to move away from the collapsing horse. Fleet rolled on the ground and struggled to get up. Were these men expecting him to hop on his tied-up legs for miles? Were they that afraid that he would run? because he would, but not now. He wouldn't get very far. He was pretty certain that if they brained him again, it would be a permanent affair.

    Fleet complained about his tied feet, through muffled grunts. He was tired and his back ached from the slash he had received earlier. He could not recognize his surroundings at all. Where were they? Where were they going?

    And where was his Mum? Where was Olyvar? Claryssa? or even Ser Caliban?

    Fleet looked about, but saw no one he recognized. Horrible images started to flood his mind. He shook his head in an attempt to stop the images, but pain shot through his head again and he became woozy. So much so that he had to stop and catch his bearings.

    Dread. It was creeping up on him, but he fought it-with inner anger. It was alright to be scared as long as he did not lose his focus. 'Always have a plan', Mum had taught him that much. He had to survive. He had to live another day.

    In order to escape.

    The men understood his struggle, his feet which were bound too tightly to walk. Instead of cutting the rope though, the big man slung Fleet over his shoulder and began to carry him.

    “Ya’s gonna have a good time wit’ us.” He chuckled, spat on the ground once, and kept walking. His spit had been bloody. They walked through the meadow, alongside the multitude of other wounded, tired, hungry men. They seemed odd, a little off, as if they weren’t all there.

    From a bush came the flash of something orange. A fox’s head peeped out and stared right at Fleet, watching him, before disappearing back into the foliage.

    Fleet’s eyes grew wide as he locked eyes with the fox. It looked as if it was telling him something, unspoken, but nuanced in its expression. Fleet did not speak either, but he knew, deep inside, this was an Omen.

    Fox represented cunning. They outwitted hunters and their own prey. They were clever survivors, which was a strength too often underestimated.

    The fox disappeared, unnoticed to all, save him.

    Strangely, Fleet relaxed and began to observe everything. He had to learn and plan, he had to be subtle and clever, like a fox. Maybe even a Desert Fox.

    Then it hit him.

    Wait….Kildare!!! Willis Kildare! He had to find him!! Perhaps, together…..

    Yes, strength in numbers. It was a plan his Mum would approve of. All he had to do now, was find out which one among the many prisoners was the much sought after noble.


    Finding him might be his key, no, their key…to Freedom.
     
    HanSolo29 , Darth_Elu, Vehn and 4 others like this.
  15. Darth_Elu

    Darth_Elu Jedi Grand Master star 6

    Registered:
    Jan 2, 2003
    His Majesty, Spycoder Approved!

    Name: Aliases include Brennus Cathal, Chikara, Among others
    Age: Brennus is 34, Chikara is ageless they say, always there are whispers of differing ages depending on name used
    Gender: Male
    Appearance: [​IMG]
    Homeland: Was born in a land of plenty brought low
    Allegiance: Who knows? A land perhaps, himself potentially, a higher ideal possibly
    Occupation: Chikara is many things to many people
    Family Banner: Such things are meaningless if one does not possess a family
    Family Words: Keen of mind, keen of eye; feel the keening blade
    Biography: The one going by the alias of Brennus Cathal was born to one of the lands of Mirwyth years ago and at one point served under the rule of the great Mirwyth King Hanrey Reynard. Time passed and with it opportunities, accomplishment, influence…betrayal. Disaster and tragedy; as has so often plagued the peoples of the land.

    Amidst it all, he traveled back to his homeland to recuperate and revive his hopes and dreams, ready to fight the good fight anew. Only to face darkness. He was followed and he was hunted at a convenient 'culling of the cults of the Land'. Thus with the front in place, he was killed. Or so the world thought.

    It was then, in the aftermath of the bloodshed and fire, that he learned the truth of what must be done. A quiet, yet powerful, restructuring on a scale never before seen. And one with the vision to lead Mirwyth down the path and uphold its power once in place. But there was much to be done and he set on it the moment he raised himself from the dead around him. For years now he has been quietly placing, assisting, usurping, watching, learning…


    The time to strike was nearly upon them.

    ***Intentionally Vague, Enjoy the Mystery of Chikara***

    Note: If picture doesn't work (it seems to be temperamental), here is the link for those interested: http://hbimg.b0.upaiyun.com/b048a975beef9c78254d83d60f07aa0ab3be53bb28be7-1OewUD_fw658
     
  16. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    A War of Kings: The Entombment of Emperors
    ~ Character Roster ~


    The Mountains
    Princess Safia Kildare (nee Rolmar)
    Geoffrey Rhayaad
    The Prairies
    Rebecca Dragon
    Ser Ellister of Havenwood
    Dayvid Sol
    Brennus Cathal
    The Desert
    King Martyn Forsythe
    Lady Ginnifer Kildare
    Callista Halleth nee Sand
    Gareth the Wanderer
    The Capital
    Evaleene Davers
    Ser Wymar Hail
    Lorain Ashkey
    Fleet Ashkey
    Queen Mother Emilia Reynard
    The Isles
    Guinevere Delmari
    Hyram
    Abott Tuckman
     
  17. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    14 Days After the Wedding of Fire (the Bloody Nuptials)


    The Desert
    The Oasis of Dawnsgrace


    The entourage of Kildare men and women arrived to the Oasis of Dawnsgrace with general fanfare.

    Those dwelling outside the castle walls, in their little hovels and farms, withdrew from their homes as the horses drew past. They were a weary people, those of hard work and entire lives spent on their knees. It was these fleeting moments where they had a glimpse at lives other than their own, lives where mere presence bore attention, that they could forget the monotony of their own. Naked, dirt-smeared children laughed at the trotting horses. Even with the hot afternoon sun, bursting in its springtime radiance, blistering the weathered backs of many, the people came to see the Lady of the Fair Groves enter their city.

    Ginnifer Kildare had visited the Oasis of Dawnsgrace several times in her life. The final time had been but not long before, when Mors Santagar had called his men to their banners. There had been a great commotion amongst the lords and ladies, but Ginnifer herself had proposed her own brother’s marriage as her allegiance.

    Now Mors Santagar and Ser Lawrence Kildare were nothing but ashes in urns.


    [​IMG]


    The architecture of the city was changing. The desertmen were a swaying beast, evolving to the weather and its individual uncertainties. What had been a great gate into the city was molded into but a quarter of its size. At its entrance stood several men wrapped in shawls, with spears that went the length of their bodies. They greeted the Lady and her siblings with cordiality at its finest, before signaling for the gates to be opened.

    Behind them, the farmers still watched.

    Before them, the entire city watched.

    The gates opened to unveil a bustling city of activity. Caravans were wide to the world, selling oddities from throughout the land. Barterers and beggars made their way through the aisles. Each insisted they deserved what the other refused to offer. Sandstone homes filled the entire city, encircled by a massive wall. The city was a marvel of the desert, and the architects the early Santagar lords had been.

    The commonpeople, the traders and the prostitutes, the drunkards and the wealthy, made way for the Kildare’s. Nobles who, at one time, had been members of a powerful household, but now stood as the heirs to the city, and to the desert itself.

    There were some who scoffed at Lady Ginnifer and her sisters, Chelsee and Zooey, whose feminine power was evident in the way they held themselves. While it was common for ladies to possess this trait, the people on the city knew the women of the Fair Groves were more than wives to their powerful husbands.

    They were powerful themselves.

    Through the throngs of the city they rode.

    There was still some evidence of past troubles, tucked away inside the eyes of the people. Bloodstains might leave the dirt, and the walls, and the robes, but they would never leave the minds of those who had witnessed it.

    They were a fragile people, the people of Dawnsgrace, but one thing could be agreed upon by all who viewed it.

    They adored their king.

    Martyn Forysthe, First of His Name, King of the Desert, Protector of the Dunes, Father to the Forlorn, waited for his children outside the palace. It made for a humbling experience, the palace, as it half of it had been torn away. In its place stood makeshift orphanages, whose occupants had all came to watch their king welcome his own children.

    The King was flanked by five of his own men, all of whom watched the crowd with wary eyes. One of them was a Dondare man, Alfrek, bent in his age. Other Houses were represented in the men he surrounded himself with.

    The crowds chanted their reunion.

    “Our true King!” One screamed.

    “V’hallar blesses them!”

    “The Iron Fist!”

    “For Ser Lawrence!”

    “It’s seen in the Light!”

    The cries of love and adoration were almost indistinguishable, as all of them had different words to speak. Over time, they all came to mean the same thing.

    The Desert wants blood.




    TAG: Trieste, Stryker01
     
  18. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    3 Weeks After the Wedding of Fire (the Bloody Nuptials)


    The Desert
    The Hollow Wood


    The castle grounds were a pebbly mess. Part rock, part dirt, part wood, the Hollow Wood was a byproduct of living on the footstools of two separate lands. House Bowen laid claim to the entire wood from which they drew their income, but it was an uncertain living. Near enough to the Dragonwood to receive bandits, but close enough to the desert to receive all the thirsty heathens, it knew few guests of good intentions.

    Lord Isayah Bowen was a frugal man, but he had his reasons. For all of their usefulness, House Bowen had always been a forgotten house, disposed upon by both nobles and commoners alike. In all the years it had been of the desert, not one lord or king had graced it with their presence.

    It was the perfect spot for an unexpected visit from Gareth the Wanderer.

    Traversing the desert was a task meant to be undertaken by groups, what with its unwelcoming heat and sparseness of people. For this reason mainly, Gareth had already become a legend. What man would dare undertake its horrors alone, for years?

    Zara was the first to see him, rising over the dunes of soil.

    Her own family had a farm, one of the few that paid supplement to House Bowen, so she was rather familiar with the lord. When she had been a child, before her body had blossomed and her hands had become weathered from weeks of tending lands, she had served cupbearer to the lord. She, as well as the rest of the house, had heard tales alike from different travelers of the man that wandered the desert alone.

    Zara couldn’t be positive, not without a better glance, but she knew the risks that strangers brought with them, especially when the land seemed plunged into war.

    [​IMG]

    “Good ser?” She called out to him from her garden. The ends of her thick, protective robe was dirtied by the mud she had been kneeling in. “Stop where ya stand, if ya could.” Plain of face, brown eyes set onto tan skin, with stringy brown locks framing it, the girl affixed her turban around her cheeks.

    “If ya could tell me who ya are and ya purpose here, I’d much appreciate it.”



    TAG: Jedi Gunny
     
  19. Jabba-wocky

    Jabba-wocky Chosen One star 9

    Registered:
    May 4, 2003
    Spycoder Approved


    Name: Aran
    Gender: Male
    Appearance:
    [​IMG]

    Homeland: Capital
    King: Fenton Reynard, Rightful King of Mirwyth
    Occupation: Knight
    Family Banner: N/A
    House Words: N/A

    Biography: Distant from princes and progress both, the northwestern steppes had always been a no man's land. Existence was hard-scrabble. Even the natives never manged to be anything more than semi-nomadic herders. Outsiders didn't pass through unless they were running from something. Even then, it was just hellish enough for most to prefer getting caught. Such was the land of Aran's childhood, and the whole of his world in the first half of his life.

    A decade before the War of Kings, all that changed. An enormous pirate fleet had stole past the isles to march, en masse, on Mirwyth proper. An under-equipped royal task force was forced to rely on local auxiliaries as they scrambled to respond. Few would have imagined that so many brilliant careers in King Hanrey's court would be launched from such a desperate defense. But it was a brilliant defense. The pirates were routed. And no star shone brighter than that of a young nomad who fought like a centaur.

    With the fig leaf of adoption by a noble house, the boy was whisked away into formal training as a knight. Already considerable archery and equestrian skills were honed and complimented by the study of swordsmanship and polearms. High-grade armor and armament were their own boosts. Aran would return home a few years later at the head of a royal troop, clearing out the raiders and bandits that found their last refuge there. The success added to a rapidly growing legend. Brutal efficiency had smothered any voice that might say otherwise, and the capital was too distant for anyone to have noticed.

    The final moment came when civil war erupted. Fenton Reynard had to secure his homeland before facing the rapidly blossoming threats around him. That meant extinguishing the esteemed House Craon. Aran and his elite shock troopers finished them with as little thought and as much mercy as he'd offered the first band of pirates. The path was set. The kingdom was falling apart. The world was in chaos. Every era has a hero brutal enough for its time, and Fenton had just found his.

    For years, he did what no one else could or would. But like all heroes, this one found himself slowly entwined with those he served. Dressing like them. Increasingly comfortable in their company. Most of all daring, like them, to dream. A single chain linked him to a society alien to his whole experience. Suddenly worlds were moving, with Aran astride two of them. Would they--would she--make him something new? Or rip him asunder?
     
  20. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    2 Weeks After the Wedding of Fire (the Bloody Nuptials)


    The Capital
    The Glen


    “Aim for their eyes, boys. Goes straight to the skull.”

    The old castellan of House Brendle kept his own eyes staring down his arrow. He had been whispering words of advice to the men accompanying him for minutes now, never taking his aim from the brown fox creeping through the foliage ahead.

    “You let loose,” as he did then, “And you have yourself a nice meal for the evening.” The fox had fallen to its side, eye socket gored from the arrow impaled through it.

    Ser Wymar Hail had joined his brothers and castellan for a morning hunt which had lasted until the evening. With news of the desert knight slain at his wedding, the castle had called for a celebration. ‘A traitor receives from the world what a traitor deserves,’ his own father had said when the raven had arrived. Losing Ser Lawrence Kildare had meant a blow to the armies of the desert, especially those that might have proved a threat to the capital, so tonight House Brendle celebrated. Of course... it hadn't been but a week ago that news came from Valona, riding on black wings. Wymar's aunt Lucia, crippled and damaged as she was, had died. Some fatal accident she'd suffered while visiting her sister, the Queen. It had all been hushed whispers since, as Lord Julien Brendle seemed to sleep none at all since the news.

    “Four foxes in a single day,” Wymar’s brother remarked from his saddle, bedecked in the brown leather of his house. Rolland Brendle was a straight-laced lad of twenty and two years, sending ladies to quiver with but a glance from his warm brown eyes. He was everything an heir should be, and everything their father had wanted. “The Great Shepherd looks fondly upon us.”

    The two other boys nodded in agreement. Castor and Jace were but shadows of their elder. A shame it would be if either had to rule, as they were but pale imitations of Rolland.

    It was Ser Hadrick Curr, castellan of the Glen for longer than any of the four boys had been alive, who cut the heir down a peg.


    [​IMG]


    “Boy, it’s not the Shepherd who brings you food home at night. He might give you the abilities, but it’s only you that can drive the knife through the beast’s heart.” He gestured to Wymar to help him with the fox. Wymar already held the three from before. “You sit on your horses pampered and pretty, but one day the war’s gonna be at our doorstep.”

    Hadrick looked up at the heir on the horse.

    “All that horse’s gonna do is break your leg beneath you. Get down here and help with this damn thing.”

    Rolland got down eventually, assisting as much as he could, but it was Wymar who did the most. Hadrick knew the boys had lived their entire lives on thin ice, constantly on the verge of snapping at each other’s necks. It was after the boys had got back on their horses and rode back to the castle that Hadrick was alone with Wymar. The old man had always taken a fondness to Wymar, always bastardized in the eyes of his father. There was never much love from Hadrick, but if he ever showed anyone something close to it, it was Wymar.

    “Heard you been visiting the tavern frequently...” Hadrick said to him, his eyes focused on the path ahead.

    He didn’t need eye contact to convey his meaning.



    TAG: Shekel_1383
     
    HanSolo29 , Trieste, Vehn and 3 others like this.
  21. Darth_Elu

    Darth_Elu Jedi Grand Master star 6

    Registered:
    Jan 2, 2003
    OOC: I've never been one to throw the name from my sn, 'Elu' into any one of my characters. Till now…just worked too perfectly. So forgive the shameless plug! lol


    All Approved By His Majesty Spycoder!

    Name: Aysha Vaerano
    Age: 23
    Gender: Female
    Appearance: [​IMG]
    Homeland: The Mountains
    Allegiance: None Yet
    Occupation: Warrior
    Family Banner: N/A
    Family Words: N/A
    Biography: Aysha is a mystery to many. Known to locals in the mountains as the woman who is mysteriously bound to the very earth with ancient looking chains, she is kneeling with head bowed low. Eyes closed. She seems not to move nor breathe and from to time, the surrounding wildlife lingers around her form nigh defensively. None know how long she has been there exactly and no one has been able to free her (very few have tried as the sight is unnerving to many).

    Once free, if ever, Aysha will prove to be rather invaluable…and an enigmatic puzzle to solve for those who care to attempt it. She claims to have a connection to her past lives all of which gives her connections to varying abilities at differing points, though whether that is true is anyone's guess. Aysha can also be an unintentional headache, for some reason her moods and very personality seem to flicker to different settings off and on as she remembers these so-called 'past lives'.

    *****
    Name: Taran Eludrian
    Age: 46
    Gender: Male
    Appearance: [​IMG]
    Homeland: The Capital
    Allegiance: Neutral, His Family
    Occupation: Lord of Varianas Forest and its immediate surrounding lands
    Family Banner: Dark Purple on the left and green on the right, a large silver star affixed in the middle
    Family Words: Observe Patiently, Perceive Strength
    Biography: Taran Eludrian was born forty-six years ago to Kaden and Olyana Eludrian, the former Lord and Lady of Varianas Forest. With his father's spirit moved on some years past and his mother advanced in age, he has taken over Lordship of the Forest in the northwestern portion of the region simply known as 'The Capital' as was his right as the eldest of four children.

    Varianas Forest has established itself as a tranquil place of quiet strength throughout the years, serving as a garrison of troops for the Capital during the reign of King Hanrey and before him as well as one of the important trade hubs with the Isles due to it bordering along the coastline as well as an occasional trading center with the Desert due it not being far from the northern border. Through this they have maintained pleasant relations with nearly everyone, feeling it best not to cause 'waves'.

    At twenty-five years of age, Taran married his wife: Aurora Darencroft in an arranged political match with another noble Capital family that was closer to Valona. They were cordial with each other until a year later when they gave birth to their first child and son. It was then that love finally flourished.

    Though with the recent turn of events, House Eludrian has struggled to make sense of everything going on and keep those pleasant relations intact. The garrison was emptied by order of Fenton Reynard so the troops could move into action elsewhere. Not long after, Taran gave the controversial order that the garrison only be a temporary station for troops in need of rest and healing. Any troops. Feeling it best not to sway one side or another, he resisted calls to support any one king, announcing neutrality but wishing to still remain in friendly ties and willing to continue trade. Furthermore, he announced his modest castle, Petrea Keep, as ground for neutral talks between any rival factions or personages should they wish to use it as such without fear of meddling.

    Lord Taran & Lady Aurora Eludrian have three children. The eldest at twenty years of age, Lafayette. The Honor of the House. The only daughter at eighteen years of age, Saeré. The Potential of Eludrian. And the youngest at fourteen years of age, Barden. The Justice of Varianas, thus dubbed due to his already keen sense of right or wrong.

    *****
    Name: Saeré Eludrian
    Age: 18
    Gender: Female
    Appearance: [​IMG] [Pictured with her older brother, Lafayette]
    Homeland: The Capital
    Allegiance: Neutral
    Occupation: Young Lady of Varianas Forest, nicknamed 'Princess of the Forest'
    Family Banner: Dark Purple on the left and green on the right, a large silver star affixed in the middle
    Family Words: Observe Patiently, Perceive Strength
    Biography: Saeré has always lived with the moniker 'The Potential of Eludrian,' or so its felt like to her. Considered exquisitely fair and gentle with an intelligent mind and stable hand. With her unusual yet gorgeous silvery hair, she is oft called 'Silver Leaf' by her father in endearing fashion. Of her nicknames, its her favorite. A close second, from the people of Varianas Forest, is 'Princess of the Forest.'

    She admits to wishing she was a true princess, but the name and position as the only daughter of House Eludrian was well enough for now. Still, it does irk her that to act pleasant and demure (though it is her nature and she enjoys it); it is commonly construed as weak or fragile amongst others, particularly men.

    On her own, and a little advice from her grandmother Lady Olyana, she has already discovered that it is wisest to let them go on thinking such thoughts. True strength lay in a girl's smile and the ability to bat her eyes. Just so. Boys can go on thinking she's weak if they wish, but when she has them 'round her finger, young Lady Saraé knows the reality of the situation.

    "Best to let them be the heads of their houses, those strapping Lords. We'll just serve as the neck and turn the head where it needs to go. Observe patiently, perceive strength." ~Olyana Eludrian
     
  22. Shekel_1383

    Shekel_1383 Jedi Knight star 1

    Registered:
    Jan 2, 2016
    2 Weeks After the Wedding of Fire (the Bloody Nuptials)


    The Capital
    The Glen

    Wymar Hail
    “Aim for their eyes, boys. Goes straight to the skull.” muttered Wymar's father, as he peered down the arrow locked tightly in his bow. This wasn't the first piece of advise Julien, Lord and Castellan of House Brendle had given over the last few minutes - as they closed in on their pray. An eerie silence fell, leaves seemed to stop falling, and for a split second, the wind ceased to blow - all as the fox trotted slowly out into the open.​

    “You let loose,” as he did then, “And you have yourself a nice meal for the evening.” The fox had fallen to its side, eye socket gored from the arrow impaled through it.

    It was mid-morning when Wymar had joined the hunt, which lasted well into the evening. It was clear that Wymar's father was intent on catching enough game for a fine feast, "Still, not enough" he muttered after every fresh kill. They were to celebrate the "wedding" of Ser Lawrence Kildare and the Princess Safia, or "The Wedding of Fire", as the locals had taken to calling it. Mountainmen had turned on Desertmen. Traitor had turned on traitor. If things kept going this way, they'd tear each other apart before the armies of the Capital could even bring the hammer down upon them.​

    “Four foxes in a single day,” Wymar’s brother Rolland remarked from his saddle, bedecked in the brown leather of his house. Wymar was dressed similarly - lightweight leathers, with sheep fur trimmings and a hide cowl that flowed down his back to his ankles, the bottom muddied by kicked-up dirt.

    Wymar's other brothers, Castor and Jace, nodded in agreement. They were but shadows of Rolland. Where Rolland was good-looking and radiated nobility, they were mundane to the eye. Where Rolland was strong - they were comparatively weak. It was fair to say then, Wymar was the odd one out. He was 32, giving a 10 year gain on Rolland. Rolland fancied himself a great knight, yet out of the four brothers Wymar was the only one to have been knighted. Being quietly, and openly, resented by his own family was something Wymar simply got used to over the years. He found that taking a quiet, smug satisfaction in besting his family was enough to keep him going.​

    “The Great Shepherd looks fondly upon us.” Rolland continued, from his literal high horse.

    It was Ser Hadrick Curr, castellan of the Glen for longer than any of the four boys had been alive, who cut the heir down a peg.

    “Boy, it’s not the Shepherd who brings you food home at night. He might give you the abilities, but it’s only you that can drive the knife through the beast’s heart.” he said, with his iconic gruff growl. He gestured to Wymar to help him with the fox. Wymar slung the three foxes he already had over his shoulder, kneeling down to the freshly killed Forrest-dweller to aide in it's preparation.

    “You sit on your horses pampered and pretty, but one day the war’s gonna be at our doorstep.” Hadrick continued as he took a knife to the fox's eye, to remove the arrow Julien had gored it with. Wymar quietly chuckled at his remark, as he held the fox in place.

    Hadrick looked up at the heir on the horse.

    “All that horse’s gonna do is break your leg beneath you. Get down here and help with this damn thing.”

    Rolland got down eventually, assisting as much as he could, but it was Wymar who did the most. No doubt Rolland would make it known to all of Mirwyth that it was he who had slain every fox, with his bare hands, with no help from horse, knight, father or brother. But, such was the life of a bastard.

    Eventually, Julien seemed satisfied with the amount of meat they had collected. He and the others rode back to the castle, leaving Wymar and Hadrick alone.

    Wymar once again slung the belt of foxes over his shoulder, and began the walk back. Sticks and leaves broke with a satisfying crunch underfoot as they went.​

    “Heard you been visiting the tavern frequently...” Hadrick said to him, his eyes focused on the path ahead. Wymar understood what he meant.

    "Aye, I have" Wymar responded, his eyes also locked ahead. "It's good to get down there, with the common folk. I don't want to be some rich noble who's resented by his people as much as he's resented by his own family."

    It was a harsh truth, but there was no point denying it. At least the men and women of the surrounding towns knew of Wymar, and hopefully even trusted him. They would drink, and dance, and be merry together - while his family sat in their ivory tower. Although, Wymar didn't visit the locals just to get to know them. It was an escape from his day-to-day life, an escape from his father's relentless resentment, an escape from his brother's never-ending spite.

    "The ale's been half-price ever since The Wedding of Fire too" Wymar quipped, giving a small smile in Hadrick's direction.

    TAG: spycoder9




     
  23. JediMasterAnne

    JediMasterAnne Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Apr 24, 2004
    6 Days After the Wedding of Fire (the Bloody Nuptials)

    The Mountains Of Mirwyth
    Shodaire, the Tower of Stone
    Princess Safia's Chambers

    IC: Princess Safia Kildare

    Rickard’s hanging had not helped Safia to sleep any better the past two nights—if anything, it was just more fodder for her nightmares. Her appetite had not improved, either, and the combined ills of poor sleep and poor diet were beginning to take their toll on her.

    To make matters worse, she had developed a fairly persistant headache over the last couple of days. She had felt a dull, throbbing pain on one side of her head the first day after the wedding, which she suspected must have originated whenever Rickard had knocked her out before raping her. It had seemed to improve in the days following, but now it had returned. Or perhaps she had simply been in so much emotional pain that any physical pain had escaped her notice.

    Considering how bad she felt, it should have come as no surprise to her that her appearance was an absolute wreck, but until now, looking at her reflection for the first time in days, she hadn’t realize just how bad she actually looked. She hadn’t brushed her hair or dressed in the days following the wedding, and except for one bath that first morning to clean away the blood, she hadn’t washed, either. Her hair was a dull golden tangle, and her face was gaunt and white as a sheet, except for the dark circles under her eyes, which were glazed and bloodshot. I look like a corpse, she thought as a maid picked up a comb and began to gently work it through the princess’s messy locks. Karridan had sent the girl up with a message asking Safia to be cleaned up and dressed, but when Safia had asked why, the maid had replied that she did not know.

    About an hour later, hair brushed and pulled back from her face, and bathed and clothed in a black gown, Safia sat in her private parlor, picking absently at the breakfast another maid had brought up, when Karridan came in.

    He stood in the doorway to her chambers and stared. New lines had found their way into his face, but he walked with the purpose of a king. "Safia..." Karridan hesitated. He seemed uncertain on whether he should enter her room or not, but ultimately decided to. He was decked out in his finest garb, shoulders shielded in armor that gleamed milky white in the light. He made certain his blue cloak had made it through the doorway before he shut the door behind him. "Safia..." He said again, sitting himself near her, "Have you been eating?"

    Per his orders, she had been eating—though only very little. “I’m not hungry,” she told him. She didn’t look at him as she spoke (she kept her eyes on her plate instead; she would probably only glare at him if she met his gaze), and she tried to keep her tone neutral, to mask her lingering anger at him. She had not yet heard his reasoning—or anyone else’s, for that matter—for his part in Lawrence’s death. How could he betray her like that?

    He opened his mouth to say something, paused, and then sighed. The stare he gave her was one that could have only came from sleepless nights and tears held too long inside. Karridan continued to sit in the silence before speaking once more. All he said was, "I'm getting married today."

    She couldn't hide the surprise on her face, and for several seconds, she simply sat, frozen, her anger forgotten for the moment, as she tried to digest this new development. Karridan was getting married. Today. Married. Today. Today!?

    Of course, this had been bound to happen eventually--Desmond was dead, Karridan was now the King of the Mountains, he would be expected to take a queen and produce an heir as soon as possible (and perhaps the sooner, the better, given that Ectarion was currently next in line for the throne), Safia simply hadn't thought it would be this soon. Less than a week had passed since Safia herself had been wedded and widowed.

    Suddenly, the idea of attending another wedding, even her brother's, so soon after the horrors of her own, repulsed her. But he was her brother, and her King. She was his sister, the Princess. She would be expected to be there, regardless of her feelings. How am I going to get through this?

    She was struggling to find something to say—her anger wanted to say something snide, something hurtful—Oh, and who will be dying at this wedding?—but the sister in her wouldn't let her. Another part of her wanted to break down again--she was suddenly understanding how he must have felt the morning of her wedding, when he had been so down. She should be happy for him, but she couldn't feel happy about anything right now. Furthermore, as she finally forced herself to look her brother in the face, she couldn't quite tell if he was happy about it. His face held a certain sadness--but there was much to be sad about, these days. Perhaps he was simply displeased with his bride-to-be (not likely, a king could have his pick {though Desmond's actions might have made others wary of the Rolmars, perhaps Karridan's first choice had refused him}). And who was he marrying, anyway? "To whom?" she finally managed to ask.

    "Caetherene Gideon." His lips became a mixture of both grimace and smirk. "She's... unhappy with it all. As anyone would be after everything that's happened."

    Caetherene? At least it's not Synthia. But it occurred to Safia that perhaps Caetherene wasn't necessarily just unhappy with recent events. She wondered if she should tell Karridan about Caetherene's preference for Ectarion. He helped them kill Lawrence. If he gets hurt, it's only what he deserves--No, he has enough to deal with--More than you? If anyone has a right to be unhappy with everything that's happened, it's you--She ate a small piece of bacon, more to give herself a few extra moments to calm down, before she said something they'd both regret, than out of any real desire to eat. "I imagine there are a great many unhappy people at the moment," was all she said once the bacon was gone, careful not to sound smug. "Have any of our bannermen renounced their allegiance?"

    It was actually a legitimate concern. Desmond's plans for his daughter's wedding could not have been known to all, and many, as Safia had pointed out, were probably not happy about what had happened. And Safia had a bad feeling that once King Martyn and Lady Ginnifer got wind of what had happened to Lawrence, they were not going to be too keen on being friends with the Mountains anymore. Instead of an alliance, we might have just made another enemy. And if too many of the Mountain Houses turned away, the Rolmars would have a hard fight ahead of them in the war that still loomed.

    "None that I know of." He hesitated. "That isn't to say they aren't going to. Many of them fled back to their castles... rightfully so, I guess. What Father did... I didn't want it to be like this… Safia? You know that don't you?" He took her hand. "Don't you?"

    "Then why did you help him!?" Safia snapped. She jerked her hand away--not out of anger (though she was certainly angry), but because of the reflexive recoil that she had developed as a result of her rape. She couldn't help it; her skin, her entire body often flinched at the slightest touch, especially with men. The fact that she didn't even trust her own brother's once reassuring hand only made her feel worse, but at the moment, she did not want his comfort. She hadn't wanted to have this particular conversation yet, hadn't been sure that either of them were ready for it (and perhaps his wedding day was not the time for it), but now that he had started it, she couldn't hold her rage in any longer.

    "You, you of all people, stood there and put the sword in his hand! I'd have believed Ectarion capable of it, but not you. You stood there and let him kill an innocent man! You were a Knight, you were supposed to protect people, but you let Lawrence and his men walk into that death trap, you knew what was about to happen and you didn't try to warn him!"

    A tiny part of her was probably going to regret this outburst later. She could not remember having ever gone off at Karridan like this. Even Ectarion had never incurred this level of wrath from her.

    "Now I will be expected to be at your wedding, which I imagine will be nothing less than perfect, to watch you marry a woman who will likely never be happy with you, put on a happy smile and act like nothing is wrong. Act like I'm not furious with everyone around me. Pretend that I'm not mentally reliving the nightmare that my own wedding was. Pretend that all of this isn't killing me inside!"

    She whirled away from him, turned her back on him--she had stood up somewhere in her rant, knocking her chair over--and for a few moments she covered her face with her hands, tears of pain and anger streaming from her eyes.

    She eventually emerged from behind her hands , but she didn't face her brother again just yet. Right now she couldn't look at him, so she stared out the window. When she spoke again, she didn't shout, but there was still an icy edge to her tone. "What could he"--by which she meant Desmond, now, not Lawrence--"have possibly said, or done, that would make you go against everything you were?"

    Karridan brooded in his silence, gnashing his teeth together as the seconds ticked by. Finally he spoke, and his voice was quiet, like it had been when he was a child. "I was his heir. To disobey him... to disobey my own father and king, might've meant my own head, and possibly yours. Father lost himself in the end, but..." His sighs were defeated. "...but he was always like that inside. Selfish and manipulative and powerful. He made me promise in my vows of knighthood that I would relinquish them on his deathbed, that I would give myself to my crown. Do you think it's been easy for me either? The only woman I will ever love is the blade at my side, but now I am marrying a woman just to keep the whole damn kingdom together." Tears were streaming down in his cheeks in an uncharacteristic display of emotion. "I helped Father because that was my duty, Safia, and if you don't understand that, then you don't understand me."

    He strode to the door and cast it open. "If you want to watch me sell my soul to the crown, be in the courtyard when the bells ring." With that he was gone, leaving Safia with the silence.

    Frozen in shock, Safia stood staring at the door for several long moments before she moved back towards the table, returned her chair to its proper upright position and then promptly sank into it, massaging her forehead as she tried to absorb what she had just heard. She was truly floored by her brother’s words, and it was probably a good thing he had stormed out before she’d had a chance to offer any response.

    "I helped Father because that was my duty, Safia, and if you don't understand that, then you don't understand me."

    Clearly she did not understand him, then. If he was willing to blindly follow orders, simply for the sake of doing his duty, regardless of any moral or ethical conflict, regardless of how many innocents suffered, then they might as well surrender to the Capitol right now. Desmond had proved no better than Reynard, so what did it matter to whom Karridan bent the knee?

    "I was his heir. To disobey him... to disobey my own father and king, might've meant my own head, and possibly yours.

    So Karridan had let innocent men die simply out of fear for his own life? She might have understood trying to protect her, but Safia was not convinced that Desmond would not have killed her anyway. Ultimately, she was facing the unfortunate discovery that the brother she had thought to be a brave and honorable Knight was, in fact, a coward.

    “Do you think it's been easy for meeither?...I am marryinga woman just to keep the whole damn kingdom together."

    As if it was really so terrible, having to get married. Safia might have been reluctant to marry Lawrence at first, but compared to what she was going through now, an arranged marriage wasn’t all that bad. As Safia had pointed out to her brother, it was highly unlikely anyone was going to be murdered at his wedding. He wouldn’t have to live under that cloud for the rest of their lives, as she would. And even if they didn’t love each other, Karridan knew that Caetherene was a prize choice for a bride, otherwise he wouldn’t have picked her. And though Caetherene might prefer Ectarion, hopefully she would not be stupid enough to commit treason to pursue him once she was married to Karridan. Perhaps they would grow to care for each other over time, as Safia and Lawrence had.

    “The only woman I will ever love is the blade at my side.”

    These words, however, cut Safia more deeply than anything else. When he’d first said them, she had felt as if she’d run headlong into a brick wall, and even now she could not stop replaying them over and over in her mind.

    Her brother did not love her.

    It explained his betrayal so much more completely than his feeble talk of duty. He had probably always resented her for their mother’s death, just like Desmond and Ectarion. Karridan had simply chosen to conceal his feelings behind the mask of a protective and doting big brother. Then when Desmond had approached him with his plans for the wedding, Karridan had used the opportunity to drop his charade.

    It made more sense than Safia ever wanted to admit, and it made the whole thing that much worse. Not only had he betrayed her, but he had deceived her all her life. The brave and honorable Knight was gone. The loving older brother was gone. Karridan was no longer--had never been--the sort of man she had thought him to be.

    Then what sort of man was he?

    TAG: None

    OOC: Combined post between spycoder9 and myself
     
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  24. Jedi Gunny

    Jedi Gunny Yahtzee Host star 9 VIP - Game Host

    Registered:
    May 20, 2008
    First post, here goes.

    IC: Gareth the Wanderer
    The Desert
    The Hollow Wood

    There were few occasions where Gareth would dare leave the Desert, its forbidding sands a protective barrier between himself and civilization. Of course, there was little that could be deemed ‘civilization’ in these lands, mostly just a network of small communities and travelers who dared to cross these regions. And it was a dangerous time, where those who stayed here were on constant alert for any signs of trouble. Gareth understood that the land was in the midst of turmoil, but it seemed so far away. In fact, most of what he knew was gained as tidbits from the mouths of those he encountered in the sands. He normally didn’t receive guests, but every once in a while, someone would stumble across him. Otherwise, how would the stories get out, one would wonder. The fantastic stories of Gareth the Wanderer, the man in the sands, living by himself in the forbidding desert plains.

    But even he had to make a brief appearance in civilized parts once in a while. For even a man like himself, he could not ignore the necessities of life. Being a wandering hermit in the Desert, for all the privacy and seclusion that it could provide, it didn’t feed him when he felt the pangs of hunger, water him when he was thirsty, or provide him an opportunity to bathe. He had forgotten the last time he had properly bathed; the oasis spring that he had discovered was not large enough for him to utilize it as a bathing source, and there was something about bathing in the middle of the desert that didn’t quite appeal to him. So he had needs that could sometimes only be met by unexpected visits to the small communities.

    This was one of those unexpected visits. He did not expect to be recognized by the villagers, unless his legendary status preceded him. That was all well and good; he saw no need for fame or the need for recognition. He was just a simple man. Those with pride were the ones who could keep it, vie for it, and die for it, but he saw no need for pride or glory. Those were just figments of the imagination and the ego. In the sands of his home, only the foolish saw the need for such vanity. Usually, it was such a foolish idea that got them killed, either from madness or thirst, whichever came first. There was more than one body that Gareth had found while he went on his wanderings through the years, the remains of travelers who had not been iron-willed enough to make it through. Or, perhaps, left behind by their fellows, left to die in the hellish environment around them. It was a grisly way to go, to disappear from all records and never have your body found. The Desert did an excellent job of covering its tracks and removing names from history and memory. How he had ever been vaulted to legendary status, he did not know.

    As he walked over the nearest dune, he could see a small farmstead up ahead. There were a few of these that he believed belonged to a ruling house in these parts, but the details were unimportant to him. He rarely paid attention to the politics of the region, and who claimed to be ruling over who. It was unnecessary for him to be familiar with such things, as the Desert saw no real rulers in his eyes. It ruled itself, and was the arbiter of fate for peasants and kings alike. All were equal in the existence of the shifting sands, and only those who could tame it were able to survive.

    There was a young girl tending to the garden in the dirt-filled stead, her hands and clothes clearly dirtied from the work. She wore a protective cloak around her body, much like Gareth himself. Somehow, she seemed to take an interest in his presence, and she eventually stood up, moving the protective clothing over her face. Gareth understood that his presence could be rather alarming, given the fact that it was always uninvited. This was not the first time that a stranger had given him such a long look.

    “Good ser? Stop where ya stand, if you could.” the girl said. Gareth, not wanting to startle her, decided to quit his forward momentum, his feet coming to rest in the dirt-filled dune. ““If ya could tell me who ya are and ya purpose here, I’d much appreciate it.”

    “I did not intend to startle you,” Gareth said calmly, raising his hands up in front of his body to try and ease the girl’s mind. “Please forgive me if I caused you any alarm. As for who I am, I am no one in particular. I am simply a lone traveler looking for a place to spend the night, or to find provisions. If you could point me in the right direction for either, I would be much obliged.”


    Sometimes his interactions with commoners went like this. He had somehow worked up enough courage to be able to maintain his calm in situations like this, because he did not have much practice. After all, one didn’t see many others in the shifting sands. Solitude was the order of the day, not social frivolity.

    TAG: spycoder9
     
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  25. spycoder9

    spycoder9 Jedi Master star 4

    Registered:
    Jul 23, 2008
    11 Days After the Wedding of Fire (the Bloody Nuptials)


    The Capital
    Varianis Forest


    It was a golden spring sun that flooded its rays through the foliage of the Varianis Forest.

    “Fine flowers, Amber! What an eye for the unique!” Madam Mavrona Nahley stopped their trek through the woods to adore the young girl’s bouquet.

    It was a common past-time for the ladies of House Eludrian, especially for those too young to discuss the intricacies taking place throughout the lands. Led by their Madam tutor, Saraé Eludrian and her cousin Amber made up the front of the gaggle of girls. Trailing behind them were those of less regal birth, girls who had been born into the lineage of servants.

    “It seems you have discovered a rarity as well,” the Madam plucked a fiery red blossom from the midst of the other pink and white buds. “Do any of you girls know the name of this flower?”

    The girls were silent, welcoming the sounds of the wood around them. Only at the edge of the Varianis Forest, the oak tree trunks were still thicker than the waists of even the widest women in the capital. Twittering bluebirds fluttered from limb to limb. Each had their own creative melodies made up within them, music that could touch each and every young girl’s hopeful soul. After the silence had drug on for several minutes, the Madam tsked.

    “Shame, girls. It’s called V’hallar’s Veil. Can anyone tell me why?” the Madam held it up for the girls to get a better look.

    “It’s poisonous!” Tallia Farren exclaimed. Just a steward's whelp, she was eager to please.

    “Yes… but where did it get its name? Amber, do you know?”

    “The way it kills, Madam Nahley.” Named for her eyes' color of burning wood, Amber’s voice was confident when compared to those of the servant girls. “Ingested, it lights a person up from the inside out.”

    “Exactly, my dear,” the Madam clapped her hands together excitedly. Her bosom bounced a bit with her excitement. “Such brilliant ladies we have here.”

    As they continued their trekking, the Madam clucking here and there about the trees and the paths and the history of the forest, things Amber and Saraé had heard for years, so the girls faded to the back of the line.

    “I love the Madam,” Amber said with a wry smile, “but I love exploring even more. Care to join me, sweet cousin?”


    Dining Hall


    It was a grand event every time all the grown members of House Eludrian sat down for a midday meal, for it rarely happened.

    The dining hall was empty when the sun was high, as the servants and the hunters and the guardsmen were at their busiest times. It was a picturesque time for those of significant leeway in the management of the House, providing them to discuss the current happenings in the land. Things were more chaotic now, as Jaesythe Eludrian, younger brother to the current lord, and his wife had been dwelling in Valona until the coronation of Matheus Reynard. The unexpected death of Lucia Brendle had sent Jaesythe and his wife scurrying back to the Varianis Forest.

    Taran Eludrian sat the head of the dark wooden table. His view of all gathered was exactly what was expected of a lord of a house. An antlered chandelier rested overhead them with various candles nestled in it.

    The family were silent for the most part. Lafayette eyed his father but kept his mouth shut, save for the times he called for a servant to fill his wine glass or bring him more cheese. Olyana Eludrian was never silent, but she was notably late (something not unusual for her). “Always arrive late. It commands attention.” Jaesythe sat beside his wife, popping grapes into her mouth occasionally. Erika Eludrian was plump enough as it was, but she welcomed the grapes from her husband with a flirty blush. Jessica Daturan nee Eludrian, sister to both Taran and Jaesythe, was completely quiet as she ate, seemingly lost in her thoughts.

    “Taran,” his wife murmured from beside him, laying her pale fingertips on his. “I don’t think we can wait much longer on your mother. There’s many important things we need to-“

    “How could anyone want to discuss anything important without me?” Olyana Eludrian smiled from the doorway of the dining hall. Resting on her cane, she walked to her seat opposite Taran with relative ease. “My son knows his mother’s still useful, even with her wrinkled skin and achy back.” She clapped her hands, receiving immediate attention from the servants. She had a glass of water and a slice of apple pie laid before her.

    “It’s nice to eat with you again, Mother,” Jaesythe had stopped feeding his wife the moment his mother entered the room.

    “Yes, yes, sure, it’s nice. No time for formalities, we’re all family here. I say we get straight to what we’re all here for. In particular, what has happened up north.” She eyed the entire room. “This wedding business… not only is the Kildare boy dead, but Rolmar as well. It seems like every king that started this foolish war is gone, and yet it continues.”

    “What happened at the Ravenford?” Jessica murmured. “I’ve heard awful things…”

    “Desertmen burned it. Like the b*****ds do with everything.” Jaesythe shook his head. “They burned The Little Lady up in it as well.”

    “I always liked Claryssa Bristal.” Brushing her blonde hair back, Jessica’s light blue eyes bubbled with tears. “She was a strong girl, all things considered.”

    “Son, you’re incorrect.” Olyana’s voice always commanded silence from others. “The Kildares have her, and the story she’s spelling is that pirates sieged her castle, not desertmen.”

    Jaesythe opened his mouth once more, but his mother raised her hand.

    “I would actually like to hear what the Lord of our House has to say about everything.”

    The table looked to Taran.



    TAG: Darth_Elu