Fantasy Drums of War [IC][Closed]

[joshuadim]

"In peace, sons bury their fathers. In war, fathers bury their sons." - Herodotus
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GENERAL RULES​

1. Please, be nice to one another. I do not wish to have drama or infighting.
2. No power or metagaming. You have a lot of freedom and slack along with my guidance, but I will not allow people to be overpowered or omnipotent.
3. Out of Character (OOC) chat should be in double parentheses, ((so it will look like this when you post OOC)).
4. If you go inactive or drop, your character(s) will be under my control (and may potentially die.) If you let me know you're going to be inactive for a while and can pick back up later, I'll look after your character till you return.
5. This game may involve PvP, and as such PvP must be agreed upon by both parties in advance before being initiated.
6. As GM, I am the supreme god of this setting. New rules and changes can be implemented on the fly wherever and whenever needed to fit with an evolving situation or circumstance.
7. This is an 18+ RP, which means there will be violence and darker themes present in the story.

POSTING CONDUCT​

1. I am asking for a quality of posting that is above a few short sentences, as you will be dealing with and responding to situations that necessitates a response that is simply above a single sentence.
2. As this is a setting inspired by darker fantasy, foul language is permissive as well as violence that is within the boundaries allowed by RPN site rules. If there is something that violates RPN rules, I have liberty to edit to fit within RPN site-wide rules.
3. If you have ideas or story beats you're interested in your character(s) exploring, first consult me about them so that we may plan ahead accordingly with regards to how they may develop and how they may interact of conflict with other players.
4. There will be no toleration of personal attacks made OOC against another player. Try to go with the flow of the story, because your character will not always win.

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Players and Their Characters
Infab - Lord Oliver Froste, Ser Titus Thorne, Maria Cavell
K0mori - Rutu Nax'ya, Lord Lazarus von Holt
Emperor Sagan - Lady Annaliese Valentova
Breadman - Highlord Vigot Ornulfsson, Goldbert Ryder, Pia Villumsen
Vexumin - Kyraug, Lord Damik Bralmeyer
Count of This and That - Lord Marius Lynnmare
GrieveWriter - Adelaide
Buu - Amarok
Worthlessplebian - Siert Bruinsma
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[joshuadim]

Dragonpeak, Viken

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A soft morning breeze carried itself gently through the mountains and hills of Viken, bringing forth a welcome chill before the midday heat. The sun had only risen, and the people were already at work both in and around the city of Dragonpeak. The peasantry began to prepare their work for the fields ahead of the coming harvesting season, the craftsmen and workers of the cobbled streets went about to their trades. Life was as normal as it could be, though not for one. Standing on an immaculately carved stone balcony to overlook the country stood Uchtred Kragh, the Lord of Viken and Dragonpeak. Such was his ancestral charge, for his family ruled over these lands for centuries even before the Empire. The Lords of the Northern realms looked to him for guidance from both his wisdom and his family name.

And yet, he had reclused himself for some time now. His thoughts drifted from the scenes in front of him to those in the past as the air brushed across his cheeks gently. He had been reminded of the son he had lost from his sleep in the night before, taken by a Glyrran arrow so swiftly from his family. A reminder of his failure of his duties as a father, but also the failures of the Imperials to keep their subjects in line. Had Medwin kept his damn tongue in check his son would still-

“My lord?” a voice called out from behind, bringing Uchtred’s attention back to the world as he turned about. An old face greeted him, his seer of the Old Ways, with a knowing smile as he hobbled over. Even in his advanced age he continued to serve House Kragh dutifully, though such age was very much visible on the old man. Uchtred let out a sad smile as he greeted the Seer wordlessly.

“Another nightmare? I can see it plastered atop your face.” The Seer said with a frown. “I did prescribe you valyrian root for your troubles did I not?”

“The taste doesn’t agree with me.” Uchtred replied with a chuckle, “Rodrik, you ought to rest yourself-“

“Why, because I’m old? Don’t forget you’re only 10 years my junior.” The old seer snapped back with a dry laugh. “I’ll rest when I’m dead and buried. My work is not yet done here.”

“With the way you push yourself, old friend, you’ll get there soon enough.”

Shouts were heard from down below in the keep’s courtyard, bringing both their attentions down below. His grandsons, Riseig and Reimar, were sparring and very clearly having a rowdy time much to the dismay of House Kragh’s man-at-arms, Ser Harald Okil. The latter was chastising the two of them for not taking their practice seriously, which brought out a chuckle from Uchtred.

“My boys. Ever unchanging.”

“Indeed, my lord. They’ll be fine warriors… eventually.” Rodrik commented, “They still need discipline. Otherwise they’ll be rowdy hooligans with swords.”

“Harald is a good teacher. He’ll get them right.”

The door behind them opened again, causing both men to turn their attention. This time it was the steward, a lanky and well dressed man, on approach with a parchment in hand. “My lord, a missive for you.” The man spoke before handing the parchment over.

“From who-“ Uchtred began to ask until he saw the waxed crest binding it together. It was the insignia of House Brentor, a stag with two great horns, impressed upon the red which immediately made the old bear frown. Rodrik noticed the insignia as well and tilted his head in curiosity. “What would the Emperor want with you?” the seer asked with concern, “You haven’t spoken to him in years.”

“Not since the revolt.” Uchtred replied bitterly as he dismissed the steward with the wave of his hand. As the two were left alone on the balcony, Uchtred unrolled the paper after removing the wax and began to read. His eyes narrowed as he read its contents, his mood visibly declining worse with every word that passed.

---

Down in the courtyard, Ser Harald spoke harshly to his pupils: “You must take care of your footing, otherwise you’ll be flat on your arse in a moment’s notice.” He explained under his scowl. Both Riseig and Reimar rubbed their backs and hinds after having been properly schooled by the man-at-arms. “And then you’ll be dead just as quickly with a blade through your gut.” He pointed first to Reimar: “How will you have a tour with the Watchers of the Wall if you can’t even fight properly?” Harald said, before turning his attention to Riseig. “And how will you fight if, gods forbid, a war ever breaks out?”

“Perhaps they need a sparring partner more their level?” a voice called out, drawing Harald’s ire as he turned about towards a Wulpine leaning against one of the wooden pillars of the stables nearby.

“Oh? You think you can teach better than me pup?” Harald replied, feigning offense as he sidestepped and waved towards the two young Kraghs. “Alright then Calder, be my guest.”

“He’s more of a cheer than you, old man!” Riseig taunted with a grin.

“I’m not the one rubbing his back like an elder.” the man-at-arms snapped back.

“He’s got a point there.” Reimar laughed, “He made a fool of us both.”

“Isn’t teaching supposed to be about learning, not about humiliating?” Riseig asked, as he prepared to spar with the Wulpine. The runt was smaller this his counterparts from his clan, but he still retained a weight and size advantage over Riseig. The only issue was that he wasn’t experienced either, for he was only a sworn retainer to House Kragh that had never seen true combat.

“You ready my lord?” Calder asked.

“Always.”

The two engaged in a sparring dance, with their steel clinging through the air in a series of practicing attacks. Harald observed with crossed arms as the two practiced with one another and shouted: “Remember your footing!”

Riseig took the opportunity to pay attention to his legs more so than his arms. He already remembered the routines of swinging a sword as if it were muscle memory. With each step he focused on making sure his balance was steady and his grip on the soil below strong. But suddenly, he found a blade’s edge right at his throat as his guard disappeared.

“That doesn’t mean forget your swordmanship.” Harald then said, on approach to them as Calder disengaged. “You must have your entire body running without thinking.”

Riseig and Reimar looked at Harold with confusion, which brought out a sigh from the man. “You don’t think about breathing, do you?” he then said, finding a proper analogy. “And just so, you shouldn’t think about your footing or your defense. You just do. The mind is useful until it gets in the way.”

“…I suppose that makes sense.” Reimar commented, before tilting his head and looking behind Harald. On approach was the man’s squire, Jomner, who waved to all of them as Harald also turned his attention to the young man. “Lord Kragh has brought forth summons. It seems urgent.”

“We’ll continue later.” Harald then said, “Clean yourselves up and head for the hall.”

---

At the head of Dragonpeak Keep’s hall sat Uchtred as he continued to muse over the letter given to him. The table was empty of material atop it save for a small wooden cup filled with wine. The fireplace behind their table crackled as fresh wood had been placed within recently. Unlike the usual gatherings that took place, this was strictly family business as his granddaughter, Enya, sat nearby and Rodrik took a seat at the end of the table. Enya’s concern over her grandfather was visible as she observed his mannerisms while he read the letter once over again. “Grandfather are you alright?” she asked wearily.

“I’m fine my dear… truly.”

Enya sighed as she twirled her hair, “You needn’t lie to me. I’m not a child.”

Uchtred glanced towards her and frowned. She was right, she had grown up just like Riseig and Reimar had as well. But still, he didn’t want them to be in danger… especially now that the matter of the letter had changed the situation.

The door at the end of the hall swung open, bringing both of them to turn their eyes towards the newcomers. Harald, Riseig, Reimar, Calder and Jomner all approached, though Enya narrowed her eyes at both her brothers who were visibly still somewhat dirty. “Harald, did you trounce about my brothers again?”

“Simply giving them instruction, my lady.” Harald replied with a courteous bow. “Needed lessons in war.”

“It seems they went to war with the dirt instead. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t have them eating it.”

“Fret not, dear sister. We’ll have him eating dirt soon enough.” Reimar commented with a grin, bringing out chuckles from both Riseig and Calder.

Riseig and Reimar took their seats at the table while Harald, Jomner and Calder stood at attention nearby. None save for the Lord and his seer knew the reasoning for this as Riseig was the first to speak: “What’s happened?”

“A letter. From the Emperor.”

This stirred uncomfortable shifting in the room as the three siblings looked to one another in confusion, and the servants of House Kragh looked on with interest. “From the emperor?” Reimar then spoke up, “What would-“

“It’s a summons. There’s a tournament to be held in Ifosea. All the houses of the Empire, Great and Lesser, are invited to attend.” The contents were a grand announcement, yet Uchtred held no joy in his voice upon speaking it.

The air turned from confusion to excitement as Enya piped in: “A tournament! Marvelous!”

“We’re not going.” Uchtred then spoke, bringing the atmosphere to a grinding halt.

Rodrik turned in confusion towards his lord. “You… mean to defy the Emperor?”

“What? Why?” Reimar asked, gritting his teeth. Riseig also made his dissatisfaction known as he leaned forward. “Grandfather, you said it was a summons… so why refuse?”

“I will not lead my family within a hundred leagues of that accursed city.”

Harold was stone-faced as he watched the conversation unfold, though underneath he knew exactly why the old bear was steadfast in his refusal. That didn’t mean he agreed with this however as he resolved to speak with his friend later about this. The siblings continued to protest against Uchtred’s wishes with a flurry of words, but were quickly shut down by him raising his hand. “I will not discuss this further. You are all dismissed.”

Enya was first to storm out, angry at having been denied the chance to see the world while Reimar, Riseig and Calder left the way they came to head back outside. The brother’s mood was dour however as Reimar slammed the door behind them. “You can go for now, watch over the courtyard for now.” Harald spoke to Jomner, dismissing the squire as he stayed in place. Rodrik too did not stir as the two looked at Uchtred. “I suppose you both have choice words for me?”

“My lord,” Rodrik spoke up wearily, “It is unwise to take this course of action. Refusing would put House Kragh at risk.”

“I must agree, my lord.” Harald then said, “It makes us look disloyal in the face of current instability.”

“And if we go, I put all of us at risk.” Uchtred shot back, crumpling up the letter and tossing it onto the table in front of him. “I have no interest in their damnable Southron politics, and yet they will do what they can to draw us into it. That will paint the real target onto my House.”

Harald stepped forward and leaned onto the table with his hands splayed and shook his head. “It will also allow us to find allies. Valuable allies. I’m no politician myself, my lord, but this…” Harald said with a gentle tenderness, “Inaction is worse.”

Uchtred stood up and turned around towards the fireplace behind him, leaning towards the mantle to stare into the flames below as they flickered. Harald approached slowly from behind until he was by his Lord’s side: “I know Lothar’s gone because of them. I miss him every day as if he were my own brother.” The man-at-arms whispered, his voice cracking slightly upon mention of his friend. “But you cannot shield them from the world forever.”

Uchtred remained quiet as the dancing flames reflected in his eyes, allowing the advice of his friend to sink in. It was indeed something for an old man to reckon with, that he could not simply stay with his family. But as he balanced the choices in his mind, he did realize that there was only one option; the one he hated more. “Damn you Verus…”

---

Ifosea, the Imperial City​

Uchtred would agree to the summons, sending a raven to inform the Emperor before collecting his House and men to march. Fifty-seven days of travel for House Kragh down south, along with their fellow Northern lords from other provinces, brough them just in time for the beginnings of the tournament. As the system of roads still used to this day from the time of Arathor were used in his conquests, they now were used for easy travel and commerce due to their enduring quality. And this meant that it seemed the entire realm was converging upon the city, besieging it with those eager to either participate or observe a grand event. The festivities were plainly visible even from a great distance away as the large ferry that stewarded the members of House Kragh over the waters and towards the isle it steered ahead. Reimar and Riseig watched with anticipation as the vast scale of the city grew ever larger in their vision.

It was easily several times larger than Dragonpeak, and much more dense as well as they could make out the residences and buildings of the Bayside Wharf come to view. Enya herself was gossiping with other noblewomen her age, remarking on the handsome appearance of Ser Faralt de Befort who was to compete here. Only Uchtred remained stone-faced as he grew ever closer to the Imperial Seat, a feeling of dread filling up inside him. It was his hope that, soon enough, they would all leave as quickly as they had arrived.

Due to the sheer amount of people arriving to the heart of the Empire, the ferrymen were overworked already in the midday as they went between shores without stop. It made Uchtred wonder as to whether or not such a celebration was worth it. He snapped out of his thoughts when a hand placed itself upon his shoulder, making Uchtred turn to see a familiar face. “Ah, Ari, it’s been some time.” He said to an imposingly tall woman clad in great armor.

As the head of House Volksha-Karelic, she too had been invited to enjoy the events and had brought along her retainers and guard. Though it was plain that her husband and daughter were not among them. “Indeed, Lord Kragh.” She said with a small bow, which made the old bear chuckle. “Please, no need for formalities among friends.” He said, “How have you been?”

“Ranrike prospers, though banditry continues to persist in the country. They travel between borders, making them hard to catch from the Riverlands.” She said, “And now… this.”

Ari looked up towards the isle the city sat upon, her weariness growing towards the prospect of being stuck in a city like this for the duration of the festivities. “How is your daughter?” Uchtred asked as he leaned onto the railings of the ferry.

“She is also well. Very smart for her age… more for books than for the blade. My seer has been tutoring her education, and now she’s to observe how to rule as my husband plays regent now.”

“I’m certain she will rule with wisdom when the time comes.”

“Hrm… I hope so. What about your boys? I see you brought them with you.” Ari then commented, turning her head to see Reimar, Riseig and Calder talking to one another. “I see they get along well with the pup.”

“Clan Blackfang saw him a runt, but I insisted that he show his worth with us. He’s been nothing but good to us, and us good to him.” Uchtred said as he nodded to where Calder stood, “He’s like a third brother to them.”

“And the crass brute's been teaching them well? For what good is a man if he doesn’t know how to fight?” Ari then asked.

“It’s going well, my lord.” Ser Harald then spoke up, having overheard their conversation. He gave a bow to Ari before continuing to speak. “Boys still need discipline but they are getting better.” The man-at-arm’s gaze trailed off as to not face her directly, but rather focused on the approaching shore. “We’re here, my lords.”

Uchtred gave a nod to his man-at-arms and excused himself from the conversation to prepare to disembark. As the ferry docked at the Bayside Wharf, the bustle of the city was heard as fishermen went about collecting and selling their catches for the day, while others walked about to their work or to travel to other districts in the sprawling city. This was entirely new to the younger Kraghs as they had never seen such bustling urban life before; Dragonpeak could not even compare and what furthered their collective surprise was the arrival of a carriage that was meant to take them to their destination.

Such luxuries were completely foreign, even as children of nobility, as such opulent displays of wealth were not a staple in the north. The trio of siblings remarked on the luxurious pillows and fabrics inside with their own variances of awe. Uchtred was first to take his place inside, followed by Enya, Riseig and then Reimar, with the door closing behind them by an assigned imperial guardsman. Calder, Harald, Jomner and the retinue that Uchtred brought along were all provided horses to follow along as well from behind, with the squire carrying the banner of House Kragh along with them; and with a crack of the reins, the coachman beckoned the horses forward to pull them along with a sharp jerk.

The three siblings looked about from their windows to observe the city as it passed by them, traveling from the Bayside Wharf to then Stonewall, with its marvelous cobbled streets and imposing stone housings. The common folk could not help but watch as a banner from a land far from the Heartlands trailed through the city, with people observing in wonderment. Riseig couldn’t help but give waves to them to reciprocate their hospitality. Uchtred in contrast was reserved as he watched the familiar roads of Ifosea pass by with a stoic front on his visage. The entire city was a bad memory to him, and he could only sit in silence as to not dour the mood for everyone else.

The cobbles of Stonewall then became the marvelous structures of Briattik Plaza, with its affluence over its neighbor being well known by virtue of its housing materials alone. Wood and tile were key here, made all the more beautiful by artisanal carvings and designs that adorned many of the houses of wealthy merchants and craftsmen that called this place home. It could even be seen that some residences were large enough to have their own inner courtyards. But this was nothing compared to the very heart of the city itself: the Golden District.

Here the housings were of the minor and greater nobility alike, decorated as such and staffed with servantry employed from across the city’s less fortunate districts. And above it all was the Imperial Palace itself, a titanic structure looming above the rest of the sprawling metropolis which beckoned the arrival of House Brentor’s guests. The carriage took the long climb up the sloped entrance that advanced towards the keep itself.

Passing through several arches, staffed by regiments of the Imperial Guard, Reimar couldn’t help but admire the power on display here but was also rather intimidated. “So this is the Emperor’s power…” he muttered to himself, watching the massive banners of House Brentor flap gently in the wind as they draped the sides of the arches.

Reaching the summit of their journey, the carriage came to a stop in a large courtyard that graced the keep’s entrance. House Kragh’s retainers and servants dismounted, with Ser Harald opening the carriage door. Uchtred stepped out, followed by his grandchildren, and observed as upon the steps of the entrance was the Emperor himself, alongside his four sons, as well as a finely dressed Satyr woman that the old bear did not recognize.

The Redguard stood on watch as well as protectors of House Brentor, as did members of the Imperial Council nearby to greet the coming visitors. And more were coming still as more carriages arrived en masse with other Houses arriving at last. The others of House Kragh could not help but look about and feast their eyes on the Imperial Palace’s wonders, but Uchtred’s gaze remained fixed on the Emperor. And likewise, the Emperor stared at Uchtred as the two approached one another.

Ser Eren Bostaque, Lord Commander of the Redguard, observed in silence as the two approached one another until they were directly in front. Uchtred found it hard to say what he wanted to say, but the Emperor was first to speak. “Lord Kragh.”

“Your Imperial Majesty.” Uchtred responded, without a bow or showing deference. A tense moment passed between the two in silence until Verus spoke up again.

“You’ve gotten old.”

Uchtred motioned towards the Emperor himself and scoffed. “As have you.”

Verus looked on in feigned anger, but his façade quickly dropped as he let out a laugh. “But other than that, you haven’t changed, my old friend.”

Despite the anger Uchtred held for House Brentor, he could not help but lower his guard as the two embraced heartily. Riseig leaned over to Reimar as they watched this unfold: “I didn’t know grandfather knew the Emperor that well.” he whispered.

Both Uchtred and Verus released themselves to laugh again. “We have much to discuss, though it must wait for now.” The Emperor then spoke, his gaze wandering towards the coming arrivals. “The entire realm is set to besiege my palace.” He then said, walking over towards Uchtred’s grandchildren and remarking on them. “You look much like your father. A good man, he was.” He remarked to Riseig, who bowed his head. He then turned his gaze to Enya and smiled: “And you have your mother’s beauty, and yet even more so.” Enya herself curtsied respectfully with a smile as a response.

But when his gaze turned to Reimar, the Emperor tilted his head: “And you must be Kragh’s bastard.” Reimar bowed his head, but his pride was stung by the very term. ‘Bastard’ might as well have been a dagger through his heart right now, but Verus made no qualm about it. “Legitimized, but still. Steel yourself from whatever insults other’s might throw at you. For you are still a Kragh, are you not?”

Reimar lifted his head in surprise at the sudden change in tone from the Emperor, and could only nod in response as he found a response lacking in words. “Good lad. You’ll make your family proud, I’m sure of it. Now… I must see to my duties.”

The Emperor returned to the steps and awaited for the other Houses of the realm to disembark, waiting for the other Houses to arrive. Uchtred corralled the others to step away off to the side to not only allow the carriage to leave, but also to observe the coming guests on their approach.

 

[Vexumin]

​

Morning after morning. Duty upon duty to perform. It was normal. It is what got him up for the day, though he wouldn't see the light of the sun for a few more hours.

Kyraug sits up in his bed, waking naturally in preparation for his first chores of the day. However, before he gets up fully, he takes a few moments to look out the window of his room into the dark of the early morning. He can't see anything of course, but he still looked into the lightless sky nonetheless.

There were no stars. Not at this time, with the sun soon on its way. After a few more moments he pulls the covers off of himself and stands.

"Stretches."

He says the word in a listless tone. He straightens his slender form, arching his back a bit as he puffs out his chest before he lowers to the floor. Tucking one leg in close and letting the other stretch out in one direction, he curves his torso towards the extended leg and reaches an arm over his head, pointing it in the direction of his furthest foot.

He maintains this pose for a minute before switching it around, activating the opposite muscle groups. After a moment, he relaxes and stands.

Once he's composed and straightened, he lowers down, keeping his legs under him before he performs a small leap. It is just enough for him to reach the ceiling. As the pads of his fingers touch the ceiling, he manages to hang there. He lets his head hang down towards his chest as his body relaxes, fully stretching his body from fingers to toes.

Finally he lets himself fall back to the floor. He opens his eyes in a slightly half-lidded gaze as he moves to a closet in the corner of the room. It was time to get to work.

Going forward, he had to tend to other servants within the castle, ensure that they were ready for the day as well, getting the first meal of the day started and cleaning where they must before the masters of the estate were risen from their slumber.

It was imperative that the masters not be risen from their rest and into an unsightly home. Thankfully almost everyone was up as they should be. There was one of course that was not in position. A newer servant of course. Otherwise they would know better than to sleep in.

Kyraug had dressed fully in a servants uniform. Attire fit for a servant of higher status in the Bralmeyer home. The only thing that he did not wear were shoes. His feet were more than suitable for any distance traveled. That, and no shoes in these lands really fit him well enough.

It was difficult finding someone with the skill enough to make shoes for a creature like himself, not that he would choose to wear them.

His steps are rather silent as he flows with grace down the hallway. By the time he reaches its end he was in the servants quarters. Servants, even himself, all resided below the actual structure of the estate, but he was thankful enough to have his own room.

He swung the door ahead of him open in a single movement, his amphibious eyes finding a sleeping woman in one of the beds. She truly had yet to awaken. He smiles as he steps over to the bed.

"Oliva... you've overslept."

Though his words were kind when spoken, he was significantly less kind a moment later. Even though her eyes had opened and widened at the sound of his voice, he seizes the blankets over her and pulls them from the bed and over a shoulder.

She sits there, wincing in response. The guilt was clear on her face.

"It is time to rise. The masters will be up soon. Get to your station."

This time his words came off less than kind, but Oliva did not seem to be fearful of his tone. It seems that it has already spread from the rest of the servants to this one that while he often seemed displeased with most things, he merely does not wish to see them punished for carelessness.

Once he has tossed the blanket onto a nearby chair, he dusts himself off and proceeds to the upper levels of the estate. It was time to wake the masters.

---

​

It was day break by the time the doors to the young lords room had opened. There he slept on not quite silken sheets, but still sheets that any servant would kill to rest upon Kyraug approaches the bed of the young lord, standing beside it in a stoic nature.

"My lord, it is time to wake up."

Kyraug didn't bother with an excuse in order to avoid his masters wrath. In truth, he was probably speaking to the most well mannered lord that House Bralmeyer has ever produced. Lord Damik Bralmeyer takes a deep breath in and out as his eyes flicker open.

He shifts a bit before sitting up.

"Ah, good morning to you, Kyra," he offers to the Vadyeen servant.

Kyraug offers a polite smile and bows his head.

"Indeed, good morning to you, Master Damik."

The young lord had requested early on that he tend to a few of his own needs and daily tasks early in the morning. He was not quite a fan of being dressed or bathed or pampered. That tends to be expected of the lords of house Bralmeyer. They are stubborn and self sufficient.

It almost seems that relying on another human is a mark on their pride. However, that stubborn pride apparently didn't extend to inhuman creatures. It could just be that they didn't see help from a Vadyeen such as Kyraug to be considered much.

Whatever the case, Kyraug was happy enough to be relied upon, but having done this for years on has its toll on him.

As Damik prepares himself for the day, Kyraug shifts himself back towards the door.

"I shall return shortly, Master Damik. I must wake your father before working on our preparations for the trip to Ifosea."

"Right. Good luck with the old m-- father. Good luck with father, Kyra."

Kyraug just smiles and nods before he departs. He appreciated the young lords concern, but Kyraug was likely the only servant not to get on the former lords bad side when he walks through the doors to his room. As he approaches, he could already hear the clatter of silverware as it is thrown about the room.

Opening the door, Kyraug steps in. He remains in place after the door is closed once again. There sat his former master in bed. An older man with a path of frizzy white hair on his head and a slightly lengthy white beard. The man wears and eyepatch over his right eye, a mark of combat years ago.

It seemed he was once again in the middle of an... episode. It was difficult to call it that. In truth, the former lord had fought long and hard. Trauma eventually plagued his sleep and his mornings grow only more and more chaotic.

He throws a cup across the room and the contents splash across a curtain. His only eye is wild, lost in some kind of memory. One that appears to be greatly distressing. However, the old lords gaze soon falls upon Kyraug as he stands across the room.

"Kyra..." the man says in a rather intense tone, but it seems that the sight of the servant seemed to be calming the man down a bit.

Kyraug can only wonder what memories fill the older mans mind when they interact. Probably memories of a kid. A member of the enemies race, but so pure. Just a kid walking up to human soldiers unknowingly. Not fearful of his life. Just carrying flowers meant for his mother.

Though the old lords breathing was still a bit forced and heavy, he was calming down. He reaches a large scarred hand out towards Kyraug.

"Come, Kyra. Come forward."

"Of course, Lord Hallem."

The servant takes hold of a chair, sliding it across the room before settling it beside the bed. He takes a seat and relaxes. He was not afraid of an outburst from from Lord Hallem again. His rage was in decline now.

"Kyra. Today is the day of the journey to Ifosea, correct?"

"That is correct, Master Hallem."

"I see. You still have no qualms about participating in the tournament?"

"Not at all, Master Hallem."

"Good. You've grown quite skillful with the tools you have chosen. I am sure you are bound to impress. Do not fear losing. Simply go as far as you can. That is an order. You are also not allowed to perish."

"As you command, Master Hallem."

---

It seemed as though the hours and days passed by in the blink of an eye after that. Soon it was a ride by carriage that felt like it would never end. At the very least Kyraug could contain his discomfort, but his master was having a vastly more difficult time of it.

Lord Damik would not stop shifting in his seat.

Kyraug could not blame him, but he also had to admit to himself that he was a bit bothered by all the movement. Whatever the case, he could not mention it in the slightest.

"Kyra, I'm going to get some fresh air."

Before he even had time to react, Lord Damik had opened the door to the carriage, attempting to climb about and onto the front.

"M-Master Damik, that is very ill advised!"

It was all too late though. The young lord had already managed to take a spot beside the coachman. Kyraug grumbled a bit before he himself poked his head out from the carriage, looking back towards the glint of armored individuals lined up behind them on horseback.

One of the men noticed Kyraug and rode forward.

"What seems to be the problem?" the helmeted man asks.

"Our lord has decided that he wants a bit of fresh air. Kindly form up about the carriage, if you would be so kind? I fear an arrow in Master Damik's neck."

The man nods his head before he slows down to join the rest of the soldiers behind them. Soon enough, a line of soldiers are found on either side of the carriage. Kyraug breathes a deep sigh. What trouble. Who was he to refuse his masters wishes though?

At the very least, this journey was nearly over. Soon enough they would be in Ifosea.

As they enter the city, Lord Damik could not help himself. As citizens saw the Bralmeyer banner fly, they had responded positively. One of the empires blades against the Vadyeen, a detachment of their valiant Marsh Treaders following behind.

Damik puffs out his chest, nearly bursting with pride.

"Hello, Ifosea!"

His outburst elicited a cheer from the scattered commoners. It was his first time traveling as lord of his house, so he could not really help himself it seemed. Though Damik had often been considered quite popular due to his care for the people. At the very least, he was certainly a step up from Lord Hallem.

The rest of the path towards the emperors keep was about the same. People cheering, providing a reception for the emperors guests. Thankfully they were soon at their destination. As they all entered the grounds of the keep and the emperor himself came into view, all dismounted or got to the ground to kneel before him, Lord Damik at the head of the gathering and Kyraug just behind him.

A king of kings must be granted the appropriate respect after all.

 

[Infab]

Velbruck, Tarth
The Stormlands




Maria Cavell


​

"...The last of Edmond's affairs to be dealt with." whispered the woman sitting at the dark oak desk, slipping the feather jutting from her hand back into the ink well. All that was needed now was to stamp it with the Lord's seal. A red candle burned nearby, resting on a short pewter candle stick. She took it by its base, tilting it ever so slightly so that some of its scarlet wax could drip onto the corner of the page. Once she was satisfied with the amount, she set the candle back in its position. Then, a wood and steel stamper was drawn from the top left hand drawer in the desk.

She pressed the stamper into the wax, holding it there for a few moments, before drawing it away. Left imprinted into the wax, the seal of the House of Froste. Satisfied, she let the wax cool for a moment as she drew an envelope from the top right hand drawer. Large enough to slide the letter into, and would also need sealing with a wax stamp. The parchment was folded neatly, and soon slid into the waiting envelope before being shut away. More wax, another stamp press, and Maria soon found herself staring out the nearby window at the cloudy sky hanging over Velbruck.

She had been tending to the late Lord's affairs for the past few days, ever since his funeral and entombment. She didn't want to leave everything to young Oliver Froste. The boy was grieving, and didn't deserve to have to handle all of his father's affairs before they could place him in the catacombs beneath the castle. Though really, everyone was grieving here in Tarth. Especially Maria, as she had failed to save her liege from death.

She reached up, her fingers touching the right corner of her mouth. And slowly, their tips traced the horrific scarring that had been left behind on her face. Magic was a powerful force. Magic was a dangerous force. Arrogance was the downfall of many a sorcerer or sorceress, and her misuse cost her. It cost her part of her appearance, part of her vision, her lord, and even her sensitivity to the elan in the world around her. It was a strange feeling, really, and one that deeply scared her.

Eventually she stood, taking the letter in hand and sliding the chair beneath the desk. A short walk across the dimly lit room, and she found herself stepping outside into the stone hallway. There were multitudes of halls just like this all over the castle, usually decorated in paintings, carpets, miscellaneous furniture like display cases and small shelves where vases and such were set. Candles and torches provided the needed light to see, placed just so on the walls to allow one to make trips without tripping over something they couldn't see.

Maria didn't need the light. She had walked these halls long enough that she knew just where to step and what to avoid. She knew every crack and chip in the stone. She knew even where the servants tucked away goodies to enjoy late at night, and where the guards would occasionally relax with jugs of wine or mead during long hours of guard duty. As stewardess of the House of Froste, she needed to know this castle like the back of her hand.

Down the hall she traveled, moving towards one of the spiral staircases that dotted the castle. And after a long decent, she soon found herself in a wider hallway. This one was lined with guards, standing ever vigilant. Their darkened steel armor was brightened only by the light of the torches on the wall, and the colored surcoat that they wore. Amongst the blue, black, and white colors was the coat of arms of House Froste, planted squarely on the kite shields that stood before them.

She didn't greet them, and they didn't budge. They knew she was busy, as she often was. Maria was often the busiest person in the castle, save for the servants. It was her job to handle the lord's affairs while he was busy with other things. Well, most of his affairs. Military and guard matters were handled by the man-at-arms, Ser Titus Thorne. Probably the only other person in Tarth grieving as much as Maria and Oliver. Thorne was next on the agenda, once she had accomplished her current task.

She continued down through the castle, eventually arriving in the main entrance hall. Several guards were scattered about, performing their assigned duties, while some servants moved to and fro. A man clad in a blue and black tunic, however, stood idle in the middle of the room. Looking up and about at the hall's decorations and ceiling above. He was a courier, having been summoned by Maria herself. One of several that served House Froste.

As she descended the stairs, the courier took notice of her and quickly bowed. "Lady Cavell!" he quickly said, before soon finding the letter in her hand being held out before him.

"See that this letter reaches Lord Uchtred Kragh as soon as possible. I'm sure he will understand its contents, given... the recent events." she stated, her remaining good eye locked firmly on the young man's face. "Should you lose it, I will personally make sure that your dreams going forward will be filled with never-ending torment and horrors beyond your comprehension."

A look of fear washed over the young man's face, as he nervously took the letter. "Y-Yes, mistress. I understand." he responded, tucking the letter away in a satchel on his side.

"Good." she muttered, before waving him away. "Go."

He nodded rapidly, walking backwards a few steps before turning about to face the large archway and its wood double doors that lead outside. However, two steps towards the door, he paused. "Oh! L-Lady Cavell! I just remembered!" he said aloud, spinning back around and moving back towards the stewardess.

"...Yes? What is it?" she asked, eyeing the young man and his satchel as he soon found himself digging in it again. And a moment later, he produced another letter.

"I-Its for Lord Froste, mistress. Another courier brought it by about an hour ago. Said for me to give it to you or the young lord!" he stated, holding the letter out to her.

She eyed the letter, her fingers running across its surface as she took it from the young man. And soon her eye found itself locked onto the golden wax seal holding the envelope closed.

It was an Imperial stamp.

Ser Titus Thorne

​

"You realize what this means, correct?"

"Yes, I do." responded the tall knight, gazing back across the circular table at Maria. "House Froste has to go and watch this tournament. What other way is there to take it? Its an imperial invitation. It might as well have been written by the Emperor itself, as it bears his seal."

"Yes." Maria placed the letter down on the table, before pointing a finger towards the knight. "House Froste, meaning all of us. You have to come with us, as you are the military leader of House Froste and one of Lord Froste's advisors."

"Please, Maria. I know what his title is, but we're in private. We can call him Oliver." muttered the knight.

She paused for a moment, glancing back down to the letter, before speaking again in a softer tone. "...I know that, Titus."

There was silence between the pair for a few moments, before Titus spoke again. "...This will be his first outing as Lord of Tarth and the head of House Froste." he said, leaning forwards and placing his palms flat on the table. "... Just imagine how he's going to feel about it all?"

"Believe me, I've already thought about it. But what else can we do? He certainly hasn't had time to prepare for anything like this, and so soon after his father's death... The boy won't even have any time to grieve before being tossed head first into the political quagmire. He has to go, because the Emperor himself wishes it so."

"Indeed." responded the knight, looking down to the table for a few moments before straightening back up. "...I never intended to remain here, Maria, unless I needed to. Oliver needs someone to protect him until he can learn to protect himself. And even then, I would never leave his side unless he instructed me to do so."

Maria nodded. "Neither would I, Titus." she said, before casting another glance back down to the paper on the table. "...I hope you've taken into account that if the Emperor demands that you remove your helmet, you'll have to do as you're told. Edmond is no longer here to help, and I... Well, let's just say that neither of us will be able to defend you should the others become violent."

Titus looked aside, as if thinking over the statements the stewardess put forth, before eventually replying. "...Yes, I have. And if the worst comes to pass, then I shall do what needs to be done to defend my honor, my lord's honor, and the honor of House Froste."

"And hopefully not die in the process." muttered Maria, who smirked slightly. "I don't think Oliver and I could bear another death in the family."

"I didn't know you thought so highly of me, Maria." responded the Knight, adding a chuckle at the end of the statement.

Maria's smirk faded quickly. "I've simply grown accustomed to your presence, Ser Thorne." she muttered, before retrieving the letter from the tabletop. "Now, shall we seek out the young lord?"

Titus shook his head. "You should prepare things for the trip. I'll find Oliver, and let him know what's going on. I might be able to squeeze in some lessons on dealing with other nobles while I'm at it."

"I believe that's what I'm supposed to be teaching him." responded Maria.

Titus chuckled. "Well yes, but you'll be busy. As you usually are."

Lord Oliver S. Froste


​

High atop the northern-most tower of the castle, a young man sat atop one of the flat stones that made up the crenels in the battlement. He gazed out over the sea to the north, watching the fishing boats travel in and out. Passing the tower a short distance away that acted as the lighthouse to guide them in and out during the night. He would often come up here with his father during the mornings, learning to paint the sunrise as the sun came over the trees to the west or during the day to paint the picturesque scenery that made up the bay of Velbruck and its surrounding countryside. The tower was the perfect place for it, as it was one of the few that the guards didn't often post in considering any land based attacks would come from the south.

At the moment, however, he was simply here to get away from everyone. To be alone for five minutes and not have to deal with any servants pestering him, wondering if he needed anything, or citizens of Tarth offering their condolences for his loss and tributes to the young lord. He needed to breathe, and this was the only place he could. No crying or anything like that. He had been doing that for the past few days, and red, stinging eyes weren't a fun symptom to have to deal with.

Bandits, they said. Bandits and 'beasties' had attacked his father's caravan. Maria, the House stewardess, had been with him and tried to defend him. But... her ward backfired, and almost killed her too. The evidence was on her face, the scars that scratched jagged paths across the right side of her face and over her eye. When they found his body, he had been hit with six arrows, and had been stabbed twice. Dog bites covered his arms and legs. He had gone down fighting, at least.

Titus had been with him the whole time, here at the castle. Far from the lands of Dragon Fangs Bay, where the attack had occurred. Titus almost lost his mind when he heard of the attack, fully intending to mount a horse and set out for the caravan. Oliver himself had to order that Titus be restrained. He was the only one that could. He was the new Lord, after all.

Maria had been treated by the best chirurgeons and doctors they could find in the Stormlands, in order to fix the damage to her form, but she refused to have her eye removed. And she was up and moving after only a few days. It was as if working kept her going. Oliver admired her strength through all of this, and honestly wondered if the woman would ever stop to rest. Beyond getting a little sleep during the night.

As Oliver gazed out at the ships below, he soon heard metallic clacking behind him. Armor. A knight was walking up the steps. He knew exactly who it was. "Titus." he said softly, slowly looking back towards the staircase as the knight's head came into view. "...I'm guessing I'm needed for something involving the guards? The soldiers in the Stormlands?... Perhaps more longsword training?"

Titus breathed a sigh. "No, Oliver. Its something... far more important." said the knight, reaching the top of the stairs and walking over to a nearby crenel to sit in. As he sat down, he looked over in Oliver's direction. "You've received a letter from the Emperor himself."

Oliver looked back out at the bay. "...More condolences? Or is he coming to visit?" he asked. Oliver himself had never actually met the Emperor himself. He knew that his father was the Hand of the Emperor, however, and considered his most trusted advisor. He was the voice of the Emperor when he needed to be, and carried out his will. A powerful position upon the Imperial Council, now left vacant since his father's passing.

"No." responded Titus, which made Oliver look back to the knight. "It's an invitation. He wishes for House Froste to be present at the tournament they're holding in Ifosea. The Imperial City."

Oliver's eyes widened slightly, as his body now turned about. "He wants us to come to Ifosea for a tournament?" asked Oliver, his expression shifting to one of confusion. "B-But I just... My father j-just..."

"I know, Oliver. Believe me. Its far too soon, and we're all still dealing with your father's death." responded the knight, eventually reaching up and placing his hands on the side of his helmet. And a moment later, he pulled it off and revealed the person underneath all that blackened armor.

A young, white haired elf sat across from Oliver, their golden eyes soon shifting from gazing down at the interior of the helmet and towards the young Lord. "But its something that must happen. You, Maria, and I, along with others of House Froste, will have to go and watch this tournament. Should we refuse, it will put House Froste at risk. We'll appear unloyal to the Emperor. I shouldn't need to explain further in regards to that line of thinking."

The elf paused, before continuing. "...In addition, it may perhaps prove favorable to both you as well as House Froste should we go. The Emperor trusted your father. Trusted him enough to name him his closest advisor and the Emperor's Hand. That same trust could be bestowed upon you, and we would have the Emperor's favor should House Froste encounter any hardship in the coming years."

"But the Emperor's already at death's door." responded Oliver, "He may not have but a few years ahead of him. Father himself told me that."

"Yes, well... it'll show we are loyal to the crown and always will be. And perhaps whichever son takes the throne might see us in a similar light to the current Emperor." Titus looked back down to his helmet. "Tarth will continue to see the peace and prosperity that it deserves. And we will be left to our own devices until they have need of us."

Oliver went quiet, his eyes moving from Titus to the stone beneath them. There was silence between the two, until Titus broke it with a smile. "Maria and I will help you, as we always have. You won't be alone, Oliver."

And a moment later, Titus slipped his helmet back on. "Now, come. We should begin preparing you for the trip as well as your meeting with the Emperor."

Oliver looked back to Titus, before slowly standing from the crenel. A million thoughts ran through the young man's head. Most of them bad. But this was something he had to do. Was forced to do, as the new Lord of Tarth.

He had to make Titus and Maria proud, and honor his father. Perhaps his mother too, wherever she was.




Several days later...

The trip to Ifosea had taken a shorter time for House Froste and the people of Tarth, as they had opted to take a naval route using a string of ships at their disposal. Soldiers garbed in Tarth's colors, and bearing the coat of arms of the House of Froste, made their way off the ships. Guiding the young Lord and his entourage onto the docks and towards the carriage that would be taking them to the imperial palace.

Maria and Titus had been to Ifosea a few times before, but this was Oliver's first time. And it was quite the grand display. The quiet lad looked on, gazing out of the carriage at the various people from all over the empire that lined the streets of the vast city. The festivities seemed to already be underway, showing that this was quite a momentous occasion. But this wonderful display for a tournament? Where blood would likely be shed? Death on a grand stage. Quite a thing to mull over.

Maria simply watched Oliver, as they rode along in the carriage. She had been doing so since they had first boarded the ships back in Tarth. She was worried for the boy, but she never showed it. At least her face didn't, the half that people could see. She had opted to don a leather mask of sorts, covering one side of her face so that the Emperor wouldn't have to gaze upon such a disfigured individual. Titus thought it was stupid, until she pointed out he had to wear a helmet all the time. That shut him up quite quickly.

Eventually, they made their way into the Golden District, passing the opulent homes of the wealthy and powerful of the imperial city. You'd never see such a thing in Tarth; People were never one to flash their wealth in such a fashion there. It came as quite a surprise to Oliver, whom looked to the other two sharing the carriage with him. Maria simply rolled her eyes at the sight, while Titus simply commented on having 'seen flashier things' than this.

Soon, the carriage would make its way into the large courtyard of the keep, coming to a stop and allowing House Froste's retainers and servants to do their duties. Maria and Titus would emerge first, before allowing Oliver to step out. Each of them had dressed their best for the occasion, with Titus wearing a freshly polished version of his armor and helmet while Maria wore a sensible black satin robe. Oliver wore a custom made outfit for the occasion, which greatly resembled the formal wear of his father but featuring a near white cloak instead of a dark colored one.

"Time to bow, Lord Froste." whispered Maria, gracefully bowing alongside Titus. Oliver twitched for a moment, before doing just as had been suggested. "Good boy." she whispered, smirking slightly as she glanced to him.

 

[joshuadim]

The arrival of House Bralmeyer came soon after House Kragh’s retinue, as Lord Damik and Kyraug both kneeled in the presence of the Emperor upon disembarking from their transport. With a wave of his hand he bid them all the stand and gave a smile. “House Brentor welcomes House Bralmeyer.” the Emperor spoke as he approached with a slight hobble in his step before stopping halfway down the steps. As frail as he was in his current condition, he did his best to put up a strong front. “I will send your father my best regards to his health. A tireless servant such as he deserves a good rest befitting of any man.”

He suddenly shuffled back a bit, as if about to lose his balance, but was quickly intervened by Ser Eren and Prince Davin, the second of four sons, who rushed to his father’s side and grabbed hold of his other arm quickly. “Father, you musn’t push yourself.” The young man muttered quietly but was promptly ignored in his advice. The two let go of him quickly as he made it clear that their aid wasn’t needed again for the time being.

“I’ll send for the apothecary.” Ser Eren whispered before turning about and advancing back into the keep.

Uchtred could not help but notice just how frail Verus had become after all this time and frowned. The strain of an Empire was practically killing the man in every waking moment, especially after the mess his brother left behind for him to deal with. But what surprised him more was how little most of his children seemed to care, save for the one that stepped forward. Just from actions alone, it was clear that House Brentor was not a unified house.

Uchtred’s attention came towards the next arrivals, which were that of House Froste’s, whose familiar banner waved proudly as they approached. This too made the old bear frown, as he had received the missive on the road of the untimely demise of Lord Edmond. This left Tarth, one of the more important regions of the Empire both historically and strategically, in the hands of a boy.

On House Froste’s deference, the Emperor bid them to stand again and smiled. “House Brentor welcomes House Froste.” Verus spoke as he walked over slowly to Oliver and placed his hands on the young lad’s shoulders. “Your father’s passing is a loss to us all. Should you need anything, simply ask and I will do my best to accommodate.” He gave a reassuring pat to Oliver’s shoulder before turning about and heading back to the stairs to prepare for more arriving Houses.

As House Froste went to take their place in the courtyard, Oliver was approached by Lord Uchtred and gave a deferring bow. “Lord Froste. My deepest condolences for your loss. Your father was a good man, and a tireless servant of the realm.” The old bear spoke, “I understand that all this must be new to you. Being thrust so suddenly into this new world.” Uchtred looked about as more of the nobility came on approach, with the Emperor greeting House Goldwyn whom had traveled from the Hinterlands to attend. He return his gaze back to Oliver and smiled from under his beard: “Know that I can offer you advice, should you desire to hear it. It’s the least I can do for Edmond.”

Elsewhere, where House Bralmeyer became accustomed in the courtyard, Kyraug was approached by Reimar slowly. The young man observed the Vadyeen with awe, having never seen one in person before, before clearing his throat: “Sorry for, uhm, gawking.” He said to Kyraug before turning his attention quickly to Damik and giving a quick bow. “My lord.”

“I apologize for my brother’s rudeness, my lord.” Enya then spoke, having joined her brother as she gave a curtsy to Damik. “Though I must admit, I too am fascinated by your companion here. None of us have seen a Vadyeen up close before, for the North has none.”

Infab Vexumin

 

[GrieveWriter]

Adelaide

It was odd.

Word of the Tournament had been spreading for quite some time before that day, yet Adelaide couldn't help but feel a sense of disconnect once the houses began arriving. She stood by the entrance, hands clasped in front of her, letting silver eyes run along the first of the carriages as the Emperor went forth to greet his guests. She said nothing, merely watched him embrace the head of House Kragh after a tense greeting. The relief on his face as he greeted his old friend and their family made Adelaide tap her fingers together in concern.

It didn't fit, not with what she'd seen of the Empire so far.

She briefly glanced to his children all watching from the entrance as well. One of them was supposed to inherit the throne upon their father's passing, yet who was a subject of debate amongst the council and a cause for concern for allies abroad. Adelaide wanted to trust the Emperor, as him having a handle on things would be the easiest solution to those she worked with, but she couldn't allow herself to be hopeful. A tournament amidst such trying times, moving so many allied forces around and placing them all in the Capital?

She could see the reasoning in terms of showing solidarity and celebrating strength the way warriors of old would, but the grandeur of such display only made the Empire's more monetary issues stand out to her.

She'd kept quiet of course, waved off her personal escorts and waited to see the plan to its conclusion before sending any comments back to her homeland. If she sent back an incomplete view of this maneuver to her cohorts in the Free Cities, the consequences very well could be dire. So she bit her tongue up until she had joined the Emperor and his kin right during the welcoming of visiting houses on the day itself. Her position was supposed to be a show of trust and cooperation between the consortium and their allies, but it just led Adelaide to notice the occasional glances she received from several council members waiting as well.

While it may have been due to her nature as a Satyr, Adelaide respected the intelligence of the council enough to assume their worries were more grander in scale. With how many elements in the Free Cities were speaking up about the Empire's unfulfilled promises, it led the remaining allegiances with Adelaide's allies to be placed under a wider focus. But she maintained professionalism, keeping a simple smile on her face as House Bralmeyer arrived next.

They arrived with the sound of cheers from the populace, easily audible from the courtyard. Adelaide saw several hushed whispers pass between several onlooking council members as the Bralmeyers and their entourage kneeled in deference to the Emperor.

But those conversations quieted completely when the Emperor nearly lost his footing. The Captain of the Redgaurd and Prince Davin were quick to aid the Emperor, but he shook them off and stood tall despite his son's protest. Adelaide glanced towards the rest of his children during this, only for new conversations between the council members to draw her ears instead.

She wasn't given long to listen in, however, as the next House arrived not moments after the Emperor stood tall once again. The moment, she recognized the banner of said house, Adelaide couldn't help but purse her lips tightly together as they disembarked.

House Froste, Overseers of the strategically valuable lands of Tarth, and who had recently lost their lord. It was no understatement to say that the unexpected death of Lord Edmond was a problem for everyone with any investment in the Empire. If his heir didn't manage to at least maintain his late father's holdings, it could easily lead to consecutive tragedies spiraling out of hand.

The Emperor seemed to recognize this, as he gave the young Lord several words before continuing to greet House Goldwyn.

As he did so, a number of Guests began conversing with one another. Not even half of the Empire's houses had arrived, but already Adelaide could feel a shift occuring. She couldn't identify whether it was good or bad yet, but the presence of the houses was setting something into motion. She kept watch over the incoming guests, letting her concerns fall to the wayside. She needed to see more, needed to let things play out before she let herself be distracted by supposition.

 

[Vexumin]

​

Damik keeps his head lowered as the emperor makes his approach. Do not waver in your show of respect. That was of great importance, but they were soon relieved. It was quite kind of Emperor Varus to think of his father. As Damik and the others stand, the young lord offers a smile in return to his emperor.

"My fathers spirit, I'm afraid, is too strong to allow himself a proper rest. Always ready for a fight. I believe he fears failing you, your majesty. However, that is where I shall take his place. Ensure his efforts continue to bear fruit."

When the emperors balance begins to waver, Damik steps forward, the desire to help overflowing within him. However, doing so might have been taken as a slight against him. He stops himself before he gets too close, thankful that others were closer to see to the emperor.

As Damik struggled to decide what he must do, Kyraug gently places a hand on his lords shoulder before removing it. A small action to right the young lords thoughts. It was perhaps best that they bow and move aside for other arriving houses. Exactly what they do.

Damik breathes a sigh as he and his retinue relocate themselves to the side of the courtyard. The armored Marsh Treaders stand in ranks off to the side as the young lord and his servant explore the beauty of the forts landscaping.

"Such pressure. I wonder if this is how my father felt when he became lord of our house."

Kyraug hums and nods his head.

"A difficult notion to imagine, Master Damik. Your father is such a headstrong individual, I would bet that he marched into Ifosea looking to be sent right into battle."

"Hah! You make a valid point, Kyra. That most certainly is like my father."

Kyraug smiles a bit to have eased his masters nerves, even if it was only for a moment. Before he knew it, the servant could hear the sound of footsteps growing ever closer behind him.

He turns on heel to look into the eyes of a younger man. One would not expect Kyraug to have to do anything as the young man approached, but he was soon bowing in respect.

"My most fond greetings to you, Sir Reimar Kragh."

It would seem a bit odd for him to have been familiar with Reimar, as they have never met in person before, but that is what is expected of the head servant. Be familiar with figures of note. Show respect. His announcement also served as a notice to his master to draw his attention from whatever it was that might have been distracting him.

“Sorry for, uhm, gawking.” He said to Kyraug before turning his attention quickly to Damik and giving a quick bow. “My lord.”

Damik immediately turned his attention to Reimar and offered a smile.

"Greetings, Sir Reimar. I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

As Enya begins to approach, Kyraug maintains his bow.

"Fond greetings to you, Lady Enya Kragh."

“I apologize for my brother’s rudeness, my lord.” Enya then spoke, having joined her brother as she gave a curtsy to Damik. “Though I must admit, I too am fascinated by your companion here. None of us have seen a Vadyeen up close before, for the North has none.”

Damik looks to Enya for a moment, the faintest hint of a blush appearing on his face. He had to admit that she was quite beautiful. However, he must keep himself standing tall as the lord of House Bralmeyer.

"It is quite a joy to meet you, Lady Enya."

Kyraug breathes softly through his nose, an eye peering down at his young lord. He had to remember that his master was still a young man as well. Didn't take a genius to see that he faltered in the face of beauty. Kyraug just closes his eyes, allowing the young master to speak for him.

"Kyra is indeed of the Vadyeen. Quite the boon to our household as well. He has served my father for a number of years before his services were passed to me. Go on and introduce yourself, Kyra."

The servant sweeps a hand over his chest and bows once again in greeting.

"A pleasure to finally have the honor of meeting the both of you. I am Kyraug, member of the Vadyeen race. I am a humble servant of House Bralmeyer. I am pleased to serve the day to day needs of my masters."

Damik smiles, patting Kyraug on the shoulder.

"Ah, he's so modest. I don't think I've ever heard him gloat about his abilities. He is an incredible servant and rather masterful with non-lethal weaponry. Don't think I've seen anyone more skillful with a club or thieves tools. I believe he is especially fond of the... what was it called, Kyra?"

"The sap, Master Damik."

"That's right! The sap. Seen him strike one of our armored soldiers in the head with it during a spar. Sent the poor fool down in an instant, even with a helmet on."

Kyraug closes his eyes, the faintest hint of a smile on his face as he recalls the memory. During a time when the houses army was still rather wary of him. Since the lot of them had to fight the Vadyeen quite often, to have one of the enemy in the lords manor made them cautious and displeased.

When he got older and was properly trained, he was challenged. A challenge that Lord Hallem decided to humor. Kyraug managed to slip past the soldiers guard and placed one hefty smack against the mans helmet, immediately causing him to fall unconscious.

He could still remember the sound it made when the head of the weapon connected with the metal of the helmet. It was like thunder rang in the air. He trained daily in the use of a sap since then.

Damik soon smiles, deciding to turn attention away from his servant.

"So how is the state of House Kragh? Thriving, I would hope."

 

[Breadman]

Rainor's wall

​

The banners flapped in the wind as the sun brought in a new dawn on the wall. The watchman looked to the sunrise with some relief. Another night had gone by so his shift had ended and nothing actually came from the woods or caves that doted the cold land beyond. He looked to some of the other watchmen on the wall as they were ready to turn in as their shift ended. It was a quiet night, but those were the worst. If there was something making a sound bellow they could at least know things were alive and about, but save for the occasional howl of the wind, it was quiet as a tomb. He was tapped on the shoulder by his replacement and with a tired look on his face he nodded before turning in for the day.

As he decanted he noticed the banner of the Watch flapping in the wind. The Black spear on the white field meant to represent lord Ornulfsson house as the current holder of the Highlord's throne. That's what the scribes and lords to the south called it at least. Every person who spend more than a day here knows there's no such thing as a throne to sit on. The castle and keep are just glorified guard towers. Even the latrines have murder holes to rain down death on anyone besieging the gates. There were no noble lords and men of honor here. Only bastards, murderers, thieves and fools. But it was this or the rope.

Some days the rope seemed like a mercy.

Highlord Ornulfsson

​

The Highlord of the wall sat on the table with his head resting on his fist. The morning reports from the scouts were pouring in and each spoke of the same things. Nothing. Months ago they heard how 77 tribes had gathered in large camps in the inner heartlands in the north and then nothing else. Silence had dominated for the past several weeks. No wildlings had gathered at smaller camps, nor have any of the other denizens made their attempts to break through. As much of a boon as it was a curse. If there is silence and peace, then there is no need for the Watch to be a priority. If there is not enough watchmen, then the next time there is a crisis they would be too undermanned to deal with it. He sighed as he got up from his chair. Lord or not, he still had duties he must fulfill in order to to secure their future. He wished he had more to show to those down south what exactly they faced, but if the silence insisted to persist, then they had to make use of it to bolster their numbers the best way they could.

He placed his helm on his head and picked his spear from where it rested. It was time for him to make his rounds and pick those who would follow him to the Heartlands.

Pila

This batch of recruits had potential, but they lacked discipline, respect and any form of skills with a weapon. Pila would enjoy breaking them as any other boorish fool that thought signing up for the Wall would mean they had escaped justice.

"Listen you slobbering mules!" The shieldmaiden began as she paced in front of her new recruits. "You are now watchers of the Wall. You are no longer citizens of the empire or anything they view worth a damn. You're useless to them so they wanted to dispose of you. But fate has its own whims and wishes and decided to bestow its mercy on you and present you an offer to escape the gallows, executioner's blade or whatever final end your deserve. Some of you are insane and willingly decided to come here for some forsaken reason. It doesn't matter to me why you're here. It just means that I'll have to make sure that when the raiders come they will have to face soldiers and not toddlers that wet their bed at the first sign of something odd in the shadows." She gave them a cold stare "There's no adult among you, is there?"

"YOU!" She shifted her gaze to one in particular "You're some high-bourne, aren't you? I can tell by the yellow around your mouth. Barely out of childhood and you come here." She let out a laugh "Don't worry little lordling, I saw that you could swing a sword with some proper form. You'll sit next to me at the table to help me decide who's worth training in what." She noticed how the others started to look at the boy. They already hated him. Good, he would have to earn their respect. "The rest of you pick up your training weapons and start practicing. If I see you slack off, I'm sending you to clean the shitters."

"How are the new recruits, Pila?" The voice behind her caught the shield-maiden's attention it was the Highlord himself come down on his rounds.

"Useless. But I've made more with less."

"Do what you can for the time being. If the southerners don't listen to reason, they might be our last recruits for a long time."

"Do you expect them not to listen to you, Highlord?"

"Lets just say that they will place a thousand excuses before they even consider what we do here worthwhile."

"Surely holding the beasts and bastards back for generations is worthwhile to someone down south." Pila sounded frustrated. Her lord couldn't exactly blame her as he had the exact same frustrations time and time again. "Though they would use the quality of men as yet another excuse, won't they?"

"Tis why I believe you should accompany me on this excursion."

"Lord?"

"Aye. I need someone who trains these wretches and turns them into a fighting force. A blacksmith evaluating the quality of the iron being shipped for making swords if that makes sense to you."

"I understand." She tugged her coat as she contemplated the invitation briefly. "Aye. I'll come along. I just need to find a suitable replacement to train this lot." She pointed with her thumb to the fresh recruits. Vigot nodded and allowed her to go back to her duties. That was one person to accompany him. Now for the other.

Goldbert Ryder

​

The last of the scouts came through the gate and the doors quickly closed behind them. Among them was a tall man with a metal helmet covering his face, leaving only two dark wells where he eyes would be. Anyone who looked would notice one pale blue and one dark green eye in the bottom of each well. 'A curse from generations ago' Goldbert would say. 'Can you really trust someone who doesn't even have a consistent eye color? That's to be the curse the men in my family would have.' A lie he told countless times over the years to any new recruit that would ask him. Why would they question it? Ryder was a highwayman before he joined the watch. The story fits and so they would leave him alone with his animals.

The frost hounds walked and circled around him awaiting some other command or treat. Goldbert simply motioned for them to sit and wait as he went inside the abode he had in the castle. A moment later he emerged again with something for them to sink their teeth in. Bones with some bits and peace of meat clinging to them. A nice reward for the hard work they put in tonight.

As they gnawed on their prize, he sat down to relax. Only lifting his head to look at the man who was approaching.

"Lord Vigot." The scoutmaster was first to greet this time "We just returned from our scouting mission. Same as every day of the last weeks. Peace and quiet." He didn't say anything else for a few seconds as he awaited his lord to say something himself. But the face he made was enough. "I see you don't like this serenity as well. I don't blame you. The woods are peaceful. The fields as well. But the winds are singing a different song than they normally would. The raids have all but stopped and whatever wildlings I encounter head to one direction only. Our rival beyond the pale white is planning something and we haven't got a clue what that is."

"Then the danger is real." The Highlord crossed his arms as he thought about the scoutmaster's report "We need more men for the wall and even more if we plan to tackle this before it becomes a bigger problem."

"That is something for you to convince those milkmaids down south, no? I don't envy you, Highlord. If they're anything like the rabble they keep sending us, then your mission is the hardest to accomplish."

"That's the second reason to visit you, Golbert. I need you to come with me to Ifosea."

"Me?" The scoutmaster was silent as the prospect of him going down there was beyond what he expected. "What use would I have among them? Surely some of the lordlings would better fit this mission."

"I need someone who isn't afraid to speak his truth, Ryder. You never spare details in your reports and always seek out potential dangers and weaknesses that could be exploited in our ranks. I can pull their ear, but I need more than honeyed words. I need the bitter truths than only you can provide."

"I see...I'll have to make sure I leave competent replacements to do my job while I'm away with you then." He got up from where he was sitting and dusted himself off "It would be good to see something not covered in snow. Remind myself why I'm still here." The scoutmaster scratched one of the hounds behind the ear "I'll make sure not to needlessly antagonize the southerners."

Some time later

For more than a month, the delegation from Reinor's wall rode down to the Heartlands of the empire. The North gave way to the Reach and then the Thunder Plains. The banner of the Watch caused a stir in every village, town and city they passed as the locals thought it was time for tribute. Goldbert learned quickly why they brought so many guardsmen with them. Every city was in a hurry to rid itself from unwanted mouths to feed and somebody had to take them to the Wall. Pila might not be there to break them, but her secondaries that were left behind were just as vicious as her. She just happened to be prettier.

The messenger birds kept flying and the reports kept coming for his lord to examine. Still calm. They only hoped that the calm doesn't break while they conducted their business in the Heartlands.

Eventually they would reach Ifosea itself. The beating heart of the empire was out of a dream for many of the watchmen. No amount of nostalgia from those who came from the city couldn't prepare them for the sight and sound they were exposed to. The Watchmen were let though the gates with little issue as the guardsman mentioned they were expected. Passing through the districts, they were led through by the imperial guards. Pila eyed the many people that had crowded along the streets. So many of them had never seen a watchman of the wall and now there was an entire retinue of hardened criminals turned loyal soldiers being paraded along the streets.

The show for the commoners was not lost to any of them. They had their reputation and they would play into it as the empire would spare no expense for its show of force. But even so, they couldn't count on a wide public support. For every successful defense of the wall, there are a thousand stories of scum using the oath to escape justice. Something they would have to deal with in the coming days.

Eventually the Watchmen entered the royal keep and would line themselves up behind the parade of lords and ladies that were there before them. They dismounted and gathered in formation with the Highlord and his lieutenants flanking him in front.

"Bow!" His voice thundered and the Watchmen obeyed. Despite the signatures that damned them to death or the Wall, they were compelled to show respect to the nobles as their Highlord demanded.

 

[K0mori]

Castle Marisporta, The Redlands

​

At about midday, a gentle sea breeze from the north was rolling in across the tannish sands of the narrow westward entrance of Marisporta when a messenger from the seat of the Empire arrived. Pausing and staring up at the rugged cliffs of the remote holding, the courier recognized the towers and keep of the same-named castle from which Lord Lazarus von Holt, the intended recipient of his missive, ruled the arid glyrran lands, from the description he had been given at the outset.

Far below its commanding views, a sparce, impoverished fishing village clung to the boundary between land and sea, between the impassible vertical authority of the cliffs themselves and the wide open vista of glittering and inviting ocean expanse. It was so obviously clear why every tradesman the courier had passed by on the long trek to the east had expressed a certain trepidation of venturing beyond the gates to that uninviting land beyond; indeed, the city's reputation preceded it as a military bulwark meant not for the qualities of life, but of the denial of them. Latitude and liberty were not to be expected in the lands beyond, but instead a long and difficult upward climb toward an uncertain future.

Of course, those with true experience, the ones who had traveled by boat to the Lord's Harbor on the far side of Castle Marisporta, or had ridden the lengths of the deserts to far-flung outposts and secluded cities of the wilting grasslands and snaking canyons beyond, could tell the tale of a land that two great nations found worthy of fighting for. Mineral riches, strange, aromatic spices, roving, ponderous beasts with succulent meats and ivory tusks, and foreign song and dance came trickling in from throughout, brought aboard the over-laden ships and horse-drawn carts, and sent away with the merchants to remind one and all of what great things await discovery beyond the gate.

The messenger dabbed his forehead with a cloth and lowered his eyes to the curious beachgoing fishermen, who likewise gazed at him in curiosity as they carried their bundled nets in their weather-beaten hands. His clothing, while not necessarily heavy, was too tight around his body and stifling as he sat on the sizzling leather of his horse's saddle. Paradoxically, if it weren't so damned hot outside, he would stop for a drink. But there was nothing for it but to continue and reach the castle so that he would be free of the sun's tyranny for a time. There was something fundamentally different about the shade of an interior space from that of a mountainous pass; perhaps it was the firmament beneath his horse's feet which held the heat which was baking him.

He rode upwards to the first of the guarded entrances and was brought to a halt by the watchman, who quickly granted him access through the heavy iron bars to the landing beyond, where, to his dismay, he discovered thirty brick stairs that no horse could be expected to climb. To his right, stables permitted him to leave his horse with water and hay for rest, but for the man, there would be no such comfort, and reluctantly he soldiered on to climb the stone steps to the next gatehouse beyond. This time, it was a wooden doorway which he was permitted to cross as he breathlessly showed the guards the imperial seal which graced the outside of his missive.

Beyond, he turned and nearly fell to his knees at the sight of the stairs which awaited him there. They seemed to escalate very nearly into the clouds, a wobbling mirage of malicious masonry blurring into the brutal edifice of stonework above. His canteen, long depleted of water save for a few miserably hot dregs, dangled uselessly at his hip as he stared hopelessly at the walk ahead. But a young guardsman, approached and handed him a tall cup of water produced from some storehouse or barracks nearby which, owing to its position carved directly into the rock below the castle, possessed a coolness not unlike the ocean, but with the purity of taste which came from a mineral spring. The courier gulped it down greedily.

"Is this your first time in Marisporta?" the guardsman asked him, unimpressed.

The messenger nodded, wiping his mouth with his sleeve. "Thank you... How much further?"

"Further to what?" the guardsman asked. He followed the messengers pointing finger up to the yellow and black checkered banners hanging from the tower just below the keep. "If you're here to see the Lord, you need only climb those steps up to the courtyard level; the keep entrance for the Lord's guests is just beyond the garden there. The porter will meet you when you arrive."

---
​

At the top of the keep, the sea breeze was permitted to flow uninhibited through the northern-facing windows and out through the opposite side, cooling the room where Lazarus preferred to spend most of his time when he was at home, as he was today. However, Lazarus did not prefer to spend his time at home, but instead to wander, and make his presence known and felt throughout his domain. He was young, hale and hearty, too busy proving his strength and soundness of mind to the realm to have time for luxury or the company of women, as much as he sorely missed them after departing the Hearlands three years prior to take up the mantle his father had left for him.

Goswin von Holt, a maelstrom of cholic temper and sinister cunning all rolled into a rotting mortal body that the Emperor had named marshal, had torn through the Redlands during the Second Glyrran revolt, hurling lightning bolts down upon the deserving and undeserving with callous indifference. None of the catfolk had escaped his wrath as he ruthlessly buried the very idea of liberation under the army's thundering footfalls, leaving a trail of widows and orphans from coastline to coastline and everywhere in between. So full of hatred was he that all that he touched, and all that he witnessed in life turned to malice and spite, until he could no longer suffer his own flesh and blood and simply dropped dead one day- foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, so they say.

Lazarus of course had not been present, as he had been receiving his education in another world, one of safety and security, far away from his father's self-made hell. When the glyrran revolt had been felled and the Emperor named Goswin the new Lord of the Redlands, 12-year-old Lazarus did not celebrate with the man who had made him a noble. Likewise, when Lazarus completed his education four years later and came to visit Marisporta, Goswin did not recognize him and had demanded his guards answer for letting a vagabond into the castle gardens. So heated was the exchange that followed that Goswin took up a masonry trowel found laying about in the unfinished fortress grounds and began to beat Lazarus with it, who responded by punching his father so hard it chipped one of his teeth.

After four further years of self-imposed exile, Lazarus, now 20, learned of his cruel father's death, and once again made the arduous journey to the east to find the city, and the fortress at its heart, had grown terribly imposing in the interim. While he publicly mourned his father's passing and commissioned a statue of the late tyrant in the city square, privately, Lazarus took a very personal revenge against his father: just before the body was to be interred under Castle Marisporta, he and a band of willing co-conspirators placed a pauper's body in his father's casket, and tossed the real body into the sea.

So, too, did Lazarus toss out his father's ways, proclaiming an era of "measured lawfulness" would begin under his reign. Across the Redlands, new courthouses were constructed as efforts were made to seek contact with what remained of the glyrran resistance in the land. While optimistic, the young lord was not so foolish as to believe that peace would be easily obtained. Every overture made to his new subjects which promised to elevate their status and redress their grievances was coupled with the threat that any failure to accept the Lord's terms would be met with cruelty which met or exceeded the expectations of his late father.

Of course, the sons and daughters of men, and especially merchants, were spared any doubt of their place atop the hierarchy of the von Holts' domain- and that was clear from the very beginning. Large, standing armies of soldiers enforcing law and order across an unruly land required a constant flow of tax revenue to sustain, and not all of this money could be expected to come from the rich. Some would need to come from the conquered, already poverty-stricken glyrrans, a burden Lazarus found justified by their decision to challenge the Emperor's authority, combined with their ongoing reluctance to accept his own. Should they better themselves and become merchants, he reasoned, then their business dealings would free them of the burden of sustaining this suffocating degree of militarization.

He would need examples, too. Glyrrans whose success and integration into the civilized world could serve as an inspiration to those who were still trapped in their tribal ways. It was for this reason that he came to know Rutu Nax'ya.

Elsewhere in the castle, the young glyrran lazed about on a bed of pillows and rugs, mind floating on a pillow of muddled thoughts. Fungal stems lay scattered at her side, having spilled from a burlap bag. Far above her in the keep, the Lord and his steward argued over collection and upkeep for the retinue, but Rutu couldn't care less about what they were saying. Her job was never to make decisions, it was, for lack of a better explanation, to be mysterious and beautiful and well-connected.

It hadn't been easy for her as a child, losing her parents to the brutality of war. As an orphaned charge to a human colonizer, Rutu had tried to learn the apothecary trade, but when it became clear that her new caretakers expected her to return a profit on their "investment," the young glyrran chose to disappear instead. However, the Redlands had nothing to offer her except more bitter disappointment, and when it seemed that she would have to venture all the way across the sea to the Glyrran Confederation to find a life for herself free from Goswin von Holt's ever-present persecution, Rutu gave up running and chose to carve out whatever life was left for her here, even if it was demeaning- dishonorable, even.

And soon, worse than dishonorable.

Starving and delirious from consuming her own, potent healing herbs, Rutu had the idea to adopt a new identity. She had found the human populace so ignorant of her people and their ways that she could tell them practically any lie about their beliefs and they would accept it as fact. Moreover, the more outlandish her claims, the more interested the humans became. They wanted to know of the forgotten legends, and the obscure tribal practices of the fallen glyrran tribes which had been driven from the continent. They wanted excitement and mystery, just the sort of things a spirit-oracle could offer. It wasn't long before she was tantalizing them with offers to read their fortunes, interpret their dreams, or even to speak with their dead relatives.

At the same time she was claiming her practices were faithful to an ancient tradition of glyrran spirit oracles, she told any foreigner who brought curiosity and coin that her fellow catfolk would deny their rituals to avoid sharing them with outsiders. It generated so much interest that the humans would accept any requirement to be a part of her elaborately-staged seances and fortune readings, and that was when Rutu added the master stroke. By slipping the very same mushrooms she was currently experiencing in her private chambers into a specially-brewed "tea" which she provided her customers, she could fool them into thinking she had used some form of elan to access knowledge beyond their eyes and ears.

Business only grew stronger when Goswin died, and soon, even the new Lord's steward wanted to visit the oracle. After fooling the man into providing her a large sum of money, Rutu found herself apprehended by a cohort of Lazarus' men at arms, who dragged her kicking and screaming back to Marisporta. Convinced the young Lord would sentence her to death for her fraud, she was prepared to beg for her life when he surprised her instead with an offer: to become a symbol of the "rehabilitated" glyrran people of the Redlands. To the ignorant humans and other foreigners, Rutu would appear to be a wise, tribal spiritual leader ready to advise the young Lord in his approach to the glyrran question. To the glyrrans, her willingness to demean herself for the Empire's approval, combined with the great rewards she would be given in turn, would make their own concessions and collaborations to a smaller extent feel less humiliating by comparison.

Officially speaking, Rutu would work as Lazarus' "war-witch." She would use her herbal knowledge and skills with creating illusions to help him win his personal battle to civilize the glyrran race. Soon, she was asked to prepare her special tea for a visiting glyrran tribesman. Under the effects of the drug she provided him, he was unable to stop himself from speaking truth after terrible truth. From his guest's own mouth, Lazarus learned of a plot against his own life, and ordered for the killings of dozens of tribal leaders to pay for the conspiracy. Word soon spread of Rutu's traitorous involvement.

The truth, however, as Rutu reclined in indolence on the floor of her chamber, was that she didn't feel like a traitor, per se. Instead, she felt like a genius in a world filled with idiots.

The latch to her chamber door clanked with the entry of a page, who announced his presence by clearing his throat. The air was thick with incense and he blinked back tears as he stood in the space between the sunlit hallway outside and the lightless chamber. "Rutu," he said, flatly.

"...Who approaches?" the oracle replied, her silky voice seemingly coming from beside the messenger, who jumped slightly at its sounding. His eyes searched futilely in the darkness of the smokey room. "Ah, a messenger, come closer..." Ruto coaxed.

"Quit playing games, Rutu. You're being summoned by the Lord."

Rutu knew better than to keep the Lord waiting, as he wouldn't permit her to be insubordinate. She picked herself up and stumbled in the dark toward the door, her foot pads silent on the stone floor. "I see, I see," she answered. "I am on my way."

"...How did you throw your voice like that?" the servant asked, to which Rutu merely smiled playfully and shuffled away. Frustrated, the messenger grabbed a torch out of a nearby sconce and carried it into her smokey chamber, to find a very long, hollow wooden tube positioned between the far end of the room and the entrance. The oracle had simply spoken through one end, and her voice had come out of the other. Annoyed, the messenger turned around and stormed off.

A few minutes later, Rutu entered the high chamber of the keep to find Lazarus and the steward sitting across from each other at a large, checkerboard-covered table, moving small stones around to check their arithmetic. She couldn't help but notice the paper missive sitting on the table next to the Lord, its golden seal visible even from the doorway.

Lazarus glanced up at her, annoyed at the excessiveness of her costuming and jewelry. It was as if glyrrans were immune to the ever-present heat of their land. By contrast, Lazarus was dressed in a simple, loose-fitting tunic and pants, much like the sailors from the port below. Nonetheless, he was satisfied that she hadn't wasted any time in coming. "Ah, it's you. Good. Rutu, I want you to prepare yourself for a long journey. The Emperor is calling for a tournament in Ifosea and he expects House von Holt to be in attendance."

She stood there a moment, processing the directive. Lazarus turned his head slightly, waiting for a response from the apparently-emptyheaded cat, and, fearful that he might snap at her, Rutu blurted, "Y-yes my liege. Should this one present herself as the spirit oracle, or merely a courtier?"

"I don't recall granting you dignity in the midst of your fraud," Lazarus replied, turning his attention back to the table in front of him. He thoughtfully moved two small stones from one square to another before looking up to the steward, who checked over the board and silently counted the effect. When his lips ceased to move, the steward took another stone from the far side of the table and moved it before giving the Lord an affirmative nod. Lazarus smirked. "Can we proceed with these numbers, Marcellin?"

"Yes sir," Marcellin answered. "We will have nothing to show, when all debts are paid, but... they will be paid. I will tend to the estate exactly as you have requested until your return."

Lazarus nodded kindly. "That will be all," he said. The steward rose from the table and turned for the exit.

Rutu realized she was standing in front of the door and needed to move. She gave Lazarus a simple bow as she knew that the Lord did not appreciate her 'weightless words' crowding his presence. She made for the nearest staircase and set aside all other thoughts aside from what she would need to pack for her journey. As he bangles and earrings jangled with each step down to the lower levels of the keep, she reassured herself- if the colonists now making their homes in the Redlands knew little of glyrran culture aside from their warriors, then hopefully, the capital would be thrice as ignorant, and she could make a small fortune from her 'rituals.' That is, if she could find a way to prevent it from refilling the Lord's coffers.

---
​

Just two mornings later, an escort of the Lord's personal guard and three score men had been assembled in the courtyard of Marisporta. Under the shadow of Goswin's unsightly stone gaze, they stood in formation, enjoying what was left of the morning cool and waiting for Lazarus to appear. The merchants and craftsmen of the city went about their normal activities as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and in fact nothing was, as this sort of accompaniment was not an unusual sight. But instead of following the Lord out of the city and deeper into the grasslands to the east or the south, they would be pressing through the narrow gate, down the perilously steep stairs, through the gates, and out along the coastline on their way to the Reach.

It would not be long before they would cross into the territory of another lord and their presence would no longer be required, but they would march on anyway nonetheless to the town of Bauerstadt. This arrangement would prevent bandits from positioning themselves outside the border and pouncing upon Lazarus and his personal guard, once the rest of the rank and file had been dismissed for the return trip. Instead, they would need to position themselves in plain sight, near a well-guarded city.

As they marched, the villagers along the rutted path scrambled to vacate the narrow passage and allow the Lord to pass, watching in quiet admiration of his strength and authority. Here, they thought, was a young man with the vision to bring us wealth and safety from the savages beyond the gate. It was nothing like the scorn he received from the glyrrans and their sympathizers throughout the rest of the Redlands, who branded him a pretender and mocked him and his idea of justice from tavern to tavern across the land. Once they had passed, life in Marisporta resumed unabated.

The march was long and slow with so many men on foot, and grueling in the summer heat with armor on. Stops for water and care were constant, and Rutu put her apothecary knowledge to work, mixing tonics to maintain the soldiers' strength and will, and using powerful, fragrant extracts to revive the ones who fainted. At last, they crossed into the Reach, and the road to Bauerstadt became a more pleasant one, occasionally cast in the long shadows of hills and trees. The land gradually came to life around them, shifting from the tan and baked clay the army was accustomed to, and becoming verdant and lush.

Lazarus came to a stop on his horse as they neared Bauerstadt and turned to face his escort. "Men, I know we have made this journey before, although some of you may be new. We come here on a strict agreement with the Baroness of Bauerstadt and I expect you all to behave yourselves. When I am no longer riding with you, you are not to leave the road back to Marisporta. These are not your stomping grounds. Am I to be understood?"

There was a shout of approval from the escort.

"Not even to take a shit!" Lazarus added, eliciting some laughs. "I'm serious when I tell you: if I come to find that soldiers of the Redlands pilfered any food -or drink- from the Reach instead of relying on the supplies we brought along or purchased for your use on the way, we will find out who stands in defiance of my orders and have him imprisoned."

The speech continued in this manner for a while, until the escort had been properly reminded of their duty to represent the Redlands well. They then finished the final mile of the march, to the gates of Bauerstadt, and the Lord formally parted ways with his realm. On the far side of the township, now free to ride more quickly on better roads and soil, Lazarus and his entourage covered ground quickly, and the next few days passed by in a blur of changing scenery and steadily-improving climate. They departed the Reach for Redridge Vale and then entered the Hearlands, where Lazarus's mood improved even further.

But while he laughed and joked with his personal guard, he did not speak to Rutu. The days passed by uneventfully until they finally reached Ifosea. Having arrived near the middle of the procession, Lazarus was happy to remain unfettered by the crowds, as the initial novelty of the arrival of lords and ladies had dissipated to an extent by this time. And, at last, he found himself gazing upon the emperor for the first time in years. He seemed old and decrepit, and Lazarus quietly wondered whether he would live to see such a day, or if the rage which poisoned his father from within would claim his life at a young age as well.

Rutu, meanwhile, gazed in wonderment at the city around her, having never been in such a populated, extravagant location in her life. Her pale blue eyes had gone wide as he jaw hung open, unaware of where she should stand or how she should behave. But when others began to bow to the Emperor, she at least had the sense to do to the same.

 

[joshuadim]

Whether Enya could tell or not that the Lord Bralmeyer felt something in her presence, the young Lord could not say for certain; she let out a soft smile as he finished explaining Kyraug’s skills, while Reimar gave a nod to the Vadyeen in appreciation to what he had been told about him. “A strong arsenal at your disposal.” The younger brother spoke in earnest, before looking over towards where House Kragh’s followers stood. “Calder! What do you make of Kyraug here?” Reimar then asked, waving the Wulpine over. At such command, the runt walked over to look at the Vadyeen before twitching his ears.

“He seems rather skinny.” The Wulpine commented rather flatly, which brought out a chuckle from Reimar. He opened his mouth to speak in order to deliver a brief apology, but was interrupted by an arm that draped itself over his shoulder suddenly.

“And yet, he could probably lay both of you on your asses.” Ser Harald chimed in, practically materializing behind both Reimar and Calder much to their surprise. “Get back, we have more of the Houses coming shortly. We need to look presentable at the very least.”

Leading both the bastard and the wulpine runt away, Harald dragged them off which left Enya for but a moment with House Bralmeyer. “The North is… well, all the same as usual.” She then spoke, “I don’t think any of us have been this far South since the last revolt.” She peered over her shoulder, seeing Riseig wave her over to join the rest of the Kraghian retinue; Enya gave a curtsy to Damik to excuse herself, “I apologize my lord, I must be going. Perhaps we can speak later?” she said, leaving the invitation open as she took a brisk pace away.

As Enya rejoined her kin, the arrival of more Houses was heralded by the sound of triumphant, cheering horns. First came the banner of House Harkren, headed by Lord Florina Harkren, as rulers of the Vale in the Hinterlands. Their reputation preceded them as their silver gryphon on a field of brown flew proudly amongst two standard bearers that followed the main carriage. Being the de-facto political leader of the Hinterlands region, Lord Harkren was a woman of imposing stature from just word of mouth alone. And when the carriage came to a stop and its door opened so too did she become imposing in views as well.

Her steely gaze looked about as she was soon followed by a meek husband and her man-at-arms, a somewhat portly gentleman who brandished a lavish mustache and an excellently crafted set of armor. Once they were out, they deferred to the Emperor’s magnificence as she gave a curtsy to him. “Your Imperial Majesty.” She spoke, but quickly rose afterwards once the Emperor waved to bid her rise.

“House Harkren is welcomed by House Brentor.” Verus spoke with magnanimity, “Your beauty only grows with age, Florina.” The Emperor slowly descended down the steps before giving her a kiss on the cheek, which she returned kindly.

“Oh, you rascal!” Florina said with a laugh. “Your charms have grown with the years.” But she did not have time to exchange pleasantries for long, as the horns sounded again in the distance. The banners of House Canlan, a majestic horse on a field of green, waved proudly with its own standard bearers following a carriage; this immediately soured Lord Harkren’s mood with notable disdain crossing her face as she watched them on approach. She gave a bow to the Emperor before moving herself and her retinue as far away as she could from the arrivals.

Uchtred excused himself from Oliver’s presence with a polite bow and rejoined his family, observing the new arrivals. But he quickly was confronted by Riseig who whispered to him: “Why does Lord Harkren hate Lord Canlan?”

Uchtred glanced over to where Florina stood as she intentionally ignored the arrival of the House Canlan by averting her gaze and chuckled. “The feud between the Lords of these two Great Houses has been for many years now. Though I don’t know the extent of it… some say it’s been since they were children.”

Riseig was taken aback as he moved his gaze from Florina towards the carriage carry Lord Canlan as it came to a stop. “Wait… they’re kin?”

“Sisters. And their hatred for one another is unparalleled.” Uchtred then spoke as the door opened, revealing a woman with an imposing stature with jet black hair. Just from the face alone, it was easy to tell that the two were directly related; and she directly avoided looking towards where Florina stood out of visible spite before turning attention to the Emperor who approached her with open arms.

“House Canlan is welcomed by House Brentor,” Verus spoke again with a smile as he kissed her on the cheek. “Welda, your beauty only grows with age.”

The midnight-haired woman gave a joyous laugh as she pecked the Emperor on his cheek in return. “Oh, you sly fox! Your charms have grown since last we’ve met.” The Canlan matriarch replied.

“Wait… didn’t this exact conversation just happen?” Reimar whispered to his grandfather, confused as to what was unfolding.

“He has to keep both Lords happy. And that means flattering their egos.” Uchtred whispered back, “Fortunately for him, their interests and desires are practically the same. That makes his job easier.”

A few more words were exchanged between the Emperor and Lord Canlan, speaking on her family and her health. She visibly grew concerned about Verus’ own health as his looks suggested that he was not the man he once was. “I assure you it’s nothing for you to worry about.” The Emperor said with a smile, his gaze then turning when the horns sounded once to announce a new arrival. Welda excused herself with a bow and urged her retinue to follow, which included her husband of meek stature and a lanky, well dressed man, that one could assume was an advisor of sorts.

And as Enya watched, she too avoided looking towards where Florina stood out of sheer spite which made her grimace. “She doesn’t even look at her sister… do they truly hate one another so much?”

“Unfortunately, some ties are irreparable.” Uchtred replied somberly, “It is always saddening to see kin destroy the bonds that they have. But makes me grateful as well for what I have now.” Uchtred patted Enya’s shoulder with a smile. “Let’s not dwell on such misery. There are more Houses coming.” Enya nodded as she returned her attention to her front, observing the coming banners. What came as a surprise was the arrival of the Watchers, which had Uchtred furrow his brow.

For certain, the Highlord was not here on particular invitation to attend a tournament, which could only mean that he was here to solicit more men to man Rainor’s Wall. But if he had traveled all this way for that… then that meant there was trouble brewing in Icewrack. He kept this in mind as the HIghlord and his men bent the knee in the presence of the Emperor and the noble houses, but were beckoned up quickly by Verus.

“Highlord, your presence is most welcome here.” The Emperor spoke, though confusion marked his face as he observed the Watchers. “…did I deliver an invitation to you for the tournament?”

“No, your grace.” Spoke the Exarch of Whispers, Count Damijan Viselic, as he approached to greet the Highlord with a bow of his own. “I invited the Highlord here to…” He began to say before stopping himself. He leaned over to whisper, delivering information that made the Emperor’s eyes narrow in concern before nodding.

“I see. We will speak at the next meeting of the Imperial Council then.” Verus then said to both his spymaster and Vigot.

This sudden secrecy only served to further Uchtred’s suspicions of some happenings occurring beyond the wall. He would need to speak with the Emperor about this privately if it was that urgent. Rainor’s Wall was the only thing separating the Empire from the harsh region of Icewrack, and its savage, brutal denizens. This concerned the North as much as it did the Wall itself. After the Highlord was dismissed for the time being, the horns sounded once more which brought about the golden lion upon a field of crimson red of House Kalfas forward.

Unlike the other Houses thus far, this arrival was truly glorious, rivaling that even of the splendor of Houses Brentor itself. The wealth of Ustonos was known far and wide, and it showed here with the extravagant carriage, golden trimmed armor of its soldiers, and the appearance of the members of its House. First to step out was Lord Leon Kalfas, the richest man in the Empire by some accounts, and one of the most intimidating from stature alone. “That’s Lord Kalfas?” Reimar whispered to his family, “I thought he would look… different.”

“It was his forces that enacted a crushing defeat against the Glyrrans at the Battle of the Red Dunes. His cavalry trampled and crushed the southern flank of the Glyrran Uprising and finally put an end to the war.” Ser Harald whispered back, though not with admiration as he stared at the Lion of the South with contempt. “But I know he was slow to arrive on purpose. To weaken Houses in the fighting that were his rivals. His tardiness cost thousands of lives.”

“Do you think that… or know that?” Riseig whispered back, but did not manage to solicit a response from the man-at-arms as he continued his stony gaze on the Lord of Ustonos.

Leon’s once golden mane had grayed over the years as age became of him, and yet he retained his vigor as he walked about proudly with crimson cloth and robe in conjunction with his heraldic armor of his ancestor, Tywin Kalfas. Then came three others that followed suit, first being Alistair Kalfas who wore his own fine clothing and heraldry. However, unlike his father, he bore no resemblance to the man’s power as he looked frivolous and weak in both character and appearance alone. Skittish by all accounts as he fidgeted uncomfortably and in annoyance. Between the two men, there was no familial love as Leon looked towards the Emperor while Alistair looked as though he didn’t want to be here at all.

Then, to the Emperor’s joy, came two of his kin: Lady Aulen Kalfas, his sister, and Prince Lodric Kalfas who was his nephew by blood. Leon was first to bow, with the rest quickly following suit, but the Emperor ignored conduct and custom for this moment as he walked over to embrace Aulen. The two hugged for a time before releasing one another as Verus smiled: “My dear sister, it has been far too long.”

“How have you fared, Verus?” Aulen asked with concern as she ran a hand along his face, “…have the doctors-“

He shook his head solemnly, “I’m afraid it isn’t quite so simple. But let’s not dwell on that.” Verus whispered before he turned his attention to his nephew, who beamed with joy as the two also hugged. “My how you’ve grown!” the Emperor spoke to the young man with pride as he grasped him by the shoulders and looked up and down his length. “What are they feeding you down there? You’ll be taller than Ser Eren soon enough!”

“Nothing but the very best that Ustonos has to offer, your majesty.” Lord Kalfas then spoke, which returned the Emperor’s attention to Leon with a nod.

“House Kalfas is welcomed here by House Brentor, indeed.” The Emperor spoke, before returning his attention to his nephew. “Lodric, you’ve read the book I’ve sent you, yes?”

“Yes unc- er, your grace…” Lodric then spoke, embarrassed that he let his decorum slide which brought out a chuckle from the Emperor. “Come now, no need for formalities among family. I should like to hear what you’ve thought of the contents.”

Lodric gave an eager nod and smiled, “Y-yes! I-“ he then spoke, before meekly turning his head towards his grandfather, Leon, before looking away. “If I have the time… of course.”

Uchtred observed House Kalfas with great interest, seeing how fractured their family appeared just from appearances alone. Leon held no love for his eldest son, which seemed like madness to the old bear. He and Lothar were so close themselves, he couldn’t imagine never loving his own. And then there was Leon and his grandson. It was obvious that the boy was meek and deferred to his grandfather on authority.

“Ah… where is Jomier?” the Emperor then asked, looking into the carriage but finding no one else inside.

Leon shifted uncomfortably before straightening his back: “He’s… delayed, your majesty. A bit of trouble on the road.”

“I see… I should hope to see him too.” Verus then spoke before departing back to the steps to await the next arrivals. This was the cue for House Kalfas to take their place as they walked together, but Leon was not yet done as he grabbed Alistair by the ear with a menacing look. “Where is your brother?” he hissed quietly, bringing out a fearful look from his son.

“How in the hells should I know?” the man replied with disdain and anger as he swatted away the man’s hand. “Probably drinking and visiting brothels for all I know. Why do you even care? Not like you-“ Alistair whispered back, but was interrupted.

“SILENCE. I will not tolerate your outbursts here.” Leon whispered back harshly, shutting his impudent son up as he walked his House over to their place.

The horns sounded once more: signaling the arrival of House von Holt as both Lazarus and Rutu made their way out and prostrated themselves to the Emperor. “House Brentor welcomes House von Holt.” The Emperor spoke up as he came on approach. He looked at Rutu for a moment, unsure of what exactly to say to the Glyrran before deciding to focus on Lazarus. “How fares the Redlands?” Verus asked, “No immediate troubles, I hope?”

Uchtred could not help but stare at Rutu, out of surprise but also out of a growing anger. He did not think he held hatred in his heard for her people, and yet here she stood… a member of the people that drove an arrow through his son. The old bear tightened his hands into fists, the leather of his gloves audibly creaking from the tensions. But a hand on his shoulder by Enya quickly abated his hate as he regained his common sense and sighed. At least he could try to avoid the Glyrran’s presence here.

---

The Golden Talon Tavern
Stonewall
Siert ( Worthlessplebian ), Amarok ( Buu )

​

The many established taverns of Stonewall were buzzing with activity as the arrival of the great Lords of the realm arrived in Ifosea. The workers chatting and gossiped about the rumors and stories they’ve heard about some, while others went about jesting and making jokes against those they disliked. The work day had ended earlier for many so as to allow the common folk to observe and view the coming nobility’s entrance, which in turn allowed them to inhabit the candle and torch-lit drinking hubs of the district.

The Golden Talon Tavern was no exception as a cacophony of mixed speech from all across the establishment filled the air as being talked and drank. One man stood upon a table to tell a story, bringing out laughs and jeers from the patrons: “And I tell you, that the late Lord von Holt died NOT because he was old! But he was too fucking angry he didn’t get to kill more of the cat-folk!” A barrage of laughs were brought out as the man smiled and stomped his foot on the wood below him. “BUT, there lies also an invisible truth: that he got off on killing them! His member was raging anytime he cut one open… and all that blood going down below made his heart stop!”

The profane slandering of the man’s name brought out more laughs, as many had heard of the wicked brutality of his conduct against the Glyrrans. Despite the general sentiment against them, his reputation went above and beyond the comforts of many Imperial citizenry when they heard stories of what he had done to them. Such cruelty that was described in the bards tales and the mouth of street peddlers made him the subject of vile rhetoric.

More revelry and talk consumed other parts of the tavern, but a quieter corner housed a lone table lit by several candles. It was stowed away in such a manner that it was partially behind a cubby to hide a cloaked man sitting at its head. Opposite to him were a sellsword and a positively massive Wulpine that both were here to hear his offer of employ.

“I heard the two of you can be discreet when need be.” The hooded man spoke as he lowered his cloth to reveal his face, “I’ll need you two to work for me. It’s for the Tournament coming up, and I assume the two of you will be comfortable with… changing the results?” he asked, his eyes moving between the two of them as he awaited an answer.

 

[Count of This and That]

Marius had always enjoyed the capital. The hustle and bustle was a stark contrast to the relative slowness of his family’s castle. While a quiet evening in the Lynnmare family library was always well and good, there was something tantalizing about an evening among the incessant noise of the capital. It seemed like there was never even a moment of quiet here. Like the sound of frogs in a swamp, the low groan of human existence could always be heard faintly. Sometimes not so faintly.

Marius sat within the ornate carriage that he was riding through the streets of Ifosea, four bannermen flanking the carriage on horses with the two lead men carrying spears with small House Lynnmare banners on them; hoisted high so that all who watched could see the red and black, alongside the twin deer and crossed daggers. Marius had always thought the sigil was a bit of an oddity. The twin deer were clear. Deer were quite a common animal in his lands and his father told him some story about Lord Edwin Lynnmare I having domesticated a baby deer by feeding it apples. It was not exactly an intimidating beast, nor something people generally considered as a noble animal, but it was nice enough. However, the crossed daggers confused Marius. His house was not known for martial prowess, nor did it have any excellent war stories, nor did it make any moves to present itself as a house of war. In fact, one could argue that-

Nevermind. That was not going to be a productive line of thought. Marius sighed, pulling open the curtains of the carriage window and looking out it, enjoying the fresh air. But not the smell. The city stunk. But, after so much travel, Marius was content to enjoy anything other than the countryside and the words of the books he read along the way. He knew that the Lynnmare residence in the Golden District was already being prepared for his arrival; a small house that had been in his family for a few generations and was constantly worked by three servants who ensured their lord could drop by at any time and live in accordance with his status.

The carriage neared the Imperial Palace, eventually slowing to a halt. The two young male servants who drove the carriage dismounted it. One stood by the horses while the other opened the carriage door for Marius. Marius took the hand of the man for balance and stepped out of the carriage, his well-made black hunting boots landing on the ground and the jingle of his silver necklace could be heard. A red ruby pendant swung by his neck, while he wore a dark blue tunic of high quality, with golden embroidery around the buttonholes and edges of the sleeves. Simple brown trousers were worn on his legs, and his hands held three rings: a silver wedding band on his left ring finger, a golden ring with the seal of House Lynnmare on his right pinkie, and a silver ring with a turquoise amethyst on his right middle finger.

Marius unconsciously spun the wedding band with his left thumb as he walked towards the procession of people awaiting their turn to greet the emperor, who stood atop the stairs outside the Imperial Palace. Many familiar faces could be seen, fellow nobles, and Marius nodded in polite greeting to several of the men who made eye contact with him; the men nodding back.

Marius knew that the growing succession crisis was an opportunity for his family to solidify itself as one of the most important families in the realm. Historically, his family had sided with the victor of every previous succession crisis and was well-known for their devotion and loyalty to the emperor. With their lands essentially next door to the Imperial Seat, it was not hard to see why their loyalty was so important. Much of their crop fed the capital city, among other places, which always clamoured for more and more food. This time, Marius intended on guiding his family into a more active role in history. His grandfather’s sudden dismissal as Exarch of Coin was proof that relying on the goodwill of an emperor was not enough. His father’s wasted years was evidence that goodwill could not always be found in a productive way. No, House Lynnmare had made a fatal error in its ambition of remaining a so-called “Friend of the Imperials''. Their power could be removed on the whims of a single man. They needed solidified power. Real power. Power derived from a marriage alliance, from gained authority, and from developed influence. Leave the life dependent on goodwill to the servants.

But Marius would keep these thoughts private. As far as anyone knew, he was just as interested in the humility and vested loyalty that his family had built their legacy on. When it was his turn to speak to the emperor, he would kneel, utter rehearsed words professing his eternal loyalty with reference to his family’s long service and give a wish of renewed health to the emperor, while adding a polite greeting to the four princes. He would need to pick one to latch onto at some point, but for now, it was worth keeping on the good side of them all.

Of course, latching onto a claimant was really what his ancestors had done in every previous succession crisis, so was Marius really the intelligent innovator he thought he was? Marius brushed that thought aside and focused on watching the pair of individuals ahead of him in the procession finally reach their turn to approach the emperor. A human and a Glyrran. How strange. Marius could see Lord Kragh eyeballing the Glyrran as she knelt before the emperor. He knew that Lord Kragh’s son had been killed in the war, which explained the tough look. Marius kept a neutral face and politely watched on, hands clasped in front of himself, as he awaited his turn to approach the sickly emperor.

 

[Emperor Sagan]

Castle Valentova, Central Hinterlands
​

Lady Valentova - that is, the Lady Annaliese Apolena Valerie Valentova of the most esteemed House of her very name - lived as a spider in the center of a web. This was as much a part of her deliberate design as much as it was dictated by circumstance. Her family was ancient, and her holdings were likewise touched by the not-so-subtle embrace of Father Time. In some respects this was a great boon to her position. She was wealthy. Wealthier than any of the rustic, lowborn heathens that pranced about the lowlands. The central territories of the Hinterlands was a bountiful land and her territory - Vallach, as it was known by name - was a region of dark forests, rocky highlands, and cold bogs that swallowed entire towns whole. Generations of wealth had ensured that House Valentova was the beating heart of these lands, though the reputation of her family and her ancestors went a long way in helping shape a particular image that was remarkably conducive, and at times frustrating, to her efforts to rule.

As a spider, she had no family. Only she and her youngest brother, Desmond Valentova, remained in a long and illustrious lineage. The family curse, the locals called it, which she couldn't exactly disprove if she thought about it for too long. Her father saw ghosts. This was not very surprising, Vallach was filled with ghosts. The forests whispered at night. The wetlands drew in those who forwent caution until they found themselves being dragged into the depths by boney hands. In the highlands and the mountains, few trusted the shadows. Gods knew why they moved as they did. And her father... he died after a particularly horrific fit after suffering a night terror, suggesting that, in his final words, the beasts of the forest had come for their debt at last. Her mother had then taken to herbal remedies to solve her melancholy and, one day, drifted off to an endless sleep in the garden after discovering that there was, in fact, a limit to what the body could consume in her myriad of personal tinctures. At the very least, these very mixtures were profitable, since they dulled the mind to pain and eased one into a deep lethargy.

As a spider, she kept her web grand and clean. Much of this effort was a credit to her ancestors, of course. Their castle was the product of centuries of additions and removals, renovations and disasters. It sat perched atop a rocky outcropping in the forest above the capital town of Hinzerhof, not unlike the crows and ravens that came to rest on the gallows. The forest to the rear was all personal family land, illegal for the peasantry to hunt in, but few were so foolish to tread the forest despite the penalty. There were things that existed within the woodlands that were far greater and darker than the primeval essence that permeated the lands here. Only a Valentova could enter and leave unharmed, as the legends went, though even that seemed dubious the more she looked into her lineage. Yet her castle - this was her personal domain. She knew every room, every hall, every hidden cell. There were precisely sixty-six mirrors within the castle that she ensured were clean at all times. Once, as a girl, she had frightened a servant so bad that the poor man collapsed against a wall and through it, into a chamber that had been boarded up. Why, she didn't know. There were paintings in there of her ancestors, well preserved, but since she had put them up the servants seemed more skittish than usual. It wasn't her fault they jumped at every little noise and shadow.

As a spider, she ruled with respect and fear. Oh, indeed, she knew the legends, the rumors, the hushed stories spoken in the common hovels and back alley taverns. Those outside of Vallach called her family unnatural and her people superstitious which... well, it wasn't wrong, truth be told, but it was very rude! Still, it was a useful image to foster when it was actually something she had to actively do. Sometimes even the most mundane activities frightened the locals and she needn't even raise a finger. Gazing out a window over the town, taking a stroll in the rain with her parasol, visiting... practically anywhere unannounced. Again, in some respects, she could not blame the foolish people, given those who accompanied her; the Chapter Knights were beholden to her and her alone, ultimately, and they were a fearsome bunch in reputation as well as countenance. She favored the Knights of the Drowned Rose as her household guard, as did her ferocious grandmother, and their scarlet armor was scary enough to behold. Of course there was the Order of the Morningstar, a sisterhood of warrior-monks sworn to her family that affected disturbing masks and black robes. Her people were cultured, after all. More cultured than all those lowlanders in their animal pelts and loincloths and peasant sacks they called clothing.

"Mistress, a letter from Ifosea has arrived," a servant intoned quietly to her. She was in the greenhouse this morning, as she often was, enjoying some tea and watching her rabbits. They lived in a little pit in the center of the botanical jungle, which once held a fountain that was removed long ago. She had the pit furnished with grass, flowers, a little stream for them to play in, and a miniature village complete with miniature people. Her rabbits were precious and she enjoyed feeding them.

"Ifosea, you say? I suppose the Emperor has finally died," she laughed. She took the letter, slit it open with a well-practiced gesture, and eyed the contents. Her expression darkened enough that her manservant carefully - subtly - stepped a little further away from the rabbit pit. They always did that, as if she had ever thrown anyone in there. What a mess that would be. "Is everything alright, my mistress?" the man asked again with care.

"Mmm. We've been invited - well, summoned would be a better way of putting it, to a tournament. A grand tournament. All houses to be in attendance. My, oh my. What a delightfully boring event this will be. More brutes beating each other over the head with lances and clubs. Though I suppose it would be entertaining to see someone get impaled, like that one time.... Regardless, there may be some fertile ground here for political gain. We must make the best of everything, after all. Send for the steward and marshal. And my brother, I suppose."

"Yes, my mistress, at once," the servant said with a polite bow before turning to leave.

"Oh, and remind the handmaidens to pack a full traveling suite. With funerary attire," she said. She plucked a morsel from the bowl beside her and tossed the item into the pit of rabbits. The little critters sniffed at the air before several descended upon the diced cube of meat, their gnashing fangs bared and claws outstretched. Valentova watched them with a smile. "One never visits Ifosea and leaves without attending at least one funeral."

Ifosea
​

Travel to the Heartlands was slow, though this was to be expected. The carriage of her house was a cumbersome creation that met the demands of luxury, safety, and economy. It was practically a small vessel, hosting space for eight persons comfortably within the cabin and a small table between them. It even had a private chamber - well, really nothing more than a broom closet - for matters of personal attendance. The carriage was nearly all black, with black curtains pulled by six black stallions with black feathered headdresses, excluding the two lead horses, who both were ordained with a single crimson red feather upon their heads. It drew looks from all over, but it also kept people away, and at least in Vallach, there would be no one to mistake it for some other noble's carriage. Brigands would never dare.

Of course, the assembly of Chapter Knights went a long way to help as well. She had invited all the chapters of her territory to join. Some of them were closer to warrior monks who honored their code with religious fervor while others were hotblooded soldiers that salivated at the chance for a fight, be it a tournament or battle. The chapter houses often warred - well, sparred - with each other in fake little wars. Sometimes these solved feuds, other times they caused them. To have them all united so easily like this was not something she would pass up.

"Oh, don't look so glum," Valentova said, glancing aside to her little brother, Desmond. He was a boy of fourteen and unlike his peers, was a quiet mouse who favored the quill over the sword. She didn't blame him on that, at least. Their mother had been a member of the Knights of the Drowned Rose in her youth, and while swinging a hammer to break skulls had chiseled her body, it had wracked her joints with misery even before she had reached forty. "We'll get to see so much of the... the rustic side of the world. Haven't you ever wanted to see those pitiful Northerners? Or the savages from the east?"

"Its not that," Desmond said. "I'm just... em, worried. With so many houses in one place, won't that be dangerous? And we'll be so far from home." It was a reasonable concern, and it was true that they were an insular people. Valentova at least shared that aspect with the common people of her land, favoring their rice farms, their saw mills, the deep mines, and the foggy lanes over the quaint hovels of the lowlanders. Sure, there was some splendor and beauty out there, but it wasn't home. It lacked essence.

Annaliese Valentova nodded, but she smiled in the same way her grandmother did. She took a lot after her. "Oh, most certainly. But we've nothing to fear. I doubt many know much about us. Its the godforsaken Harkren we ought to keep an eye out for." The Harkren, of course, ruled with Imperial favor across the Hinterlands, and were their neighbors across the central mountains. Vallach was well protected and looked after itself, but if there was anyone who could challenge them, it was going to be the good people of the Hinterlands, not some rebellious cat or northern raider. The bogs of Vallach were as filled with their own dead as they were of invaders.

"Regardless, we are unwed. You've more benefit than I in that regard. Do what you idiot boys do and make a bastard, or something. That could prove useful leverage...." she said, trailing off. She pulled back the curtain of the window of her carriage, watching the city pass by. She couldn't help but smirk at the somewhat uncomfortable glances the people sent their way as the six-horse carriage carried on with the certainty of a ship plowing through waves. Dozens of knights followed on their steeds, wearing the splendor of their various chapters, from the crimson armor and robes of the Drowned Rose to the midnight-purple shells of the Eclipse, their surcoats and tunics the same deadly black without hint of emblem or color.

"My Lady," Rudolf Friar said, her chamberlain and most trusted advisor. "Perhaps we ought not encourage young master Desmond to partake in any... unseemly activities." Ser Friar was an honorary knight, but he lacked the build, the inclination, and the looks. He was a tired and sad looking man who seemed difficult to excite, unless it was with worry. "Not to suggest we will not be on our best behavior, but we will be in the presence of the Emperor and many great houses. Houses greater than us. Our reputation, our wealth... does not spread far outside of the Hinterlands."

"Indeed," rumbled Ser von Babel, a large and imposing satyr with metal-capped horns. "Our knights are known outside our lands as ferocious warriors. But of this house... my lady, I am afraid to say that that name Valentova will either be recognized as a cursed name of witches, or not recognized at all."

They continued on their journey, rising up to the Imperial grounds before carrying further on foot. Valentova wore one of her best dresses, a delightful black and red ensemble studded with pearls and shimmering opals. She wore a corset, though not too tight, and ensured her coiffure was as fantastic as it had ever been, ensuring that her white hair was done up in a way to add more height to her diminutive and spectral frame. She wore the crown of her house and her lands, which was unlike the laughable and paltry metal bands and caps many other nobles wore. The crown of House Valentova was an assembly of beast-like horns, crowning her head as if she were a demon from the darkest depths, or some twisted mockery of a demented satyr. Indeed, one could possibly confuse her with one, as many of her knights were Satyrs, a common enough people in her lands behind humans.

And, of course, she strolled forwards with her parasol about her shoulder, shielding her from the sun and the unagreeable lowland weather. Once given the ability to do so, she intended to perform an extravagant curtsy to the Emperor and offer a polite greeting. She even brought gifts, though that would come later.

In the mean time, her closest retinue and brother knelt behind her. The small body of honored knights and bannermen allowed to join likewise knelt, while the banner of her household remained standing, the standard held aloft by a knight in blood red armor. Unlike the common pennant style banners, the Valentova standard was held by a T-shaped pole, capped with a crescent and two swinging censors on either end of the arms. Unlit, of course, as it would be unfortunate to cause a coughing fit among those unaccustomed to their harsh incense.

As she waited, she noted the other houses and banners in attendance. She was amused to see the Watchers here, but held a sneer at seeing other Hinterland houses.

 

[Buu]

There was a creature in the Golden Talon. Something that contradicted the relaxed tone of its environment; presenting a subtle, yet unpleasant feeling across dark corners and vacant tables. Its bright green eyes were wide as its glare flicked from person to person. Its dagger-like ears were upright and alert, snapping towards the occasional odd noise that the building and its inhabitants provided. The creature loomed over a dreary section of the tavern with its back against the wall, bright green eyes now locked on its employer's reveal. And my, what a grand one it was.

Amarok's hackles rose, his ears flattened, and as he leaned closer to the candles along the table his expression came to light. Fierce teeth lined his long snout and ended at the beginning of his wild grin. His face mere inches away from his employer. His breath smelled like a mixture of all sorts of strong things, yet none were pleasant. Eventually his unnerving growls were replaced with amusement. A chuckle here. A cackle there... all leading up to a roaring assault. If it weren't for the amount of laughter already filling the tavern, he likely would've brought the area to silence.

"Of course," His raspy voice began. "I can certainly make sure this tournament ends how you'd like it to, but there are so many ways to go about it. What exactly do you want me to do?" He'd inquire, glancing at Siert with the smile still on his face. By the way he spoke, it was almost as if he were throwing a jab at his companion. Did the wolf really need the man's help?

As he took a seat, the Wulpine's large frame practically devoured the table whole. He extended one of his fingers and loosely dragged his claw across its wooden frame. "In other words, how many need to die, Kalfas?"

Even if he had that smile still strapped over his maw, the coldness of his voice made it very clear. Amarok was not joking. If Jomier had any clue on who Amarok was, he'd understand that even better. Though, the Wulpine's gaze remained on Jomier's body language. He made it a point to note any flinch, any irregular breaths, any beads of sweat, or anything that'd give a hint on how nervous he was about the discussion. For a variety of reasons...

Worthlessplebian joshuadim

 

[Worthlessplebian]

The tavern had been possessed by spirits of joviality. The workmen chattered endlessly emboldened by the arrival of an uncountable number of Lords and Ladies; nevertheless, their revelry is not unmarked by subversive conceptions, verbal jabs notwithstanding. A half-armoured figure nursed a mug of ale with an iron gauntlet. Brown eyes followed the swirl of the foamy drink, occasionally hovering to the large, bipedal canid who seemed positively set on menacing an unsuspecting drunkard. His helm sat on the table facing their employer, its edge-thin visor squarely focused on the hooded figure.

Another set of eyes were keyed to the hooded figure. Bright. Yellow-hued. A raptor with talons opposed to the tavern's namesake. The avian sat on Siert's shoulder, his curved knives pressed against the chestnut-coloured pourpoint of his master, indeed he proved quite an entertaining attraction when he first entered. The raptor stared down its hooked beak with pronounced distrust. When the hood fell from the man's head, Siert had deigned to look at him. The sellsword possessed a cold, hard face with an ugly, stocky nose but his beard had been well-groomed. Siert's lips parted to answer but were closed when his Wulpine companion growled animalistically. Two fingers massaged the side of his temples with closed eyes as he allowed Amarok to finish his display. The depth of his laugh, agonistically enhanced by the common man's, was like a hammering in Siert's head, unwelcome and aggravating.

He swam a finger up to his raptor. Scratching Coen's proud chest of charcoal black feathers. The bird shut its eyes to enjoy the petting.

Siert smirked at the end. "Forgive my death-starved friend, he hasn't wet his lips with man's blood in about a day or two." The rogue knight continued with a voice as smooth as milk. "But I do agree, what exactly is it that you want us to do? Sponsor me and 'Rok in the tourney? Or does this call for subtler means? Much as I'd like to, I don't believe slaughtering the participants by the baker's dozen is allowed." Siert swiveled the mug in his hand. He sipped before raising another question. "If you'd permit my boldness, Lord, why is it that you have need of us? Not the reasons for your selection of us, but your decision to do it."

Amarok is piercing Jomier Kalfas, trying to divine details from ticks, breaths, sweat, and shifting eyes. That is one of the reason Siert chooses to partner up with the Wulpine, the overt paired with the covert. Roles they sometimes switch up, like now for instance: when Siert directly asks the nobleman's intentions. When the farmer's son stowed into a Lord's court years ago, he did not fathom the true power of knowledge. To know another's intentions, whole and true, is enough to set events in motion that could tremble mountains.

Buu joshuadim

 

[GrieveWriter]

Adelaide
Her worries were not alleviated by more guests. If anything, they only grew.

Houses Harken and Canlan were the only brief respite Adelaide had amongst the new arrivals. Their familial rivalry had occasionally popped up here and there among their allies in the council, with such drama being familiar to Adelaide in particular. The many allied families and associations of the Consortium tended to have bouts of antagonism, though theirs was often influenced purely by monetary gain than anything else. Though any bitterness between the Houses was cause for concern, the fairly blatant manner by which the two sisters avoided even looking at each other painted quite the picture.

If such things were to blow out of proportion, Adelaide felt they wouldn't rank even close to high on the list of the Empire's problems.

No, the surprising appearance of the Watchers of the wall beat them out easily.

Adelaide hadn't recognized them at first, as they didn't fly the familiar banners of any of the Houses she had learned of. No, it was the confused whispers of others that clued her in. The courtyard had been filling with nobles and their retinues, and Adelaide clearly heard the terms 'Highlord' and 'Rainor' be spoken by several.

The Emperor's visible confusion over their arrival did nothing to alleviate her growing concern, but Adelaide merely cooed in delight at the sight of them.

"The Watchers, hm?" she chittered with a curious smile, tapping her fingers along her lips in unhidden interest.

She worked feverishly to commit their appearances to memory, as she had done with all persons of interest so far. While they could've just been there for the Tournament, the way the Exarch of Whispers went up to whisper to the Emperor immediately raised flags for both her and several others in the Courtyard if the looks she was spotting said anything.

While not many in the Consortium had much knowledge of what the exact situation at Rainor's Wall was, it was known to be a draw on the Empire's manpower and resources. Such things could easily be devoted to more profitable ventures, at least where the Consortium was concerned. But Adelaide wasn't so quick to throw out the concerns of the Empire, at least not until she had a clearer picture.

While she couldn't do much about the House Froste situation besides keep tabs on the capability of the young lord, the presence of the Watchers gave Adelaide a perfect opportunity to learn more of the risks to the Empire straight from the source. Warriors tended to have looser lips than most at the precipice of power, after all.

It was during the arrival of House Kaflas that she made her move, leaving her position for the first time since the guests had started arriving. It wasn't due to a lack of interest in the going's on between Kaflas and Brentor, but moreso due to familiarity with that particular mess. The ties between Lord Kalfas and his grandson, a potential claimant to the throne, was becoming more and more of a hot topic the longer the succession crisis drew on.

She'd heard the rumors of course, of Alistair's lesser qualities and his son's meek temperment, but none had prepared her for the squabbling between the Lord and his eldest son. House Kaflas' sheer wealth made them quite the topic of discussion for the Consortium as well, but the barely hidden disdain between its eldest members made Adelaide question their stability.

Not that it showed, she was of course far too invested in hearing words from the watchers to notice any of that of course. She had pulled away from the Emperor's children, making her way across the courtyard whilst being sure not to step on any toes figuratively and literally. Her dress may have been able to hide her hooves whilst standing still, but they were on full display as she worked her way to the Watchmen. Not that it was possible to mistake her for anything else giving the clops of her hooves that followed her wherever she walked.

What did nearly make her break from her goal was the arrival of House von Holt.

Between the territories of Houses Lynnmare, von Holt, and Valentova, there was no contest that the Redlands held most of the Consortium's attention. It was absolutely overflowing with a number of riches, and many were lavished in the wealth that could be obtained from there. It was why the Consortium tended to gnaw on their nails whenever something terrible occurs there, and the recent issues with the Glyrrans had led many a merchant to go gray in the head over it.

While Adelaide always hated the single-minded lust several members of the Consortium seemed to view the Redlands with, she had to admit the ways House von Holt had been managing it since the last lord's passing had become a growing interest to her. Such interest only grew when she saw the current lord of the house kneeling before the Emperor with a Glyrran of all things. Either a show of cooperation or benevolence, she decided, though she would add them to her increasingly excpanding list of things to look into over the course of the Tournament.

Despite that distraction, she never once slowed in her approach. Merely glanced towards the newest arrivals before finally drawing close to the Watchers and raising a hand in greeting.

"Ter-Lu Saht, northern warriors!" she greeted as she passed a gaze over the Highlord and his assembled Watchmen "Mayhaps you may spare a mere envoy of her ignorance."

She paused to chitter to herself before tapping her fingers together, her eyes briefly closing.

"Many speak oddly of your wall." she pouted with a shake of her head, only to brighten up as her silver eyes passed over them again "Make it seem small, but of great price. This envoy wishes to think of it with clarity."

 

[K0mori]

Lazarus rose as the Emperor addressed him, giving a relaxed and confident smile. "Your majesty, trade is flowing, settlements are expanding by the day, and we had less reported skirmishes with the glyrrans this past Spring than we have seen in years. It will be a long time before the Redlands are truly tamed, but we are on the right path."

Rutu looked up at him as she continued to kneel, unsure if she should have stood up by now. While she was rarely in the room when important advisors were speaking with him, Rutu knew that Lazarus was stretching the truth, to put it mildly. While there had been less "skirmishes" as the Lord had put it, it was only because violence on an individual level could not be referred to as such. When a mercenary of House von Holt kills a glyrran for speaking out or treading upon the Lord's property without invitation, it is not qualify. Nor does it count as a skirmish when a glyrran sneaks into the home of a guardsman and slits his throat while he sleeps. These were the sorts of violent acts which seemed ever-present in the Redlands, and why Lazarus was devoting so much time, money, and effort into quelling the disruptions.

Rutu glanced over toward the aging Lord of House Kragh and got the sense that he would commit some sort of violent act himself were it not for the moment and place. She looked away quickly.

"It is good to see you again, sir," Lazarus said, leaning in a bit closer and speaking a bit less formally. Despite his efforts to mask the ongoing struggles within his domain, Rutu could recognize the genuine admiration he held for the emperor. She wasn't sure if that was a good or a bad omen. Goswin also loved the emperor, as far as she knew, and he was pretty much a monster.

"This is Rutu, by the way," he continued. "Rutu, stand up."

She did as she was told, jewelry jangling from each limb as she straightened up. Now there were many eyes upon her, and she resolved to ignore them all, and stare straight at the Emperor instead.

"She is an asset to my efforts, for a variety of reasons," Lazarus explained, albeit somewhat vaguely. There wasn't much time for him to elaborate, anyway, as the horns sounded the arrival of House Valentova. Lazarus gave a small and polite bow to the Emperor once more as he backed up toward his horse and the men of his personal guard as they gathered in the proper place. They ensured that a standard would be held aloft above Lord von Holt with its distinctive black and yellow checkerboard pattern, as well as its open-handed gauntlet. Goswin had created it to symbolize the empire's clash with the unknown, and authority without brutality.

It was nearly a laughing matter. Of course everyone knew that Goswin saw no practical difference between the two, and probably felt it was impossible to establish the former without the latter. It was Lazarus who actually believed in such a thing- authority without brutality. Of course, when your opponents are "savages" and your mercenaries are "civilized," who's really to say what's excessively brutal?

Lady Valentova's arrival took her mind off the matter quickly. Given that she had arrived in a stark black carriage drawn by black horses and wore a crown made of what appeared to be bone, it was probably intentional on the Lady's part- to steal everyone's attention with an eerie and surreal entrance. Rutu hid her amusement from Lazarus. He did not know it yet, but the young glyrran was taking mental notes to prepare for her own performances.

 

[Breadman]

Secrecy and subtlety have been involved in the invitation of the Highlord. The invitation bore the imperial seal and was addressed to him, but it had been written by the Exarch of whispers. Vigot remained silent and stoic as Viselic whispered into the emperor's ear. He looked to briefly to lord Kragh. Their eyes locking for a brief moment, but it was clear that the old lord wasn't happy with the presence of the Highlord of the wall and the secrecy of his invitation. Good. It means he understood the threat that was present beyond the wall.

The Watchers would be dismissed for now. Most of them stood back to watch the other houses come to show their glory and splendor. Many of these men and women harbored resentment for any number of these nobles as they were relinquished under the Highlord's care thanks to their signatures and laws. Something Pila could never learn to properly beat out of them. Someday she'd figure it out.

"Ter-Lu Saht, northern warriors! Mayhaps you may spare a mere envoy of her ignorance."

Vigot turned his head as he heard the unexpected voice and accent. It was mildly surprising, but the imperial city was the place for meetings like these. The satyr woman's greetings was foreign to him, but it took him a moment to understand it was a greeting as her mannerism suggested good intention.

"Well met to you as well. I would give you a proper greeting lady envoy, but I don't know your proper name." He spoke calmly. She was likely not of high nobility, but was not some criminal he's used to talking to. A welcome opportunity to speak plainly "What is on your mind?"

"Many speak oddly of your wall." she pouted with a shake of her head, only to brighten up as her silver eyes passed over them again "Make it seem small, but of great price. This envoy wishes to think of it with clarity."

"Make is seem small, but of great price? I'm not sure the men you speak to know exactly the scope of Reinor's wall." He commented as he placed a few finger under his chin and scratched his beard as he thought of a proper answer without creating a scene out of indignation. It wasn't her fault. She speaks to these ignorant and arrogant fools daily. How would she know the price they pay every year from them?

"Excuse me, Highlord." Goldbert leaned in carefully "I believe I can properly answer the lady's question." Vigot looked to his scoutmaster curiously and motioned to try. "I thank you, Highlord." Goldbert turned his face from his commander to the envoy "I would kiss your hand, madona. But this clunky thing I am to wear would make it hard to do. So please accept a mere bow of respect." The former thief pointed to his mask, the eyes visible and friendly underneath the metal. He bowed to her as he read in a book long ago. Pila rolled her eyes at the sight and looked to the coming carriages

"Now to your question. As my Highlord said, many do not understand the scope of the wall he watches over. It is small when you compare it to the kingdoms it protects and the land beyond it. But if you were to come visit us, you will notice that Rainor's wall is a massive construct that can ward off many dangers. That is when the price comes in. Men, provisions and materials. All important for us to perform our duties. Masons and builders to maintain and expand the wall, keep and towers. Men and women to fill our ranks as soldiers for our dear Pila to turn into warriors or for me to train into eagle-eyed scouts and others to perform the day to day tasks we all need." He paused for a moment as he placed his hands together "You can guess why the cost is so great every year. We don't wait for the dangers to come to us you see. Often times I lead expeditions beyond to investigate strange occurrences or the Highlord intercepts a wildling raid with his forces."

"Icewrack is cold and dangerous place that holds many secrets to this day, so its important for us to try and understand what exactly we're dealing with." The Highlord added "I hope our Scoutmaster has been informative."

 

[joshuadim]

The Golden Talon Tavern
Interacting: Worthlessplebian Buu​

Jomier did not flinch at the remarks made by the Wulpine as he simply stared at him, before his lips curled slightly into a smile at the sheer bloodthirst on display. Siert’s interjection made him keep his smile as he looked towards the armored figure, before taking a sip of his own brew to cool his throat. “Avoiding bloodshed is preferable. Attention is the last thing anyone needs.” Jomier spoke up once he set his tankard back down with a soft thud. “However, there are situations were some… persuasion, might be needed.” A euphemism for violence, of course, as he gave a sly wink to the two sellswords in front of him.

When asked by Siert of his intentions, Jomier only gave a shrug. “Why does anyone hire two sellswords who are not affiliated with anyone? Discretion. And, perhaps, a modicum of loyalty with the coin I bring.” He shifted in his seat as he took another sip of his ale, before grimacing: “Gods, I would have hoped they had at least decent drink instead of piss.” Jomier muttered before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

“Are you aware of how tournament brackets work? Several small groups are selected from the pool, where they compete for top places to fight against members of other groups.” Jomier then went to explain, “That’s where you will come in.” He pointed to Siert quickly to indicate who he was mentioning in the moment. “I can get you into one of the groups, and there I will need you to fight. But not fairly, of course. You will simply cripple the main contender there: Ser Lionel de Patride. You’ll recognize him by the banner he wears, being a silver lion on a field of green and black.” He then nodded to Siert: “Make sure he can’t fight after he faces you. I don’t care how you do it. Though if you can sneak it without getting disqualified… all the better.”

Jomier then turned his head to Amarok and gave a grin: “And you, my friend, will deliver a message for me.” The younger Kalfas spoke as he tapped a finger on the table. “One of the fighters in the other groups, going by the moniker ‘The Iron Wall’, owes a considerable debt to a man he fears. You can find him in a lodging tonight in Stonewall, just a few streets down from here, called the Hearth and Harp Inn. He’ll probably be at the back, gambling away what coin he has to some street hagglers.”

Jomier then gave a smile to Amarok: “Tell him, Baron Karster gives his regards. He’ll understand. If he gets… uncooperative… don’t kill him.”

---

The Imperial Palace
Interacting: K0mori Vexumin Count of This and That
Mentioned: Emperor Sagan
​

The Emperor gave a smile to Lazarus’ reporting of the Redlands, as he gave a nod of approval. “That is good… very good to hear. Though, you would never have had to bear such a burden were it not for my brother’s mistakes.” Verus spoke, though giving a grim smile as the rebellion’s memories swelled up. “The darkest of those days are behind us, at least. We can hope for a better future…”

When Lazarus introduced him to Rutu, the emperor gave off a look of doubt for a moment before nodding. He opted to trust the word of Lazarus about her usefulness to his efforts, for he saw no reason to have such doubt in the first place. Not when the young Lord was doing the best he could in the Redlands. “Greetings as well to you, Rutu.” He then said, before returning his attention to Lazarus. “There is a matter I wish to speak with you on, with the Imperial Council as well. You may find us after I have spoken with the Highlord.”

With that matter settled, Lazarus and Rutu left to allow the other arrivals to meet the Emperor. He started first with the arrival of House Lynnmare, loyal servants to House Brentor for generations now, as he greeted Marius on his approach. The man knelt in the moment but was bid to rise by the Emperor just as quickly just as he gave the man a pat on the shoulder. “House Brentor welcomes House Lynnmare,” the Emperor said, “It is good to see you Marius. How fares your realm?”

By now, Ser Eren had returned with a small vial and the Imperial Apothacary in tow. “Your grace, your-“ the Lord Commander of the Redguard begin to say but was quickly hushed by the Emperor with an annoyed look. “Yes, yes, I’ll have it soon damn it. Just wait until after I greet the Lords of the realm, will you?” Verus spoke in mild anger, which had Ser Eren back off quickly, but remained close to the Emperor’s side as a precaution just in case if there was another fit.

“I’ve never heard of House Lynnmare.” Enya whispered to her kin as she watched the exchange between the Emperor and Marius, which brought out a scoff from Ser Harald as he observed. “Not a surprise that the greatest ass-kissers of the Empire show up here.”

“A rather crude remark from Harald, but… yes.” Uchtred then spoke softly, “They’re known for their loyalty to House Brentor. Unwavering. I’m not familiar with the new Lord, but I know his grandfather was Exarch of Coin for Nurin III. Beyond that, I couldn’t really say for myself.”

The arrival of House Valentova to the mix brought about the curiosity of House Kragh as black horses with an equally black carriage brought forth Lady Annaliese to the forefront. It was as if she wanted attention to herself as many of the Houses that had arrived already looked on with a mix of curiosity and concern. A few of the lesser houses of the Hinterlands that had already arrived whispered among themselves, though about what exactly she could not say.

With House Kragh, they could only watch without any of the prejudices that others had as the younger members looked on in confusion. “Is she… sick? Why does she look so pale? And frail?” Jomner, Harald’s squire, whispered as he looked at the little Lady with concern. But this genuine concern only brought out a stifled laugh from Calder as he shrugged: “That’s just what Southron women look like. Frail, like old bones. I bet a breeze could knock her over.” The Wulpine commented, bringing out a chuckle from Ser Harald as he looked away to try not to laugh out loud. Uchtred was not amused however as he shot a glance towards Calder, leading to the Wulpine to quickly pipe down and look away in embarrassment.

Elsewhere came Prince Landon, the eldest of the Emperor’s sons, came on approach towards Damik and Kyraug with a haughty grin and open arms. “As my dear father said, welcome to Ifosea!” The brash lordling spoke once he was in arms reach to the two of them. “I trust the road was kind? Harsh journey for anyone to travel across the entire Empire for the tourney.”

He then whipped his head to Kyraug, barely containing his disdain for his kind as he let out a feigned smile. “And you! Out of whatever bog you’ve come from… the heat here isn’t killing you is it?” Landon asked, “Bah, I kid. I’ll have a talk with your master here, so... excuse us.” He draped an arm around Damik’s shoulder as he led him a bit away from Kyraug to speak semi-privately. “Lord Bralmeyer, I don’t think it’s any secret that me and my brothers vie for support to the throne. I trust I can count on you? After all, I *am* the eldest. And Imperial law backs my claim as the strongest.” Landon then spoke quietly, his tone changing from overtly joyous to serious in a split second.

The eldest Brentor son’s gaze narrowed as he observed Damik’s face before continuing to speak: “I know of your family’s efforts to deal with the savages in the swamps. With me as Emperor, I will give you the support you need to tame the lizards and frogs. You will secure your family’s legacy, make your father proud… and make the Empire all the more safe on the roads in the Morasses.”

He turned his head to see both Prince Maril and Prince Cabrus also going about to introduce themselves to the other Houses that had gathered so far, which made Landon scoff. “Look at them. Vultures. All of them. They think they’re *better* than me, just because I like to have a good drink often. What is life if not to enjoy the good things?”

Landon’s gaze settled on Davin in particular, leading Landon to scowl angrily at his biggest competitor for the throne thus far. “Watch out for Davin. You know what he does to people who displeases him…” Landon gave as parting words before removing his arm from draping on Damik and smiled again. “Think about my offer!” the eldest Brentor son then said before walking off merrily, as if nothing had happened.

 

[Count of This and That]

Marius approached when beckoned by the Emperor and fell to a knee, bowing his head low and staring at the floor. Before rising, he spoke in a loud and booming voice, his gaze remaining at the ground. "I, Marius Lynnmare, first of his name, Lord of Recchia, and head of House Lynnmare forever affirm my loyalty to Verus, sixth of his name, Emperor of the Arathian Empire, Lord Protector of the Realm and Defender of the Faith." He said. House Lynnmare loved to randomly reaffirm their loyalty whenever they got a chance. It was a token of their loyalty. Having risen with the Emperor's signal to do so, Marius accepted the pat on the shoulder by the Emperor and bowed his head briefly in acknowledgement of the words spoken.

"My lands fare well, Your Grace. This season's harvest is looking to be quite bountiful, something I am quite pleased with. My people, like all true servants of the Empire, are distraught by reports of your illness. I myself spend many evenings praying for your recovery. I extend nothing but the greatest, most sincere, well-wishes that a man can extend to his valiant liege. You are to this empire like the sun is to our earth. For without you, there is darkness." Marius spoke in a sincere and passionate tone, his voice carrying well and easily audible for most people around them. He was a confident and proud speaker, which removed some of the natural humiliation from saying such subservient words. "I should hate to take up too much of your time, Your Grace, so I shall simply offer you my services and my aid in any and all regards, and beg that you burden me with any task you deem worthy of my attention and my oversight." Marius smiled ever-so-slightly, putting his right hand over his heart, and bowed at the waist.

Presuming he was dismissed by the Emperor, Marius stepped aside to allow the next person to speak with the Emperor and waited to see if any of the four sons would speak to him. He hoped one would. A good chance to get an early impression of where things lied. He did not mind saying those words to the Emperor but he hoped to establish himself above such humilities at some point. But for now, he would be a loyal dog like he had been raised to be. Marius smoothed back the right side of his hair with his right hand, before fidgeting with the wedding band on his left ring finger; an unconscious habit he had developed a little after his wedding. Something he did when he was thinking. Which meant it was something he did quite a lot.

 

[Worthlessplebian]

Siert could not help but look at their graceful, gainful employer with a look of suspicion. The last drops of ale were downed immediately while Siert thought about why Lord Jomier did not answer his question; indeed, he had dodged it entirely. Siert wondered whether the Lordling heard him correctly because he specifically wanted an explanation to why he's doing this. The mug thumped against the table as Siert looked agreeably to the Jomier. "Aye, we'll do these deeds. The silver lion won't walk tonight or ever again." Flashed a grin with a hint of malice before settling back in his chair to contemplate.

Much as he'd like, he could not refuse an opportunity this wide and fruitful. Monetarily, this should hold them over for at least two weeks and through the nobleman, Jomier Kalfas, and his connections could set them with people in dire need of their services. In fact, an unsettling feeling in his gut tells him that their services might come in high demand soon. Very soon. What should he make of this lordling though? The armoured man wants to assume that he, Jomier, is merely screwing with other noblehouses or... Family drama?

He'll be weary though. When it comes to these houses and their tasks, they always need someone to fall. He leans into his Wulpine companion and whispers covertly. "Signal if something's amiss later. Two finger snaps." Whether Amarok would do it is up to debate, Siert sometimes thinks the wolf warrior springs an enemy's trap just for a good slaughter.

Buu joshuadim

 

[joshuadim]

The Imperial Palace
Emperor Verus Interactions: Count of This and That Emperor Sagan​

The Emperor gave off a weak smile towards Marius’ overt show of loyalty, and could only chuckle with regards to his own health. “I can assure you, such reports on my health can sometimes be greatly exaggerated. There is no need to worry so deeply, Marius.” Verus replied, though his words wavered at the white lie he presented near the end. “Though I am grateful for your concern, nonetheless. And your harvests are most welcome, for the hunger of the people never ends.” He then spoke, “For it is grain that drives the Empire at its root, not steel or coin of any kind.”

Riseig looked towards his grandfather with curiosity at this statement, which prompted a response from the old bear: “He speaks truly. An empire cannot function if its people starve. And the realms further south are breadbaskets. Though I know House Lynnmare’s production is dwarfed by that of the houses of the Southlands…” he whispered to his grandchildren, offering more context and information to them. “House Kalfas’ control of a large portion of grain production gives them significant influence. A worrisome prospect towards the other claimants I suspect.”

“But… isn’t Prince Kalfas much further down the line?” Enya whispered in confusion, “What would make people support him?”

“Succession law, despite its claims, can be fickle to enforce. Especially with such steep political divides.” Uchtred spoke, observing as Marius was then dismissed for the time being from the Emperor’s presence as it was Annaleise’s turn to greet the man himself. “…I hope it doesn’t come to that. Enough blood has been spilt in Imperial history over these familial squabbles.”

On Lady Valentova’s approach to the Emperor, he spoke again: “House Brentor welcomes House Valentova.” he began to say, which sparked some audible murmurs from some of the other houses of the Hinterlands that had arrived either earlier or afterwards. Though Houses of other regions did not share this as they knew not of their reputation. Notably absent from this however was Lord Harkren as she only observed with a stoic look upon her face. The emperor bid Annaliese and her court to rise with a wave of his hand and took a moment to observe her. “…forgive me that I do not know much of your House. How fares your lands?” the Emperor then asked, offering a courteous smile.

---

Prince Davin Interactions: Breadman GrieveWriter​

Meanwhile, as Adelaide and the Watchers spoke, they were approached by Prince Davin who was intent on listening to Golddbert’s words carefully before speaking. “Dangerous and kept at bay by your diligent service.” The Prince spoke as he gave a nod towards the Highlord, “Though, I am just as surprised as my father that you are here. I look forward to the Council meeting on that.” He then turned his attention briefly to Adelaide then back to Vigot: “I see you have met Adelaide of the Coincounter’s Consortium. Here to keep an eye on things and lord over our finances.” Davin spoke rather bluntly before looking to the Satyr woman. “A simple jest, I assure you.”

“Though, tell me Highlord,” the Prince then spoke in return of his attention to Vigot, “I assume you’ll need more men per the usual? I’ll see if our stockades have proper candidates willing to take the oath and march up north.”

---

Prince Cabrus Interaction: Infab
​

As House Froste stood at attention following their interaction with the Emperor, and the arrival of many other houses of the Empire, they were suddenly now in the sights of Prince Cabrus who was rapidly on approach. He quickly looked over to his shoulder to see if his brother was in pursuit which, much to his pleasure, he was busy with another house. He quickly straightened himself and gave a quick bow: "Lord Froste, a pleasure to see you here." he started with a nod, though with a noticeable rigidity in his actions. "Condolences about your loss. It leaves a lot on your plate, I imagine."

He quickly turned to both Maria and Titus and gave a quick nod: "If I might have a quick word with your Lord." he stated, and practically dragged Oliver off without waiting for a reply. A few steps off the way allowed for a modicum of privacy, and Cabrus took another look outwards to make sure before returning back to Oliver and leaned in closer. "I assume you might know *why* I'm talking to you ahead of my brothers, no?"

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Prince Landon Interaction: K0mori
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Following his outing with Damik and his offer, Landon quickly manoeuvred towards his next target to speak to. He approached quickly towards Lazarus and Rutu and, like with House Bralmeyer, approached with open arms and a haughty grin. "My Lord! It is good to see you as well. The Defender of the Redlands against the malicious agents of discord himself." he spoke, offering a sparing glance towards Rutu. His disdain of non-humans definitively extended towards the cat-folk as his upper lip raised at the sight of her, but he quickly returned attention back towards a respectable member of the Empire.

"You can be honest with me," Landon then spoke, "Unlike many, I see the threat to the Empire its *malignant* subjects create. When I become Emperor, I intend to rectify that and bring back the order that we once had. Do you require more Imperial banners stationed in the Redlands to deal with the problem?"

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The Golden Talon Tavern
Interacting: Worthlessplebian Buu​

“Excellent. I look forward to seeing you on the field tomorrow then. You’ll be in Group C; just give them your name and they’ll let you in for the round of fighting.” Jomier then spoke with a sly grin, “And if you manage to get through this without getting disqualified, there will be more for you to do.” The lesser Kalfas took a swig from his mug, grimacing again at the taste. He mustered through it in order to at least celebrate this business transaction between the three of them, but it was very visible that the drink did not agree to his sensibilities.

“If you have any other questions about tomorrow, do of course ask and I’ll try my best to answer.” Jomier then spoke, before turning his gaze to Amarok. “And you as well for tonight. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to wade into things completely blind?”

 

[Vexumin]

As the prince left Damik he returned to Kyraug's side. The two look to each other with some manner of understanding about just what the meeting was all about. Kyraug had to take the insult without word of argument, just a bow of respect and nothing more. It honestly did not matter much to the Vadyeen. Such comments were normal. There have been plenty of times where guests have arrived and made comments about the Vadyeen servant. They mention how odd he looks, how abnormal. Some don't even say anything, just give him a malicious look as they pass or approach. He was used to such things though.

Damik takes a deep breath in as he watches Prince Landon begin to approach another house. He was not quite prepared for the interaction.

"Didn't give me a warning, Kyra," he says with a sigh.

"Forgive me, master. I didn't believe speaking without your permission in this situation would have been desirable."

The young lord nods his head at that, but he still sort of wished that Kyraug could have been near during the Princes appeal for support. Honestly, the young lord wasn't sure what he should have said. Did he give support and aim to accept aid should Landon take the throne? It was a tempting offer, but...

No. No, House Bralmeyer bears their own forces and they have not required much assistance thus far. It has been A slow endeavor, pushing into Vadyeen lands, but their success was bound to come sooner or later. Just like his father, Damik was confident in his house and those that serve it. They were strong, but that strength had yet to truly manifest in a social manner for the young lord. His father would have no trouble stating his intentions and standing behind his words with every fiber of his being, confident and unwavering in the path he decides to take.

For Damik though, being face to face with a Prince made him feel less than confident as a lord.

"Master. I can tell you now, your father would have not budged if it was his will to remain where he was. However, forgive me for saying as much, but you are not your father. Draw confidence from the strength you do possess."

Damik raised a brow, looking at Kyra.

"The strength I possess? We both know that I am hardly as strong as my father. The prince was free to usher me about as he wished. I just followed."

"Physical strength may not be one of your traits, but you can be crafty when you wish. You are good when speaking with others and you have the potential to be a lord worthy of the station."

Kyraug looks to Damik and offers a slight smile.

"Puff out your chest, master. Be worthy of your title. You're more than capable."

Damik blinks at the Vadyeen before he sniffs, doing as he was suggested. He puffs out his chest and straightens his garments after having been pulled about by the prince. He offers a nod to Kyraug and a smile back.

"You're right Kyra. I can be so much more than my father was. I'll prove I am worthy."

Kyraug raises his head, assuming his place once again as a servant, lessening the casual nature that he had just shared with his lord.

"Very good, master. Now, speaking of the prince, I assume he approached over the current matter of who shall succeed the emperor."

"Indeed he did. A bit of muscling was involved in trying to gain my support. I am ashamed that I did not stand my ground. House Bralmeyer did not come to take sides. We stand tall for the throne and the good of the empire. We aim to prove our value no matter who claims the throne. No matter whose side is taken, many others will not be pleased. Especially if those I support do not succeed."

 

[GrieveWriter]

Adelaide
Interaction/Mention: Breadman joshuadim

The Highlord's initial response to Adelaide's query was more than enough to make her drop her smile. Though she raised an eyebrow in confusion at his distaste for the descriptions she'd received, internally his annoyance spoke plenty on its own. Perhaps it was simply anger over not being viewed well by certain factions in the capital, but the way he paused to find his words led Adelaide down a different line of thought.

Rainor's Wall wasn't just something the Consortium didn't fully understand, it very well could be that many in the Imperial Capital failed to understand it either.

Her worries were only confirmed by the armored gentleman who stepped in for the Highlord. He had delightfully charming mannerisms despite the clunky armor, a sign of experience and dexterity. Though from the short look their woman companion gave at him, Adelaide wasn't sure whether he was putting on the display for her sake or if it was indicative of his persona in general. Either way, she appreciated the display enough for it to bring a smile back to her painted lips.

It didn't last long through his explanation, however.

She may have played up how little she knew of the wall at first, but it became clear fairly quickly that even what she did know was fairly lacking. She'd pictured a fortification yes, but nothing of the sheer scale being described to her. The Consortium had seen growing sentiment against the wall simply because of how poorly their contacts viewed it, but Adelaide was confident the Empire would have already done away with it if it lost its purpose.

The faces of the Watchers showed no signs of exaggeration or half-truths, and the sureness in the Highlord's voice went a long way in convincing her of their authenticity. Though she wanted to nod plentifully and note how well the Scoutmaster had painted a picture for her, Adelaide just rubbed at her chin before lettinga curse slip from her lips.

"Nerkhen..." she practically whispered to herself as she looked down and thought.

Despite her best efforts, Adelaide wasn't sure if she would even be able to portray how big of a deal Rainor's Wall was to the rest of the Consortium in letters alone. It was so far away and described to such a mass scale compared to what they knew. To suddenly turn around and explain that what they all knew to be a massive waste of Imperial resources was actually a bulwark against some unfathomable danger may even be viewed as exaggerated.

Adelaide closed her eyes and calmed herself. Simply confirming its importance would be enough at the moment, she would take that one step at a time.

"Gehl-messin Scoutmaster, Highlord." she gave them a bow as she opened her eyes "Very helpful...and troubling, yes."

It was then that the words of Prince Davin reached her ears, and she looked over to see him approaching with words of thanks for the Highlord. He took one look at Adelaide before introducing her and her 'particular role' to the Watchers rather bluntly. Though he was quick to label his words as a mere jest, Adelaide waved off his assurance whilst muffling a chuckle behind her other hand.

"A jest perhaps, but not untrue." she nodded to him before shrugging "What's bad for your coffers is bad for our coffers."

But when Prince Davin brought up the 'Usual' allotment of men, she found herself tilting her head again.

"Oh? Do you usually come here for new warriors?" she couldn't help but ask the Highlord before looking around the courtyard "With the murmurs and looks I saw upon your arrival. I was convinced this was uncommon, something to worry over."

 

[K0mori]

Following his outing with Damik and his offer, Landon quickly manoeuvred towards his next target to speak to. He approached quickly towards Lazarus and Rutu and, like with House Bralmeyer, approached with open arms and a haughty grin. "My Lord! It is good to see you as well. The Defender of the Redlands against the malicious agents of discord himself." he spoke, offering a sparing glance towards Rutu. His disdain of non-humans definitively extended towards the cat-folk as his upper lip raised at the sight of her, but he quickly returned attention back towards a respectable member of the Empire.

"You can be honest with me," Landon then spoke, "Unlike many, I see the threat to the Empire its *malignant* subjects create. When I become Emperor, I intend to rectify that and bring back the order that we once had. Do you require more Imperial banners stationed in the Redlands to deal with the problem?"

Lazarus greeted Prince Landon with a sneering smile that Rutu knew quite well. It was the face he wore whenever he was forced to entertain a guest at Castle Marisporta that he found annoying or troublesome, but didn't wish to show it. For those who didn't know the Lord well, it did well to hide his disdain, but Rutu recognized the subtle differences between the genuine respect Lazarus showed to the Emperor, versus the obligatory respect he paid the man's eldest son.

Of course, Lazarus hadn't chosen to smile differently; it was merely the consequence of a long list of concerns playing on the man's conscience at the same time. The Emperor had invited him to a private discussion once the pompous arrival of the nobles had run its course, which, given the man's advanced age and poor health, could hold serious implications for the future he would not be a part of. It would also explain why Landon had made this sudden overture to Lazarus before the latter had even a chance to rest his legs and back after a long journey. Unlike nearly all of the other notables gathered there today, Lazarus had completed the entire journey on horseback, with his possessions carried along in a wagon along with those belonging to Rutu and the guards. It was the Lord's routine to travel in much the same way he would in his own lands- as if he were commanding a military expedition.

However, unlike those unpleasant marches in the dusty, scorched grasslands out east that Rutu was sometimes forced to trek for one contrived reason or another, Lazarus did not sleep in a tent. Instead, he sent a messenger ahead of his riding party to towns further up the road in order to locate a safe dwelling for the night and pay for the right to take possession upon his arrival, only for the night. His guards would stay close by, in the common rooms of inns or on the property just outside the entrances, to take turns keeping watch. Lazarus did not often do these things in the Redlands due to his contempt for glyrran dwellings, which he considered to be variously foreign, unclean, or dangerous. Hence, on those outings, he would sleep in a well-guarded tent if a dwelling not built in the imperial fashion could be found.

"Ah, Prince Landon," Lazarus replied wryly, "when I marry, I'll do so for love, not for my political station."

Rutu nearly laughed, as did the Captain of Lazarus' guard, Dominik. Although his lanky frame did not impress the same notion of strength on the public's imagination as some of the others gathered there today, he was still several inches taller than his Lord and dressed in heavy armor which would have been impractical back home due to the climate. In fact, Dominik had only dressed in this armor shortly before reaching Ifosea in order to conserve his stamina. The truth was that he was such a skilled fighter that he could easily work as a mercenary in any province or weather condition the Empire could offer him.

However, it was Lazarus who had the need and pockets deep enough to recruit the snowy-haired young man, and within only a year or so after arriving in Marisporta, Dominik had taken the place of the prior guard captain, which Goswin had left behind. It was clear that the Captain and the Lord were good friends with each other, although Dominik rarely spoke his mind and was difficult to amuse- this time was an exception.

"I kid, of course," Lazarus quickly added. "Assuming all goes well with the succession, the Empire will be in good hands. But I do not believe we need an increase of Imperial military presence in the Redlands; our own soldiers are doing the job well as it is. If anything, we are in need of economic provisions with which to further our reconstruction of the frontier into a civilized land, but I am also aware of the current state of Imperial finances," he said.

Rutu was surprised by the response. Landon seemed to be offering Lazarus exactly what he wanted out of a leader, so much so that he jokingly accused Landon of attempting to propose marriage. But now he seemed to be putting more distance between himself and the Prince. Had Lazarus detected something that Rutu hadn't? Or was this merely him trying to reinforce that misleading notion that the Redlands were on the verge of attaining peace?

 

[Emperor Sagan]

The emperor bid Annaliese and her court to rise with a wave of his hand and took a moment to observe her. “…forgive me that I do not know much of your House. How fares your lands?” the Emperor then asked, offering a courteous smile.

Lady Valentova and those of her inner court - those allowed the right to remain beside or just behind her - all rose as directed by the Emperor. She was well practiced and dexterous enough that she could have held her low curtsy for several minutes before her legs threatened to give out. Despite having little reason to ever perform so formal a stance, Valentova was a dancer. An exquisite one, if you asked her opinion, but one that was verified with silent nods by those around her. She found balance and strength in the intricate movements. The almost mesmerizing motions one could maintain and feats of flexibility she could achieve was captivating enough that when she did so, often alone in the silent marbled hall of the ballroom that saw few visitors and fewer celebrations, even her closet servants watched with interest as they stood in the shadows cast by imposing statures of glaring forest beasts. It was poetic, in some respects - a silent audience for a silent dance.

She matched the emperor's courteous smile with a placating one of her own, flashing her eyes and gazing up at the ailing old man. Inwardly, however, she was not amused at his remark on knowing little of her land. She didn't expect him to, of course. Even she couldn't name all the tiresome burghers and tower-wardens of her realm and where the moss grew on every stone. But she would take care not to admit it. For the emperor to say as much out loud before others was an admission that her lands did not warrant any serious attention. She did prefer it that way to some extent, but she wanted them to marvel at the crafts of her land. The fine metals, the good quality lumber, the baubles of the artisans. Where was the praise? Without it, it only showed the depths of ignorance of the lowlanders around her.

"My land fares well, Your Majesty," Valentova said, cupping her hands before her in a traditional speaking pose. She knew there was little time to say anything. "We are a blessed and loyal people, and positively delighted to be invited to such a beautiful realm as this. So full of prosperity and... opportunity." From the corner of her eye, she spotted and met Lord Harkren's stoic expression, Valentova doing her best to communicate cold steel through her eyes against her mountain neighbors. "And might I introduce my younger brother, Prince Desmond Valentova. We are the remainder of what blood exists for our House."

The young boy held his demeanor well and bowed his head, doffing his cap in aristocratic fashion. "Thank you for your gracious invitation, Your Majesty," he said in a gentle voice.

There were distant cousins Valentova knew of, many who had been married off in years or, in some respects, ages gone by. While the lineage carried on in a thin sliver of ancestry through these distant souls, Lady Annaliese Valentova and Prince Desmond were, indeed, the only primary and secondary persons of their House, both unwed and without children, though this was only a condition of consideration for Lady Valentova who was of an expected age. She could not bring herself to marry the lesser lords of her realm, nor could she imagine officiating one between her brother and a lesser lady. Heirs were needed, certainly, and at least on that matter she cared not what her brother got involved with. But a royal marriage was more than just that - it was power. And she would be damned before she settled for something as piss-poor as a concept of love or fawning gentlemen.