Fantasy CAINHURST - The RP

[Avari]

Avari
DM | Severa Cainhurst | Lucrezia | NPC Support

The Cainhurst Family
Worthlessplebian
Richard Cainhurst
Dalamus Ulom
Auberon Cainhurst
Spoiled Bread
Rose Cainhurst
Arnalia
Amelia Cainhurst

The Nobility/Blackrock Court
Malphaestus
Alwyntyraeos Valdicarion
Pilgrim59
Sepulcher XI
Huntertabbysandshark3
Elron Parkard Tolbarm

The Bloodguard
Athanas
Arkoth Von Urastar
IG42
Khi'mura Tsin
Remembrance
Ephraim


​

1) Please start each post with your location, character name and the name of the player you're interacting with. (If applicable)
2) No harming other players without strict permission
3) If you're not going to be able to respond to a post within 3 days, please make it clear on the OOC
4) Avoid more than 3 players in one conversation where possible. It gets messy. Please plan interactions in advance. I HIGHLY recommend using MeetingWords: Realtime Collaborative Text Editing to write posts together if you're intending a fairly long conversation.
5) IMPORTANT: Please ensure you adhere to the day/night system explained below.

IMPORTANT THE DAY/NIGHT SYSTEM IMPORTANT


​

In a vein similar to the Persona games, the RP is broken up into a cycle of day and night time segments - each will be clearly marked by an update from myself with a calendar post that will tell you the date and weather, along with any notable events that are going on around Hollowvale. Think of them as effectively mini-chapters within the RP, to ensure no one jumps ahead or is left behind. The RP will switch between Day and Night once a fortnight (This may be adjusted in the future depending on how things go/ plot requirements)

So for example - If the RP starts on Monday the 11th June with Day 1, Night 1 will begin on the 25th June.

You are not restricted by how much you post during these segments, but please post at least once a week as a minimum and you've "wrapped up" by the end of the designated 2 weeks.

--NO POSTS UNTIL THE INTRO IS OUT, WILL BE READY BY THE END OF THE WEEKEND--​

 

[Avari]

CHAPTER I

CHAPTER I:
Reign of a Dark Lord

Ends: 25/06/2020
Weather: Clear, but cold.​

---

The Black Court meets tonight.

The Nobles of every Town and City, every Cult leader and Necromancer Lord, representatives of the various tribes that call Hollowvale their home...All of them are coming to Blackrock at the Dark Lord's personal invitation to discuss the ongoing rule of the nation.
The Castle itself is in a state of controlled chaos with servants running to and fro with three dozen different tasks each and faithful Undead in tow, to ensure the visit of its guests is a pleasant one. The Bloodguard - resplendent in their royal crimson robes are on high alert, ever watchful for any signs of trouble. Having so many rival factions in Blackrock at once always invites some matter of scandal or mishap, it is only the Dark Lord's strength that stops them from openly attempting to destroy one another after all.
Throughout the day, gigantic carriages constantly arrive in Blackrock's courtyard - each pulled by Undead Horses covered in elegant (and sometimes decadent) fabrics and armors as a show of wealth and power. The Black Court only happens once every few months, and is always an excellent opportunity to flaunt ones success and strength over his or her rivals.

All weakness invites is a stab in the back.

Usually literally.

---

Gossip Points:
1) Rumors of the Dark Lord's ill health have been spreading throughout Hollowvale, despite strict punishments being handed out for those foolish enough to openly speak what Blackrock calls "baseless slander"
2) Richard Cainhurst has been in a state of unofficial exile for a year, effectively imprisoned at a nearby unknown fortress in order to undergo a strict and demanding training regime. He is expected back today, but only if his abilities have improved. Lucrezia has been sent to appraise the situation.
3) Reports of Hinokian spies and saboteurs are rife, and many of the powerful families are in a state of paranoia - not only out of concern that they're being watched but also going out of their way to prove their own loyalty.

---

 

[Avari]

Severa Cainhurst

Blackrock Castle Entrance Hall

​

The main lobby of Blackrock Castle was as beautiful as it was mysterious. A mixture of natural geology and Dwarven design; symbolic of an ancient age when practitioners of magic were less able to differentiate the two. Opulent yet minimal, intimidating and yet welcoming. Blackrock was a heaving pile of contradictions - much like the Dark Mages themselves. The very nature of a Dark Mage demanded they never be subservient; that they never bow in the pursuit of power...and yet here they were, ready to lick the boots of their master once again.

But Severa Cainhurst didn't have time to admire Blackrock or contemplate the confusing nature of its current inhabitants - she was a busy woman. Today more than ever, as she led a gaggle of immaculately uniformed servants across the hallway, each carrying a pile of notes and frantically scrabbling her orders as she walked, her hips swaying as she did so.

"I want a copy of those background checks on my desk before the day's end or no one will have an opportunity to enjoy the after party. Oh and mention my name if Lord Zoda tries to give you any grief on the matter. He's such a toad sometimes." she ordered as she briefly paused to allow one of the maids to quickly drape a crimson cape around her shoulders and fasten it with a brooch in the shape of the Cainhurst crest.

She took a brief moment to admire herself in a nearby mirror, and upon finding her appearance satisfactory, gave a brief smile to her attendant who bowed quickly and moved out of her way as she began walking again. Another one the maids - this one a Neko'Sha with her blond hair tied back in a intricate knot promptly took her place at the front of the group and handed Severa several messages without a word, which the eldest Cainhurst daughter began to leaf through as they made their way to the grand oak door which led to the dining hall.

"Absences..." She muttered to herself, flicking through the excuses and apologies of those who would not be attending the Black Court that night. "Lady Dashfang is recovering from a bout of the pox. That suits me just fine, keeps her whores of daughters away from my darling brothers..."

They reached the dining hall. Six Bloodguard suddenly appeared around her to escort her. They eyed everyone with suspicion - even the maids and Undead working to prepare the vast and grandiose dining hall. Severa spared an acknowledging wave to the hard-workers as she passed, before glancing around. "Oh that reminds me, who has the seating plans? Nyx, Darling?"

A purple haired and rather dour looking woman who had been dragging her feet at the back of the pack slowly raised her hand. She looked like she had just rolled out of bed - a startling contrast to all the immaculately dressed servants and soldiers that surrounded Severa. She made her way to the front of the pack - the maids quickly parting way to ease her journey, but she still struggled to keep up with Lady Severa's brisk pace, her feet dragging on the stone floor.

"...Right here..." Nyx managed breathlessly, handing over a sheaf of papers and making no attempt to stifle a yawn.

Severa nodded in gratitude as she grabbed the rather sizable pile of notes which included several possible seating plans on them. Plans that covered for all possible contingencies depending on who came, who didn't, who was being currently favored, who needed to grovel more and then calculated along best possible arrangement for minimum murder attempts. The notes seemed to be in order but Severa gave Nyx a pointed look nonetheless as she looked her up and down. "Nyx, be a darling and at least brush your hair before tonight."

The scruffy woman in question nodded glumly before vanishing back into the throng of followers, all pressed uniforms and arms full of parchment and ink bottles. Severa continued marching along, a new maid now in step behind her - a rather pretty elven girl with her blonde hair and bright green eyes.

"If Lady Dashfang is not here, I highly recommend Seat Plan 2A..." She said quickly. "...although that will seat Lord Havelock quite near the contingent from Grimthorne..." She paused. "Though of course, my lady, I can assure you we can always clean up any wine spills or blood stains that might occur."

"Havelock is a pedophile I don't care what that official report said." Severa replied coolly. "Blood stains would be a blessing. Especially with my darling little Rose and Amelia here. 2A it is!"

Around them, the dining hall was a flurry of activity. Undead and living alike scuttled about like ants, cleaning and arranging, while giving Lady Severa and her entourage of servants and Bloodguards a wide berth. Out of respect, naturally.

"Will you seat yourself with the rest of your family, my lady?" The maid wondered, making adjustments her notes and passing them to one of the Bloodguard with a nod of thanks.

Severa cast a side eye at the maid, "Well of course. I couldn't bare the thought of being anywhere else. Do make sure there's a space for my dear little brother Richard as well. I'm sure he'll be back in time. I'm absolutely sure."

She frowned for a moment. Her thoughts turned to her poor younger brother, practically cast out of the castle a full year ago today by their father with the strict command he was not to return until his "Ability was worthy of the Cainhurst name" - which as far as Severa was concerned was utter nonsense as Richard was a perfectly capable Mage. What did it matter if he was a little frail? Severa privately felt her father had been terribly unfair to him. Hence why she had found herself practically begging Lucrezia to attend his examination personally as the Sorceress would prove a far fairer judge than any of the more odorous individuals that Father might have sent.

Owing a favor to Lucrezia - or anyone for that matter - was decidedly less comforting of course. But needs must.

"I'm absolutely sure." Severa repeated. Then she clapped her hands. "Now, you all have your duties. Oh, and can someone send a note to the kitchen to remind them that those silly little Necromancers from Dreadmoor like their meat with some fight still in it. Thank you sweeties."

"Of course, my lady." the group chanted back in perfect harmony before they all span around on their heels and promptly left in all directions - each with their own vital task to attend to.

Lady Severa stood there for a moment only her Bloodguard remaining in her company - and her own personal handmaiden Nyx, who appeared to be leaning against one of the stone pillars dozing on her feet. Severa sighed and glanced around.

"Now where are my darling brothers and sisters?" She wondered aloud.

 

[Spoiled Bread]

Rose Cainhurst
Location: Rose's Gallery - Blackrock backyard

While the entire castle was scrambling to prepare for the event that would come soon, Rose had been spending her time in a small yet elegant stone building at the corner of Blackrock's backyard, a plaque above the door had been carved with the word 'Rose's Gallery' on it. Currently, there's nothing much inside it other than a few paintings on the wall depicting various method of dying (with overly glorified blood splatter), a piano with a dormant undead on the chair in front of it and, at the center of the gallery, an impressive 8-foot tall muscular humanoid covered in black fur with the head of a bull on its neck. The bullman was sitting on a rock, his right elbow was anchored on his left thigh while shouldering the weight of his chin. Making it looks like the figure was in deep contemplation. The figure was unmoving, like a statue, yet if anyone touch it they would discover that the figure was indeed something made of flesh. This was what called fleshsculpting, the art of using corpses to craft a sculpture.

Rose was more than estatic that her works had been turned really well and she had been busy combing the bullman's furs while Eeriel was comfortably sitting on her laps. It took her many many attempts to make the bull skin blends with the human corpse seamlessly as it's now but finally she was able to make something that didn't looks like a human wearing animal suit.

"I will name this piece... The Bull-headed Thinker. Heh. Write it down, Nara." Rose exclaimed with a level of enthusiasm that she rarely shows. The young Cainhurst finished her combing and walked around her new gallery. A tanned blue-eyed maid behind her wrote what Rose just Said in silence, she contemplated for a few moment before she decided to open her mouth.

"I'm sure your father will be impressed with your artistic skill, milady, but I think its about time for you to join the others."

"Shut up! I dont care about what my father is thinking!" An outburst of emotion leaked out of the girl as she yelled at her maid. Following that, dozens of deep guttural sounds reverberated throughout the gallery, as if they were surrounded by beasts ready to attack them anytime. Eeriel himself suddenly becoming very stiff with his entire furs standing up and his mouth letting out the same kind of sound. Though Rose quickly regained her composure and the beast's voices vanished when she let out a deep sigh. The maid surprisingly didn't seems to flinch at all, she had an unchanging expression on her face as she raised a wooden box and opens it. Inside was a royal crimson cape with a brooch that would be used to tie it together.

"Shall we?"

"Fine. Put it on." Rose raised both of her hands to the side to let her maid draps the cape over her shoulders. After making sure it was fastened correctly, Rose picked her cat up and they slowly walked towards the main building.

...

"I forget something."

"What is it, Milady?"

"Tell someone to throw that undead out of my gallery. Setting an undead to play the piano is a dumb idea. Their music is trash."

"Please consider it done."​

 

[IG42]

Khi'mura Tsin

Blackrock Courtyard​

Outside the dining hall in the courtyard nobles of all levels of society from the highest echelons to wannabe highish were arriving and trying to pretend they were all better than each other.

Off to one side Khi'mura leaned against the wall watching them with lidded eyes of feigned disinterest and drowsiness, catching one of several pointed looks in his direction he waggled a few fingers belligerently. The increasing paranoia over possible spies from Hinokah had the nobility hiding their mouths behind their fans even more than usual and plenty of those with even a basic awareness of his personal history with the opposing nation thought him a double agent reporting back on everything that happened at court.

Leaning forward slightly he raised a brow at a nearby stack of boxes. "Can I help you with something?" One hand dropped to the hilt of the slender sword belted to his hip in an implied threat. With a yelp an attendant popped up into the open and shook his head frantically before bowing and retreating. With a snort Khi'mura resumed his people watching, some of those that suspected him thought they could curry favour by catching him in the act, if they weren't so half-arsed about their surveillance it might've been amusing.

Catching the eye of a well dressed Neko'sha lady he tried a charming smile and got a scowl in return, another unfortunate effect of his most famous work was that others of his own race felt he had made it harder for them to work even within Hollowvale without being suspected of also being spies.

"Still no sign of the guest of honour yet." He mused to himself, Khi'mura hadn't heard any tell of the banished prince dying during his quest/exile and he didn't know of anyone in Hollowvale both bold and stupid enough to attack him on the road home. "I wouldn't blame you for stopping at a tavern on the way instead dear prince but being a no show would put a damper on the evening."

 

[Remembrance]

​

Ephraim
Blackrock Courtyard
IG42 ​

Ephraim made his rounds upon the outer courtyard of Blackrock, his steps determined and heedful to the nearby surroundings. At many points in his life at this decrepit place, he was noted as a predator. Akin to a wild feline, the measure of his step was calculated and the sway of his body kept each action of his minimal. As far as Ephraim knew, the Bloodguard had little in the way of uniformity. Although he could not fathom the depths of Ulfric Cainhurst's mind, he reckoned it was a form of stealth given the many courtiers and others wading throughout the castle. To find a formally dressed warrior amongst a crowd of similarly appearing men and women would be difficult at best, impossible at worst. However, if Ephraim were to undermine the abilities of those who seek the ultimate destruction of Hollowvale, it well could yet reach such a fate.

The courtyard was lively if one could call the many undead and rushing servants such a thing. Ephraim let himself in, entering through the western gate. His stagnant eyes paced across the entirety of the area. Keeping track of they who would sooner not be noticed. He had been given one singular objective straight from the upper echelons. It was all he could really hope for, dedicating his time to an obtainable mission kept him busy and fulfilled. He had little else to do otherwise. His position as not only a Bloodguard but an aide to Lady Lucrezia afforded him plenty of liberties that others could not rightfully attain. With a flick of a wrist and a mention of whom he calls his lady, Ephraim is free to do as he likes. Such a power, however, goes wasted on him.

Ephraim's eyes set upon a familiar Neko'sha Bloodguard. He knew not the specifics but from what he gleaned from Lady Lucrezia, he was a nobleman who kept himself in enemy territory for both profits and surveillance. The outcome of such a mission was undetermined but Ephraim surmised that it was lacking in any form of usable intelligence. His origins and life have taken sustained suspicions from the court. They speak of treachery, of his loyalty not to Hollowvale but to the Hinokah. Ephraim could relate as best as he could, given his rough idea of an upbringing. He was lucky to have been secreted away by Lucrezia before any could delve into his background.

He approached in a cordial manner, bearing his height and inquisitive eyes down onto the Neko'sha Bloodguard. Long before his approach, Ephraim could make tell of what the eared man was speaking of and thusly, he renewed his thoughts accordingly.

"I fear we may not see the Prince any time soon. It is quite a far distance from here." Ephraim released his visual grip off of the Bloodguard before continuing, "I do wonder how the young man has progressed in his abilities. Don't you?"

 

[Pilgrim59]

Duchess Sepulcher XI
Vestibule, Blackrock Castle

Elron Tolbarm
Vestibule, Blackrock Castle

Written with: Huntertabbysandshark3 ​

Contrary to common beliefs that borne of the moniker "Dreadmoor", the region was as colorful as from when the current governor had left it many seasons ago. A sojourn of three days was fleeting at best, and now the necromancer was on her way back to Blackrock Castle for the Black Court gathering. The Eleventh successor of the Sepulcher lineage, Sepulcher XI bore the responsibility of her position in court from a young age at the behest of her father, Lord Sepulcher X. At the tender age of ten, she was already inducted into the relentless politics of the court. Even now, she despised her father for it. But like those before her, Sepul would have stuck to traditions and buried her father properly in Dreadmoor, along with her father's visions for her had it not been for the sudden turn of events that transpired many years ago. Even now, the stench of her father’s treasonous acts still linger upon her mind, one that could never be forgotten by the inhabitants of Hollowvale, let alone its overlord. During her recently-acquired short stay in Dreadmoor, Sepul tended to her great grandmother’s Garden, in hopes of preserving the precious memories that constituted much of her fondest albeit near-forgotten memories. One of the few things that kept her sane amidst the bureaucrats of Blackrock Castle was the unspoken beauty of flowers. After all, it was her efforts that inspired Sepul to take up botany, aside from the latter’s responsibilities for the skeletal undeads that formed a portion of Hollowvale's defenses. Even an influential and work-driven noble as she must take up hobbies to spare her from the insufferable obligations of politics. After a long midnight ride, Sepulcher cast her heavier thoughts aside, puting on her fatal charms once again. Cladded in her fine garments and dark cloak for the occasion, Sepul had made sure to keep her hands free. The Valpurgeisa marked her steps upon the stony entrance towards the vestibule.

It was time for the necromancer to put on her facade as expected of a noble. Her botanist self would be safely locked behind her elegant flair of grace and beauty, for the court was the wild frontier under the guise of refined gentry and fraud smiles. The Bloodguards were as busy with their vigilant glances as the household servants were with their expedited steps across the castle premises. Unlike the other nobles that assert themselves, Sepul fell under the reticent category. Where others talked their way into court, Sepul simply diverted her energy and effort for the last twenty years to the development and production of skeletal undeads for her liege - a necessary distraction from the swift demise of her late father. She had to frequent the field from time to time to prospect locales for skeleton-raising operations. An abandoned cemetery was ideal, but battle sites were optimal. In her work, it was more about making sure that the skeletons were of common backgrounds, than it was of quality conjuration. Sepul often worked with the local scholars to return corpses of noble descent back to their families. An archeologist and a botanist, but a necromancer first and foremost. Rather than simply raising the dead, even the smallest mistake could come back to bite her in court pertaining to the other gentry that wants nothing more than to cut off one of their possible rivals. In her line of work, necromancy was both a social and physical endeavor. But thankfully, skeleton armies requires less intricate details than that of the streamlined zombies and flesh-driven amalgamation.

Hopefully, Sepul did not have to run into some unwanted company, she contemplated.

Sepul sighed slightly before making eye contact with a certain hooded individual that stood across from her within the dim lit hall. He possessed a gray stare that discerned him from the scheming eyes of the hungry multitude, accompanied by his oaken staff. Sepul recalled his name, Master Elron Tolbarm the Third of Crowhaven. Not much for words between them many times before, as Sepul had often kept to her office - a simple cell for a political prisoner of simple tastes. Now that she had been summoned to resume her duties as a socialite, as well as her inclination to steer past the shallow eyes of her allured counterparts, the Duchess decided and made her way towards the elderly gentleman. The man seems endowed with extensive knowledge pertaining to viticulture and alchemy. By virtues of a somewhat successful governor and a land cultivator, she was most interested in the man’s opinions on the matter of their shared, albeit unspoken endeavors. There was no better time than now when Dreadmoor seeks to expand its exports.

"Master Tolbarm. It has been many moons since we last conversed. I take it your work has treated you well?" Sepul greeted Elron. Her sultry voice announced her delicate presence.

Elron’s mind had been for the most part preoccupied by the organising of the wine selection for the current events, always a difficult task - especially when many a noble had incredibly different tastes from one another. The task of finding a few vintages that would prove generally agreeable, as it always fell upon his interests to do so.

Duchess Sepulcher was a welcome distraction from the task, unlike many of the other nobles, or so Elron contemplated. She had no interest in the convoluted plotting of the court, preferring to defer to her work, something Elron found common ground in. Though his own products often somehow ended up involved therein but that mattered little to him. A small smile crept upon the elf’s bearded face. “Ah it is good to see you again duchess, it has been some time hasn’t it? I've heard Dreadmoor is doing rather well, yes?” Elron greeted her in kind, bowing his head slightly as a show of respect, something more so reflexive than anything else.

"Indeed it has. The pleasure is mine, Master Tolbarm." She said, brushing her gentle fingers across her fair bosoms with a reticent nod to follow. "Quite, aye. The blackbells are particularly abundant this year." Blackbell, having been utilized by aspiring necromancers as a substitute for many ingredients in the field of magic, was seeing a rise in demand for its versatile use. Among the many properties that it possessed, blackbells are often sought after for its potent extract that expedited mana regeneration. Having cultivated much of its potential since its discovery, Sepul had worked to commercialize it upon Hollowvale's market. Surely, Elron would have a use for it in bulk as much as she was keen on instigating Hollowvale's interests in agricultural cultivation. Perhaps even one day, they would find a way to tame the Wasteland.

“Tired of the politicking, just here for a chat? Or mayhaps this has something to do with business?” Elron asked his tone calm, for rarely did many speak to him if not for requiring something from the vintner and alchemist. He liked it that way, never too much attention and certainly not enough that he would become a target for anything short of an indiscreet attempt on his honor.

Sepul smiled softly at Elron's sharp but frank observation. "I'm sure you are aware that prices for blackbell powders have soared since the last harvest. At the current indication of fifteen coppers per bushel, I would advise haste lest the seasons pass you by. Of course, on the matters of quality preservations, I will personally see to the intricate works myself. Benefit yourself the honor of harnessing its power, Master Tolbarm." The Duchess offered, batting her sooty lashes with lethal purpose.

Elron stroked his beard thoughtfully at Miss Sepul’s insinuation, after a moment of thought it became rather clear to the man. "Ah yes I have noticed its price go up, somewhat odd, unless its properties have become far better known then before. However I do know a good few providers of it…" he'd hum quietly to himself before continuing. “...Hmm, I can certainly secure a heft quantity on short notice as needed. I'm sure a good profit can be turned for this yes?” Elron asked his tone more curious than scheming, the Duchess of Dreadmoor obviously had a plan and the old advisor was more than happy to go along with it. “My hands have not been idle, Master Tolbarm.” The woman giggled at Elron’s regards of blackbells. While far from a breakthrough, the Duchess has kept herself busy in Dreadmoor as she did at Blackrock. The only difference was that of the small peace that she obtained for herself among her own creations. When it came to building and maintaining a skeleton army for the defense of Hollowvale, the aspects of quality-control were less intricate in favor of abiding by her budget. Afterall, the Duchess still retained some finer elements of a business person, much like her father before her.

“Certainly, Master Tolbarm, if one knows where to look for it.” Sepul smiled playfully, raising her fine fingers towards the elf with a sanguine gesture. Retrieving her sign, she continued with a soft voice. “But as a seeker of knowledge, is your heart not overwrought over the feasibility of opening up a new chapter in the history of alchemy? As an ardent student of botanical pursuits, I am willing to sacrifice all the wealth in the world for it. We are not so different, you and I. With my garden at your disposal, I believe you will benefit more from your work than earthly earnings. Thus, the only matter of contention now resides in your confidence in our cooperation. What say you, Master Tolbarm?” The Duchess remarked, unfurled her gloved hand towards the alchemist.

Elron’s expression turned to that of a small smile. “Indeed that is true, with such resources at my disposal I can see this partnership bringing forth a most fruitful outcome, it would be foolish to say no to such a generous offer.” Elron replied, as the elf’s mind already raced at the possibilities that lay before him, extending his own hand he would take the Duchess’s offered hand, shaking it lightly. “So we have ourselves an agreement then, I’m sure we can achieve something groundbreaking.” He remarked with a hint of excitement held in his voice. It was safe to say that his crimson-eyed partner shared the same zeal as he albeit in a tamed manner. Armed with the same enthusiasm she, too, secured his grip with a reciprocating motion. “And more, Master Tolbarm. Your wisdom and prudence are appreciated. We can arrange the details of shipment at a later time. A sample of our latest harvest will be sent to your quarters for your personal assessment. Please enjoy yourself, Master Tolbarm.” The Duchess retrieved her hand, donning a pleased smile as she performed a curtsy to declare her departure.

 

[Malphaestus]

Alwyntyraeos Valdicarion
Blackrock Castle​

Within the halls of the fortress-keep of the prestigious Cainhursts, and their unequalled legacy upon Aether, roam deceitful schemers and impertinent plotters. Vying for their power, authorities, and successes in endless cavalcade. They marched, disunited, across every corner and every hall afforded to them, and put on their masks in hopes of future benefit. Why bow now, if not for the ability to force others bowed in future? With dreams such as those, nobility clad themselves regally, outshining even the most finely arranged gardens by the virtue of their ludicrous expenses, and their silver-tongued natures. Easily seen from the vantage point of secluded corners, and the far-ends of hallways. Amongst the prestigious paintings and adornments, machinations flow and grow without hindrance.

Their positions were fragile, yet solid; every thing an obstacle, and an opportunity. Why else would they fear espionage so gravely, were it not for that which was hidden behind closed doors? None could be freed from such an atmosphere, every living entity, even the dead, were cajoled to participate, and even he had been forced to wallow in their natures to gain the benefits which they demanded of him and himself. However, to walk amongst them was grave comfort, methods of conspiring no stranger, and the degrees to which nobility pursued their aims cute by comparison. His spirits had been lifted the moment he’d set foot away from the Closed Gate of home.

He had spotted innumerable members of repute during his brief re-emergence into the social battleground of the Castle’s numberless rooms during the day’s morning, but refrained from taking his first steps yet. The night’s cleansing had put him into irritance, the oil still stinging his every inch of flesh, instead finding escape in the observation of people from his seat. Though much could be said about the Blackrock, their furnishings were without equal, and seats were both common and exceedingly comfortable. Soothing in their menace, displays of power endlessly ordinary beneath the immediate seat of Hollowvale’s authority. And yet so few were clear of mind enough to recognise the presence upon which they all infringed, as they held their heads in deepest thought, theorising their political manoeuvrings.

He smiled. Either he was a natural politician, or his genius was simply so vast as to encompass everything. “Goodest greetings to you, Master of the Lonely Cape,” an intruding voice then uttered, at the verge of distance and nearness, well-versed in noble etiquette: a lord, Baron Sorviess. Reciprocated, in turn, by a graceful sway of the arm towards an accompanying seat yet vacant. A seat, swiftly occupied by a nobleman with great ambitions, their gazes divided solely by the impassable presence of the Midnight Master’s sole attendant. “There are many rumours about, and fascinating stories to keep them company: pray tell, are you as salivating as the rest before the Prince’s return,” Alwyntyraeos uttered in perfect coordination with the Baron’s placement upon his seat.

Though he could not see the man’s face, Hino’o and her gracefully umbral robe blocking any such prospect, he knew the man’s mind must have contorted at his choice of words. He could have been more eloquent- or rather- more discrete, though the endless itching vexed his humour, and forced his grip upon the stool to stiffen. It had taken a few moments of silence before the Baron opted for his response: “Ah, he is amongst the most known of the offspring across the land…” Though briefest pause interrupted his following phrase, it was enough for Alwyntyraeos’ gaze to affix upon the fine embroideries of his disciple’s vestments. “Due to his journey, that is!” A well-constructed laughter thereafter followed, brief and dignified, yet born of uncertainty. A fact which drove Alwyntyraeos’ own mouth into motion, the two exchanging equalled nonsense to the contentment of Sorviess’ aims. Satisfied with having made the Master laugh for now, he quickly rose to his feets, and bade farewell. Those both ambitious and relatively titleless had to keep themselves busy for their aims, after all.

Within the solemn quiet, he grasped onto the verge of Hino’o’s robe, and mused over its finesse and elaborate tailoring. Though there was much to contemplate about the nature of his allegiance, their inherited clothing culture was not amongst that number: he could lose himself upon the embroideries, the images subtly veiled within, sparking his mind to motion and birthing the contemplations which furthered his understanding of the beyond visible world. Retracting his own gaze from them, yet refusing to let his hand loosened from what he comfortably embraced, he scanned his surroundings yet more, and spotted the High Princess’ cadre dominate the hallway upon their patrol.

As the most promising prospect of pursuit, for the sake of his tasks and obligation, she was an essential relationship to foster in future: the royal family the sole purpose to his visitage, and attendance, of the Black Court. “My dearest disciple. It has been a short, yet long, time since our arrival. When, then, should I place my bid to her future highness?” Hino’o, there-to silent and unmoving, layed out her response with dominant whisper. Heard by none but the one which they were intended to, she said that “though the eldest daughter’s future cannot be made certain, as per the way of Hollowvale.” Murders far too common to plan such prospects with certainty. Hino’o believed that “should we take too long, suspicions will only mount, and dangers become all the more real.”

Alwyntyraeos grinned. Indeed, they had spent their time hitherto the present in observation, establishing basest relations, and cementing their place within the existing relations of the nobility. The backbone, yet the lowest rung of authority within Hollowvale. Though they were on top of many within the nation, they were beholden to the whims and ambitions of the few true authorities above. He could spare no efforts to pursue his own relations with them without his own place to hold in the Court. Yet for Midnight he could be neither tardy nor hasteful, lest others grow too hopeful and place themselves at odds with his one true goal.

Vexed he was, as he could do little but observe the eloquence of her majesty, the eldest princess, as she left beyond the door with her procession in tow. “She would look much better were she to wear clothes selected by myself,” he mused as he rose: there was more to see than those held within a single corner of Blackrock, an action to which Hino’o retrieved a notebook hidden under her pockets until now. A routine already well-established, and as she lowered her pen to its pages, Alwyntyraeos spoke.

“Baron Sorviess seeks to entice me to partake in his plot to poison Countess Leonine,” a fact easily surmised. There was much information to be found, and as an important party, he was privy to most provided enough incentive. Though it would take much to have the gall of undertaking it during the time of Court, it would happen within the imminent future. He and the Baron were of greatly differing stature, and the Baron was not the kind to fraternise with the mighty for little reason: “he’s just that kind of garbage.” A twitch of the finger to accompany his suddenly vicious tongue, “but I can’t risk the malice of the royal lineage, or the Raven for now, so he’ll be failing viciously.” Alwyntyraeos performed an elaborate wave of nonchalance to highlight his grandiose moment, before going quiet.

As he walked the castle’s many floors with Hino’o in tow, he fell into great contemplation, finicking with what remained rooted in his hand. Too swallowed in his own estranged realities, never would he have ever recognized, now or in the past, that whenever he made Hino’o write his thoughts down, all she put to paper was abstract scribbles of no meaning. She found no reason to catalogue his monologues since her Master would remember them regardless.

She looked up to her master’s face, yet down upon his person, as she stowed away the notebook and matched steps with his own.

 

[Athanas]

Arkoth Von Urastar
Blackrock Courtyard
Remembrance IG42 ​

"Oh, man, this is some good stuff!" Exclaimed Arkoth as he relieved yet another bottle of it's contents, leaving it on the side where it joined an ever increasing pile. His current company, a gruff-looking guard sergeant of the far more mundane variety, simply smiled and handed him another. "Hey, let it never be said I don't know how to repay favors, right?"

Arkoth wouldn't turn down a drink on any day, exception being made for incredibly extreme circumstances only. But today was special, you see, for today was the day the Black Court convened. Every noble, minor and major, all so vain and pretentious peacocks seemed modest by comparison. It wasn't the first time he'd attended such events, as he had pulled bodyguard duty quite a few times back at Vinistead, but this was all somehow even worse. The stupid, neutral conversation that they had with each other-each noble thinking themselves geniuses for being so disgustingly boring that their enemies would never be able to gauge their intentions. The fake platitudes exchanged between people who both were fully aware that the other party would much rather stab/poison/curse them for some slight, real or imagined.

Under such conditions it would take every last drop of Arkoth's willpower to maintain appearances and pretend like he belonged. To pretend like the stupid, long-winded speech patterns of the nobles actually made them sound very smart-as if though a guy who takes seven lunar cycles to get to the fucking point deserves any sort of praise!-, to pretend like he definitely thought this magic trick or that title were indeed the most interesting things he had ever heard, to pretend like Lucrezia's fucking pet was anything within the same region as worth of his respect. Speaking of....

"Tell me" he said after a minute of deliberating, breaking the silence in the guardhouse. "This guy, our lieutenant-what's his deal? Nobleman our head...lady keeps around as a pet? Child soldier?"

The familiarity demonstrated by a bloodguard member towards someone who was, by all accounts, a member of the expendable riff-raff would have seemed quite absurd to any of the pampered ponces that belonged to the above microcosm, but Arkoth knew better. None were better friends to have than the lowly, people who didn't waste time wanking off over how awesome they were or how genius their next plan was. Getting friends in such low places was also as easy as breathing-simply show up, smile, and tell them you're not here to break their ribs in alphabetical order for stress relief. Yes, according to the other man, that was a thing that sometimes happened. He still was in great pain whenever the cold got too harsh. In a world of sadistic sociopaths who revel in violence, all you have to do is convince them that you'll take your violence elsewhere and you're as good as a saint.

It was a good thing they had going-Arkoth could get any mundane item or gossip he asked for(amongst thousands of wine crates, no one will bat an eye if a few go missing), and Arkoth would occasionally throw his weight around as the big bad bloodguard to make sure his guys never got latrine duty, or had to take a few days of leave for interrogation, and the like. Every guard captain collectively shits their breeches whenever they see the red cloak(apparently, the rib-breaking is pretty egalitarian and cares naught for rank), so there never had been any objections.

"I dunno too much, to be frank with ye. He's not exactly a very...public figure, all things considered. All I can tell ye is that he's older than he looks, and that he's a nightmare with those two blades of his. Even by your standards, this guy is completely insane. Rumor has it, he's never lost a duel, ever. I've had this post for eight years now, and I know what I'm talking about. Not to be fucked with, at any cost."

Arkoth pondered this information for some time, and found it quite worrisome, so he instead downed the rest of the new bottle to clear his head. This solved the problem, but unfortunately, created a new one, almost equally pressing and terrible: He had no more alcohol. "Ah fuck, where is the rest of the rum? I was sure I counted more bottles when we started..."
The other man laughed loudly at his reaction. "I dunno. Unless someone's cast a spell on them, I count the same number. perhaps the problem lies with the guy who keeps drinking them like they're water? I mean, seriously, how are you even standing?"

It was Arkoth's turn to laugh. "Well, mostly because I am a veritable god amongst normal men and as such have a constitution completely superior to what you would consider possible." He announced, in a mocking imitation of a nobleman's voice. The answer was far more mundane-part some light restorative magic, part just being a chronic drunk, but he liked to downplay that fact. "Still am tipsy though. So if you see me hitting on any of the ladies of the court, I guess that is to blame." He finished with a smile, which the other man refused to dignify with anything other than a loud huff. "Whatever, man. You should probably get moving though. You know, try to pretend like you're taking this seriously and all."

Arkoth nodded, leisurely getting up. "This is one of the few times that you're right. I guess I should be grateful this mask don't let people smell the hootch. Unless someone actively casts a scrying spell? You think they're that petty? They'll ask an oracle to tell them if I'm drunk?" Though far from the realm of the absurd for the tossers that comprised the black court, he still felt the need to laugh. He donned the mask, straightened his robes, adopted his best arrogant-looking stance and exited the guardhouse, making his way over to the courtyard.


The courtyard, even at this hour, was fairly packed with individuals, mostly the aforementioned nobles but a few more...interesting sights as well. Such as the general himself! He currently seemed to be chatting up with another of their number-a stranger, from what little he remembered, who was apparently suspected of being some sort of spy. No doubt the lapdog was already trying to fish information out of him in the hopes of appeasing his mistress. He approached the pair, pausing to stand at attention momentarily when he was close enough to Ephraim. "Reporting in, sir! A cursory scan of the perimeter reveals no threats, but no sign of the esteemed guest, either. Guards all at their posts, no sign of suspicious activity!"

There. A professional report, that a person who spent the last thirty minutes drinking definitely would not be able to deliver. He eased up a bit, his eyes moving to the Neko'sha. "I see you've already begun interrogating suspects, sir?" He added, though the mirth in his voice couldn't quite be hidden. "Personally, I don't think it can be him, if you'd take my advice-No professional spy would choose a cover this suspicious, and any non-professional spies, we'd have caught already." He underlined that comment with a friendly pat to the back of the Neko'sha, now completely at ease, at least, outwardly. From behind his mask he was trying to gauge the reaction of his superior, looking for any signs that they could get along, or, conversely, that he'd need to slit the man's throat when he slept. Lucrezia can always find another pretty boy to bed, and besides, he doubted she'd even notice his absence.

Now, now, don't preemptively poison the well. Maybe he won't be a fucking ass.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Between A Rock And A Hard Place,
a collaboration effort by Avari and Worthlessplebian
Richard Cainhurst and Lady Lucrezia, Fort Gold-Throat ​

Fort Gold-Throat had quite the impressive name for a place so mundane and bleak. Based to the east of Blackrock Castle, Gold-Throat had once been the seat of a rather narcissistic family of Necromancers who had found themselves on the wrong side of the fence during the Unification War.

Ulfric was not the sort of man who was magnanimous in victory. He had burned the fortress down with every soul who had defied him still inside it, and even now it was said you could still hear the screams during quiet nights. The Dark Lord, not to be superstitious or let a perfectly good (if scorched) Fort go to waste, had refitted the small ruin into a training ground.

Of course, it also functioned as a rather effective prison as well - of which Richard Cainhurst knew far too well.

Exceedingly well. Richard had been exiled to this refurbished Fort for an entire annum. His first month, he questioned the ultimate purpose for this extradition, not content to accept the answer he received. Alas as time marched on, days turned into weeks then months, he began to take his intensive training period seriously.

He sat motionless in an auxiliary yard, adjacent to the main courtyard. The servants and guards rarely disturbed him, the near-oval shape of the side yard allowed the wind to circle in a rhythmically calming motion. Yet despite the peace and the bristling grass blades, the foul smell of death and fire remained inseparably married to this place. At first, you may not notice the stench, but it soon becomes apparent as it irritates your nose. No manner of imported floral decorations, resoldered brick and granite, and newly arranged tapestry could disseminate it away into an unnoticeable aspect.

The son of Ulfric Cainhurst opened his eyes, brown orbs taking in the scene. The necromancer grabbed his weapon - a rapier forged for him, by him and the Smith. The half-sable weapon remained loosely in Richard's palms, an impromptu-inspection before his regiment. Its honed point has pierced many a foe and claimed many more, but the edge is not to be underestimated as it is still a sword and like any sword, it can cut.

His lungs take in breath as Richard assumes a stance. One foot back, one forward while his non-sword hand hovered over his right hip or resting around his heart. His rapier-hand carries the weapon through the guard positions that he has been taught and experienced with, then the rapier whistled. He thrusts with controlled motion, the unique makeup of the blade communicating its excited mood. Then another thrust and another, and more after that. His footwork carried him through the yard, advancing or retreating. Sparring an imaginary opponent.

Beads of salty sweat began to form, before Richard was... Not surprised, but annoyed. As a guard had chimed into his moment. "My Lord," He spoke, rigidly saluting the presence. "Lady Lucrezia has arrived." The duelist gasped for breath, but unerringly maintaining eye-contact. Before sardonically smiling at the guard. "I shall be there in a moment, allow me to become decent."

The central courtyard of the fortress had been repurposed as a training arena of sorts - the wide open area with raised stone steps around its edge served as a practical place for Mages and warriors to test their mettle, with others able to (somewhat) safely observe. At the far side of the arena, wrapped in a thick black fur coat that gave her the appearance of a overgrown bat, a diminutive elven woman sat with her legs crossed - with a rather unpleasant scowl that darkened her otherwise handsome features.

Lady Lucrezia. Father's feared lieutenant. Her displeasure seemed to weigh on the environment like a physical force, making the already icy fortress positively bleak.

Her dark eyes watched him as he approached.

Richard knew her well enough to recognise that everything she did was a pretense. The unsettling stare, the small simper on her red lips. She always seemed angry, but wore that anger behind a disconcerting expression, a beautiful smile of straight white teeth with eyes filled with a fire that constantly threatened to spark out of control. She was always so quiet - quiet as death. If one was brave enough to squeeze their eyes shut in her presence, you could almost believe her gone - save the cold Dread that practically oozed off of her.

"Ah...Richard." she greeted softly as she folded her hands together before herself. "I'm here to bring you home...should you prove your year here has not been wasted."

Her soft greetings did not go unnoticed by Richard. "Lady Lucrezia," The princeling scholar bowed, perhaps showing greater respect for his Father's most trusted servant than one would expect. "I am unquestionably eager to proceed with the orrdeal before me. Equally enthusiastic about returning to my beloved family." The man stood there - adorned by his one-third cloth, one-third leather, and one-third chainmail, dark gray armour - acceptingly, his body seemingly open to receive anyone in his embrace or some such. A contrast to the Ice Mistress, Lucrezia. "I do not see your familiar nearby, is it possibly invisible?" Richard made small talk before his task. In his heart, he did feel fear, any man feels fear in his opinion but Richard had been a master of his heart, he would not let such trivialities complicate things.

"Spare me the loquacious babble." Lucrezia replied cooly, shooting him a look before returning to inspecting one of her long fingernails. He noted she had not answered his question - perhaps being away from her pet was the reason for her sour mood?
"I have been - requested -" She pronounced the word as if it tasted sour "To evaluate you. Lady Severa believes that I will be a fairer judge of your ability than Zoda. That I will be...lenient."

She glanced up at the young man for a moment, a thin smile on her lips. "She is mistaken."

Lucrezia clicked her fingers.

The ground beneath Richard's feet began to rumble and he jumped back. Dust rose into the air like a fog as the stone bricks that he had been standing on rose from the ground, each glowing with a purple hue. They whirled and snapped together, forming a new shape that towered over the young Cainhurst.

The dust settled. Richard found himself staring up at a gigantic stone golem, near twice his size. Two red firey orbs flashed into life upon the single stone brick that made up its head, as the construct inspected its arms and legs before giving a deep hum of satisfaction.

The golem turned its attention to the young man, and then to Lucrezia who was still sitting down. She smirked up at her creation.

"Kill him."

"Oh.... Sard me—" Richard cried, the stone golem wasting no time at all by bringing down his terrible fist. The spot where Richard stood cracked with green and brown and tiny fragments. His legs had driven him away from his foe, all thanks to his battle instincts. The zygomatic muscles tightened and his teeth rattled from bodily fear.

The man now feet apart from the golem stared down with daggers. His ebony-plumed helmet dangled at his side before his hands swept up the protective piece and in one motion placed it on his head and tied the straps.

The duelist's sword remained sheathed. It would be a fool's decision to stab at living stone with his prized possession. His feet widened, arms stood at his hips at the ready. Richard's fingers flexed willfully, gathering aetherial forces in the locus of his palms. But he will not be granted the clemency. The stone golem pointed a fictile fist at the Cainhurst, before releasing it with tremendous forces. A gasp escapes Richard, as his body turns. The projectile flew at his head and in turn, Richard went along with it. The metal in his helmet whined, as it buckled under the half-force.

His neck pained him immediately, damage to his cranium had been eluded but tomorrow morning will curse him with aching discomfort. He whipped around to see stone golem, reloading his limb by smashing it into the ground and absorbing earthly material. "You mindless monster, you dare hope to defeat me by throwing rocks!?" Richard's voice barked. The taunt did naught, but fly off the creature,

"It does not have ears!" Lucrezia called out, obviously thinking she was being helpful. Regardless, the construct did as he needed - perhaps simply acknowledging his challenge.

It charged at him.

Yes, yes. The royal thought. He paid no heed to the earth trembling before him as the monster shortened the divide between them. It released a harrowing, hollowing howl. A preposterous notion that rock could scream, yet here it was defying the odds.

It swiped at him, he ducked! A second later and his head would become pâté against its knuckles. He rolled forward off his feet, landing under the creature's arm. An gleaming icicle formed in his right palm, while a crackling sphere of cold in his left. He plunged the icicle in the monster, then slapped the wound with the sphere. Once again he ran away but as he was running, his left hand snapped closed as if he crushed a bug.

A rumbling occurred from the monster, it shook. Then became perforated from within! Spikes of ice broke its hard shell, then it exploded. Sending large chucks flying, one directly at Richard's back. He tumbled from his run, falling into a roll. "My back!" He hissed, as one hand moved to hold the injured area. No victory comes without cost, however big or small.

His feeble form did not lend itself too kindly to blunt implements, as Richard learned all those years ago. He managed to recover enough to sit on his knees, his dented helm looked at Lady Lucrezia. "Have you more trials in store for me? Or is this all that my father deigned?"

The Sorceress chuckled softly as she rose to her feet and practically glided over to him. She took a moment to eye what remained of the golem she had summoned before turning her attention back to him.

"I dare say I could," She replied smirking, as she promptly pulled him to his feet. "Alas, I fear for my own sanity should I be late in delivering you to lady Severa. She has been most...enthasastic regarding your prompt return."

Lucrezia made a face. Her earlier icy demeanour now mostly thawed as she bowed before him, her hand outstretched to hand him a small ring. It was a intriciate little thing - golden thorns wrapped around a emerald jewel with the Cainhurst crest proudly emblazoned upon it.

"Welcome back to the family...My lord."

 

[Remembrance]

Ephraim
Blackrock Courtyard
IG42 Athanas

Spoiled Bread ​

The Locket of the Damned. An affectionate name for a pale metal locket by which he understands frighteningly little about. It contains little trace of its origins and much less of its purpose withholding its usage of retaining an object of importance. At times, Ephraim would gaze down upon the locket in an attempt to uncover its mysteries. He used it as a form of coping or to test his imaginative side with over-the-top and ludicrous ideas of its roots. However, he had not looked upon it at any point in this locale for a sour and irascible man had appeared.

With little warning he appeared, donning a mask of illegible and likely fraudulent runic symbols. Ephraim had no formal knowledge of graphology nor did he truly understand ancient writing systems though, from a cursory glance, he could not relate any of the runes etched in the mask to what he can instinctually remember. He had no evidence to prove it is fraudulent however, his suspicions were more than enough to consider it as such.

In truth, it did not matter whether anything about this man was real for he was a Bloodguard. Holding the same post and status marker that Ephraim had. As soon as the man anchored himself beside the Neko'sha and Ephraim, he had given a report. An odd thing; to report to a man of similar rank. Formal ranks and titles were foreign to Ephraim. Lady Lucrezia did little to give knowledge of how the Bloodguard functioned internally. He had always assumed they were merely equals who shared a deep loyalty to the Cainhurst bloodline. He pondered whether this was a trick of some sort, a play on fellow men in arms. However, he could tell there was no sign of humor nor deviousness in the man's voice. This Bloodguard genuinely thought he was of a higher rank.

With an assumed power over the Bloodguard, who was he to deny such an offer. In a similar fashion to how he had approached the Neko'sha, he unleashed the weight of his gaze down onto the masked Bloodguard. Lifeless eyes stared down past the mask and unto his clothing. Ephraim didn't release it till after the man had made his jest with the eared-man.

With an indiscernible exhale, Ephraim began his trickery. "I am glad to hear your report, for this event is one we must keep our eyes on. Our enemies will stalk and attempt to find holes in our security but they will find none thanks to you." Ephraim cleared his throat before leaning in beside the Bloodguard's ear, whispering what would be payback to the slight he had made against the Neko'sha. "However, you must understand that... Your form was sloppy. Not to mention the very distasteful discrimination of creed against your fellow Bloodguard. Hollowvale is filled with countless men and women of other races and origins, any disrespect towards them is ill-wanted."

A smile flashed on his face as he leaned back into a straight-standing position. He turned his attention back to the Neko'sha, reaffirming that there is little to no suspicion coming from him. "I will report my findings to Lady Lucrezia when she has returned. Regardless of that, I must be off to attend to the Cainhursts."

Ephraim bowed his head at a slight angle to the Neko'sha before departing to approach the second-to-youngest Cainhurst.

"Lady Rose? I will be attending as your guard for the time being until a suitable replacement arrives. Please do understand."

 

[IG42]

Khi'mura Tsin
Blackrock Courtyard
Taking a moment to nod respectfully to Ephraim as he approached Khi'mura gazed at the open gatehouse for any sign of their topic of discussion. "Well there should at least be someone looking out for him shouldn't there? Imagine the returning prince comes home to an empty yard and has to announce his own arrival to the court." The wry smile he wore dropped away replaced with a thoughtful look. "Oh I expect he'll have grown considerably in his time away, still he is unlikely to be approaching the level of Lady Severa." Inwardly he did wonder how things between the two eldest royals would pan out, the expectation was that eventually only one of Ulfric's children would remain yet the most powerful of them was fanatically devoted to the safety of the others.

Seeing another fellow Bloodguard approach he listened to the report and noted the scent of alcohol on the other's breath but didn't care to comment on it. At the mention of 'interrogation' Khi'mura snorted derisively. "Professional! Definitely not, some fool thinks they can uncover some web of deceit with me at the centre by having their most disposable servant squat in the dirt for five minutes trying to go unnoticed." The overly familiar backslap irked him but he was more curious about the seeing deference Arkoth showed towards them and especially Ephraim, likely an attempt to ingratiate himself but more irritating than anything. "Perhaps the amateur eavesdropper would have been a little more successful if he had fortified his spirits like you have." Returning Ephraim's slight bow when he left Khi'mura turned to Arkoth. "Did you have another duty to attend to or are you content to loiter like me?"

Athanas Remembrance

 

[Soviet Panda]

Otrygg Margold
Blackrock Courtyard​

Otrygg sat in a modestly upholstered carriage drawn by a loyal pair of reanimated draft horses in what Otrygg was willing to wager the most expensive thing this minor House had in it's coffers. He'd much rather be on his ship, but seeing as that was not an option he was forced to rub shoulders with the local minor nobility. He had so far managed to impress the 'Regal House Hartwood'. A bunch of backwater nobodies compared to some of his former clientele, for he refused to contact them in the current state he found himself in. But Lord Conandus Hartwood had managed to secure a place in the fabled Blackrock. Otrygg himself had never been, but knew it to be the heart of Hollowvale. And, after telling Lord Conandus Hartwood that he had never had the pleasure to see the resplendent capital of Hollowvale, he was promptly invited along.

'The damn baboon probably didn't even see his chance.' He thought to himself as he smiled at Lord Conandus, nodding along at the slim man's ramblings as if paying attention. Surely it wasn't his fault for being so stupid, he simply had the misfortune of not being born smart enough to sense when he could twist someone's arm to get something they wanted. If the roles had been reversed, Otrygg would have been able to squeeze out favor towards him in trade agreements. Nothing to substantial, he had no plans of returning to that festering shit hole any time soon.

Feeling the carriage slightly lurch as the stiff, skeletal frames of the animals came to a halt, Otrygg came out of his thoughts. "Oh, I take it that means we're here."

"Of course it does, Otrygg old boy. I'm surprised you hadn't noticed. Usually you are so much better at these sorts of things. Why I remember just the other day..."

"No need to flatter me, Sir," Otrygg quickly cut in. "I was just lost in your tale. Such an interesting history you and your family. If left to my own devises I'm sure I'd do nothing but sit around and listen to you and your family regale me with tales of heroic deeds during the Vampiric Wars. And at the end of it all I'd have more than half a mind to go get my family's great book and inform of what they have done. But, the world keeps turning and we must move on or be left behind. Oh, after you, Sir." And with that, Otrygg opened the door for the lesser noble and allowed him to exit the carriage first, not wanting to draw to much attention to himself.

Almost having to jump off the steps leading down from the carriage, Otrygg looks around at the majestically morbid Blackrock Castle before him. 'I've seen better cut stone at taverns' he thought matter of factly to himself.

 

[Spoiled Bread]

Rose Cainhurst
location: Blackrock Courtyard -> Main Castle (theatre)

"Suit yourself." Rose didn't bother to stop as she walked towards the castle with her maid right behind her, the bloodguards' business didn't interest her. Though the fact that Ephraim wasn't with Lucrezia did piqued her curiousity. Oh, wait. That's probably had something to do with Lucrezia being sent to pick up her brother.

Instead of going into the main hall and gather with the rest of her siblings, Rose decided to enter the theatre and settle on one of the royal balcony on the third floor. Her small body just sunk into the large overly padded crimson chair available there. It's not like she avoids her siblings or anything, but it's more like she didn't want to mingle with the nobles. Talking with them were always tiring, and there wouldn't be any lack of nobles during The Court. Besides, she enjoys listening to the drama troupe and the orchestra doing their last minutes rehearsal. Today's performance was named Till the Last Drop. A supposedly war epic story about Ulfric's exploit during the vampiric war. Sounds like something dry, uninspired and totally bootlicking her father, bleh, but at least the troupe was known for their handsome actors... and Rose totally came here for the art.

"Do you want some juice, milady?" Nara's question snapped Rose's mind out of her little trance and she realized she was eyeing one of the young actor with his glossy long blonde hair. She displayed an irritated looks at Nara before answering her question.

"Orange slush with a mix of fermented camel milk and then topped with death berry jam and blue raisin. Do it quick." The maid's eyebrows twitched when she heard her master's strange request. That, would take some time to prepare even for her. Though she simply nodded at it.

"As you wish, milady." Nara's eyes glanced at Ephraim, as if she was trying to signal him something. Though it's probably just her being cautious of leaving her master to someone else. The maid performed a little bow at Rose as her body started to melts into the shadow beneath her, before long the shadow had slithered across the wall and slipped through the theatre's entrance.

"Suckers." Rose grumbled before looking for the actor from before. Unfortunately for her he was nowhere to be seen, probably in the backstage. She let out a dejected sigh and leaned her back on the chair. Her eyes darting all over the place before finally stopped on Ephraim next to her. She suddenly remembered something that she wanted to ask him.

"So, how about it, Ephraim? Do you like the performance? Do you like war? Do you like spilling blood? Do you like Lucrezia?" That last question was rather abrupt but it was the most important one. Rose didn't feel too comfortable around the scientist but she had always been wondering what their relationship was. Definitely not marriage though, something like that would be registered in the archive. It's her teenage love gossip radar thirsting for answer.

Remembrance​