• This section is for roleplays only.
    ALL interest checks/recruiting threads must go in the Recruit Here section.

    Please remember to credit artists when using works not your own.
OOC
Here
Characters
Here
Lore
Here
"If you can refrain from messing up my mane then yes. I certainly can."

That was all the confirmation that the mercenary needed, no words, no extended gestures, she simply placed her hand against the mare's neck and swung her legs over, elegantly mounting the unicorn once more, but this time, for a lot longer than a few seconds. She tapped twice softly on Navy's neck and dug her heels twice, clicking behind her teeth in a similar tempo to spur the creature forward. "I suppose you know the way, so I'll leave the directions to you. It'll be nice to have some company for a change."

Claire slid her helm back on her head, without a saddle, there was no way to stow it, so she'd have to make do with breathing her own air for the time being.

"To the capital of Byrne we go."

First Rose First Rose
 
Last edited:

With a small shake of her head and a mild niegh, Navy started her departure from the village and toward the capitol.

"Indeed. I even know a shortcut." Navy replied. She knew there was a capitol, but she didn't recognize the name Byrne, she must have missed a dense war for a capitol of such a powerful continent to be named something like Byrne.

The dark blue mare made her way past the small homes and shops in a speedy fashion. Though it wasn't much faster than any other steed. The sound of her clunking hooves was a rhythmic drum banging against the dirt road, her mane flying elegantly as the wind easily carried it awry. Such a display got the attention of most townspeople, looking out their windows and turning their gaze toward what seemed to be a knight riding a.... unicorn. A being that hadn't been seen for generations; surely this woman was going to end this radical war if she had herself such an astonishing steed. The people were breath taken, silent as they watched the two ride off toward the center of Byrne.

In no time at all, Navy already a few miles from the ocean side, making her way toward the center. Her breath calm and relaxed as she ran at a speed most horses would be gasping for air. However, when the dirt road turned and followed a more aligned and flat path away from all the forestry, Navy went straight ahead. Continuing at the same pace as she crossed over the large hills, and even faster as she rode it's deep slopes. Her speed declined, just a bit as they entered a forest, it's low hanging trees and tendency to home wolves made most men on horseback go around, but none of that stood in mind for Navy. She easily jumped over the branches, higher than what most would expect. Not to mention she had a grace that allowed her quick mobility around the trees.


"Shouldn't be long." She told Claire. Just a few minutes in their journey, and they had already saved nearly an hour.

 
Last edited:
The getup of the ride had been--well rather smooth if Claire had had any say in it. Navy was fast, most definitely, and the deadline for the meeting was drawing near. Had she been more prepared, Claire could have arrived nearly a month in advance, and been in the capital with time to clear up her affairs prior to. Though that fate was completely void as the two darted along the countryside, nightfall soon breaking the subtle dusk that had enveloped the hills, beaten paths, and dense forests. Further and further the two trekked on, with Claire having to quite literally watch her head as the unicorn sped through forests, and any other equestrian's nightmare. Fortunate for the mercenary, the steed possessed a mind of her own, and like clockwork, the night began recoiling, with the moon now hanging low and the sun threatening to rise on the eastern-most horizon.

Claire's thighs squeezed tight to Navy's side, the entire journey having not only drained her mentally but physically as well, the utter fatigue of riding bareback--with a saddle--had left her with bruises and an uncomfortable chafing that she deemed near-fatal. As Navy trudged on, galloping up the slope before them, Claire's eyes drew to a close, if only for a moment. Yet it was in that darkness, that she saw it, a decaying, ivory hand, stretching out from beyond the dark to clutch at her chest. She gasped and let one hand instinctively fall from Navy's mane, resulting in a speedy dismount that left her tumbling into the road until she came to a still in the dirt.

N-No, not again... I can't... Breathe...

"Oh child of the deceased, hear our beckoning, come and join those that you've claimed and yet have only managed to scarcely avoid. Join us in the life beyond..." The husky voice faded and the grip on her insides released, as now the physical wind had been knocked clean out of her. In her sprawl, her helm had been cast off and she crawled over to it, wheezing as she scooped it up in both hands.

Navy wouldn't have been able to hear the voice, nor would any other person, it was one of her own, a voice and ivory hand that only she could see, one that only affected her. For all of her strength, it was her deafening curse. She slid to both knees, and cast her face up to the sky, then mumbled something incoherent and silent, before getting ahold of herself. Her eyes trailed over to Navy and she shook her head, "I just lost my grip, must be tired. Let's keep--" A swirl of relief swept through her heart as the image behind the mount, at the peak of the hill, gave way to the basin below. And lying just beyond its fields of wheat and endless expanses of roads; their destination.

The mighty castles and buildings rose high, with respective hamlets littering the outside. It was still a ways away, but Claire's eyes widened at the sight of it. The armored woman clambered to her feet and stumbled over, "Alright, we're almost there. Let's keep--" She paused for a moment to suck in some air, stifling a grunt as a hand shot to her side. "--Going."

She hopped back up and with the same motion she'd invited Navy's gallop in, now called forth for the final stretch of the beginning of their journey.


First Rose First Rose
 

Upon seeing such a scene erupt, Navy stopped in her tracks, keeping up a huge expanse of dirt and dust before her. At first, she gave a small nicker in annoyance, not even looking over to Claire as she awaited her to get back on after a clumsy fall. But it seemed, a sort of gasping breath was coming out of the female as she hugged the dirt like there was no tommorrow. Once seeing such a display, a familiar feeling made her blood run cold.

"Are...you...?" She tried, but only knowing answer right away, this girl was not at all alright, humans didn't choke on air. All she could do was watch in worry, had she done this? She couldn't have done this. No, no, she hadn't been going that fast. Absent-mindedly, her hooves stamped unpleasantly, and as she saw Claire reach for her helm she trotted over and rolled it over to her. Navy allowed her to catch her breath before prying her on what the heck that was all about. Her brows rose, and her ears slowly slid backward as she watched Claire shoot her head to the sky, mumbling....something, to herself. By the Gods was she possessed?

When the mercenary's gaze finally aligned with Navy's, she didn't see a look of fear. Not a face of skepticism, but of one consisting of great concern. Navy had seen demons before, ugly little things they were, but whatever was going on here, was something else entirely.

Navy had an obvious look of inquiry as she gave a curious bray, but it seemed Claire plainly had no intention of explaining such a thing as she got back to her feet and insisted on continuing on. But as she grabbed for her back, Navy gave a recoiled balking, not allowing her to take mount. Navy then presented a brash whinny before trotting back to the forest they had just came out of not long ago. Only to come back a few seconds later with a mouthful of long branches.


"Tired you are indeed." Navy told her as she dropped the pile of branches before Claire's feet, spitting out a few pieces of wood out of her mouth and taking a seat; expecting Claire to have all she needed to make a fire. The branches were pretty large, allowing them to be broken and used in an abundance that was more than enough to create a good fire.

"Your leg's reek of smoldering flesh, and you just had a little frenzy there in the dirt. Not to mention...I'm tired," a lie, she could probably make the same trip again if she needed to, but this time, she wanted to make sure to keep her end of the deal. To get Claire there, and technically, they still had a few hours before it would hit the 24 rotational cut. So all in all, she was keeping her word.

"Just a few hours of rest, and I'll get you to the castle in...mhm" Navy's eyes squinted toward the city for a moment before looking back to the mercenary with a cocky expression adding. "1 hour, tops."

 
Last edited:
The tavern was relatively full. But it always was. Alcohol and company were the only thing that lifted the heavy mood in the slums. People were poor, life was hard. But ale and music made one forget all that and have fun. That was why it was always lively in this tavern. All different kinds of people, poor workers, gang members and muggers, even bums and beggars frequented the building.
Music was playing, as a bard was doing... something to the fiddle he had. A cultured person would´ve probably hung the man for calling that music, but here, nobody cared. It was noise and mood was high, who cared if it held up to the standards of current art.

Most people were enjoying themselves, but of course, there were always those that meant trouble. A group of four men specifically had already annoyed the barmaid with their advances, but they soon gave up. However, they had picked another target soon. A white haired woman, sitting on a table with a mug in front of her. It was empty and it seemed like she was about to leave. The woman was well built, but despite her somewhat dainty figure, she still seemed quite tough. Not that that would stop the men. Their dedicated leader soon walked up to the table, the woman just standing up. "Hey there beauty! Leaving so soon?", he said, his voice slurred by the beverages he had over the course of the evening.
The woman looked at him and shook her head. "Yes. Its time to go. Before trouble starts." With that, she turned to leave.

But she was stopped. The mans wide hand held her by the shoulder. "No, sweetheart, i dont think its time to go yet.", he said and laughed. The woman remained still for a moment. If he could´ve seen her face, he would have seen the sigh, then the closed eyes and lastly, as they opened, the annoyance and anger. He saw none of it. And therefore, he was quite confused with what happened next. The woman spun around and a left hook hit his face with immense power. He wasn´t confused for long, only for the duration he was sent through the air, before colliding with some barrels close to the wall. That collision knocked him out cold. Serra had of course held back. That guy was an asshole, but she didnt want to outright KILL him. Not for that little behaviour.

There was silence in the tavern for a heartbeat, as everyone was computing what had just happened. Only for a short while, however. Then, the first mug flew and the brawl officially started. People were fighting all over the tavern. Serra honestly was just looking to leave, but a bear of a man was approaching her with two friends a bit behind him. He charged at her, his fist flying forward... And hitting nothing. Then, he was grabbed by the arm, his own momentum used against him. He was thrown over and crashed into the table, the wooden furniture actually holding fast. While one hand held him down, the other, clenched to a fist, found his chest. The table finally gave in, the legs breaking off, just as the top broke in half as well. His friends soon arrived, but Serra took a hold of both broken table legs close to her and simply smacked the men on the head simoultanously. That gave a loud bonk noise.

With the way now cleared, Serra was able to finally leave the tavern. She really didnt mean to cause a fight AGAIN. It really just happened, it wasn´t even her fault. Lost in those thoughts, she walked through the dark allies of the slums. Only for a while, though, before she was stopped by a voice. "Hey, bitch!", somebody called. She turned around, spotting three men. The friends of the man that had touched her in the tavern. "That was our boss you knocked out.", one of them stated. He had a wooden club, hitting his own palm threateningly. She spat to the ground. "Well, your boss is an asshole then.", she stated. Another man, holding a knife, replied. "You´ll pay for that." Serra grinned, looking at the last guy. He didnt hold any weapon. "Did they not give you a toy?", she mocked. He grimaced angrily. "Kill that whore!", he shouted.

They approached Serra, who didnt back down. As the first swung his club, Serra quickly dodged downwards, before dashing forth. The man with the knife quickly raised it, but Serra guided his stab away with one arm skillfully, before the other punched at his elbow from below. An unhealthy cracking sound was heard and the man dropped his weapon, which landed right in Serra´s grasp. With that, she turned on the heel, stabbing forwards, the knife lodging into the first mans throat. He fell backwards, but Serra quickly grabbed his club out of the air and before the third, that had been kinda just awkwardly watching, could run away or scream, he was bonked on the head and fell down unconcious. The man with the nastily broken arm was wincing and whining in pain. He, too, was bonked, falling silent. Then, Serra dropped the club. She whisteled the tune the bard in the tavern had tried playing, as she walked away, unfazed by the event just a moment ago. Trouble really seemed to find her with pleasure, she thought to herself.
 
Elliot
"You don't remember where you come from? now how did that happen!" Elliot asked. but then he took a closer look at the young man, he realized that the man he was looking at, wasn't entirely human. "Your not human, not anymore at least, are you?" Elliot asked the young man. He could see it in his eyes, a former husk of a man, with no recollection of how he became like this. "Tell me, do you know the current situation of the continent?" Elliot asked the young man. "I don't you do if you have no idea where your from...The continent is as war, from what I can tell a usurper has risen and wishes to take the throne from the mad king. But he had no intention of giving his throne up, But quite frankly, that's the least of your worries. Something is to happen on this continent, I can feel it, dark energy gathering in a massive amount, that's what scares me the most." Elliot said with a sigh. Elliot pointed south, "That's the way towards the holy city...and I would like you to accompany me there, I have a feeling that you are meant to do something much higher that this stupid war." Elliot said with his hands on the young man's shoulder.
NesyCelvestian NesyCelvestian
 
One hour, huh...

The mercenary blinked a few times, yes, rest was certainly creeping up her spine, clasping at her mind and threatening to pull her under. Though after incidents like this in the past, Claire had done her best to avoid slumber right after the daymare, in fact, she'd outright skip on it until she was sure a dreamless sleep could take hold. As she slumped back, to her knees, the bundle of sticks lying before her, Navy's intent was clear. They had been riding all night long, and pushing forth along the final road wasn't necessary on limited stamina, it wasn't like they were being chased.

A few long, bated breaths, coupled with the slowing of her heartbeat caused the second thought to take hold. She moored over the idea for a few moments longer, her arms clutching at her sides absently before she wordlessly arose, scooping up the wood in her arms. A fire and some sleep it was.

Leading the mare just off the main road, into a small forest clearing, Claire had the fire roaring in no time. The dancing blades of grass, freshly lifted from the spring-air, danced and flaunted their way into the air with a gentle breeze, as the crackle of warmth illuminated the space between the two. The mercenary had slipped her helm off and was now halfway through her bottle of wine, a seeping red glow to her cheeks, as pale-blue eyes, void and lifeless, gazed into the parade of embers that carefully lofted themselves into the dim purple around them. It would be about two hours or so now until the first light. Capping the drink, and with a belly full of her rations obtained from Degus' inn. A rough thump echoed in the morning air, as the woman flopped onto her back, arms and legs sprawled out in every which direction, eyes now shut and her breathing to a quiet hum, to Navy, there could be no doubt about it. Claire was out like a light.


. . .


As the empty abyss of blackness filled her mind, the recess of memories and fowl intrusions to her perspective became much more realistic, from vague recollections to something else entirely, something that felt... Real.

The cheering of a hundred men echoed in the mercenary's ears, the sky was cast crimson, and pillows of smoke had been rising for the better portion of an hour, covering that field in a smoky black, darkening the land below. A shout jolted the woman to her senses, "Captain! We need to get a move on, now! The ambush was a success, but the enemy has sent reinforcements in waves beyond our liking. Forward scouts are saying we've got an army that spans the great ravine en route. That's nearly a hundred thousand men!"

Claire whipped her head around, her hair a mess, and her arms and sword, drenched in blood, the creaking of steel as she did so implied the rust of constant battle had taken hold and rendered her armor nearly useless. A simple breastplate, a single pauldron, and leather vambraces, coupled with matching leather breeches and boots. Waving around her arm, she called out along the desolate field, "All men, full retreat! We're going to regroup at the Archaeon ruins!"

Turning on her heel, the sounds of thundering boots against the ground, and a few horses here and there, meant that her company had heard her correctly and were pulling back. Those once they'd cleared the distance and regrouped within their forward operating post, the surge of pain became unreal when she saw--him.

Splashing water against her face, the captain took a hefty gasp of air, her eyes wide, and bags beneath them; heavy. How long had the White Phoenix Company been standing at the vanguard of the fighting? They were originally only sent in as a relief unit for support to the kings' main army, though when they arrived, scarcely a baker's dozen men had survived for as long as they had. Absorbed into their forces, the mercenary had been resorting to fighting dirty, now tasked with defending the only ravine that gave straight shot to the Archaeon capital. Their enemies: a militia army, raised by a foreign nobleman, keen on taking the Archaeon mountains and salt-flats for their own economic gain. Not that it mattered on the motive, Clarie was in it for money herself. And yet, this was their fourth month of the war, and the longest she'd been actively involved in a surviving mercenary band in her entire life. The White Phoenix Company was impressive, but not off of her leadership alone, standing above her were two others, their tactician, Rian, a young man, doting fewer winters than herself in life span, and just barely scraping the beginnings of manhood. His youthful guise was misleading if nothing else, as his skills with magic and his sharp mind had kept dozens of men alive in troubling and formidable situations.

And above him, was the founder of the White Phoenix Company, an Archaeon legend by the name of Titaus. A man who's thunderous power and calm leadership had kept the men inspired, and the gold ever-flowing. Hell if things had worked out differently, Claire could've said she'd almost found a home. A hand clapped on her shoulder to spur her from her thoughts, as she turned her head, the familiar pale-green eyes came into view, intelligent, and ever calculating. "Excellent work out there today, Miss Avarest. Your skills were greatly appreciated, and your ambush against the convoy was flawless, it's as if you'd known right where they'd be and what would happen next."

The woman paused, the praise wasn't unusual from the tactician, he was persistent about it ever since the get-go when she'd demanded he stop. Though over time, it had become more of a running gag between the two, what's more, it was fun, a little cat and mouse game the two had going on. The woman tossed her blonde hair back, letting it fall absently down her back as she studied the face she'd seen so many times. He looked so young, even though he was about two years younger than her, and his elegant features and broad smile always reassured her of a better tomorrow. The longer she looked, the more she felt the heat rising to her face. She turned away, glancing back down at the basin to view her own reflection, gods above it was embarrassing how much of a little girl he made her into. His soft voice broke through once more, "You know, we've been at this for a while, and I think today, it might finally be the day we've gained the upper-hand."

Claire cooled herself and stood up straight, arching her shoulders back a little for support. "Yeah, but that doesn't mean the fighting is going to stop anytime soon. We've still got a job to do. Anyway, I'm going to go get some rest..."

Rian chuckled, placing a hand on his hip, his ragged robes flowing behind him "You know, it wouldn't kill you to smile every once in a while."

Claire, stop, don't go to sleep, you'll regret it. Turn around, tell him how you--

The woman's deafening screams echoed in the rippling wind, rain beating down in a torrent as every muscle tensed in her body. Her fists clenched tight and hammered against the dirt, kicking up muck and bloodied soil alike. Before her was the silver-haired youth, silent, arms folded across his chest, a bloodied smile outstretched down his face, and his final words still lingering in her mind. Her eyes could barely track the scene, darting around in a frantic nature, as though somehow, maybe if she confused herself, she could run back the clock, make the right movements, ensure that maybe, just maybe she'd get there in time. This dream, this memory, it was all the same, no matter what she did, no matter how hard she'd try, nothing could give her freedom from this cold, tormenting recollection.

His words, raspy and weak lingered on her lips, she had held him in her arms, clutching at him desperately, their foreheads touched as their synchronized blood mixed and ran to the ground tears now blending with the rain as well, and his words, his damned words, so soft and carefree, as though he wasn't the one who needed her protection. "Hey, I don't think I've ever seen you cry like this, to be honest, I'm a little touched. But, there isn't much time left, so I can't leave things unsaid. In the time you've been with us Claire, you've always been alone, always charging headlong, and making the impossible, possible, doing things that most men can't. But I saw that in you, that path you wanted to walk alone, and I felt so much pain, so I wanted to be the one with you, no matter where you went, and even now, I can't see your face. But I can feel your warmth, that's how I know you're like me, lost and alone, but on the inside, longing for the sense of belonging. I don't know if I was truly able to do anything for you, gods above know compared to you I was weak in comparison, but you inspired me to press on and..." A rough sequence of coughs widened Claire's eyes as her tearful orbs reflected his image, his pale-greens, cold and desperate, frantically looking for her, and she could do nothing to help.

"No... You inspired everyone, you're more beautiful on the inside than you know. You hide it behind whatever walls you've put up, whatever thick of your armor you can, and the sharp of your blade, but I know, that you're just like me, and that you really do care for others, that's why..."

"Rian, no, please... Save your strength, I'll go get help and--"

"There's no time for that." A hand stretched out and Claire made immediate to grasp it, it was weak, pale and fading. "Claire, I... I want you to have my scarf, it's protected me in times of hardship, and it's one of my earliest memories, I hope that you'll keep it, and with it, maybe you'll remember me. And, I got you this..." Tears began rolling down his own face, he was terrified, he was scared, and he was alone. Fishing into his robes, he pulled out a steel sword, one that he would never use, but pressed it between them anyway. "I hope it'll keep you safer than I ever could."

"Stop! No, Rian, please!!!" The woman shouted, as though her words could do anything to halt what had already begun. Though the young man let his hand trace through the darkness and land on her cheek,

"Claire. I love you, and thank you, for showing me too that I don't have to be alone, I'm so sorry that I..."

His arms slumped, falling limp to his side, as the crashing of thunder and lightning overhead illuminated her worst fears.

Alone, she was always destined to be alone. In the aftermath, as the storm drew to a drizzle, Claire's quivering lips mouthed back the words she hadn't the courage to say to his face, and she cursed herself for it. "I love you... Rian."


. . .


The hooting and hollering of soldiers in their droves echoed as the men cornered a large man, wielding a great axe, he was beaten, badly, bloodied and stooped to a knee as a defiant gaze raised to the sky. A man clad in black and gold plate stood before him, greatsword hefted above him, "Now, the White Phoenix Company ends."

The gruff man smoothed back his blood-caked hair and shot a nasty grin towards the noble. "Nah, your boys made the mistake of killing someone who means very much to the strongest in our whole band, if you think I was a challenge, I've got nothing on this woman, she's easily my superior in combat. And you fucked up."

"How's that?"

"You killed the man she loved. You can strike me down, but you'll not be leaving this ravine alive." Titaus cleared his throat, spreading his arms wide as the final strike came down, sundering his life from his body. And fell limply to the dirt, the wind blowing over in respect to the legend, as the nobleman guffawed and sheathed his blade. "Filthy mongrel, daring to lecture me? One woman will not be enough to strike down my forces, we number one hundred thousand, and once we're done having our way with her, we'll march straight towards the gates you so desperately defended, and raze the kingdom to the ground." His audience did not consist of the living, but as the nobleman raised his visor, cresting the peak of the Ravine, stood a lone figure, scarf swaying in the wind, along with her golden hair, eyes frothed with rage, as tattered armor and a missing boot aligned her form. Clutched in her hand was a single steel sword, and glistening from her eyes, drifting off into the wind were what must've been tears.

The crested figure began its descent into the ravine, where the army waited, and the carnage that was to follow, shook the foundations of Archaeon history for centuries to come and birthed the legend of Claire, "The Forsaken" Avarest, a name she'd taken upon herself when she'd declined the "Hundred Thousand Man Slayer". It wasn't fitting, it hadn't been an accomplishment, it had been means to an end, it had been for Rian, who had left her behind in this world, the only one she'd dared let her heart be open to. Most importantly, the fight was for herself, to go on in a world that no longer held meaning for her, a task that Rian had given her in his final moments, his choice words of telling her to live and not merely survive. But what was the point? Without someone to care about, life held no weight, it was just an empty shell.


. . .


Huffing and gasping for air, the stench of corpses lingered in the valley, as a woman, who arose with hair stained in crimson and a form to match, peeled her eyelids back to glare up at the sun, the surrounding landscape in total ruin. Her curse and her blessing, for all that power she held, she still couldn't save the ones who mattered the most to her. The broken sword was loose in her hand and her left shoulder had been dislocated somewhere in the fight, with cuts and bruises aplenty lining her now nearly naked form, her armor shredded and with only the minuscule amount of clothing to keep her modest. Her breath shook with each passing moment and her voice trembled, her eyelids were heavy and she was sure she was only seconds away from death herself. A fitting end for a woman like she was.

Slumping onto both knees, the blade fell from her grasp, as the iron-clad valley ran red. "Rian... I'm coming for you, it's okay, I avenged you now, I hope that you can--" She was interrupted by shuffling and movement a few feet away from her. One of the men lived and rising up with a shaking hand, the nobleman had her.

"You're no human, you're a fucking devil, and this may be the last of my strength, but I assure you that your deeds here today will not go unpunished. You will survive this encounter, oh yes..." A curdled laugh choked out from his chest, spitting up blood in the process, "...But for the rest of your life, this memory will never fade, you will be constantly reminded of your failure, and the souls of all the dead here shall weigh down upon your own, crushing you little by little, until the pain is no longer feasible, and you'll succumb to your own madness. Oh yes, you will suffer for the rest of your days."

Claire hadn't the strength to fight back, which the nobleman had taken advantage of and thrust his free-hand forward, pressing a burning curse into her chest, just above her left breast, leaving the mark of a supreme level of magic that one could never escape. It was a curse that could never be dispelled, and in the year since her service in Archaeon, the nobleman had held true to his word. She was living in hell, and now, it was only dragging her deeper and deeper until she caved.


. . .


Batted eyelashes opened to the forest clearing once more, the sun now hanging low in the eastern sky, morning at last. A heavy fog rolled in and the mercenary's heart was pounding as she sat up, rubbing at her tear-stained eyes. It was just a dream, just some horrible dream. Her fists dropped to the dirt, a dream that was all too real, the haunting memories would not fade, they would only grow more intense and...

"Why'd you let me die?"

Claire froze, eyes stricken wide and mouth agape. That voice, it couldn't be...

She craned her head to the side where the sound had originated and froze, screaming in terror as a bloodied, decayed image of the man she'd once loved reached out to her, dagger in hand and plunged the weapon into her chest.


. . .


Now screaming wildly, the mercenary shot up, the smoke of the campfire laying on the setting. Navy remained curled, though it was hard to imagine the unicorn having slept through the shriek, and Claire made quick to her feet, glancing all around her for signs of the deceased. When he did not show, she scooped up her gear, putting it on as quick as she could, and made way to stamp out the ashes, her voice was commanding, but was very clearly shaken as she called out to Navy. "Come on, we're leaving, right now."



First Rose First Rose
 
Last edited:
He would shrugg to the man, as he had no idea what to say to him. "...I don't know why that happened. I forgot it, I apologise." He had a very apolegegtic look on his face. He was trying to excuse himself from not knowing so he wouldn't offend Elliot. This reminded him of a memory where his...Wait, there wasn't anything there. He had meet many people but...It was just nothing that came out of it. As if the ice had clogged the ocean again and left a crater in his very mind. "...Wait, is there a war? I never had any recolec- wait a minute? This continent is in a war? Holy smokes! This is just madness right there." Nesy would look towards south and he would nodd towards him. "Yes! I will definently acompony you in an epic adventure, do not mind honestly I am fine with it." He gave a nodd of approval to Elliot. Nesy would push his upper body up along with his 2 hands to get to a standing position. "...I hear it boys and gurls.. I mean, I guess we're the only boys here now. That we are going on..." He paused. "...An adventure!" Said Nesy, giving a small little chuckle as the words: "Adventure." spammed through his mind.
Nessi Nessi
 
Just one look at his royal "majesty", and she had to fight the undying urge to bite her thumb. Such an up close visual of the man who deemed her worthless in his whole army made her want to put him out of his misery herself. But the only thing the General did to the King, was stand and give her best look of respect. Sticking up her chin as she stood, she made a small gesture to her soldiers with a jerk of her chin. A clear command to get to where they were supposed to be.

Red didn't hesitate, and like the half-witted warrior he was, Red quickly made his way toward the edge of the room and stood at his post. Just a few good feet away from Sunniel as he held his own wrist behind his back. His eyes surveyed the room only once before his gaze fell, zoning out into his own world. Though the large helmet he wore masked his boredom.

General Gortho then took her position on the right side of the King. A few feet diagonally infront of Cyreon, who she only gave a small snort in greeting to. It wasn't in a rude manner, as she usually said hello to everyone in this way. Though, it wasn't entirely in friendly fashion either. Turning on a heel, she sent her hand to her back, and there, resting on the rear of her steel armor, was a fine mighty war ax covered in dozens of marks and symbols. Foreign to those who didn't know the language of the orc, and indescribable to those who were unfamiliar with the Wyrd. She pulled it out of it's holster and swung it in a circle with one hand before sending its bottom spear-like edge into the ground. It made a hard thud when it made connection with the admirable marble below.

Yet it was odd, the General was known to be strong, but not this strong. It was odd that she could weild an ax that most men had to hold with two arms. It was made out of hard tungsten and patininum, very hard and more notably, very heavy material. The General could carry an ax that weighed a ton, but wasn't able to punch through a wall of meesly old brick. A mystery, however, no one really questioned her, she kept the Loyalist in this war just as much as she kept secrets. Which people...guessed, worked a fine deal.
 
Name: Lady Kahliky/loyalist
interactions: Scavenger Scavenger OldTurtle OldTurtle
Outfit : x
Extras: Inyoko

Neytiri arose from her bow, calming Inyoko’s hissing with a pat on the head. As the others started to gather in she started to stand out more. She watched general Gortho with interest out the corner of her eye. They did not have orcs in pandora, the new race held her interest since she arrived here. There was someone else that had her attention this time around, the elf who had snuck in through a servant passage. Her father told her about this creature. An elf older than the palace walls. He seemed to have favor with the king, something she desperately wanted. There was something else about him as well...his aura. Not many beings possessed shades of grey, and fewer so prominent amongst the other colors. He had accomplished great things, or has obtained great power over his lifetime. As Neytiri walked over to the elf she didn’t pay much attention to her surroundings, and poor Inyoko paid the price for it. She did not see the knight awkwardly standing around and Inyoko’s head bumped into the knights arm causing the snake to rear back and hiss. Neytiri for a brief moment also tensed up, seeing her pet ready to strike she whipped her head around giving a low hiss herself at the innocent armored lad. She quickly sized up Aloysius as not even worth the energy and she walked away, Inyoko went in for a strike but was out of range. Both serpent’s and girl’s demeanor changed as she approached the Sunniel. She was not too sure what to say to him. Hello, I’ve been spying on you. Probably not the best introduction. Had her father told him about her existence? Did he also believe her to be a heathen witch who cursed the land she walked on? She gave a small head bow before speaking . “The Sorcerer of Bryne, you hold respect even in the lands of Pandora. My father has told me much about you.” She looked up at Sunniel locking her eyes with his. Her stare was intense, as if she was attempting to cast some sort of spell on him. Inyoko had calmed down after his little spat and unwound himself slightly from Neytiri’s neck so he could stretch himself towards Sunniel pouch. The snake flickered his tongue hoping to catch a scent of a snack.

Name: Cyeron Aelsinore/loyalist
interactions: The Fluffiest Floof The Fluffiest Floof (mentioned)
First Rose First Rose (mentioned)

Cyeron watch as the others filed in. He made a note of everyone coming in and out, even the scurrying of a mouse did not miss his gaze. He greeted the general, briefly remembering the time under her command. She was unethical to say the least, but he held no ill feelings towards her. He did prefer his position as guard, especially when so many people turned traitor. His thoughts were cut short as he watched a possible altercation starting to arise between the witch and great sword wielding man. He turned his attention to Rosalia, if she moved towards the two then he would take his position in front of the king. Luckily it was more of a rude exchange than an altercation. As Lady Kakilky walked away Cyeron relaxed.
 
Last edited:

Navy didn't exactly know what to say to bring the positives to Claire's situation. He curse legitamtely made her life hell, a continous routine that would never end, and made sure she was fully conscious of it. To Navy, this didn't exactly seem like a pretty plausible problem to fix if any. A small part of her wanted to do a little more than just get Claire to the capitol, a part of her wanted to find a little more about this little curse she had. Perhaps, she could help bring Claire's suffering to an end. She knew some good recourses, after all, who didn't want to meet a Unicorn face-to-face. However, unfortunately, she doubted any of them were alive; perhaps she could find someone else who knew a bit more about curses than she did. Navy just mostly knew divine magic, the Unicorns didn't really bother to teach their young much else. Nothing but the, Oh so perfect aspect of a Unicorn's divine mythics.

"I'm sure you'll be able to find some solution Claire." Her voice consoling inside the mercenary's frazzled mind.

But...no, she couldn't get too much into such ordeals, Claire had her life, and Navy had her own. But, she couldn't have ventured out of the Feywild just to seek nothing but excitement. Alone, unaccompanied, there was another reason she left that rested within her, Navy just didn't want to believe it.

The dark indigo coated mare walked beside Claire, allowing her to climb astride upon her with a friendly urgeful nicker. They had just a bit to go, with the sun starting to stretch its rays of morning light across the receding star-filled sky. Once Claire made her way upon her back, Navy took a small glance behind her only to dig her rear hoove in the ground and throw dry dirt over the smoldering cinders, just to make sure. With that, she was galloping once again into the trees and toward the capitol, for Claire's sake, she kept the ride through the many trees of the forest as steady and complacent as possible. Though, as soon as the dense woods faded behind them, and the green plains were seen ahead, Navy let herself free. With a prompt dispatch, her gait was as fast as a dragon, flying across the lush landscape. The walls of Byrne were quickly coming closer into view.


 
Last edited:
The woman had certainly taken an--abrasive start to her morning. Now walking alongside the mare, her head almost seemed to droop, her eyes fixated on the ground some feet ahead of her. Her jaw clenched firmly beneath her steel helm, as the overwhelming truth seemed to take hold. There really would be no freedom for those that were branded by a curse in the likes of which she'd obtained, for the rest of her days, this taunting memory would continue to vex her, terrifying her until her suffering came to an end. Maybe that was the sole reason she sought death on the field, to end the suffering, or perhaps it was to right the wrongs she'd committed years ago. A calloused kick of the wind reverted her attention to the distant view of Byrne, and the vixen shook her head, banishing the thought. It wasn't like she hadn't lived with this curse up until this point, but the addition of company to bear witness to its tragic effects, certainly made things worse.

Her gaze shifted now to Navy, who addressed her rather sympathetically. "I'm sure you'll be able to find some solution, Claire."

The mercenary grunted in recognition, it wasn't as though the advice helped, but it certainly took a different turn than simply wallowing. Her fingertips gently brushed to the blade behind her, the one rested horizontally on the back of her hip, the only one she'd yet to draw, and the one she hoped she'd never have to. The glimmering gold handle of the longsword brought her some solace at the moment, but at Navy's behest, Claire absentmindedly scooped herself over the unicorn, promptly situating herself onto the thick of the creature's back. Her heels didn't even have to make contact before the two took off, the beating of hooves against the soil as the only natural sound between them.

It was probably for the best as the woman's thoughts began to drift, the nightmare still fresh, playing over and over again in her mind as though it was forced there by chain and hammer. A shuddered breath left her in disarray, at least, for as long as the two were galavanting through the forest. Once the dense pathway cleared and the opening of large plains took hold, Navy broke through whatever physical barrier she had been limiting herself too and tore off towards the massive walls in the distance. Claire had nearly forgotten to breathe, or perhaps the sudden jolt had left all oxygen further from her reach than she'd hoped, but she hunkered her form down to match with the mare's nape and let the passage of time almost fall to a still. An hour to the capital might have been generous, because at this pace...

. . .

At last, the looming shadows of the garrison overtook their forms, stretching high into the sky, with dozens upon dozens of armored men littering the battlements. The azure reflection from her eyes were in wonder and awe, and almost completely covered the lingering pains that still burrowed themselves deep in her chest. The two took a slower pace maneuvering their way through the hamlets, and eventually approached the main drawbridge, where peasants and nobles alike were flooding in and out of the main path by the droves. Everyone had their business it seemed, wartime or not.

As the two trotted their way across, the smells of bakeries, meat stands, and smoke filled the mercenary's nostrils. This was a large city alright if those were the first things to greet them upon arrival. Claire lowered her head, however, and spoke quietly to Navy, "Hey, I think it's best if, once I dismount, you make a habit of disappearing for a time, if some thugs were keen on kidnapping you, I wouldn't know how many others seek financial gain."

Claire urged the stallion to a halt and slipped off, letting her feet tap against the firm cobblestone, her eyes trailed towards the far corner of the city, where a massive rise of building signified an elevated castle. It was her destination, and without another minute to spare, she'd arrived. She set off, tugging up her scarf over the bottom half of her helm, and made for the quickest path she could think of through the marketing district. As she traversed, she was scarcely privy to the presence of a similarly heightened figure that had just since come into her peripheral, the two hadn't been paying attention--clearly, this was a crash she wasn't too keen on talking her way through.


First Rose First Rose

FentasticFen FentasticFen
 
Name: Lady Kahliky/loyalist
interactions: Scavenger Scavenger OldTurtle OldTurtle
Outfit : x
Extras: Inyoko

Neytiri arose from her bow, calming Inyoko’s hissing with a pat on the head. As the others started to gather in she started to stand out more. She watched general Gortho with interest out the corner of her eye. They did not have orcs in pandora, the new race held her interest since she arrived here. There was someone else that had her attention this time around, the elf who had snuck in through a servant passage. Her father told her about this creature. An elf older than the palace walls. He seemed to have favor with the king, something she desperately wanted. There was something else about him as well...his aura. Not many beings possessed shades of grey, and fewer so prominent amongst the other colors. He had accomplished great things, or has obtained great power over his lifetime. As Neytiri walked over to the elf she didn’t pay much attention to her surroundings, and poor Inyoko paid the price for it. She did not see the knight awkwardly standing around and Inyoko’s head bumped into the knights arm causing the snake to rear back and hiss. Neytiri for a brief moment also tensed up, seeing her pet ready to strike she whipped her head around giving a low hiss herself at the innocent armored lad. She quickly sized up Aloysius as not even worth the energy and she walked away, Inyoko went in for a strike but was out of range. Both serpent’s and girl’s demeanor changed as she approached the Sunniel. She was not too sure what to say to him. Hello, I’ve been spying on you. Probably not the best introduction. Had her father told him about her existence? Did he also believe her to be a heathen witch who cursed the land she walked on? She gave a small head bow before speaking . “The Sorcerer of Bryne, you hold respect even in the lands of Pandora. My father has told me much about you.” She looked up at Sunniel locking her eyes with his. Her stare was intense, as if she was attempting to cast some sort of spell on him. Inyoko had calmed down after his little spat and unwound himself slightly from Neytiri’s neck so he could stretch himself towards Sunniel pouch. The snake flickered his tongue hoping to catch a scent of a snack.

Name: Cyeron Aelsinore
interactions: The Fluffiest Floof The Fluffiest Floof (mentioned)
First Rose First Rose (mention

Cyeron watch as the others filed in. He made a note of everyone coming in and out, even the scurrying of a mouse did not miss his gaze. He created the general, briefly remembering the time under her command. She was unethical to say the least, but he held no ill feelings towards her. He did prefer his position as guard, especially when so many people turned traitor. His thoughts were cut short as he watched a possible altercation starting to arise between the witch and Kong’s word wielding man. He turned his attention to Rosalia, if she moved twirls the two then he would take his position in front of the king. Luckily it was more of a rude passing than an altercation. As Lady Kakilky walked away Cyeron relaxed.
Aloysius, once again quickly falling into thought, lost awareness of his surroundings. He could vaguely tell that more people will filing in with various levels of pomp and dignity, but after a while, they began to blur together. Each person in the room held positions, titles, and wealth far beyond those that he had ever experienced before. Aloysius recognized that, but after a while, the novelty began to wear off. In the end, it was just an endless stream of strangers.

And so, it was no surprise that he didn’t notice the finely dressed woman passing by. At least, not until he felt something touch him. Aloysius snapped out of his daze only to hear the rather threatening hiss of a snake poised in front of him. A snake. In the court. Startled as he was, Aloysius didn’t notice the woman the snake was on, instead reaching for the hilt of his sword almost instinctively. The hiss the woman now let out drew his attention away before he could draw it. She gave him a cold, almost clinical look before walking away dismissively.

Aloysius felt rankled by her disregard and had to bite back his angry words. It wouldn’t do to have an outburst in the king’s court. Instead, he simply watched the pair leave, glaring balefully as the snake snapped at him in the distance.

After making sure that they were out of earshot, Aloysius relaxed his grip on his sword. He recognized the woman now. Not personally, of course, but rather by her noticeably different appearance. Lady Kahilky, if he was remembering right. There were numerous rumors about her floating around, most of which were certainly unflattering. If they were to be believed, it was good that he hadn’t tried to say anything. However, it would certainly be a good idea to keep an eye on her. Lady Kahilky felt dangerous. Aloysius settled back against the wall, keeping his head on a swivel and examining the others in the room in a new light. No doubt at least some of them were, like Kahilky, dangerous. Best to be wary instead of getting caught again.
 
Sunniel was broken from his musing over court ettiquette, of how to organise a meeting with the foreign witch, by said foreign witch begining to walk over to him. As she moved his eyes scanned over her absorbing her gait and the large snake that was still wrapped around her neck, especially as the snake recoiled from it's impact with the knights armour. Even as Inyoko hissed and Neytri turned Sunniel tensed all of his muscles to leap into action, with the court this tense the last thing that was needed was an altercation between a knight and ambassador. Taking a step forward Sunniel almost flew forward to block the snakes strike but seeing that the snake was out of range slowly untensed and locked his gaze onto Neytiri. As Sunniel relaxed back he dropped the foot of his staff down so it rested gently on the floor though anyone close to him could still hear a faint high pitched ringing when it impacted, he matched Neytiri's bow in depth.

"Your Exelecncy, you honour me with your praise, your father's return to pandora was unexpected but I'm certain that you will prove to be more than his equal" Sunniel spoke in a very soft voice witch pitched oddly as if it was used to speaking a tonal language. He maintained her eye contact but stirred his soul into movement and errected a great labyrinth filled with smoke around his mind, at the same time he held a finger up infront of inyoko and gently waved it side to side as if warning the snake to not try. "I have heard many stories about you since you joined us in court, would you allow me the honour of inviting you for tea this afternoon?"
Dumplingboy Dumplingboy
 
Last edited:
Alistrof Pintov
Alistrof clutched his head. He wanted to scream in pain, his head was pounding, like someone was taking a hammer and banging his brain. This wasn't uncommon, the headaches usually happened before he went to sleep, not in the middle of the day. He stood in his room, hands clutching to his head. The void was trying to speak to him once again, at first, it started as a whisper, and slowly raised into a scream. He would attempt to calm himself down, trying to think of happy thoughts. Nothing came to mind, nothing at all. And the voice in his head was still screaming, it was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't make out what it was trying to tell him.
"Stop it! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Alistrof Yelled. The sound only got louder, making a painful screeching noise. Alistrof would be on his knees, his eyes tearing up before one word would be burned into his mind.
"NO"
The noise would stop immediately, and Alistrof would rub his forehead a bit. Yep, just a normal day for Alistrof, arguing with the voices in his head. He would drink some water, and get changed quickly, he was to be in the throne room, next to his comrade, Rosalia. She was reliable, a good fighter, and a few other things that Alistrof didn't like to talk about around anyone. He would hurry to the throne room. Before entering, Alistrof would wipe his eyes a little bit with his arm. They were only a little red, and from a distance, no one could even notice. He would then open the throne room doors, and take a few steps in, and bow before the king. Alistrof hated bowing, but he also hated the guillotine. After showing the king respect, he went to Roses side, on the left of the king.
The Fluffiest Floof The Fluffiest Floof
 
Alistrof Pintov
Alistrof clutched his head. He wanted to scream in pain, his head was pounding, like someone was taking a hammer and banging his brain. This wasn't uncommon, the headaches usually happened before he went to sleep, not in the middle of the day. He stood in his room, hands clutching to his head. The void was trying to speak to him once again, at first, it started as a whisper, and slowly raised into a scream. He would attempt to calm himself down, trying to think of happy thoughts. Nothing came to mind, nothing at all. And the voice in his head was still screaming, it was trying to tell him something, but he couldn't make out what it was trying to tell him.
"Stop it! GET OUT OF MY HEAD!" Alistrof Yelled. The sound only got louder, making a painful screeching noise. Alistrof would be on his knees, his eyes tearing up before one word would be burned into his mind.
"NO"
The noise would stop immediately, and Alistrof would rub his forehead a bit. Yep, just a normal day for Alistrof, arguing with the voices in his head. He would drink some water, and get changed quickly, he was to be in the throne room, next to his comrade, Rosalia. She was reliable, a good fighter, and a few other things that Alistrof didn't like to talk about around anyone. He would hurry to the throne room. Before entering, Alistrof would wipe his eyes a little bit with his arm. They were only a little red, and from a distance, no one could even notice. He would then open the throne room doors, and take a few steps in, and bow before the king. Alistrof hated bowing, but he also hated the guillotine. After showing the king respect, he went to Roses side, on the left of the king.
The Fluffiest Floof The Fluffiest Floof
Name: Cyeron Aelsinore/loyalist
interactions: @The Fluffiest Floof (mentioned)
@First Rose (mentioned)

Cyeron watch as the others filed in. He made a note of everyone coming in and out, even the scurrying of a mouse did not miss his gaze. He greeted the general, briefly remembering the time under her command. She was unethical to say the least, but he held no ill feelings towards her. He did prefer his position as guard, especially when so many people turned traitor. His thoughts were cut short as he watched a possible altercation starting to arise between the witch and great sword wielding man. He turned his attention to Rosalia, if she moved towards the two then he would take his position in front of the king. Luckily it was more of a rude exchange than an altercation. As Lady Kakilky walked away Cyeron relaxed.
The Abyssstrider remained still for the most part, however, there was a situation that had her move ever so slightly. Her hand moved forth just a little. It was just enough that it now rested on the hilt of her blade, ready to be drawn to intercept any trouble that would disrupt the flow of the councils meeting. Luckily, she did not have to take action, as the situation resolved itself. The snake tried to snap at the man, sure, but it was out of range. And if the king was willing to accept that beast in his throne room, who was Rose to really say something against it. Though one thing was for sure, if that animal came as much as close to even consider biting her, the foreign woman would bring home two half pets instead.
With the situation out of the way, Rose took a breath and looked at Cyreon, giving him a smile for a split second. It was gone as quick as it came, with Rose resuming to be a living statue. Still, she knew Cyr had seen it. There was no way he´d miss a smile of hers. It was part of their dynamic. A dynamic that Rose still had no idea how to designate. They got along well.

Another person soon entered the room, one that Rosalia actually did recognize. It was the Abyssspeaker, another high ranking member of her religion, the Abysswalkers. The speaker was something like the high priest, the one in direct contact with the Abyss itself. While the elder still outranked him, a speaker had quite the unique role. And Alistrof was quite a unique man to fill that role. His eyes were reddened, most likely by tears. That wasn´t unusual, but still Rose didnt like thinking about what caused him to tear up. He bore a great burden. The blonde woman did her best to help him with it, but there was little she could really do.
Alistrof bowed to the king, before taking position next to her. She would have loved to ask him if he wanted to talk about something. But this was no place to speak, therefore, once more, she smiled at him. Her already beautiful face still gained in beauty, as the genuine smile shot across it for a moment. Her hand clenched to a fist, as she put it on her heart. A movement that was the only proper way to greet a fellow high ranking Abysswalker. As her posture returned to normal, so did her expression, her eyes now set forth again, as she continued to act as the royal guard.
 
Elliot
"don't fret, not like you hurt me or anything, just try to recall as much as you can as we walk." Elliot said. he would whistle loudly, and in a few moments, his horse would gallop over. It was a strong horse, loyal, fast, and quite intelligent. This horse was his, it was the only horse he used for travel, or anything to be honest.
"alright boy, easy, easy" Elliot said as he stroked the horses nose when it approached. It reared it head when it saw the young man, taking a few steps back from him. "guess he doesn't like you all that much..." Elliot muttered. He would hop on his horse, adjust the saddle a bit, and then stick his hand out.
"I suppose you can ride with me, seeing as you don't have a horse."
NesyCelvestian NesyCelvestian
 
Name: Lady Kahliky/loyalist
interactions: Scavenger Scavenger
Outfit : x
Extras: Inyoko

Neytiri’s gazed softened, So he can tell. Neytiri watched as his aura became faint, almost undetectable. The mention of her father almost caused her to roll her eyes. She turned to Inyoko, who went from finding a snack to attempting to boop the finger of the old elf. She let out a soft coo sound and the serpent turned his attention back to Neytiri. Lady Kahliky’s presence brightened as Inyoko nudged her cheek. A genuine smile came across her face, her whole soul seemed to beam at the slightest interaction she had with her pet. Inyoko made a non threatening hiss at the elf before wrapping himself back around his owner. She looked back at Sunniel her gaze intensified again, but this time it was accompanied by a coy smile. What stories could he have possibly heard that made him desire my company. She grew skeptical but hid it away behind a teasing tone. “I don’t think anyone has ever invited me for...tea” Neytiri didn’t even know what tea was but she wanted to keep that information to herself. “I have heard many stories about you as well, but it’s led me to have other desiresss.” A flirty Neytiri could mean a lot of things, and it was a dangerous mood for her to be in. Most of her seduction was met with negative repercussions for the other party, let it be death or an unfortunate curse. Luckily she was only testing his reaction. Her behavior was definitely lacking some etiquette. The ease in which she disregarded proper conversation at court shows both her age and the alieness of her culture. She never really cared for the politics of rank and structure. Even her own slaves could get away with calling her by her first name from time to time. “If I make it through the court without being burned at the stake I will accept your invitation." Neytiri took off one of one of the four rings she decorated her fingers with and handed it to Sunniel. It was a common practice for the Na'vi to hand something over when arranging a meeting. The more valuable the object the more likely they are to show.
 
Last edited:
Anonymity amidst belligerent times seldom procures lasting welfare; supplies falter, agitation reigns. Commoners, those spared from war's summon, suffer nonetheless to grand scale consequences harassing humble folk. Ignorance, as counteract, provides ill-hearted shelter to the uneducated, a veil to accommodate the plenty in the few's greedy wishes. Thus, whilst dread looms upon Byrne, it is nothing but a notion omitted to daily affairs. Unsurprising, perhaps predictable, was the capital's usual commotion. Whether it implied augmented armored guardsmen transiting within the walls or lack of resources, it appeared to matter little. Bread's still sold, crime still ran. In the end, if not in plain battlefield -- for war was some honorable event, only for the best to surpass at the smallest civilian cost --, differences wouldn't become quite tangible until resolve; a new reign, or remain the same. It is unfortunate, to an extent, how history runs unnoticed until written. How nameless lives only learn label until they've passed or caused another's passing.

However, there's those who know alas partake no active role. Academically versed populace who stray from political matters beyond their own financial relevance. They feigned ignorance to favor personal business over that of the country, or hid. A mixture, most possibly. Some selfishly keep to themselves meanwhile others, even if still seeking for retribution, opt to expand horizons beyond their 'due' place in hierarchy. Physicians, librarians or legal counsellors -- those attending to the public for a charge. It is still... appropiate, befitting for an on-running society even if at war's end.

Nested amongst hypocrisy's dwelling, inconspicuously by an almost homogeneous aesthetic, stood an apothecary's den. Humble, only for a healer's fairly straightforward profession, and bound to run unnoticed unless directly sought for. Inside of worn-down beige walls, just past flora-vast windowsills, mother and son await for the shop owner's ultimate word. Of noir hair were the pair; the mother, whose pale complexion had been riddled by time's passing, wore most common fabrics tailored into a moss green dress cascading just to her ankles. The son sat clad on a simple -- dirtied -- shirt and brown pants just atop a sturdy oak tree at the shop's back, before wide stalls in the counter's background. Between the table and display stood the third figure: a scholar just tad taller than the woman, youthful with a straight spine and respectable posture. Coat abandoned to the store's warm temperature, the apothecary showed modest wears; a light-blue tinted shirt not quite fully buttoned up, adorned by suspenders holding a pair of darker blue pants (the accessory was, on itself, unnecessary. However, to his regard and frame, fairly flattering and fashionable). Fidgeting to comb a stray lock of platinum behind his ear -- for the rest had been dutifully held in a low ponytail --, the apothecary shared a kindhearted, handsome smile. "Fear not, madam," Emerged the man's silken baritone, "Your son should not take longer than a few day's time to feel better. Were he not to, then I shan't impose further charge in your next visit."

A short, polite conversation follows; details, advise and a series of questions in the patient's regard before the pair, not prior to bidding pleasantries, left the residence. Satisfaction brews within him, overflows him in a familiar warmth residual of a reassured customer (it is one, in all fairness, however each encouraged further devotion to his current passion, so each is meaningful in their individual way). Discarded flasks and tools are neatly rearranged, set on labeled shelves where they'd been taken for the short, fairly simple check-up. One could suspect him to be done for, free of prohibiting schedules after patients have left. Simple it'd be were he non-commited, dull of heart or apathetic. He was not; Aaron King, noble of name alas not of blood, hardly abandons uninterrupted activity. Were it studies, travels or patients, he's always doing something. Therefore, just as planned, he's due to receive the late day's deliveries, supplies of various grades for his shop.

Coat hanging by his forearm, satchel around his shoulder, Aaron made way out of his later locked-shut shop.

| . . . . . . . . . |

Crowds were not Aaron's preferred indulgence; a man of books, quill and ink wasn't quite built to society's daily sway. It is a foreign pace to his own: rushed, stuffy and indiferent, to each their own. Thus, a victim to a battlefield wherein his qualities, whilst most prominent in his own area, were either insignificant or nonexistent. Even if not vulnerable to relentless shoving -- that he's witnessed before, and wish not to engage again -- or helplessly disoriented, it is an environment beyond his zone of comfort ('People barely see each other, what is less humane?'). Fortunately, although most faces pull no strings, the unchanging cobblestone streets do. Aaron hesitated none to advance through, make his way with quieted apologies for whoever might accidentally brush by him. Which happens, once or twice, but he mostly voices polite questions for permission whenever people block his way too long.

He grew distracted, as he often does, by whatever recent product put on exhibition across the district. Oftentimes libraries or merchants with hand-made furniture captures his attention, and the former managed to ultimately put a halt on his pace. Silly it was for an assortment of diaries to withdraw a grown man's full, undivided attention -- or, rather, almost undivided --. The silvernette didn't perceive his surroundings fade to mere background noise, the people a mere buzz, his thoughts overtaking Aaron's spotlight. Trivial thoughts, no more, yet trivial as they were, sufficient to make him absolutely unaware of destiny's curious play. In one moment he'd been standing by a familiar store he frequented, in another he resumed his path whilst still holding eyes on the product in debate. In a third, an interruption to Aaron's self-imposed tranquility, his body collided to a second -- something usual to this ambiance, yet not to him -- and effectively startled him into awareness.

Only agitated by the event on itself, Aaron withdrew to himself; arms hurriedly retreating to his torso, crossed over his chest, clinging to his satchel, with a respectful step back. He blinked once, twice, before speaking up: "My apologies," He quickly went to ammend, unfolding off himself as he peered over the nameless 'interruptor', though his gaze flickered elsewhere briefly, then back at the stranger, "Whilst I shouldn't, I cannot help but to become distracted by the market's offering."

Xillia Xillia
 
Claire Avarest

The Marketplace Streets of Byrne

FentasticFen FentasticFen
Claire paused if only for the moment, to assess what all had just happened. Taken aback by the thwacking between the two, her eyes keened in on the man. And the sights and sounds of merchants, peddlers and consumers alike drew to a still, the entire world itself vanished from existence and two figures were left alone, a single light between them. The horrid pain ringing in her chest spiraling out of control, as beneath her thick armor, the veiny purple of the curse ignited, spreading and coursing through every inch of her body. The world had a cruel sense of humor as she squeaked out the name of the lone figure, echoing in her mind, a total stranger, but undoubtedly--him.

"Rian..." Her husky voice managed to coax from its slumber, the platinum-haired man standing before her in true reflection to the better sides of her nightmares before the monstrosity took grasp. The volume was barely above a whisper, yet rang ever resolutely in her ears. She blinked a few times, rapidly and unabated, though, to the other individual, the woman's helm would completely and utterly shell the torrent of emotions that etched itself upon her facial features. She didn't know if she should laugh, cry, or scream. Was this just another trick of the curse, it was aching terribly now, but at the mere sight of him, or maybe it was his presence, that pain had almost numbed entirely. She took a step forward, hand slightly outstretched, but gasped at her mistake. This man, whoever was in front of her, it wasn't Rian, she lifted the outstretched hand to grasp at the scarf and clenched at it tightly.

Why? Why would the forces of nature lead her to such a horrible encounter, where the deceased could walk so freely amongst the living again. Now more frustrated with herself than the situation, she brushed past the man, the clattering of her steel heels against the cobblestone echoing as the sounds of the outside world returned. "My apologies, sir." The only audible dialogue she would give him for the moment, her figure now in full stride again, on the route towards the elevated castle once more. She didn't dare to cast a glance over her shoulder, the handsome stranger now causing her more of a fright than the nightmare had. As she expanded the distance between them, her curse began to dilate and contract, along with the rate of her heart--some peace at last.

From behind, the six weapons adorning her figure swayed delicately with the march of her hips, and wispy strands of her lengthy blonde hair crept from the back of the helm, as the fabrics of her attire followed in suite with the weapons, gently battered by the breeze and by the brisk pace she'd adapted.
 
Ravire Sarwin
Location: Rebel Base
Interactions: Available

It was a long journey getting to the Queens castle and Ravire honestly didn't want to be in this war although hunting worth adversaries was the only thing they took true pleasure in. But other than that this war was a pain, but the debt their father was in was a bit much and having their debt being completely covered by entering into this war was the best option. The entered the keep no problem due to their status as a duke who fights for the Queens army, they specialized more in dealing with threats that have proved to have been a problem for the queens army more than anything else. It was usually fun hunting them to say the least, if he was going to be fighting in a war might as well enjoy it. Upon entering the keep with their escort of their Houses Guards they moved towards the war room for a Debriefing on what was going on and what role they wanted their army to play.​
 
KALARA

The Twin-Headed Wolf Inn, Southern Byrne




Outside the rain shattered against the muddy ground and against the wooden tiles and walls of the Twin-Headed Wolf Inn. It was a quaint little locale situated near a main trade road and the inn was the only structure along the road for miles which made it the perfect haven for paranoid merchants, weary travelers and hungry sellswords alike. Strangers hailing not only from Byrne, but from the rest of the continent, shared roof and hearth for the night before wandering on.

Despite the poor crops, dwindling economy and civil war spirits were high inside the inn as a group of travelling musicians were joined by a pair of bards to liven up the common room. Sellswords, traders, merchants and common folk were all cheering, laughing and drinking and for but a moment they all forgot about the outside world and the issues that came with it. The innkeeper, Jonas, laughed heartily as two mercenaries began to dance in front of the hearth. At first their comrades cheered them on but it didn't take long for the rest of the inn to join in with those that were either too drunk or too tired to dance cheering on from the comfort of their seats.

At the same time the ladies employed at the inn made sure to deliver a steady stream of drinks and hot meals. Coins switched hands faster than the musicians jumped between melodies. Those that remained seated shared stories and news with one another. Here they were safe from the brutal scrutiny of the Just King and paranoia of the Renegade Queen, prompting all to speak freely. Stories of war, famine, heroic figures and mythical beings were told through whispers while slander and praise for the leaders of Byrne were thrown across the room back and forth.

Regardless of the differing opinions there were no arguments. No brawls. No hands searching for a dagger or sword. No angry looks. Tonight the inn would see nothing but citizens and travelers sharing a moment of joy with one another and for that Kalara was grateful. The Elven mercenary had initially earned a few curious looks and prompted a few whispers upon her arrival at the inn but now, several drinks later, they guests were far too busy to shed any thought on why an Elf found herself at an inn far away from her homeland.

Kalara sighed and took another sip from her drink. A faint smile formed across her lips as one of the drunkards nearly collapsed after trying to impress one of the maids with a trick. This land may not be her home but at this moment she felt some emotional connection. It wasn't difficult to see why her mother had sometimes longed to return home but at the same time the safety and tranquility of the Elven Realm was unmatched.

A man in a black tunic approached Kalara and nodded. She returned the nod and gestured towards one of the chairs and the man promptly seated himself. He placed a scroll of paper on the table. "Got what you asked, Kal. New contract. You might not like it though," said the man as he glanced over to the dancing idiots.

Kalara eyed the contract and placed down the scroll after a brief moment. "You wouldn't happen to have anything that will keep me out from the civil war, by chance?"

The man furrowed his eyebrows and shook his head. "Sorry Kal but it's the only stuff I got. Most of the neutral parties have hunkered down until the war is over. War is bad for business, or well, most of it anyways." He pointed towards the scroll. "Fighting for some loosely-affiliated Renegade commander is as good as its get unless you want a frontline contract with the Just King and go chasing down would-be conspirators?"

Kalara frowned and grabbed the scroll, tucking it inside her cloak. "I'll pass. You can let your contact know I'll take the job. I just hope he doesn't get any idea that I'm going to involve myself in the Byrne politics."

The man chuckled. "Don't worry. He wouldn't want it any other way."
 

Users who are viewing this thread

Back
Top