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RPF A War of Kings

Discussion in 'Fan Activities' started by spycoder9, Apr 26, 2012.

  1. trimaj Jedi Master

    IC: Desmond Rolmar
    The Tower of Stone
    The Dining Hall

    He sat at the raised table, in the exact center of the back wall of the dining hall, and looked out over the men that ate at his tables and drank his ale and wine. Many of them were good men, loyaly. Some... he would never allow within spitting distance of his daughter, Safia. Every Lord must have those men that are vile and capable of things that most men would balk at. Every King had an even greater need for such men. Somehow they managed to fit in with the majority of those at the tables, but there were those who had several place settings separating them from even the men that followed them. In some ways Desmond Rolmar, King of the Mountains, felt like those men even though his second son Ectarion was at his right hand. At the moment his son thought he was proving himself his father's equal. In truth he was proving that it was a good thing he would never rule the kingdom. After insulting their guest, a messenger from House Kildare with a wedding proposal, he attempted to usurp Desmond's own position by claiming it would be he, Ectarion, who would be sending the messenger on her way. Sometimes the apple does fall far from the tree.

    After making certain that his son was done speaking, Desmond ignored the first and last thing he had said about his daughter, and instead focused on the middle for the moment. “Ectarion, you will not be sending our guest anywhere, unless you think that you are king?” He spoke in a soft voice, as he had learned long ago that forcing other people to pay attention to what you say was a very useful thing to do. It also seemed to lend ones comments far more weight. It also made it harder for any potential eavesdroppers to hear him amidst the noise of his men. At Ectarion's shocked reaction, quickly followed by a shake of the head. “I thought not. As to your sister, she will do what is required of her. Much as it pains me to send her to such a dreary place as the desert, it would do us all good to have a more solidified alliance with them. My only lament is that it isn't the royal House that sent us the request, but House Kildare is sufficient for our needs. They are in high favor.”

    Turning his attention to the messenger and raising his voice a bit, “I do apologize for the wait. I had not intended for it to take a week but the sheer number of ramifications that I had to consider were far greater than I had anticipated.” Not the least of which was a wedding proposal so recently after I had to end her engagement to... Well, that is of little concern. Suffice to say she was happy with the match, and I fear that she may not make the best bride at the moment. I am sorry Safia, but maybe you will understand what you have done to me by taking my beloved Corrine from me. It was an unworthy thought, and he knew it, but there it was just the same. He had other unworthy thoughts of his daughter as well, but it was best not to think of those. “Hopefully that I have accepted the offer will help take the sting out of the wait.”

    The messenger bowed her head slightly and turned back to some papers she had brought with her as they waited for food, obviously still disgruntled.

    As Ectarion had done earlier, Desmond took a sip of the very fine wine that had come with the messenger as a gift. Such an explosion of flavors, truly their vineyards are some of the finest in the kingdoms. How ironic that it is in the desert. It must have something to do with the dry air as the wine ferments. He would only have one cup of it, for he preferred keeping a reasonably clear head. But it did help him to relax and be more humane to those around him, which was almost always to the good.

    Desmond looked over his hall once again, and found a sense of joy in the symmetrical beauty of it. There were an even number of pillars, with doors at each of the corners and directly in front of him. The pillars were made of black marble with white veins, offsetting the white marble of the floor and ceiling. There were reliefs in the walls between the pillars showing scenes of his Houses history, these were also in marble. Some were of fighting dragons, one of a marriage to the then Royal House, and several battle scenes. But his favorite was of the castle he was currently in as it sat snugly into the the northern mountain, which kept the sun from shining in til almost ten in the morning. It showed the spires, all ten of them, in a circle with the keep rising from the center in its tiered splendor, Much like the city that was beneath.

    Several moments later his daughter Safia entered in all of her blonde majesty, flanked by his eldest son Karridan and Ser Emory Cupiditas, her body guards. Why must you torture me by looking like your mother so. The pain that this one simple fact had brought him over the years was something that had nearly been overwhelming at times. Forcing a smile onto his face he gestured for her to join him at the table. “Thank you for blessing us with your presence daughter, I had hoped we could have a... pleasant time this evening?” He would wait to say that he needed to talk to her about the marriage proposal to Ser Lawrence Kildare, the Knight Commander of his house and by many accounts the finest general and warrior in the desert kingdom. It would only widen the rift that had formed between them to do it immediately, and that was something he hoped to mend a bit.

    He motioned for the servants to being bringing them food after his daughters arrival. Thankfully it hadn't taken too long.

    Tag: JediMasterAnne, Spycoder9

    OOC: Due to my continued laments with the tag system I'm going to do it this way since this is mainly aimed at her. @JediMasterAnne

    Also, if you don't want me controlling NPCs just lemme know Spy, you weren't around to ask so...
  2. Teegirl00 Jedi Grand Master

    Raven Delmari
    Bed Chambers, Isle Castle

    The sound of blades clashing could be heard through out the court yard. Raven looked on from the balcony with longing in her heart to join. She couldn't join them, because her mother was too busy prepping her tomboy of a daughter to be more lady like. The pull of the brush that went through Raven's brown hair was a little to hard for Raven's taste. "OUCH! ..not so hard mother you'll pull my hair out." She said with a huff.

    “Why did you torture yourself, Raven?” She took a deep breath and exhaled rather exasperatingly. Raven hated to hear another one of Mother's lectures. She hears it ten times a day at the very least. She shrugged her shoulders as she stared out the balcony watching the men practice. She tried to ignore her Mother, but it was quite hard because of the tone in her voice was similar to a mans. Here we go again. Raven thought as her Mother continued to give her lecture.

    "You are betrothed. No longer may you prance around the yard with sword in hand. You must be strong, and birth your husband’s children. Be grateful for this, if you can. The pain of losing children before they are born. . .is one no woman should ever have to face.”

    She was to be married to Korianton Rynquist, how could she ever forget. Her Mother kept reminding her day after day. Raven did not know how to feel about Korianton. Though he was the son of her father's friend still Raven really didn't know him. He was handsome and he was a good swordsman himself. That was all she knew. Maybe she could love him. She shook her head to get rid of that thought.

    "No mother no woman should have to go through that, but I'm not like you. I want to have adventures on the seas like father has. How can I do that if I am stuck married with children."

    “My daughter all grown up.” her mother said as she finished brushing Raven's hair.

    “Now. . .you may leave. But be sure you do not dirty your dress. You look like a jewel, Raven. My sparkling jewel.”

    As usual Raven knew her mother was not listening to a word she said. Raven thought her mother was delusional at times. She hears what she wants to hear and nothing more. This was Raven's chance to sprint down to join the men maybe get in a few swings of her sword that she had the blacksmith make for her. Running as fast as she could hoping she wasn't too late.

    TAG: @spycoder9
  3. Livi-Wan Jedi Knight

    GM approved! Please look kindly on the newbie latecomer :)

    Name: Malik Stone
    Age: 23
    Gender: Male
    Appearance: Malik is slight, and rather shifty-looking, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, and olive skin that hints at a Desert heritage. Thanks to his work with ledgers, his hands are often covered in ink. He dresses plainly and tries not to draw too much attention to himself. Stunningly inept with any kind of weapon, he carries a dagger that he's only managed to hurt himself with.
    Homeland: the Mountains
    King (King of the Mountains, King of the Desert, King of the Isles, the Rightful King, None): The King of the Mountains
    Occupation: Clerk
    Family Banner: Malik is a bastard, but he is affiliated with the house of his father, House Harrowmont, whose banner is dark blue with a silver stylised gate and chains in the centre.
    House Words (A saying the family uses): As Strong As Stone
    Biography: First, the thing everyone asks about. Yes. Malik is a bastard. His father, Jowan Harrowmont, sired Malik during a business trip to the Desert and, having no children of his own, took the baby when he returned to the Mountains. Malik grew up in the outer orbit of the Harrowmont household, pretty much the butt of everyone else's jokes. The family is known for its skill with buying and lending, and Malik was trained as a banker and clerk for the household. Jowan still nurses hopes that he'll make something of himself, but as Malik grew into adulthood he really just wanted a quiet life. He is not interested in his birth mother or who his family in the Desert might be, although he secretly harbours some romantic notions about the place. The words of House Malik are 'Please leave me alone'.
  4. spycoder9 Jedi Master

    The Isles of Mirwyth


    The Streets

    The banner emblazoned with a gold anchor and coiled rope, topped of with a crown, flew from the open carriage. Inside the wooden hunk on wheels, a skinny man with a crown atop his head rode. He was known throughout Mirwyth as Nathaniel Delmari, but in the isles he was called king. Beside him sat one of his staunchest supporters and friends, Korianton Rynquist. His ruggedly handsome features and charming laugh made all the men and women of Breezecroft cheer. House Moorecroft welcomed the king and his men into the city. When the ship pulled into the harbor, a banner could be seen, that of which showed a mooring rope in grey on dark slate blue field. Lord Tymothi and Lady Azel Moorecroft greeted the king and his men, helping them off the ship and through the streets. Carriages carried them through the many citizens who cheered and clapped. Many were dirty and skinny, but they all were pleased to see him. He was their hope at righteousness.

    “These people are loyal, your Grace.” Korianton smiled at several blushing maidens as they passed. “Loyal, and pretty, might I add.”

    “Loyal, I can promise.” Lord Tymothi rode up on a horse, galloping alongside the carriage. His long blonde hair, which had began to turn grey, flowed behind his head. His skin was lightly tanned, and strong from years of time in the sun. Strong arms, tendons bulging, and a sword hanging from his side. He added to the prettiness of the place.

    “Lord Tymothi, I thank you for welcoming me into the city as well. Some men would only pleasure the king himself a ride.” Korianton had practiced politics for many years. This all came easily.

    “The people seem to love you. My wife as well.” The last note added an uncomfortable feeling to everything. The Lord shrugged it off. “We are just happy enough that our King would visit us."

    The Bloody Breeze - A Tavern

    Work had been especially hard for the freckled face girl in trousers, a worn shirt, and a pair of old boots. The news of the King of the Isles coming to the city had arrived by raven three days before. Lord Tymothi had sent one of his sons down to the docks to tell those who worked should prepare things.

    Slade Moorecroft was not a kind man. One of the dock workers, a drunk man who had recently lost a child, was drowned in full view of all the others after he spoke out against the royal family. As the last bubbles had drifted out from the man’s mouth, Slade had asked if anyone had anything else to say. No one had spoke up. So, with a whip in hand, he oversaw all the preparations. Gwenn Cliffe received a lashing herself, but for what, she didn’t even know. The Gods had been kind, though, and no one else perished. Many injuries, but no deaths.

    Now that the ship had docked and the king had exited the ship, the dock workers were allowed a evening of peace. They could go whoever they pleased, so long as they got into no trouble.

    And that’s how Gwenn found herself in a local tavern. One of the other dock workers, a kind but overgrown man, told her about a nice place. He did everything but drag her there, and now they sat inside talking the day over.

    “I heard the blessed King fathered bastards a plenty, when he was younger.” One of the men spoke up after taking a large gulp of cold whisky. “Little bastards and big bastards. Don’t matter where ye are, there’s always a bastard of our king around here.”

    “Speak softly, old man.” A younger man with a scar stretched across his face replied.

    “Spies are rumored to be everywhere.”

    “What? I’m just telling the truth. Bastards here, bastards there, bastards, bastards everywhere.” He cackled so hard spittle flew across the table and into Gwenn’s lap. “Oh damn, lookie what I did!” He laughed even harder.

    “Someone needs to take his glass away from him.” The guy from the docks, Cold-Eyes, looked at Gwenn with an apologetic gaze. “He’s had too much-”

    “Too much?” The old man roared. “Too much! This guy thinks I had too much?” He beat his fist onto the table.

    The door to the tavern opened with a sharp creak. Everyone jumped to attention, except for the laughing old man. When they all realized it was just an ugly peddler, they turned back to talking.

    But this was no regular ugly peddler. It was Abott Tuckman, a man no one knew about and probably never would. A wanderer, a drifter, a free-bird. Coming and going to islands. For some reason, perhaps by fate, he arrived here at this tavern.

    “Hey!” The old guy called to the new arrival, still chucking. “You there! You think I had enough fur the night?” He broke off into heavy laughter yet again.

    TAG: @Chukles38, @Jedi_Padawan_Leigh, @Mitth_Fisto
  5. Mitth_Fisto Jedi Grand Master

    Abott Tuckman
    The Bloody Breeze - Tavern

    Walking in out of the evening air he found himself in a quiant little shanty of a tavern where man could rest, do business, or die. Possibly all in the same night, if luckily unlucky. Still as he came in he got an indication that he might just be the unlucky one tonight. After all how often does one get heckled for an opinion by an older un-gentle being about whether they had had too much 'fur the night'.

    Looking at the laughing old man and then at the rest of the scene he simply shrugged his shoulders. "If your not passed out, and not in danger of being beaten out of your teeth I'd say your fine." He replied with a wink to the table the man was at. Quickly he ordered up a round with a waving of his hands to the bar maid and indicated the poorly affected table. Pulling out a small pouch he neared the bar and put down his money for the drinks as well as a small piece of folded paper with powder in it, which he proceeded to communicate with the bar maid was for the laughing mans drink.

    Hopefully nothing would be lost in translation. Turning back he looked at the table, "Mind if I join?" he asked with half a mind to possibly doing some business. He could sell the sleeping powder some of the people here for a nice little profit and maybe even cover his expenses for the night without breaking a sweat.

    TAG: @Chuckles38 , @Jedi_Padawan_Leigh , @spycoder9
    trimaj likes this.
  6. JediMasterAnne Jedi Master

    IC: Safia Rolmar

    The Stone Tower

    Dining Hall

    She moved to her place at the table, neither affirming nor disagreeing with her father’s words. ‘Pleasant’ was a relative term—he might be enjoying himself, but recent days for Safia were ‘tolerable,’ at best—though ‘tolerable’ was an improvement over the earliest days after her father had seceded from Mirwyth: ‘unbearable’ and ‘miserable’ had been more applicable then. She was still trying to put the pieces back together after the end of her engagement to Matheus, and though she had not laughed in weeks and barely smiled, at least she was now willing to leave the solitude of her room.

    As she sat down, she glanced over towards their guest—she had seen the woman around the castle several times over the last week, but she had no idea who she was or what she was doing here. But Safia was beginning to suspect that the woman’s presence had something to do with her. Otherwise, why would her father have summoned her?

    Trying not to offend their visitor, her tone was curious when she spoke up. “Why did you send for me, Father? Do you intend to finally tell me why our guest is here?”

    TAG: @trimaj @spycoder9
  7. trimaj Jedi Master

    IC: Desmond Rolmar
    The Tower of Stone
    The Dining Hall

    Smiling fondly at his daughter, King Rolmar patted her hand as she took her seat at his left hand, trying to be affirming and maybe even get a hint of a smile. It would have pleased him greatly if that happened, but Desmond did not expect it. Normally this seat at his left would have been his eldest son's place, but tonight he was moved down between Safia and their guest from the desert kingdom. I hope to the old gods that woman will keep silent during this meal. Let her talk to Karridan and stay out of trouble. Of course, for them to have a pleasant evening as they had before the broken engagement it would require his daughter to not try and force knowledge of the woman out of him. Or his sons. So help me if Ectarion doesn't stay silent as well I may have his head for it. He was not entirely sure how serious he was about that. Far more than was healthy for the fool Ectarion, that was sure.

    Of course, his daughter, being as astute as she was, asked the very question he was hoping to put off til later. Why did you summon me. Why is our guest here. Not such simple questions my dear. Although odds are your mother would have figured it out by now, but you aren't her. Instead of putting voice to his thoughts he said in a hopefully catching somewhat content but still soft tone of voice, “Because I felt that you needed to be out of your room and around people Safia. I am sorry for what happened, you do know that don't you? If I could insure your happiness, I would have. Unfortunately... Well, do you know what that wastrel Fenton would do with you as a daughter-in-law? Before?” Shaking his head, “I could not risk you being within his control, because even I don't begin to know what foul thoughts lurk within his heart.” Just like no one knows what ones lurk within mine. You never let me explain that before. I wish Mattheus had a better man for a father and king, but he doesn't.” He looked at her, please understand written all over his face.

    After she had responded he touched on her other question. “It would be best if we left our guest until after supper daughter. It is something we should discuss in private. Please, can we not eat as a family again? Just for tonight.” There was a plea to Safia here, almost silent but coming out through his eyes and subtly working its way into his voice. It was easy to miss. Sadly this may not happen again very often in the near future. War is coming, we all know it, and it has a terrible way of tearing families apart. But he left this out and prayed to the old gods that wouldn't happen to them, but knew how little they cared for the frailties and cares of men. Even men who were blood of the first men, as his family had been for thousands of years. His kingdom was the last bastion of their blood in all the lands, and the majority of the houses here still kept to the old ways, and remembered at least some of the lore that the maesters considered only fairy tales and myths. But every myth has a truth behind it. Every legend has something that began it. No matter how warped the tales have become, there is still something to be gained for those willing to search deep enough. I hope I have. Finally the servers had arrived with their food, a thick creamy potato soup chased with some brandy from one of the southern houses. It had always been one of his favorite dishes. Raising his voice, “Eat, everyone, and be merry!” He said to the room at large. And then glanced at his daughter, Please.

    TAG: @JediMasterAnne, (Spycoder9)

    OOC: For whatever reason the tag system just really, really doesn't like me in this thread. @JediMasterAnne
  8. Jedi_Padawan_Leigh Jedi Knight

    IC: Gwenn Cliffe
    The Bloody Breeze
    The inn was lively at this hour, A fire in the hearth spread a warm glow throughout the room. A singer made up humorous songs on his wood-harp in the corner, drawing laughter from the small crowd around him. Serving girls giggled and teased some of the patrons, and the room was alive with chatter. But even all this did little to lighten Gwenn Cliffe’s mood as she sat amongst the other dock workers who had congregated in “The Bloody Breeze” It had been a trying day for a lot of them and the chance to drink the memories of the day away seemed too much of a temptation to resist. She was tired, and could have happily returned to the servants barracks at the Moorecroft estate and slept for a week (if only the gods were so gracious) but one of her fellow workers had practically dragged her along to the tavern. He was a kindly man, and he had meant well, so she agreed to come along as not to offend him. And so they sat together, talking the day over. One of the men beside her appeared to not be able to hold his liquor very well, as with each drink he downed he became louder and more outspoken.

    “I heard the blessed King fathered bastards a plenty, when he was younger.” He paused only to take another large gulp of the whiskey that sat before him. “Little bastards and big bastards. Don’t matter where ye are, there’s always a bastard of our king around here.”

    “If he says the word “Bastard” one more time…” She mused silently, resisting the urge to scowl at him as she nursed a mug of ale in her hands. Taking a mouthful of the drink, she leant forward and rested her arms down on the table top, but ended up fighting back a grimace. The master’s son had lashed her earlier at the docks, her simple cloth shirt had done little to cushion the blows and she could feel the stinging welts rising on her back. She didn’t know why he had punished her “I hadn’t done nothing!” She thought sullenly as her eyes found the bottom of the mug. She had been minding her own business, helping to unload provisions and cargo from the kings ships. Then again, a few lashes were nothing compared to the poor bugger who had spoken up against the King in the presence of Slade Moorecroft. She had known him only as “Old Tarkwin” and he had been grieving for his deceased child, was an emotional wreck, and the confrontation had been the straw that broke the camels back. He didn’t deserve death, but Slade didn’t care. He saw cattle and pigs instead of people. She wasn’t really a religious person, but she did say a silent prayer for him, hoping he would find peace and the gods would re-unite him with his child.

    “Speak softly, Old man. Spies are said to be everywhere” She was pulled out of her thoughts when the man sitting opposite her spoke up. Everyone called him “Cold-eyes” and the large scar that cut across his face twitched slightly as he spoke. The older man just shrugged off his advice, instead, bursting into a rhyme which he thought hilarious. He laughed so loud that spittle flew from his mouth. Some of it landed in Gwenn’s lap which caused him to laugh all the more.

    “Someone needs to take his glass away from him. He’s had too much” Cold-Eyes said, shooting Gwenn and apologetic look. She nodded in agreement. The drunk man obviously didn’t agree, protesting and beating his fist down onto the table, still in raucous laughter.

    “Perhaps ye should become a bard old man, that way Slade won’t flay ye alive and feed yer skin to the fishes fer turning up to work drunk” Gwenn thought to herself as she took another sip of her ale. It was then that the door to the Tavern opened with a loud creak, and many of the patrons turned around or lifted their heads up from their drinks to see who had entered. He was dressed in the clothing of a pedlar, a large black Jacket, and a distinctive hat. A brown beard covered most of his face, and what skin she could see seemed weathered and worn by the elements. He wasn’t in the tavern two minutes before the drunk man called out too him.

    “Hey! “You there! You think I had enough fur the night?” He slurred, Still gripped by giggles. The newcomer seemed unperturbed however and merely shrugged his shoulders.

    "If your not passed out, and not in danger of being beaten out of your teeth I'd say your fine." He replied, shooting a wink their way before moving over to the bar. Gwenn’s grey eyes followed him across the room as he stopped and talked to one of the bar maids for a moment. He then turned back and walked back over to their table, “Mind if I join?”

    Gwenn put down her now empty cup down and gestured to a vacant chair, not wanting to possibly offend the man further. “Yes, please, sit” she said to him and gave Cold-Eyes another look before glancing back to the pedlar. We are sorry fer our friends behaviour ser”

    TAG: @Mitth_Fisto @spycoder9 @Chukles38
  9. Mitth_Fisto Jedi Grand Master

    Abott Tuckman
    The Bloody Breeze Tavern

    Nodding at the accepted invitation he moved forward and took the indicated seat. "Thank you, madame. Sirs." he said by way of greeting. "What's in season here?" he asked by way of finding out if there was any good food to be had. With the boisterous nature surely the drinks had to be good. Merely the food was now the question. Getting comfortable he unbuttoned the bottom button of his black coat so it wouldn't bunch in his lap.

    Adjusting his cap his curls bobbed and before he leaned back in the chair with a contented grin.

    TAG: @Jedi_Padawan_Leigh , @spycoder9
  10. JediMasterAnne Jedi Master

    IC: Safia Rolmar
    The Stone Tower
    Dining Hall

    She knew that her father’s explanation was meant to console, to help her understand, but the mention of Matheus only served to remind her of what her father’s decisions had cost her. What she had lost, and would probably never have again. She quickly blinked away the tears that briefly glazed over her eyes, swallowing past the tightness in her throat to quietly sip at the soup that had been served—she suddenly didn’t have much of an apetite, but her father and brothers would worry if she didn’t eat.

    It had not escaped her notice as to how her father had not answered her questions regarding their strange guest, which only heightened her suspicions that whatever the woman’s reason for being here, it was about her. And the fact that he wanted it to be a private conversation bothered her even more.

    But Safia also knew that it was futile to press him further on the subject—her father was a stubborn man, and when he said ‘later,’ he meant ‘later.’ So she set the topic aside, and was silent for the duration of the meal.

    ‘Later’ was better than ‘never.’

    TAG: @trimaj@spycoder9
  11. Chukles38 Jedi Master

    Nathaniel Delmari, King of the Isles
    Various locals in the city of Breezecroft

    The carriage rolled through the street, more a parade than Nathaniel generally cared for. While he had no qualms about becoming the King of the Isles--for he did not doubt that he was a good king, doing good for his people--he nonetheless had never desired so public and restrictive a life. Even the title of Lord Delmari had come upon him unwanted. He was the second son of the Delmari family, and he only inherited its rule through the untimely death of his older brother, Gregory. Even still, if he thought too deeply on his brother's death, though nearly thirty years had passed, Nathaniel was mournful for his passing. Though the two had not seen eye to eye on, well, anything, they had certainly loved each other, and when young boys, they spent many a day running through the Delmari estate, or swimming in the harbor. Those had been simpler times, as well. There were no wars to speak of, pirates the greatest concern to the peoples of the Isles.

    It was that very concern, though, that had driven the wedge between Nathaniel and Gregory, for the young Delmari felt that the pirates must be eliminated to protect their people. In anger, the two fought, saying things neither would wish to be their parting words to one another. Nathaniel had left, joined with the fleet, and had only said a few small words to his brother before he died, years later. It was perhaps one of the king's greatest regrets in his long life, one that haunted him constantly.

    But it was also a concern for other times, for now was a happy occasion. Throngs of people lined the streets as Nathaniel's carriage rode past, cheering in genuine joy to see him come to Breezecroft. As Nathaniel waved and nodded to the assembled peasantry, he couldn't help but to feel humbled. Were events just slightly different, he himself would be leaning against a doorway, perhaps, watching as his brother paraded into the town. Certainly Gregory would have enjoyed it far more than Nathaniel did. Still, he realized he'd come to be a symbol of hope and promise. By the state of the assembled persons, it was clear that times were indeed hard. Nathaniel had heard the reports, he'd done what he could, but nothing could prepare a king for seeing his subjects like this. Clothes were worn through, and many looked as though they barely had enough to eat, if that. Tears glistened in his eyes for a moment. He'd have to see about getting more food for this city.

    A throat cleared next to him, and Nathaniel turned to eye Korianton Rynquist inquiringly. "Are you alright, my lord? You seem quite... distracted." The young man was concerned, but didn't show it as he nodded and smiled at the crowd about him. Unlike Nathaniel, Korianton had been bred for politics. The son of the king's good friend, Alexander Rynquist, Korianton had proved himself at a young age capable of ruling the family after his father died some years ago. He'd also become a good friend and confidant to Nathaniel, much as his father had been. He was, incidentally, also betrothed to the princess of the Isles, and soon to be Nathaniel's son-in-law. The old king could think of no one he'd rather his daughter spend her life with.

    The old man smiled slightly, and when he spoke, his voice was low and rasping, but strong. "My boy, when you get my age, you'll find that there is much to consider, much to think on. But enough of that, enjoy the festivities around you. You are a young and, dare I say, a fit man. Enjoy it!" Korianton laughed in relief as much as humor. Nathaniel, for his part, grew stern as he spoke again. "But do not enjoy yourself too much, lad. You are, after all, betrothed to my dear Raven."

    A genuine smile crossed the young lord's features. "Oh, my father, I wouldn't dream of betraying Raven's trust. After all, I was the one to seek her hand, if I remember correctly."

    Nathaniel took his turn to laugh. "Right you are my boy. Right you are." The two fell into companionable silence as they once more addressed the crowd. As they were coming up on a crossroads, memories began to flood back to the old king, and a mischievous thought crossed his mind. He turned to Korianton and, in a low, conspiring voice, said, "Whatever happens, young one, stay close to me."

    Lord Rynquist looked over at his king, his brows furrowed in bafflement. "What, my lord, do you mean by--" As the glint in the older man's eyes registered, Korianton trailed off, his expression changing to one of surprise and, perhaps, shock. Nathaniel thought, perhaps, there was a touch of confusion there as well. "My lord, I'm not sure I understand what you have in mind, but I can't help but feel that you are abo--" The young man was waved silent by his king as Lord Tymothi Moorecroft approached their carriage.

    "These people are loyal, your Grace." Korianton smiled at several blushing maidens as they passed. "Loyal, and pretty, might I add." His mind, quick as always, established that the current conversation was unfit for present company, and the change of subject was smooth and natural. The boy was born for this.

    "Loyal, I can promise." Lord Tymothi added as he caught up to the carriage.

    "Lord Tymothi," Korianton continued, ever the politician, "I thank you for welcoming me into the city as well. Some men would only pleasure the king himself a ride."

    The hosting lord shrugged off that last comment. "The people seem to love you. My wife as well." The air about them grew tense for a short moment, but Lord Tymothi seemed to think it of no concern. "We are just happy enough that our King would visit us."

    "And it is a pleasure, as always, to be welcomed to this fine city." Nathaniel looked around for a moment, his expression nostalgic. "I have many fond memories of Breezecroft. I spent much time here in my younger years." Before any more words could be exchanged, Nathaniel leaned forward and gestured for the carriage driver to stop. Confused, he did so. The rest of the entourage hastily pulled to a stop as well, though not nearly as orderly as perhaps they would have wished. The stop was, after all, quite unexpected.

    "If you'll excuse me, Lord Tymothi, I believe this is a good place to stop for now." And, without waiting for anyone else's input, the old King stepped out of the carriage into the street to the astonished faces of, well, most everyone.

    TAG: None really, for the moment. There is a part two. :p
  12. spycoder9 Jedi Master

    The Prairies of Mirwyth



    “It’s cooler here.” One man riding on top of his chestnut horse called out. He was garbed in light mail, with a crest drawn across his chest. Ser Rickard Dondare, one of the many sons of Lord Olincer Dondare, rode beside the commander of this traveling band. Ser Lawrence Kildare was a handsome, strong man who held them all together well. Rickard understood why his father respected him. The fact that Lawrence had bowed down to his sister and let her become queen had at first made Rickard believe the man was weak. Now he knew it was out of respect and loyalty to the customs of that family. It had been expected from all of them.

    The worst part about it all was the fact that Lawrence had been sold by his sister. He was a knight. While he could still wield his sword and wear his armor, his respect would be lost the moment he wedded the mountain princess. And respect could never be won back.

    “And safer at home.” A woman, skin dark as Rickard’s horse’s mane, pulled up beside him. He recognized her as Illiza, the priestess. Rickard’s father had requested she join the wedding band and be welcomed at the wedding. She was highly respected in the Oasis.

    “I thought you had retired to your carriage,” Rickard struggled to maintain a conversation with her.

    “I did. The gods woke me with a vision.” She came up in between Rickard and Lawrence, looking at the commander. “Ser Lawrence, I need to speak to you. In the near future, if possible.”

    “We do not have time for visions, priestess. The present is troubling enough-”

    “I will not be spoken to in such a degrading manner, Ser Rickard. If you wish to speak to me, you may ask-”

    “I’m sorry, dear Illiza. I’m not used to conducting with witches.” With that, Rickard bowed and withdrew, letting his horse fall back.

    “Ser Lawrence,” the priestess hissed. “There will be blood. In the near future. Ser Rickard, along with many others, slain beneath the feet of a four headed king.” She leaned even closer. Her long brown hair curled down her back, and her big eyes seemed to gaze into his heart.

    “And you were there too, Ser Lawrence.”

    The Farms

    “Anny, get the damn milk! I didn’t call for ye to come back just so ye drink all our water and then do nothing! Ye’re gonna work fur it.”

    The farm of Anyanka and her family was not in the most perfect condition. It had weathered many battles, and lasted longer than most of the other farms that popped up here and there every year. But the barn’s boards had began to rot, and the home itself was filled with little scurrying creatures. Anyanka’s mother and sisters tried endlessly to keep it clean, but nothing could keep all of the little black roaches at bay.
    Nothing except for her father’s voice.

    Her father had always been a loud man, and didn’t care to use the foulest of languages. He screamed at her constantly, along with her two older brothers. Though that was only while they worked. When the retired inside for the night, sitting around on the rug and telling stories, he was a different man. Calm, kind, and even filled with laughter. Her mother was more at ease, along with her siblings.

    “Anyanka!” Her father came around the corner, glaring at her as she milked the cow. “Ye better get the damn milk in that pail before I hit ye upside the head with this rake.”

    He wasn’t lying. Little Toby, one of their cousins, had dared to back talk her father. He was buried the next day.

    “I knew I shouldn’t of left ye in charge of anything.” He growled. “Well, at least you come home when we need ya. Yer brothers stay out havin’ bastards and loving evil women. At least ye have enough sense to come back to ye family.”

    Village Center

    The village of Dragonwood was poor, and that was being kind. Water had barely trickled in this year, even during the good times. A quarter of the population, which had not been much to begin with, was dead from either starvation, dehydration, or disease. And yet, even after all of these horrible things had happened to these people, they continued to work. The farmers farmed. The hunters hunted. The gatherers gathered. Beldak Darkeyes was in the town center. Broken cobble stone paths led over a small bridge. Under the bridge was a small stream of water. It was the only source water for the people. Around the bridge, small and flat buildings sat. These were the privileged ones who actually had nice homes. The rest were stuck to either a tumbled down home or not one at all.

    Beldak was here for one reason. And he waited for it to reveal itself as he sat near the bridge. A young maiden with a faded dress and apron passed by him. She glanced at his direction, smiled a bit, and then went on. Others came and went. Tired, old, hungry, young, weak. They were all virtually the same.

    Then the sounds of approaching hooves could be heard. The people standing on the bridge scattered like ants. Some ran into homes, others hid under the bridge. A group of horses came through the prairies and up the bridge. In the front stood a hideous man with rotten teeth and a stump for a hand. A sword lay in his other.

    “Give us yer food, er face er wrath.” The other men behind him scattered throughout the small place, approaching those who had been unfortunate enough not to hide.

    The young maiden girl was attacked by a tall man with a boil and a missing eye. She screamed out, throwing her purchased foods to the man. He looked through them, and then stepped closer to her, letting his hand run under her chin. “My peach.” He cackled, trying to kiss her. The other outlaws were moving between men and women, killing some, saving others.

    “Hand ov’r the food.” The man with the stump stood in front of Beldak. It looked like he wasn’t going to leave until he received his food.

    TAG: @Trieste, @Obi Anne, @HanSolo29
  13. spycoder9 Jedi Master

    The Mountains of Mirwyth


    Knighting Hall

    “I hereby declare you a knight.”

    The Lord of House Harrowmont, Jowan Harrowmont, stood above the many gathered to knight his second cousin. Dark black hair, silver-blue eyes, strong jaw. Sylvar Harrowmont was a handsome young man, and would make a charming young knight. A promising heir, also.

    This was just another bit of salt in the wound of Malik Stone’s life. Being born a bastard was not fun. Living in a castle as a bastard was not fun. Being forced to watch a potential heir to a throne you would never receive because you were a bastard was not fun.

    The whole House Harrowmont had gathered for this single event. Evony Harrowmont, the proud mother, cheered as her son raised his head with a smile. She had jet black hair, yanked back sharply in a tight bun. Her eyes were curved upward, with the same silver tinge as her son. She wore elegant silver robes, with added jewelry. She had been one of the main people in the House who had scorned Malik. And even now, as she gazed at her son with appreciation, she flashed a glance at Malik. Her look almost said, “ha, ha. My son shall be lord, and he shall crush you beneath his heel.”

    She looked back to her son, and continued to cheer and clap.

    “Hey, Malik.”

    Little Rosa Sand was there, a tiny girl with strawberry blonde hair and freckles dotting her face. She had come into the castle several years before. The product between a distant cousin of Harrowmont’s and a knight, Jowan had welcomed her into his home as well. She was a pretty child, and deserved to be dressed into beautiful gowns of vibrant colors. Instead, Evony Harrowmont made sure that almost everyday she had some chore to do. Something to cause her some amount of pain.

    “Why do we have to watch this?” She whispered to him. Only seven years old, and her grammar was almost perfect. She had learned from watching the other adults in the House.

    She might’ve been one of the only true friends Malik had in the House.

    “I mean, it’s just some dumb cousin getting a reward for doing nothing. And then Ms. Evony gets an excuse to brag just a little bit more.” Little Rosa laughed as she said it.

    “I wish we could just run away, Malik.” She was whispered again. “You could raise me, and we could live happily ever after in the prairies. No more mean Ms. Evony.”

    She smiled at that thought.

    TAG: @Livi-Wan
  14. afellowjedi Jedi Knight

    IC:Diana Cupiditas
    The Isles of Mirwyth
    The Harbor

    Diana watched the young man as he walked along the harbor, he hadn’t noticed her, and he had no reason too. She followed the young man discreetly; he seemed to be scouting the place for guards, ‘Yes’, she thought to herself, ‘look for the men in uniforms, not the woman who could kill you now before you could even turn around.’ She had disguised herself as a peasant man, wearing loose black trousers tucked into dark brown boots, and a baggy dark brown loose shirt. She had a modest sword at her left side and a curved dagger on her right. She had on a hood hiding her now braided hair and shadowing her face. Dark colors were necessary, dark colors hid the blood. She would need to get rid of them, she had no choice; if any were left alive they could report back to the false king. Yes, she’d make it as if they were never there. The amount of incoming people and ships made that easy no one would remember a few men.

    Diana sped up getting closer to the young man, pushing people out of the way to attract some attention. The man turned around and Diana made a point of locking eyes with him. That did it, the young man sped up and Diana followed, smiling when he ducked in to a dark alley.
    "Fool", she said to herself.
    As she turned down the alley she was met with a deserted walkway, piled up crates were along the walls. Diana tensed and slowly walked in her senses on edge, her hand hovering above her dagger. Rats shirked, skittering deeper into the alley as she approached, suddenly a fist flew out from behind a stack of creates; on instinct she grab the attacker’s lower arm twisted it and then tugged it violently towards the opposite wall leaving the attacker off balanced. The young man stumbled out from behind the crate trying to recover but Diana wasn’t going to give him a chance. She whipped out her sword and gave a powerful upper-right slash across his chest. He yelled in pain and reared back. Diana spun around and placed the man in a head lock.
    “How many knights did you bring?” she asked, getting straight to the point.
    “As if I would betray my king,” he spat, “LONG LI-”
    Diana cut him off, by cutting off his air supply, he clawed at her arm, but she just constricted more, then she loosened when the clawing began to subside the man gasped for air. “I don’t care about your king, only mine. Now tell me how many.” She said calmly in his ear.
    “T-t-ten” he gasped.
    “Are you sure?” she asked constricting his neck again.
    “y-yes yehs!” he gasped desperately, “No more than t-that! No more! ”
    “Good.” She then released him; he collapsed on the ground gaping like a fish, trying to call for help pitifully. She yanked him up roughly and then ran him through, leaving him silent. She pulled out her sword, the body making a dull thud as it hit the ground, and she placed it back in its sheath. She walked around and drug the body deeper into the alley, the rats would do the rest for her. She sighed there was still more to do. She walked out in to the busy street, no one paid her any heed, the noise of the harbor had covered up the altercation in the alley.

    She made her way to the docks, after making a detour to the stables where she had left her horse. Now she came walking back with a satchel slung over her shoulder. There was still no movement aboard the ship, boldly, she walked up the gang plank and came aboard. The deck was empty as she expected, so she made her way down below decks, making as little sound as possible. She walked down the narrow hallways. Every door she came across she listened for any movement. All the rooms seemed to be empty, she started to worry perhaps they had already left. She made her way down to the last door and listened, she was greeted by the baritone laughter of several men on the other side of the door. Diana smiled; her day just got a whole lot easier. She reached into her satchel and pulled out two jars filled with milky liquid, Fire water, a trick she learned from her time in the desert, a cocktail of poisons, acids, and strong smelling potions from herbs, all mixed together in water. She placed them down and reached again into her satchel and pulled out a scarf, she tied the scarf around her nose and mouth. Picking up the two jars again, one in each hand, she faced the door and with a good kick bust opened the door in to the room and through the two jars in to the room one aimed at each side of the room. It was a small room so the foul stench quickly filled it leaving the knights disorientated with burning eyes and noses, the unfortunate had the fire water splash upon them and, true to its name, it burned their skin like fire as it seeped into their pores poisoning them and they yelled in pain. Some tried to flee and fight but they didn’t get far, Diana waited in the hallway and any who came were dead as she cut them down.

    Soon it was over, Diana walked around the carnage, five laid dead in the hallway, two were beheaded in the far corner of the small room, and three were moaning in the center of the room, the fire water slowly doing its work, she took pity on those three and ended their lives quickly with a slit in the throat by her dagger.

    Diana leaned on the railing of the ship; it was late night now, only the drunks were about. She was exhausted, after hauling the men up on deck and then throwing them overboard, she cleaned the blood away from the hallway, and aired out the room as best she could; she didn’t want to two big of a scene. It was silent now and the stars twinkled over head, Diana sighed, her thoughts inadvertently going to her brother, ‘he is a knight now for another king, just like they were.’ Diana looked down on to her hands searching them blankly. She sighed, ‘Another question for another day’ she straightened and walked off the ship. She made her way to the stables, paid the keeper and rode off towards the palace, her job successfully done.

    TAG: @spycoder9
  15. Chukles38 Jedi Master

    IC: Nathaniel Demlari, The King of the Isles
    Various Locals in the City of Breezecroft

    At the moment, Nathaniel stood facing the captain of his guard, who had swiftly rushed to head him off as the old king moved to the crowd gathered at the side of the road. Nathaniel had to admire the young man for doing his job so well, but in the end he would have none of it. He refused to be caged like a pet bird, not that that kept the young man from trying to keep his king from walking over to the crowd of peasants.

    "Sir, please." The young guard said quietly, his voice pleading. "The risks. We can't protect you. What if there is an assassin in the crowd? It's too dangerous."

    Nathaniel returned his gaze with a look not quite harsh, but close. "Listen, boy. I've been in more danger in my life than this, and I will not be restrained from going where I please. Now, stand aside." With a wave of his hand, the king won out as the guard captain sighed and stepped aside, taking up a defensive position near to his king.

    The old man moved forward until he was before the crowd. Some cheered louder, others grew quiet, shocked that their king would act so. Nathaniel smiled as he began to shake hands and talk to some of those assembled. A choice few he'd pull out a coin to give them. Korianton, who had followed the king's order and remained close, said nothing, his own hand resting on his sword hilt.

    Everything was fine for a while. Nathaniel's guards were able to stick close and keep an eye on the crowd. Slowly, though, the old king moved into the crowd, and as peasants began to envelope the king, his guards found it harder and harder to stay close. Soon, both the royal guard and the crowd were trying desperately to locate their king, each to the detriment of the other.

    As confusion engulfed the street, Nathaniel and Korianton slipped out of the crowd. At the stall of a nearby vendor, distracted by the proceedings, Nathaniel slipped two cloaks off the counter, dropping more than enough coins in their place. He handed one to Korianton, and both pulled them about themselves, hoods high, shadowing their faces.

    The king moved purposefully down the streets, obviously familiar with his route. Korianton, at last, could hold his tongue no longer. He spoke out in a hiss, anger tinting his voice, masked by confusion and concern. "My lord, what are you doing." The king shot him a crooked smile, but said nothing else, merely gestured for the young lord to follow him. Korianton tried again. "Your guards, they will be worried out of their minds, and this is hardly fair to Lord Tymothi. They'll tear this city apart in worry."

    Nathaniel waved off that comment. "My guards will be fine. I do feel a touch of sorrow for doing this to Lord Tymothi, for he is a good man and a good lord, but his life has gotten dull as of late. This will do him some good." The king walked in silence for several moments before continuing. "Besides, I'm not a man to be cooped up in fancy castles and carriages every day. It has been too long since I have gotten into some mischief." Wisely, Korianton said nothing.

    At length, the king led them to a seedy part of town. They passed unnoticed, and stood before a tavern. By the looks of it, it was hardly the most... reputable place in town. "Sir," Korianton said, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "I'm sure that better places to drink lie in the wealthier part of town. I'm sure they'd be cleaner, too."

    Nathaniel laughed. "Ah, my boy, there is none better than The Bloody Breeze. Your father and I, well, we spent many a night in this place." With that, he waved the young man forward and into the establishment.

    They passed in unnoticed, save for a casual glance from a few people. Aside from their cloaks, poor in quality, they wore nice, but utilitarian traveling clothes. Neither was particularly elegantly dressed. As the two slipped around the tavern, an older man, obviously heavy with drink, was going on about the king's bastards, and how they abounded aplenty. Some were trying to hush him, but Korianton was obviously angered. He went to draw his sword, but Nathaniel moved a hand to stop the young man.

    "Peace, lad. He's entitled to his views. Let him drink." Grudgingly, Korianton moved his hand away from his sword hilt.

    This brought the pair to the bar, where they settled and discretely ordered two drinks. A strange man entered next, pronouncing his presence well enough to draw Nathaniel's attention. However, he was no danger, from the looks of him, so the two returned to their drinks. After a few more moments, Nathaniel shot Korianton another of his looks, which the young lord was beginning to dread. Before he could object, however, Nathaniel pulled down his hood and spoke, turning towards the old man. In a voice loud enough to carry somewhat, he spoke.

    "So, I have many bastards, do I?" His tone was jesting. At first, few took note of him, but slowly, as one man began to recognize their king and pass it along, the entire tavern grew eerily quiet, all eyes on Nathaniel. Korianton, sighing in exasperation, stood and threw back his hood, as well as half of his cloak, freeing up his sword arm. He stood, a hand resting on his hilt, his stance both defensive and challenging. While some surely would recognize their king, some may also recognize Korianton. Lord Rynquist was well known for his swordsmanship as well as his staunch support of King Delmari, after all.

    TAG: @Jedi_Padawan_Leigh @Mitth_Fisto @spycoder9
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  16. Livi-Wan Jedi Knight

    Malik Stone
    Knighting Hall, the Mountains of Mirwyth

    Rosa's words jerked Malik out of the daydream he'd been deep inside. Lady Evony was too far away to notice, but his eyes had gone unfocused and glassy, his posture slack as Malik fantasized about living out his days in some cottage far away from anybody else, possibly with a huge pile of gold. Rosa, unfortunately, hadn't learned the trick of sending your mind somewhere else yet and still clamored for his attention, albeit quietly.

    “I wish we could just run away, Malik.” he felt her hand seek his out. “You could raise me, and we could live happily ever after in the prairies. No more mean Ms. Evony.”

    Malik suppressed a sigh. This line of thought was only going to bring Rosa grief in the long run. Best she learned just to put up with things, and live out her days as quietly as possible until Evony, poisonous old hag that she was, died.

    "I'd be a terrible parent- all that power would go to my head." he whispered back, giving her hand a squeeze. "Send you to bed early every night and no sweetcakes at all, ever."

    Malik paused briefly as Evony Harrowmont's gaze swept over them again. "Worse than Evony, even."

    Rosa giggled, a quick, cut-off thing, and he sighed. "Let Sylvar have his day and get through it best you can. Maybe you'll marry outside the family one day and your husband will be nice."

    It wasn't much, but it was the best comfort he could give.

    TAG @spycoder9

  17. trimaj Jedi Master

    IC: Desmond RolmarThe Tower of StoneThe Dining Hall

    It was not the happiest meal ever to be eaten in this hall, but hopefully it wouldn't be the most solemn. His daughter barely ate anything, and every attempt at conversation was met with a downward stare and stony silence. It was almost as though she were made of marble. I suppose I can not blame her, she loved Mattheus. If only members of Great Houses were truly given that luxury... Instead it is something that we can only hope to gain through time. I did her no favors by making that match, and now I reap the fruits of my stupidity and ambition. As a result of her silence, Desmond found himself in a mood that could only be called brooding. It had happened too much over the last two decades, coincidentally the amount of time his Corrine had been dead.

    Finally tiring of the situation he pushed his plate back with a sigh. “Come Safia. I suppose the time for...” Abnormally, he didn't finish the sentence. “Just come.” He stood, and offered her his arm, hoping that she would take it, but fairly sure that she wouldn't. After waiting a second, he headed off with Safia at his side. Desmond had faced armies in his time, he had killed bandits and beasts that had given him nightmares for months. Yet he dreaded this discussion with his daughter more than all of that combined. What is it about family that can make you wish to avoid confrontations? Why do we care what they think so much. They are people, no different from the butchers, bakers, or other strangers that we don't know, yet they can wound so deeply and so easily. There had been few times that Desmond wished he had never had a family, but this was one of them. It would have simplified things vastly.

    As they moved through marble halls, this time lined with elegant paintings of various places in the kingdoms, Desmond stole a glance at his daughter. Instead of only looking at the face she tried to present, he really looked. What he found displeased him greatly. There were bags under her eyes, yes they were artfully disguised, but he had known Safia since the day she was born and hiding things from ones parents when they really wanted to see was not easy. A hardness to the lines of her face, as though she had been eating very little, which if this evening's meal was any indication was likely true. And in her eyes... sorrow. Deep sorrow, and maybe the beginnings of hatred if he was not careful. If only I could tell her my plans... But he dared not. Telling anyone, even his family, would be disastrous.

    After they arrived at his solar, which also doubled as an office, Desmond moved away from his daughter and said, “Make yourself comfortable. Would you like something to drink?” It was abnormal for him to offer his daughter liquor, but in this instance it seemed like they might both be in need of it. Pouring himself a large scotch, he kept his back to her so that she could not see the grimace on his face. Why do we always hurt the ones we love. And why do I feel as though she will never forgive me for this.

    TAG: @JediMasterAnne
  18. spycoder9 Jedi Master

    Trieste: Don't post your reply just yet! I need to make some changes to your update. We have a new player.
  19. PointGiven Jedi Grand Master

    Approved by spycoder

    Name: Mors Santagar
    Title: King of the Desert
    Age: 42
    Family Banner: A black scorpion set on a field of red, flanked by two twisting vipers. Above the scorpion rests a crown of gold.
    House Words: "Tread lightly, and be ever vigilant, for one does not know the dangers of the sand."

    The third son of a third son, Mors never dreamt he would be a lord, much less a king. His aptitude and thirst for learning impressed his beloved father who sent him to Valona to learn from the scholars at the Great University. Though he greatly enjoyed his formative years, learning from the ancient histories and studying the arts, fate would soon bring him back to the desert.

    It began with the death of his grandfather, victim of a broken neck from a fall from his horse. Mors' eldest uncle held the Lordship of the Desert for near two years before his own mysterious death on the eve of the new year. Rumors said that the man was poisoned by his younger brother, Mors' surviving uncle. Yet he too would barely live out the year, collapsing in a dead heap during a feast celebrating the birth of Ginnifer Kildare.

    Though Mors adored his father Dameros , he highly suspected that he had a hand in the deaths of his older brothers. After all, he had profited the most, and as Dameros was fond of saying "my older brothers never paid much attention to our family's words."

    Then came the bloody flux. In a matter of months the capital city, The Oasis of Dawnsgrace, had lost half its population, carrying off Mors' two elder brothers and their entire families. Dameros would soon follow his sons to the grave. He had been fond of imported pufferfish, a delicacy that had to be specifically cooked to rid it of its deadly poison. But what do desert cooks know of preparing fish? Dameros lay dead, and Mors, at the youthful age of 25, was now Lord of the Desert.

    The same rumors that plagued his father were whispered about him; how he had deliberately infected his brothers with the flux and how he had bribed the cook to poison his father. Though innocent, Mors encouraged the rumors; it would certainly give any prospective rival a healthy dose of fear.

    The mysterious death of the previous King, an old friend of Mors, and the incompetence of Fenton Reynard, gave Mors the excuse he needed to secede from Mirwyth. But every King has their flaws. In Mors' case it is not any vice but rather luck of the draw. His wife's first three pregnancies ended in miscarriage, and the fourth one, though successful, killed the woman, leaving Mors with a mentally retarded heir. He must remarry soon and produce a viable heir, or the illustrious Santagar dynasty will be an end...
  20. Jedi_Padawan_Leigh Jedi Knight

    IC: Gwenn Cliffe
    “The Bloody Breeze”

    "Thank you, Madame. Sirs." The bearded man said as he took his seat. Gwenn blinked in surprise. She was not used to being addressed with such courtesy, not that is wasn’t a welcome change. When-ever someone needed to address her they usually shouted things such as “Oi, you” or “Wench” or “Cliffe” and a lot of times from newcomers to the city, “Boy” One of the houses kitchen-maids once made a jest that the gods had proclaimed Gwenn to be male while in her mothers womb, But changed their minds halfway through. She was female, of course, all 5ft 6in of her, But with her broad shoulders, unkempt short hair and boyish figure, She was often mistaken for a male, being more handsome in the face than classically feminine and pretty. It proved both a help and a hindrance in equal measure. It did help her get around easier, the streets of Breezecroft were still dangerous places for women at night, even under King Delmari’s rule. Lecherous men were often more attracted to skirts and bodices than shirts and jerkins…most of the time. The newcomer smoothed his black coat out and adjusted his hat. “What’s in season here?”

    Gwenn cocked her head to the side “Well fish is always in season here, apart from that not much else. May be able tah find a few potatoes or onions if ye look hard enough” Her words were true enough, The isles had been going though a rough time regarding their food supplies as of late. Normally reliable crops had struggled this year, to many farmers confusion and frustration. and foods and goods that had to come in from the other lands took longer than normal, but arrived in ever decreasing quantities. This had a knock on effect for the people in the cities markets, who had to increase prices of staples such as bread and meat and grain. Most days Gwenn would usually make it through the day with small amounts of stale bread and hard cheese, sometimes the occasional apple that she pilfered from the kitchens when passing though

    "So, I have many bastards, do I?"

    The clang of metal hitting the wooden table caused her to shift her gaze back to Cold-eyes. The man had dropped his mug mid drink, ale dripped off the edge of the table and soaked into his tunic but he paid it no mind as he stared at two men who stood near their table. Second by second the room dissolved into silence. Gwenn’s eyes went wide as she slowly realised who was standing by their table.

    The king of the Isles himself, Nathaniel Demlari, was standing right there amongst the common folk. He wasn’t dressed in the usual splendour associated with kings, but it was definitely him. The most powerful man in the Isles… And he had just heard the old drunken oaf beside her defame him in public. A handsome young man stood by him. He had a hand resting on a beautifully crafted sword beneath the worn cloak he wore. his demeanour seemed defensive and challenging, and an unimpressed look was fixed on his face. “Oh gods, is he going to end up like Old Tarkwin?” Gwenn thought, gulping down the worried lump that threatened to rise in her throat

    Standing up from her chair, she dropped to her knee instinctively, ignoring her stinging back as best she could. her eyes cast down at the floor, not daring to look him in the face again. She had once tried to steal a glance at a son of a wealthy trader when they had visited the Moorecroft estate recently, but Slade Moorecroft had left her with a bruised cheek for her trouble. Being servant meant bowing or bending the knee to many people, ships captains, traders, knights, and especially anyone from a highbourne family or the royal house. A few other patrons also bent the knee, and many bowed their heads in the presence of their king.
    TAG: @spycoder9 @Chukles38 @Mitth_Fisto
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