Fantasy King After King

[Siren77]

The day is the twelfth of May, the year being Five Hundred and Seventy One. It stands to have been seven months since the late King Kungen’s death, yet the kingdom of Örn still stands strong with the people going about business as usual. Business is being conducted in the streets as merchants attempt to sell their wares, and continue the endless cycle of free exchange amongst the people. At the years rise, as is custom the King Arvin did come before the people with a fortune from the Gods of the years events. It was stated that it is a fruitful year for crops, that it may be more bountiful than years previous. Many other promising fortunes were told, but one grave instance was made on its own. A warning, stating that the people of Örn would be wise to dispel their doubts and jealousies, or destruction and death may soon follow afterwards. Many took the year prophesies to heart, knowing them to be of the Gods will. Others continued to doubt, spitting upon the name of Arvin and letting their stubbornness drive them to new and dark places. A great many wonders will come, but so too will a great many horrors.

But, that is words of the future. Today is to be much more joyous and celebratory. It is King Arvin’s twenty first birthday, and to come with it is a large scale celebration to be had in the castle. People of any class, race, or background are allowed to attend and participate in the festivities! The King hopes the celebration will bring some goodwill from the people, though he knows full well that it could also be a magnet for trouble. But he will not worry himself with such things, as joy should be the only concern on his mind.

Guests of honor are to attend the festivities, and hopefully be a permanent addition amongst the castle walls.

Firstly is the ever adored Prince Lyrren, Arvin’s brother and High Duke of Wissenland. A cunning warrior, fighter, and most importantly political ally. It is no surprise to any that the Prince will be brought on as one of the few to aid The King in the coming days.

Secondly, an old friend of The King’s by the name of Tessa Rimbaud. A strong willed and well thought woman to aid The King as his closest advisor when posed with the toughest of choices. Close to none are aware as to how she met and came to be so close to The King, but in all honesty it matters not. Given that many now know her to be one of the kingdoms highest scholars, they know better than to question her being chosen.

The third in the lineup of this pantheon of chosen allies is the ever so strange Doctor Gabriele Heartsong. A half elf criminal previously charged with robbing graves and theft, but granted a second chance by the late King himself. Many think him a potential insurgent, someone who could rise against the crown at any moment. Whereas others think that it is not accident that both Kings trust the one named Crow. Whatever the case, his knowledge in the body of both human and demons is impeccable and rivaled by none in the slightest. He’s too valuable to waste such potential.

Next was the brave knight known as Aurin Elliot, a chosen champion to aid in training and leading the armies of Örn where Arvin and Lyrren had left off. He was in fact one of the few to approach The King himself and pledge his loyalties to him, which Arvin was all too eager to accept. Though the task of raising an army of millions of strong willed souls is a daunting task, and The King has made it obvious that two would be more suitable than one. Though he hasn’t spoken to many as to who he is thinking of choosing as the other High General.

Fifth, a rather common name throughout The Kingdom. Sergio Acre Yarrow De Iuliis, the whisperer to the wind. A man not to be trifled with, there are not many secrets that he does not know of, and for this he is a valuable political asset. The King invited and convinced him to join him amongst his allies, but at a price of revealing secrets of his own. For secrets of a King are more valuable than any information to be held against a Duke or Duchess. No one knows of their deal, save for the very wind that travels with Sergio. Most are only led to believe that other motives have been made.

Last, but certainly not least, the beauty of Örn. Aurelia Luxenri, one of the few nobles choosing to side with the new King and not let their vision be blinded by greed and self interest. Skeptics have speculated that The King only invited her as a diplomat, for the purpose of wooing her and making her his queen. However those close to the throne know the truth. She’s one of the last connections he has to the noblepeople of the Kingdom, and perhaps the last chance of mending the bond torn by The Void and talking things out before blood can be shed. Her influence knows no bounds, so her strength and usefulness cannot be denied.

As the hour of celebrations draws near, the guests of honor approach the Castle one by one to be met not by The King, but instead by Prince Lyrren and Miss Rimbaud who have been instructed to keep his whereabouts a secret temporarily. For now all guests will be told that The King is conducting important and confidential business on his own, but will be happy to meet with them all during the celebrations. In the meantime, they are requested to converse and get to know one another, as if all works out they will be allies until the days of the oncoming conflict against The Void and it’s terrifying Demon Hordes.

Meanwhile, The King has made a voyage hours previously deep into the forests of the Western province. He seeks out the Paladin of Terran, Nemir Cesti. The last Judicator, and perhaps the greatest warrior the realm has ever seen second only to the Warrior King Kungen who she fought alongside in the great battle that took his life.

“The pieces of the chess board are set, and now all that is left to be done is strategize and plot a victory that will snuff out the Demon hordes for eternity. May the Gods watch over us, and may we not fail them.” -King Arvin Hashima

 

[Siren77]

Crunch... crunch... crunch...

The sound of fallen leaves crumbling and ancient twigs snapping filled the air, as a cloaked figure tread upon the results of a fall long past. Funny enough, this long dead plant life was likely alive when King Kungen was as well. Now just like the eighth king, they have fallen to ruin and are to be forgotten. But they will nourish future generations, just like the good that Kungen did for his people during his lifetime as The One True King.

One such generation, Arvin Hashima, was to be the individual who walked this lonely path, accompanied only by the countless trees that crowded its form. Adorned in his Aeroplate armor bestowed to him by the God Argus, the lightweight but sturdy metal subtly clinked with every step The King took. The Champions Blade was slung at his side as always, gleaming in the restricted light seeping through the heavy foliage above.

He was on route, looking for an individual of which posed little to no memory in his mind save for vague premonitions of riding a Hyena and the many stories his father told of the person. Nemir Cesti had turned to nothing more than a legend after the great battle of The Demon Hordes first encounter upon the earths surface. Fitting that she chose to place herself in the forest where they had retreated to after the battle was won by them, and The King slain. It took a great many conversations and convoluted bribes to figure out the location of the warrior, but it was all in the name of collecting the best in the realm to train his armies for the approaching Apocalypse. Nemir’s skill was unrivaled, and of she could train and replicate Warriors with similar attributes, it would spark a new hope for the Kingdom.

It had taken hours to travel this distance, given that he had opted to refrain from taking a horse. He didn’t want anyone to follow him, or put their noses into his business. Too many would twist his actions and make more excuses as to how he couldn’t be trusted or that he truly had evil intentions. Not only this, but secrecy was necessary to preserve Nemir’s location. On the chance that she preferred to remain secluded and away from the conflict, Arvin didn’t want to allow anyone else to find her and disrupt her peace. However he was hoping this wouldn’t be the case, and that Terran would reason with her and sway her to join the fray once more.

So from the early hours of the morning until now, Arvin had been walking unyieldingly through the realm on his way for the cabin his last source had told him of. Should this prove incorrect, the trail would once again run cold and it would be back to square one. As irritating as that would be, it was worth the risk. What started off as a general forest path, turned into many twists and turns and changes, even to the point that for a solid half an hour he walked in a set direction with no path to guide him. At a certain time and distance, it would be made obvious where Nemir’s location was. However, at the time frame and distance the source had described, Arvin didn’t even feel close to his destination. He was still in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by more failure and anger.

But for some reason, his spite refused him to give up on his quest. So further on he did tread, with an unseen force pushing him onward regardless of what seemed like a lost cause at this point. The path seemed to go nowhere but in circles, and yet The King felt so certain that his quest was so close to being finished. Sure enough, after about an hour longer, Arvin’s green eyes beheld a small and humble cabin situated in a clearing. This brought a great joy to Arvin’s heart, that caused him to dash forward and bring himself to his goal. But now a final question was to be posed. Was the legend truly inside these cabin walls, and if so was she still alive and well?

Ignoring the Voids seed of doubt, Arvin marched right up to the porch and in front of the cabin door before rapping his knuckles against the heavy door three times. Then he took a step back, and waited patiently to see whether he would receive a response from within.

‘Nemir Cesti, Judicator of Örn. The Stone God Terran sends his regards, and brings forward a new purpose in your life in the form of his chosen champion. Has fate finally brought me to you?’

Ramjammer

 

[Ramjammer]

Tendrils of smoke wafted gently towards the splintered ceiling, carrying their aroma up to the rafters. The small room was dimly lit. Only a scant few candles scattered around the small stone alter providing any illumination. Nemir sucked in a breath, calm and even as she pressed the edge of a dagger to a fingertip. She exhaled slowly as it drew blood for what had to be the thousandth time. The ritual never changed, not in over two decades. She'd draw her own blood, it needed only a few drops. And they'd spill into the offering bowl filled with hot coals and smoking incense.

Terran gave much, and he asked for little in return. A benevolent God if there ever was one. Who else would so politely ask for what was already theirs to begin with? Nemir couldn't say.

The offering was small, and the prayers that followed it were well practiced. Words that Nemir had recited practically from the day that she'd first learned to speak.

'Dear Master. Earthshaker. Life Bringer. Sturdy Rock and Stern Mountain high. My steps grow unsteady. May you even the road so that I do not falter. My mind grows foggy. May you grant it clarity to rival your most precious gems. Evil hounds me. May you grind it to dust, as windblown sands beat grand boulders into nothing. My Devotion is absolute, but only you are Eternal. So the stones speak.'

The nightmares weren't uncommon. Just one of many burdens granted by a dying House. Nemir would sift through them all each day, meditating before the Shrine, and hoping to make sense of them all. Sifting through soil and hoping to find a nugget of gold. These faint impressions often plagued her thoughts and Nemir had long since grown accustomed to them. Only a few would grant her the answers she needed. The rest would be tossed aside.

But as of late, her night musings had been exceptionally bloody. That too, was not uncommon. Especially when a woman made her living off of War. Nemir thought they'd reached their peak during the last Demonic Incursion. A war so violent and devastating that dreams became indistinguishable from reality.

But this was different. And most pressing of all, the dream was always the same.

She stood on a shattered battlefield. Blood lapped at her boots, past her ankles and bodies floated in the sea of ichor all around her. Who they were, she couldn't say. There were soldiers, merchants and peasants all around her. She recognized the finery that only Nobles would garb themselves in. A Priest, robed in white drifted past her, face down in the near black sludge.

There were no birds. No insects. Nothing creatures descended upon the battlefield to feast at the bounty War so graciously left them. Nemir would peer into the distance, hoping to spot something. Some movement, a marker revealing her location, but there was nothing. All that rooted her to the world was the blood-soaked ground beneath her feet.

The passing of a crown from one head to another, had historically always been a chaotic affair. Having lived to see such an event herself, Nemir would have believed that her dreams were merely a reflection of that. Someone, somewhere would always be unhappy about the whole thing. And there was usually someone just brave enough, and just stupid enough to act on that displeasure.

This is what the woman would have thought, had the dream ended there. With her standing in a sea of blood, surrounded by the victims of that chaos. War, was never picky about its victims.

But every time, the dream would change. And it would grow so much worse.

They sky, already darkened by clouds grew even darker. Ashen skies stretching to infinity grew black and for a brief spell Nemir would recall the day Kungen died. But this time there were no Demons. No wingbeats filled the air. Waves of bodies didn't blot out the horizon, all gnashing teeth and howling voices. It was simply dark. The kind of dark that allowed no light to break it, and yet it somehow remained vivid and clear, a darkness you could almost feel. A darkness that you knew you could grasp in your hands if you but reached out.

The blood continued to lap at her boots, and she could no longer make out the bodies as clearly as she could before, but she knew that they were still there. The silence was oppressive almost as much as the darkness, and it reigned for a long time.

And then it shattered.

Something howled in the dark, low and mournful. And it grew louder with each passing second. A wind, cold and biting descended on her and in an instant the sea of blood was wiped away. It hurled the bodies skyward. Each face was contorted in terror and agony, their last seconds spelled out as plain as day. They hadn't gone peacefully, and it had not been painless.

She always expected them to come hurtling back to the ground, but they never did. Instead, the corpses floated there, drifting limply through the air like an array of grotesque decorations.

The sight would always strike Nemir. Here, gravity held no meaning and droplets of blood would drift pass like scarlet beads strung across the expanse. The winds died, but the cold remained. But it was nothing compared to the voice that suddenly emanated from it.

'Sorrow awaits you here. It awaits you all.'

The voice wasn't just cold, but it was deep too. It reminded Nemir of winter nights far from any civilization. A cold that pierced through your clothing and settled itself deep in your bones. It reminded you that you were alive, but reminded you constantly of how easily it could take that life.

The voice was old. Older than any she'd heard, even without knowing the speaker's age. Older than the stones that made up the earth. Older than the stars long died out and who's fading light only just now reached the eye. It held endless, ceaseless wisdom. And in its wake, that wisdom left an enlightenment that only granted a gnawing madness that would consume any that dared hear it.

'The Wheel turns once more. It is as you have always said. How arrogant you are to try to halt it.'

Something moved in the dark, just past her field of vision. Something large, and something awful. Metal scraped against the ground there in the dark. The only sound in a place that only Nemir's dreams would ever take her, or so she prayed. The thing moved closer. She could hear its heavy, plodding steps echoing through the dark towards her. But she'd be frozen in place every time. Unable to move no matter how much she willed herself to.

It would always stop a scant few feet from her. And Nemir would crane her head back to stare up at the massive shape looming in the blackness. Whatever it was, she couldn't say. All that she knew was its cold, heavy voice and the scrape of metal against metal.

The last, and only thing Nemir would see was a massive hand reaching towards her. A gauntlet, grey and scarred. Each clawed finger bigger around than her wrist slowly inching towards her face. The voice would rumble again, but she could never quite catch it. And there was a small, terrified part of Nemir that was glad that she couldn't. The hand reached out, seeking and hungry.

And she would wake up every time.

It had been so for weeks now. Nemir's usual jumble of unfiltered thoughts and impressions instead giving way to frightful clarity. But even though she could recall each detail with marked vividness, Nemir could not decipher its meaning. It was growing tiresome for her. There was a meaning to be had but what, she couldn't say.

Prayer, and meditation did not help. Every effort to clear her mind and peer beyond the veil had borne no fruit, and Nemir was begging to grow nervous. This, was wholly unprecedented. And she was desperate to find the truth that she knew existed within the confines of her own consciousness.

Her legs had lost feeling, a sign that she'd been kneeling too long. Nemir rose and winced as her knees popped audibly. Her age hadn't started to show just yet, but even a small reminder that it would someday was unwelcome.

Concluding that sulking in her home was doing her no good, Nemir stepped outside. The Cabin was small, roughly hewn like its inhabitant and moreover, secluded. The wilds of Örn provided her with all that she needed. Food, lumber for shelter and clear springs to draw her water from. The abundance of space was also welcome. Ghan liked to roam the underbrush around the Cabin as he was far too large to be kept inside all day.

It was perfect. Or as close to perfection as one could get these days.

Arvin's Coronation had been met with the expected level of dissent, but it seemed to have quelled. At least outwardly. Nemir knew well that the minds and hearts of Men held a darkness that would rival that of her dreams. And things moved best in the shadows. The boy was doing well now, but only the Gods knew how long that would last.

To his credit, he was putting forth the effort to keep things running as smoothly as possible. Nemir only ventured from her home to root out lawlessness and trade for whatever supplies she needed. But even she knew about the grand party that the newly crowned King was throwing. His Birthday. A day that he apparently wished to celebrate with the entire Realm, and so had thrown open the doors to his Castle.

Nemir couldn't even count the number of security risks that posed.

But he wasn't alone, having gathered close associates old and new to assist him in whatever endeavors he needed them to. The boy was doing well, and Nemir was somewhat glad. The less difficult it was for him to settle into his role, the less work she had to do.

She strolled idly through her garden as she mused, and Ghan's head popped up suddenly amidst the patch of flowers. The Hyena yipped softly before scrambling over to her and butting at her hand with his over-sized head. Nemir smiled softly and scratched behind each of Ghan's spotted ears.

"Doing some gardening, I see." She mumbled, reaching down to pat the Hyena's neck. She paused however as Ghan's ears pricked, and his head snapped over to stare off into the treeline intently.

Nemir tensed suddenly and her gaze shifted in the same direction.

Nobody knew that she was out here. Well, people knew that she lived in the area, but were smart enough to not go poking around. Nemir liked her privacy, and she enjoyed the quiet most of all. Her first instinct was to assume that a lost traveler had merely stumbled upon her location. But the sound of quickly approaching footsteps told another tale. They were too sure to be the confused stumbling of someone lost. And they were headed straight towards her. Someone, it seemed, had been looking for her.

They weren't going to be happy with what they found.


Nemir turned to face the approaching individual, and Ghan's head cocked with interest. That too, was strange. The Hyena should have been wary of a stranger. But seemed intrigued by the presence in the woods above all else.

That interest became excitement as a voice hailed her from the woods, and the large beast bounced on his paws elatedly as his tail wagged furiously.

It was Arvin.

The pair went far back. When Arvin was just a boy and his head barely came up to the Hyena's broad chest. They hadn't seen each other since Krugen's death. But Ghan's nose still worked as well as it ever did.

Nemir's eyes narrowed sharply as she watched the man approach. Far taller than he had been when she first laid eyes on him all those years ago. He looked the part of a King. Sure, strong and his eyes glinted with a keen intellect.

"I will not ask how you found me, as I know the answer will only disappoint me. It wasn't Fate that brought you here. Merely loose lips and perhaps some coin." Nemir's voice was stern, but not angry. She'd made great pains to keep herself hidden. It stood to reason that it forced the young King to rub elbows with the kind of people that knew more than they rightfully should have.

She continued to stroke Ghan's ears, trying to calm the excited mass of fur down somewhat. "I suppose I should wish you a happy Birthday then. If you come to collect your gift, all I can give you is dull company and a now cold meal. If you haven't come for those luxuries, then you may tell me what it IS that you're here for."

 

[ItsKenAgain]

Aurin relished in a long breath as he gazed over the streets of the kingdom from his quarters, his hands resting on the fine stone of which the castle was built. The city was more alive than most days, and certainly more than any day since the tragic passing of King Kungen and the ending of the Void’s wave against mankind. The streets were filled with merchants shouting of great sales for this special occasion, and construction for all matters of games and performances dotted the city. Surely after all that had passed, and the threat of what was to come, this birthday celebration for King Arvin would serve as a great relief to the people. Such an opportunity would not be lacking on any great expenses from anyone who possessed even but little wealth.

Today, everybody would treat themselves to the festivities, whether noble, royal, or peasant. Aurin would have the privilege to indulge in the splendors that came with being in the King’s company. He would undoubtedly be acquainted with a handful of significantly astute individuals who shared the same honor. This proxy both excited him and filled him with a seed of dread. The same gnawing voice that had been in the pit of his core since the words of his former high lord shamed him from his place of service following the end of the war against the Void. He had been marked a coward, and a disloyal man by the high lord he had spent the years of his youth caring for and promising to protect.

He knew he couldn’t return home, and couldn’t dare to place the blame he carried upon his family. That’s what had brought him to the royal castle months ago, amidst the dissent of the people after King Kungen did not return, but his son, a man not even yet of age for kinghood, was said to have been appointed by the gods to take reign. Many did not believe this to be the truth, some thought it a conjuration of lies to put the young man on the throne ahead of his rightful time. Aurin did not take decisions of the gods lightly. If this was truly their chosen leader for mankind, it would be proved regardless of belief.

Such a time of chaos presented him a chance to pledge loyalty to one who needed it the most from what was left of Orn. King Arvin, who seemed eager to show grace when Aurin came to him, begging to serve, and had welcomed him into his castle since to prepare for this great feat. This would be his chance to restore honor to his name, but Aurin couldn’t help but feel he didn’t deserve this mercy. Now he was appointed to restore the Kingdom’s army, and create a new wave of soldiers to fight the next wave prophesied to come. Aurin, a man who had shamefully taken leave during the Void’s attack, had seen nothing but a small taste of true battle, but had been trained a skillful fighter. A man who had now been slapped with the reality that wealth could put you in the position of a great warrior, but it could not afford one with true honor.

He spent quite a bit of time wrestling with these thoughts. Certainly if he were to restore his good name he couldn’t allow himself to fold under this pressure, and lead others under a shroud of doubt. No, he would have to present himself as a proud Noble, and now as a royal servant to the king. Still, he held disdain in his gaze as he turned to eye himself in the mirror by his open wardrobe. It was time for him to put on his costume for the night.

The dark blue and green florals of Valesbriar transformed him from the lone man he had become, back into the fold as an heir to the Elliot Family. He would don these rich, decorated robes as a representative of his noble house. A goat’s head pin, the historic sigil of his family, secured a cloak around his torso which fell gracefully over his shoulder. Dark leather boots with short heels finished off the outfit.

Aurin took care to prepare himself for this event. He couldn’t afford to let himself be anything but presentable for this grand party. His fingers searched over the items on his end table, deciding which to decorate himself with. He donned gold rings, and a fine jeweled necklace which he had collected over the years. He certainly was a man with a penchant for the more beautiful wares in the world, if not the most practical. After all, living as an esteemed servant for nobility, much of the practical things were always provided for him.

Dipping his fingers into a jar, he coated the tips in oils infused with rose and spruce. He warmed the oils in his hands, spreading them as his fingers rubbed thoughtfully together. Using the oil to smooth his locks, he twisted his long hair into a bun atop his head, securing it with leather cord, and small metal pins. No matter what he did, some curled tendrils would always find their way out of place, but he had grown content with this.

Though he was a royal knight now, he hardly thought this party would be an appropriate place to carry weaponry as large as his spears. Of course, it wouldn’t be practical to do so anyhow. However, he was taught by his high lord long ago that that’s why many noblemen carry daggers to such events. Another small sign of wealth to wear at one’s hip. Aurin secured his to his belt. A fine silver tool with yet another goat’s head embellishing the handle which was wrapped in dark leather.

Now that he looked the part, the only step left was to present himself at the royal party. He left his quarters, where a servant had been waiting to escort him, and began his walk to where he had been instructed to arrive. In the short months that Aurin had been residing at the castle, he had spent plenty of time exploring it, and being the royal castle, there was plenty to explore. It was quite easy to become lost in such a place, if not by accident then for the simple fact that it presented such luxury to behold in its many halls and great rooms.

Upon approaching, he noticed the King was absent. Instead, his younger brother Lyrren stood in his place, along with the King’s well-known advisor Tessa Rimbaud. He instructed the servant that he had taken him far enough, and had him take his leave as he went alone to meet the two, taking note that he seemed to be the first to arrive.

“Good day, Prince Lyrren. Miss Rimbaud. It’s an honor to be invited here.” He greeted properly, giving a small bow to acknowledge them both. Straightening his posture, he held his hands behind his back and flashed a cheery smile, yet expressed his inquisitiveness. “I take it King Arvin has not yet arrived?”



Jack19XK AiDEE-c0

 

[The True Plague]

Royal Doctor Gabriele Heartsong, better known as Crow, was not having the best of days despite the festive energy in the air. Some may call it infectious, this joy. This... Happiness. If it truly were infectious, then it is of little wonder that Crow didn't catch it. Nobody else knows better than him, how to avoid being swept up in such things. A better way to phrase it, though, is that he simply wasn't looking forward to this. A day he'd be required to remove the mask, and mingle with the nobles. Sure, he'll try his best to stick to the less than lucky people to share in their joy, but given his status, it is unlikely he'd be allowed to do so. After all, the nobles generally don't understand one with his title wishing to speak with the peasantry.



That, in of itself wouldn't be the worst of his woes though. After all, the peasantry didn't judge him for his past since some of them aren't exactly clean themselves. The nobility though? They loved to give backhanded compliments and make jokes at his expense. Some even openly show their distrust by every once in a while, checking to ensure they have everything they brought on them. If so much as a single coin is missing, they start insuinating because they see only a thief that's conned his way into a high position.



Never the less, he drug himself from his bed and his eyes rested upon his usual getup. A thick leather robe, with scraps of fabric to grant an errie vibe. A matching mask, beaked and all rested beside him on his table. Aching bones reminding him of his age as he rose with a drawn out groan. "Note to self... Cut back on the thickness of the wood, or better materials to rest on..." It took him ten minutes to fully stretch out and get rid of those aches. Terrible thing, those aches. Nothing some stimulants couldn't help with, probably... But have you seen herb prices?! Just ain't worth it to use those on himself outside of emergencies. Sadly though, he has ran out of reasons to stall his getting ready for today's events.

So, with a huff and a puff, he began to cross the room above his practice. If anyone were to be hiding within his shop, out of hours, they'd be swiftly running away as his heavy tread shook some dust from the roof below. To say he didn't own much in the way of formal wear would be rather correct. He owned more in terms of clothing for less fancy affairs. Things he's fine with getting dirty. However, he did fine with what he had. A rather simple but tasteful black shirt that hardly gets worn, closer to a turtleneck than anything else. Paired with a fresh pair of trousers that he knew for a fact was clean. Was it considered proper attire for this day? Probably not. Did he particularly care? Definitely not. After all, it is no secret his disdain for nobility, and that extends to their attire as well. He will sooner sing the praises of the likes of Aurelia before he ever dressed like some pompous dandy! Though, he did choose one accessory to add on. He clipped his mask to his hip, so that others may recognize him given his general attire was literally his work outfit. Hard to make out a face under a mask.

Physically prepared for the day, although perhaps not mentally, Crow began his day out in the public eye. The first things he noted was the fact the air was practically pregnant with sound, as merry bands played to celebrate the occasion whilst greedy merchants announced sales and did their best to part others from their coin. Children ran and screamed, eager to make use of their boundless energy.

Then there was the assault of his sense of smell as many differently cooked foods and treats were being sold, not to mention the smells the more pretentious would do their best to cover their stench with. This is partly wears his mask. Some herbs and spices were routinely placed and replaced inside the beak to leave him smelling nothing but roses. Better than smelling the sick and dying, truth be told.

As he made his usual stroll to the castle whenever he was called, he'd have a few kids rush up to him and lightly tug on his sleeves. Poor beggers, and some orphans. A small smirk curled his lips. Of course they recognize him, they're the only ones he'll work with that he sometimes has to remove the mask. Casually, he'd drop each of them some coin, and wave them off with a chuckle. "Run along now, this old Crow has work to do." And off they scattered, like frightened birds. Each eager to spend their share of coin to get something sweet, or if they were wise, pay some inevitable debt they have back. Casually, he'd banter with the commoners, and ignore the nobles that tried stopping him to chat. He supposed this was the con to the living outside the castle... Having to interact with the public at ungodly hours... Maybe he'll consider actually accepting the room he's been offered in the castle, but he kinda liked his general practice outside the castle. Hard to operate on nameless faces with very little coin when every guest needs to be checked and escorted. Oh, and the small issue of potential crimes these urchins may have comitted. That could put a damper on his ability to help them.

Crow gave a casual salute to the hidden guards. Just because it was festive didn't mean eyes weren't open and on the lookout. Especially when, if the rumors he's heard are true, he is apparently an insurgent and planning something. First time he's heard of these plans, but ya never know.

In stark contrast to Aurin's entrance Gabriele strolled on in and waved. "Hello Prince, madam Rimbaud... Ah, and I see you're here as well Aurin... Though it seems the King is off. Nerves, or did he have something to do on this day meant for him?"

 

[Jack19XK]

Being King Arvin's only living brother and one of his closest allies, Prince Lyrren was the one to had taken charge of preparing for tonight's celebrations. Lyrren had spent countless and relentless nights to ensure that everything goes smoothly today. He had organized various forms of entertainment to be carried out throughout the day along with an innumerable amount of courses filled with limitless varieties of foods. As someone who never had much of a mind for decorations, Lyrren had gratefully left it in the hands of Tessa Rimbaud ( AiDEE-c0 ).

Since today's event was a celebration of his brother's 21st birthday, Lyrren knew that he had to create an atmosphere of joy, excitement, and hospitality. As a result, he didn't want to create anxiety amongst the guests by populating the palace with guards. Yet, as the King had so graciously invited humans and other races alike to the celebration, Lyrren knew that he couldn't afford to take any chances. Lyrren's fears were justified further in the last few months as many of the Kingdom's nobles had began to show signs of disloyalty and malicious intents. With the recent death of King Kungen, much of the nobility believed it to be the golden opportunity to assert their influence and authority upon the nascent King. Their greed endangered the stability of the Kingdom, which was something the nation couldn't afford due to the rising threats of the Demon Hordes. Fortunately, through the fervent and cunning efforts of the Prince, he was able to quell the nobility's avarice and help retain equilibrium within the Royal Court.

With all of that in mind, Lyrren must put the safety of his brother above all else. Thus, the Prince had issued announcements to all attendees regarding the banning of personal weapons of any kind into the castle. Those caught attempting to sneak in weapons would be immediately escorted out or even apprehended depending on the weapon in question. Furthermore, Lyrren had more than doubled the amount of regular guards in the castle and stressed the importance of vigilance. However, he made sure that the soldiers remain solely in the background so that the guests wouldn't feel anxious or threatened.

One could likely tell from such measures that Lyrren was a man of caution. Which was understandable given the nature of his duties. As the youngest of the two brothers, Lyrren knew early on that he wasn't going to be King. He had accepted said fact and had instead devoted much of his life to prepare to inherit the duties of a Prince. Naturally, as part of his duties, Lyrren was to ensure the safety and support in the rule of his brother, as well as to aid in increasing the prosperity and tranquility of Orn.

Despite Lyrren young age, the Prince had proved himself to be an extraordinarily skillful and talented politician. His charisma and intellect aided in the gaining of influence within the court. Lyrren had learned how to read and studied others based off of their body language and words. He knows exactly who would make the most advantageous of allies and who was on the track of becoming a rival. An example of this is Sergio Acre Yarrow De Iuliis, whose talents in intel make him a vital ally in politics ( seasonedcat ) As a result of his skills, Lyrren had became a vital right hand to Arvin within the Royal Court. When it came to matters of political intrigue, very few could parallel his skills.

When the day of the celebration had finally arrived, Lyrren had chosen to wear a fine light green tunic accompanied by a light blue vest and complimented by a pair of trousers. As a Prince, Lyrren's clothing was made from the most prestigious of materials and by the most skillful of hands. Intricate weavings of gold and silk could be spotted through his entire attire. Jewelry in the form of rings filled his hands while a blue gem encrusted necklace could be seen hanging off his neck.

The early hours of the day consisted of Lyrren going over all the details and security with the proper officials. Guard posts were clarified and Lyrren made sure that the proper precautions were made clear in case of unforeseen events.

When the time finally came and the castle gates were opened, Lyrren would meet with Lady Rimbaud as they prepared to greet the guests.

Among the first to be greeted was Ser Aurin Elliot, a champion of the Realm and a much respected warrior. Lyrren himself had greatly admired the man for his skills and talents with a sword and in taking charge of armies. With him on their side, Lyrren was certain that they would always have a trusted and accomplished commander to lead their forces into battle.

"Greetings, Ser Elliot." Lyrren greeted the knight back with an accommodating smile. "Indeed, my brother is off conducting some private business but I assure you that he would return to receive you shortly." ( ItsKenAgain )

Not long after having been greeted by Aurin, Lyrren's eyes landed on the approaching Royal Doctor. He wasn't shocked to had been asked the same question about the King's whereabouts. The answer will be the same nevertheless but Lyrren was sure that'll he'll still be asked plenty more times.

"As I've told Ser Elliot here, the King is currently partaking in a private matter of great importance. Do not fret, he'll join us once the matter is resolved." The Prince answered with a warm smile. "In the meantime, I do hope that both of you find our festive to be up to your expectations." ( The True Plague )

 

[Siren77]

Arvin jumped slightly at the sudden sound of the stern woman’s voice, having been expecting her to come from the door as opposed to having approached from the back of her cabin. Though once he turned and made eye contact with the woman, a grin came upon his face. Shuffling down the deck, The King hooped down onto the ground and stood before her and the aging hyena Ghan. Once in full view, the smile only widened as he folded his arms and stood up straight before the two of them.

Unlike most that he towered over, the woman before him was just about the same height as he was give or take a centimeter or two. It was amusing really, most had described her as a giant whose presence made all men cower in fear at the very sight of the Judicator. Yet here Arvin stood, a shit eating grin plastered on his face and instead of fear he couldn’t help but feel joy that he had found the woman. Despite the stern tone in her voice and the rather unamused expression she returned to The King, his grin went unchanged.

“Well besides the fact that you’re about seven months behind on the taxes you owe to the nobles whose province you belong to, I’m here because a meeting between you and I is long to overdue. Miss Nemir Cesti, Judicator of the Stone God Terran.”

Arvin stepped forward to get closer to Ghan, and began treating the wild animal as one might treat a pet. Of course, he was no fool to go in expecting familiarity and a gentle attitude from a beast such as this. So, as he would with any creature he might’ve encountered, he first raised his right hand for the Hyena to see before he slowly lowered his hand and placed it upon the muzzle of the creature. After he was certain his arm wasn’t going to get torn off by the jaws of the powerful yet awkwardly proportioned animal, he began softly scratching and rubbing the head of Ghan. Although he didn’t know Nemir or the animal itself all too well, he had one singular fond memory of the two of them. Of course that was a long, long time ago.

While he continued petting Ghan, Arvin’s green eyes returned to meet the eyes of Nemir. His potentially annoying grin faded to a simple kind smile.

“I appreciate your extend of wishes for my birthday, but it’s not why I’m here. I’m not so needy as to demand attention from every one of those I am responsible for. Though, a meal and some company from a legendary Paladin wouldn’t be a half bad gift. Better than half of the forced smiles and manipulative glances of the nobles I’ll be surrounded by during tonight’s festivities. Regardless of whether or not you were serious of such things, it matters not. I’m here for a much more important matter.”

Arvin sighed and stretched his neck for a moment before turning his full attention to Nemir.

“Many of my advisors have brought forth the idea of recruiting you into the folds of my royal army. All for the purpose of training and bringing forward more and more soldiers trained under your same skill and ability.” It was a lie, but not an obvious one. In all truth Arvin had heard countless tales of The Judicator from his father and the many knight he got to train with. However, it’s all part of the plan. “Our forces are now totaled at fifty thousand strong willed individuals bred for combat, but they need a leader. We have one man prepared to aid in training and preparing more for the oncoming battle The Gods have predicted, but one is insufficient. We need a second strong person to aid this cause. However....” the sly smile returned to The Kings face, “I fail to see the purpose in bringing on you of all people. After all you may be a legend, but there’s no telling if the stories my people tell of you are true. So, I came here myself to meet you face to face and perhaps test my mettle against yours.”

Arvin’s face grew to be more serious.

“I’m not here to recruit you or beg you to join my armies. All I ask is for the opportunity to find out for myself just how skilled the profound Captain Buzzkill is. So, what is your answer, friend of Kungen? Will you grace me with a duel?”

There was no real cause to lie and create this situation to appeal to the woman’s ego and egg her on in such a way, buuuuut Arvin found it to be more fun and interesting this way. Not to mention, he had to try and spark actually interest in a fight otherwise it wouldn’t be genuine. He needed to earn not only her trust and agreement to join him, but he needed her respect as well. Respect in that she knows him to be a faithful successor to his father in combat. So while his methods were strange, his purpose was in good faith and will.

So now that he was here, should Nemir agree to combat, one question remains.

How on earth will he match up against a legendary warrior such as herself...?
Ramjammer

 

[Ramjammer]

Nemir sized Arvin up for a moment, her brow furrowed in deep thought. He seemed almost excited to see her. Strange, given that they'd never really spoken at length. All of her business had been with Kungen had she ever needed to visit the castle. But she recalled the boy, now a man standing before her well enough.

"If those Nobles are so desperate for my money, they're more than welcome to collect it personally." She scoffed. "Besides, I'm a Servant of the Gods. I should rightfully be exempt from all that nonsense."

Ghan, excitable as always was almost giddy as the young King approached. Like Nemir, the Hyena wasn't able to see Arvin often, but the beast seemed to remember the time they spent together well enough. He'd been particularly fond of him when he was a child, playing and wrestling among the halls of his vast home. Nemir was almost positive that Ghan thought Arvin was a misshapen puppy more than a Human child. It wasn't much of a stretch, really. What was a child if not a small animal in clothing most of the time? Nemir didn't know, and she had no intention of figuring it out.

She stood there in silence for a long moment, letting Arvin and Ghan become reacquainted. The Hyena was over the moon, opening his jaws to gently mouth at the man's had, a gesture of affection if a rather slobbery one. His tail was moving faster than her eye can follow, and now and then he'd emit a low chuckling sound particular to his species. At least one individual present was enjoying himself.

Now that he was closer, she could see that he'd grown considerably. A far cry from the child that had barely come to her knee when she'd first laid eyes on him. The height suited him. And it clearly wasn't going to waste. Nemir was at least aware that Arvin took his combat training seriously, more than anyone given his role as the Warrior King. The armor encasing him looked sturdy, if a bit too polished for her tastes. And the Judicator idly wondered if he'd gotten any real practice in it.

'Well, War is brewing regardless. He'll certainly get that practice one way or another.' She mused silently before emitting a drawn-out sigh. "Legendary? Is that what the Peasants say now? I'm fairly certain it was 'Hellspawn' in some places. But never aloud, and never to my face." She chuckled balefully, taking some small measure of humor from the idea. That humor soon faded however as Arvin began to speak. Of course he had business with her. He wouldn't have slogged through miles of woodland to find her, otherwise.

Mild interest gave way to a slightly less mild disapproval as the fledgling King spoke of his need for an Army, and along with it Generals. Thereafter, that disapproval became instead, irritation. "Fifty Thousand souls bred for war? All that you have are Fifty Thousand souls damned if the visions the Gods have granted are true." Nemir flapped a hand in the air somewhat dismissively, seeming almost offended by the man's words. "There's a word for men that test the strength of their sword arm against me. It's 'dead'.

Nemir's voice was somewhat tight and her eyes narrowed in sharp focus as she glared at the man before her. Ghan looked up at the woman, gazing at her with a peculiar keenness. His ears pricked slightly at her sudden shift in tone, and the Hyena pressed his side against the woman's leg as if trying to comfort her in some manner.

"And I can't very well kill you, now can I? So what becomes of your little spar then? I knock you on your ass and then you go on your merry way? You'll learn nothing worthwhile that way. You may as well have asked any Knight around your Garrisons for the same thing. You'd get an equal effect for far less effort."

The woman's mind worked slowly, but methodically. Arvin's unannounced appearance was a surprise enough. Nemir was honestly prepared to never see him again. But that he'd dragged himself through miles of forest just to find her was telling. And she'd taken every step she could to assure that she'd never be found. Compounded with the effort that he'd undoubtedly spent just to gather that information, it made no sense that he only wished to cross blades.

It couldn't have been a matter of pride for him. Otherwise he wouldn't have shown up alone, and on his Birthday no less. Hell, if he hadn't been inclined to bring an entourage, he surely would have sent a letter or some other kind of invitation to the celebrations. All things considered the young seemed to have taken great pains to ensure that her privacy remained intact once he left, provided he didn't run his mouth.

"No one else knows you're out here, hm." It wasn't a question so much as it was a plain fact, and Nemir eyed the man closely to gauge any reaction that he might have.

"This doesn't strike me as the jape of a boy playing soldier. And I don't recall you being the bashful type either, Arvin. You love fighting. I can't count how often I'd see you get knocked over by your betters only to rise, eager for the next blow. But now..." She paused, watching as dead leaves drifted towards the ground from the tree branches above. "Things are different. No one to witness this save for the Gods and we."

The woman's voice was soft as if she was musing over something in its entirety. There was clearly a puzzle she was working out internally, but what it was could not be told. If she came to a decision, she expressed it with actions more than words.

"Stay." She grunted before pivoting on a heel sharply and striding towards her Cabin. Who the command was really for wasn't immediately obvious as Ghan sat down promptly and stared at the woman's retreating back.

The pair were forced to wait in silence for a short time, but soon enough the creaking door to Nemir's home swing open.

Her armor wasn't pleasant to look upon. That had never been the point. The blackened metal was well maintained, but scored with battle scars as proof of its constant use. Her footsteps were solid and heavy, the floorboards of the porch creaking audibly under the woman's weight as she stepped down and off of it. A pair of lions adorned each shoulder, their faces contorted in hateful snarls as if ready to sink their fangs into anything that drew too close. Clawed boots kicked up dry soil as the Judicator approached the waiting King.

Her closed faced helmet obscured her face from sight, thus hiding her expression. It mattered little. No one needed to see a Judicator's face. They were to remain anonymous, impartial. They presented themselves not as men and women made of flesh and blood. But as the speakers of the Gods, and the enactors of their will. All that anyone would ever see was the dark slitted gaze of Judicator's steel face. And for many, it was the last thing they'd ever see.

In one metal clad hand, Nemir clutched Raumspalter. The ancient family heirloom was clean and sharp, proving that it hadn't just been sitting on the woman's mantle and collecting dust in all the years she'd had it. She hefted the massive blade easily. Her grip was firm, but her arm hung loosely with practiced ease.

"You are fortunate. I'd just cleaned and sharpened it earlier today." The woman said plainly, her voice muffled by the enclosed helmet she wore. Nemir paused several yards away from Arvin, seeming to stare at him from beneath her helm but it was hard to really say. No words passed between them as she waited for the man to ready himself. All that she did was turn her head to nod sharply at Ghan, and the Hyena lumbered away to lie on the porch by way of an unsaid command.

It was oppressively quiet. The Forest wasn't dead yet, but it was no longer overflowing with an abundance of life as it once had been. What birds remained, did not call out. Remaining quiet and still as if in anticipation of something. There was a hardy breeze in the air. Dry leaves scuttled across the ground with a low hiss and Nemir continued to stand there as if waiting for some unknown command.

Whatever that command was, it was strictly between herself and the Gods. Nemir was still. Solid. A stern and foreboding statue forged of metal.

And then, for no reason at all, she wasn't.

The woman was slow to act. But only when it suited her. For Nemir to ponder anything for an extended amount of time on the battlefield was strictly to her own benefit. The moment that she acted on any of that pondering, all Hell broke loose.

She stepped forward, swiftly but surely and closed the gap between herself and Arvin. Despite the distance, it was merely one step in a series of actions to follow.

Her other hand came up to grasp Raumspalter's handle in a steady and practiced grip. The blade flashed dully in the low light of the forest as the woman swung. There was still some space between herself and Arvin, not much but not anything she could breach with her sword. But that too was but another step in the pair's soon to be bloody dance.

Nemir swung Raumspalter forward and down, the broad tip striking the ground forcibly. The Judicator continued to drag the blade across the ground, not deterred by the resistance it gave her. Terran's blessings were difficult to bring forth, but they were well worth he effort. Yanking the blade up, Nemir used it to kick up a large cloud of dirt and debris. Leaves and twig rained down along with the soil in front of her and through the haze of dust along with it she could no longer see Arvin.

Which meant that he could no longer see her.

The second and third step followed close behind. Certain, fluid and unwavering. Speed was not often the result of quick actions. Just well practiced ones. A foot slid forward and planted itself firmly onto the ground, steadying the woman's stance. Nemir inhaled, soft and low. She pivoted her weight on the other foot, further closing the gap between herself and Arvin and quickly positioned herself at his unguarded flank.

She exhaled calmly and evenly. Raumspalter's heaviness further anchoring her within the moment. She turned the blade flat and swung in a sweeping horizontal arc towards the young King's side. Dust still clung to the sword's blade, trailing behind it in the blow's wake like a banner. Nemir, did not hold back. Doing so would have been insulting, not only to Arvin, but to her own capabilities. She hadn't become what she had by doing things halfway. And if Arvin meant to bear the Crown and to call himself the Warrior King, then he'd receive no half hearted blows.

Regicide wasn't on Nemir's to-do list either, but she would have to jump off that bridge when she got to it.

 

[Siren77]

The more the woman spoke, the more difficult it became to withhold the grin that was slowly creasing across his face. He was quite an expressive man, that much as obvious. Facial expression, body language, and simple gestures with his hands all made for an almost animated appearance. Though this was only when he was around what he perceived to be friends and loved ones, that and when he was honestly and truly excited about something. Nemir was truly a confident and collected woman, each sentence structured without any need for a pause or time to think. She knew what she stood for, and what she wanted even unto the point of trampling all who stood in her way of such things. This was, above all things, perfect.

Despite her threat of death upon The King should he go through with the duel, he still did not bow out or even make the slightest move to back up or leave. She was intimidating and a daunting foe to face, but he did not fear her. Being raised as a future Warrior King did have its benefits, such as the extensive and rigorous training Arvin had to endure during his days enclosed behind those castle walls. Little did Nemir know, Arvin had been besting his own knights and garrisons since he was an early teenager. Of course that was when he kept a cool head and strategized, which led to perfecting his method of fighting now. Should he have refrained from thinking his plan out, it would’ve resulted in getting knocked to his ass just like she had said.

So in his mind, he thought himself at the very least skilled enough to keep up with her attacks and prevent his own head from being removed. That was simple ducking and dodging however, the real test would be how his footwork and swordsmanship matched up against hers. As opposed to dreading it, he was quite excited. Due to his own soldiers being insufficient to take him on, there was hardly anyone else in the kingdom to give him a real test in combat. The closest was Lyrren, but to attack in an all out brawl against your own blood was a little disheartening to The King. They trained constantly and he enjoyed that, but he hoped the day would never come where he’d have to truly face his brother in combat.

Moving on, there was only one phrase of words that stung at the Kings face and caused his eyes to flare with a slight irritation. When Miss Cesti brought up how insufficient his soldiers would be at aiding in the great battle to come, it stressed and saddened him because he knew she was right. Their armies were hardly anything worthwhile to take on a demon horse, as even his father’s armies had fallen so quickly and they had twice as many men! What irritated him was how insensitive she was on the matter.

She was the sole survivor of that great conflict that even bested his father! Meaning those hundred thousand soldiers all perished in full alongside him, and this Judicator was the only living soul to walk away from the war against The Void’s forces. There was nothing! Nothing for Arvin to build off of! No one left to train his soldiers, and no one left to lead them! In seven months, he thought it impressive that he’d even managed to train ten thousand alongside his brother let along fifty!

‘But... this is why I need her. She can turn this all around and raise an army far superior to the one we held previously. So keep your calm Arvin, stay the course and continue with the plan. The Gods willing, we will have our paladin’s aid in the coming conflict.’

So Arvin said nothing, merely listening to Nemir’s tangent and mild rant. After she finished speaking he wishes to say something in reply, but before he knew it he was being ordered to ‘stay’ although he was confused if she was referring to the Hyena or himself. Whatever the case, both would sit unmoving from their positions. Was this an informal yes? Or was she merely collection her favorite pile of stones to cast at The King to dispel him for her home? Arvin chuckled at the notion, and turned back to Ghan and began petting the animal while they waited for Nemir to return.

The faint clacking of metal against would in the form of footsteps answered his question as to what it was exactly that Nemir was doing. She soon arrived, clad in the armor that surely struck fear into the hearts of all who beheld it save for Arvin himself. It was quite impressive, and he couldn’t help but smirk as she approached with her weapon in hand.

The moments that followed afterwards were all a blur. Once it was obvious Nemir intended to take Arvin up on his offer to duel, he took a stance of his own and slowly drew The Champions Blade from its sheath at his side. Their weapons had fought alongside each other before, but never had they actually crossed one another. It was quite poetic in his eyes, but for Nemir he was sure this was nothing more than another battle she had to encounter.

“Fantastic, then there’ll be no need for excuses later.” He taunted with a grin. The way he spoke this time was in an obviously snarky fashion, posing no serious intent with the words or phrasing. To be serious with such a malicious sentence would definitely be a cause to be torn apart mercilessly rather than a quick death should their battle come to that.

What happened next, Arvin couldn’t recount in full. For his own part he had been too busy carefully watching the woman and analyzing her armor. Even as she walked forward it posed no concern to him. Then, in a plume of dust the Warrior King lost sight of his opponent. For a moment his eyes darted back and forth across the horizon where he knew she was present, but he could not see her which meant she could attack from any angle in this direction. She’d have the advantage if she were to attack, as Arvin’s reaction speed would be greatly reduced.

‘Stay rooted, do not move. Don’t look for her, listen. Feel the ground and let the very earth be your warning.’

Rather foolishly, Arvin closed his eyes. He didn’t want to disobey his own advice accidentally purely from anxiety. Removing his sight would allow him to focus on the sounds being made, and standing still would prevent false tracks. Soft cracks of twigs and the crumbling of underbrush alerted him that she was slowly drawing near, yet he stayed the course and did not move. His blade was held firmly at the ready for the final moment where he’d need to react. She changed direction, made an awkward movement and.... THERE!

The slicing of her blade through the air ever so subtly sounded off of Arvin’s left side, and in a split second he rounded his blade that was posed in his dominant right hand over to his left and crossed his forearms across one other to provide support as he sturdily blocked the heavy strike from Nemir. She was powerful, with the blocked swing still sliding Arvin backwards as their blades locked together. The King stared right into the visor where’d her own eyes were, and smirked before pushing towards her and letting their blades release.

These tactics were fascinating, and well practiced. Most swordsmen would be too concerned with looking for her instead of listening, and that would be their untimely downfall due to their limited reaction speed. Unless your dexterity was faster than light, there would be no hope of reacting with enough strength to hold firm in your position.

Now it was Arvin’s turn to strike. Circling with his opponent, he held his blade loosely in his hands and he looked for any and all opportunities to strike both in her stance and potential hinderances from her armor. Her footing was unfortunately perfect, with every slow step carefully timed and placed. He’d had no hope of finding a way in there. Her armor on the other hand had some potentially useful flaws. Though, he could easily be misreading how it functioned. Should it have any sort of intricate system, these flaws could be easily dismissible. So for now he chose to keep it simple.

The way the shoulder were formed in such a bulky fashion gave Arvin the impression that they would’ve be able to move all too quickly when it comes to reacting. A test would be conducted see whether he would be proved right or not.

He flicked his blade toward her in four different ways. The first two being targeted at one of her shoulders at a time, and the last two being aimed at her knees. The King was wholeheartedly expecting the blows to be parried and and blocked, though once the four blows were finished he decided to throw a mix up on her and pounced forward with incredible speed to drive his knee toward her torso. It as all a little impractical to the normal eyes of a spectator, but the combinations results would be everything to Arvin’s strategy.
Ramjammer

 

[AiDEE-c0]

Tessa Rimbaud
Location: Around the castle.
Time: Few days prior - Beginning of celebrations.
Interactions: Jack19XK , The True Plague , ItsKenAgain , open.​

Bustling streets lined with throngs of people, ever-vibrant marketplaces, a sense carelessness and splendour. Such things are expected to be brought about by a celebration of the royal scale. But behind the castle walls, before the opening of the gates, things must first find their rightful place. They do this by the hands of servants, bakers, florists, tailors and above all, organizers. Tessa was to be one of these organizers, in charge of decorum, a mighty task indeed. Not only did she never expect having to take upon such a role, but to decide what goes where is more tricky than a peasant might consider. Sure, the commonfolk look to alleviate themselves from their daily toil in pretty colours and extravagant furnishings, but to nobles, wealthy merchants and others in spots of power, even the placement of the chairs must impress, evoke respect and show off the integrity and might of the nation. Every flower must speak a thousand words, the colours must be powerful, yet tasteful...

Speaking of, roses or lilies? Tessa stood with a grip on her chin, considering the options before her. It wasn't just aesthetics, no. She'd have to prove herself as a capable scholar through these dilemmas, however insignificant they might appear to outside observers. The entire kingdom is to be present, needing to be subconsciously told that the side of the king is the one of strength and stability. As such, symbolism should act as the greatest ally. Thankfully enough, that was an aspect familiar to the royal advisor.

"Roses, it must be roses," Tessa spoke to a man donning a formal suit, parchment and quill in hand. Roses grow steadily, they speak balance. Their thorns are obvious enough, a rose cannot be plucked by any careless fool. As for their colour, the best considerations carry prosperity, happiness, love, yet also inevitable sacrifice.
"Yellow, red and yellow," she speaks again, nodding before continuing in thought.

"Those will go on the table, preferably in some elegant vases... um..." There was another thing too, an addition of security. Old traditions tell of a plant that grows only in places where no violence shall take place, where men will come united as brothers. This was one of the major expectations for the celebration, one that will hopefully be upholden. So, to ease the mind...
"Oh, I got it! Incorporate some mistletoe in there, okay?"

Someone could also consider placing flowers on the windows, but for all intents and purposes, that would be a waste. To help grand chandeliers of silver, glass and gold pop, the windows are to instead be adorned with voluminous curtains of a wine colour, cascading to shift into a sitant grey and a finishing touch of more gold. In a similar vein, the tables and chairs will find themselves covered in soft silks of a similar colour pattern. These are the kingdom's colours, and so they shall be most prevalent. The eagle-crest, too, will be made hard to overlook on the walls. But, what would the best possible placement for-

With such musings, Tessa visited person after person before the celebrations officially began, dealing with candle holders, carpets, side decorations, but most importantly composition. After all, everything must be assembled to allow for space and movement, but also uniformity. Who sits where, the dominant shape, consistency of ratio and so on. It was a draining period of time to the scholar, yet she was fully determined to make the best of it. To see an unharmed reputation and satisfied guests and perhaps to even impress herself with her own results. Certainly to impress others, anyway.

And so the days passed by, visions realized and scrapped. Eventually, the option for changes became unavailable, everything was set with no chance for regret. The halls came together under Tessa's wishes of symbolism and elegance. Without a doubt, their song was that of magnitude and luxury, vibrant contrast and ripples of pleasant textile. Everything sat together in balance, duality of mighty walls and gentle furnishings. One ordeal that particularly manifested was scale. Grandiosity, as cliché as that may be.

With a sigh, Tessa finally made her way towards the castle's main entrance, to join Lyrren's side. She arrived in her regular dress, albeit rid off the various satchels and belts at her sides and shoeware a tad more appropriate. With her left hand behind her back, which stood as if always on attention, she smiled at the man next to her lightly, before initiating the greeting of the guests, keeping an elegant form and talking as delicately as allowed.

Not too long later herself, the first of the notable guests made themselves present, Aurin of the Elliot family and the royal doctor. To both, Tessa took a deep bow, before chiming in to add a few bits to Lyrren's responses.
"Sir Elliot. Rather, it is an honour that you have arrived." With an open right palm, she proceeded to gesture towards the gate standing behind her.
"On behalf of the crown, I hope that you will be able to enjoy yourself while you kindly wait for the others to arrive."
While usually an absolute nut in conversation, instances like these read like a script, mostly because they partially were, although with very minor improvisations. With this, Tessa managed to give off an image of well-spokenness, in spite of actuality.

Smiling still, she turned her head towards the masked figure with a gently raised eyebrow.
"Please, do enjoy your time, servants are always at the ready should you require anything."
Now, the only remaining thing was to wait until the rest of the flock gathers and his majesty returns. Up until then, best simply enjoy the atmosphere. The times are so happy and relieved, it brought Tessa joy just thinking about it. It'd almost be enough to forget about what was to come, yet the royal advisor never was one to lose herself in the moment entirely. If dark times are ahead, then it will be these moments to allow the nations to face them together.

 

[Ramjammer]

Nemir let out a low grunt in both exertion and mild surprise. She'd expected Arvin to be faster than she was. Most people were and over the years she'd learned to deal with it accordingly. But the man's reaction time was uncanny. There was no clear hesitation within him, nor anxiety. But more worryingly he'd adapted to her sneak attack within the span of a split second.

Raumspalter's edge struck metal, as Nemir had intended. But not the particular kind she'd hoped for. Arvin's blade had found hers, deftly blocking the blow reserved for its master. He didn't seem to be looking at her, though given the trick she'd just used his vision was meant to be impaired.

'He heard me then.' The Judicator thought to herself, pleased that whatever lessons Arvin was receiving covered all the apparent bases. He'd managed to stay calm and not let his panic overwhelm his senses which pleased her. Their fight would have been cut woefully short otherwise.

Nemir shoved Arvin away as much as she attempted to step back to afford herself space. She settled for eyeing him through the slits in her visor, taking in his light-footed stance and knowing smirk. The boy was undoubtedly clever, and Nemir knew that she'd only be wasting her time trying to outsmart him. Her own instincts would have to guide her for the time being.They hadn't failed her yet.

When Arvin's gaze flickered briefly to her pauldrons, Nemir made no move to block the incoming strike. The damn things were heavy, and despite their ornamentation they won't for show. She may as well have strapped a pair of shields to each shoulder to get the same effect. The force behind the blows would have worried someone less sturdily built, but to Nemir it was a familiar weight. She'd allow the edge of her foe's blade to catch the metal guards, planting her feet and pushing back against each strike.

It wasn't a dance that Nemir wanted to engage in for very long, but it admittedly gave the woman time to study her opponent. The vigors of youth certainly kept the man light and spry. And his eyes twinkled with obvious enjoyment as he kept grinning at Nemir even as he rained blows down upon her.

His eyes.

His smile.

She could see both, plain as day because the young King wore no helm to hide his face. A notion that baffled Nemir's Traditionalist sensibilities.

'Why isn't he wearing a damn helmet?' She thought incredulously.

Such a blatant disregard for safety would have earned Nemir a dozen lashings during her training. There was the slim possibility that it was a trick of some sort. Illusory magic seemed most likely. Or possibly something that she hadn't considered. But the time to ponder over those possibilities was cut short as Arvin changed the rate and direction of his blows. Nemir was a tad too slow to parry the next strike, so sudden was the abrupt shift. The flat of Arvin's blade caught an armored, knee and the woman's stance buckled under the force. Arvin well used that narrow window of opportunity and closed the distance between them. Nemir grunted again this time much louder as he drove a knee into her gut. Had she been wearing anything less, the Judicator knew that she'd be laid low and doubled over in pain. Only the layers of padding she wore under her armor kept it from being so, softening the blow somewhat even as he forced her back half a step.

'There's a lot of strength behind his strikes. There's no doubt that he's Kungen's son." The Judicator thought. A strong arm, and a solid understanding of the fundamentals got a person far. And Arvin was proving to be remarkable enough that the Judicator hadn’t laid him flat yet.

Nemir's body seemed to move of its own accord then, a metal-clad hand shooting up to grip Arvin's shoulder and yank him ever closer and into the woman's space. The Judicator wasted no time, reeling her head back and then forward to smash her visor directly towards the man's face. Nemir had always been particularly hard-headed, and encasing such a phenomenally thick skull in metal only made things worse for everyone around her.

Her grip on Arvin's shoulder tightened, but rather than continuing to hold the young King close, she huffed out a low breath and spun, taking the man with her before shoving him roughly away. Had he been anyone else, she'd merely settle for pummeling his face until it was unrecognizable. But they were sparring, no one had to die. It was why Ghan had been relegated to sitting on the porch for the duration of the whole affair. The Hyena didn't understand what it meant to pull punches, and that wasn't what Nemir had trained him for. Despite liking Arvin as much as anyone, the beast knew never to ignore an order from his Mistress. And he'd gleefully sink his teeth into anyone that she told him to. Always to lethal effect.

But even with that in mind, Nemir did not relent in her assault. Gripping Raumspalter tight in both hands, she raised the large sword high over her head before dropping it down towards Arvin. Gravity did most of the work, but Nemir was all too happy to put her own strength behind the strike.

She said nothing and save for the sounds of breathing from exertion and light grunts the woman was silent. Eerily so. Or, that's what she'd been told before. Nemir didn't much like to talk during battle. She found it senseless, and a waste of perfectly good energy. Actions spoke far more eloquently than she ever could. And Raumspalter spoke much louder.

 

[Siren77]

For the most part, Arvin’s trial run of an attack was a success in gathering information. When it came to the shoulder guards she wore, they were sturdy enough that she was confident enough not to even bother parrying with her sword. When it came to the strikes at her knees, he was correct in the judgement of her speed. That armor may be sturdy and perfect for absorbing blows as a sort of one man army, but it didn’t benefit her reaction speed. Physical attacks as expected were somewhat useless against a heavily armored foe such as Nemir, as they’d do little damage. However they were perfect for keeping someone off balance in order to continue pressuring them with strikes.

Unfortunately, it also came with hefty consequences. In Arvin’s heavy strike with his knee, it had put him in the compromising position of being so close to Nemir. This made him perfect for being grabbed with the heavy armored grip of the Paladin, and before he could even make any attempts to struggle and free himself her helmet came crashing into his nose. There was a small crack of the cartilage, which sent a pulsating pain shockwaving through his face.

Fortunately, Nemir was kind enough to refrain from beating into his face more and instead opted to toss him like a rag doll in his moment of intense pain. Arvin’s balance was totally lost in the moment which put him in the situation of a head long faceplant, but just before he could make impact with the ground he aerialed his lower body over to have his feet roughly touch down on the ground and skid to a halt from the momentum.

Grunting with pain, he reached up with his off hand and felt the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t broken, but very well was bruised due to how tender the tissue underneath felt. The index finger of the same hand was run across his upper lip, only to be greeted by a warm stream of blood pouring from his right nostril. A low chuckle escaped him as he stared at the Crimson liquid, and looked up just in time to see Nemir lunge at him with her cleaver of a sword poised to smash right into and through him.

For a split moment he thought of keeping the woman at bay with his flame magic, but of course the honor of a duel between steel forbid him from doing so. Unless an opponent was also gifted with magic of some kind, Arvin always refrained from using his own in any sort of head to head confrontation such as this. That is of course unless he finds a cause to use it to his advantage. In regular combat it would very well be part of his mix ups and combinations, as any advantage was good. But I’m a duel, it was purely skill of the sword and body to clash. Nothing more and nothing less.

As the blow came downward, Arvin crossed the flat end of his blade on his own shoulder and met the strike head on. As soon as the metal clashed, the downward force stunned Arvin for but a small moment before he drove forward and skid under the large blade Nemir wielded.

A sharp three jab combination with his left fist struck her abdomen again. Then while using the cross of the two blades as a focal point, the Warrior spun about face and drove his heel into the very same spot. He wasn’t about to give her time to rest or recover, and was instantly on her once more. Arching the Champions Blade as I’d to swing from his left, it suddenly switched directions and came crashing to the right. Regardless of her reaction, Arvin instantly did the same thing in the opposite of directions.

Then, using all of the force he could muster, he ducked down and angled his blade upwards before jumping up and driving the sword to the very heavens it was forged from.

Everything about this battle was so intense, and exciting. The entire time Arvin couldn’t help but have a grin plastered on his face the entire time, and a look of pure bliss radiating from is eyes. Such a test of skill hadn’t been given to him in quite some time, and he was enjoying every moment of it. Even the pain! To finally feel such adversity was to know that through this he would grow stronger, and further prepare himself for the fight of his life that awaited him in the approaching battle against the Demon Horde and The Void itself.

Progress and improvement is what he lives for, and silently in his heart he thanked Nemir for granting him an opportunity to do so again.
Ramjammer

 

[Ramjammer]

Nemir reconsidered her decision to beat Arvin's face into a pulp as his own blade came up to meet and subsequently block her own downward stroke. His reaction time and turnaround speed outclassed her own. The Judicator was forced to to take several heavy steps back as the man's fist jabbed at her midsection in a flurry of strikes. Individually they weren't overwhelmingly powerful, but the sheer number of blows he could get in during such a short window of time multiplied considerably the strength behind them. Her boots dug into the ground as a solidly placed kick to the stomach nearly doubled her over. Nemir let out a low choking wheeze, and from his spot on the porch Ghan whined in obvious distress.

"Calm down. I'm not hurt." The woman grunted out as she attempted to get her feet back under her. But Arvin wasn't content to sit around and wait for her to regain her bearings. His sword cut through the air in a vicious arc. He fluidly faked the assault, and Nemir instinctively turned her left shoulder to meet the blow. It proved to be a misstep however, and it left her right unguarded. The blade caught her unprotected flank and Nemir hissed in pain knowing that a bruise was undoubtedly forming. The man never relented in his assault forcing Nemir to buckle down and stave off whatever blows that she could.

He was incredibly stubborn; she had to give him that. Never refusing to relent or yield. His Father had been the same way. Unassailable in his bullheadedness, and never one to give in for any reason. She could recall the times they fought. It was always a prolonged endeavor between them. Hours spent swinging at each other, waiting for the other to grow weary, to falter just once and to end things for good.

Arvin hadn't faltered yet, and he probably wouldn't anytime soon. The Judicator now knew that she was playing a waiting game with the Young King. But it was one that she was Hellbent on winning at any cost. She'd fought the Demonic Armies called from the Void for an hour and a day. One Human King would not prove much more of a challenge. She took her options into consideration, even as she raised Raumsplater to parry an incoming strike. All things considered, Nemir had all the time in the world but Arvin didn't. She was doubtful that the man would blow off his own party despite his clear desire to do so. But she'd be lying if she claimed to understand what was going on in the man's head at any given moment. He was hasty, but not foolishly so. He adapted to change well and changed his methods just as quickly. Reading him was impossible. He was too chaotic and too quick. Order and tradition stood as an anathema to that.

However, following things by the book worked. Otherwise they'd never be written there in the first place. The Judicator had lived long enough and met enough people to have learned one indisputable if ugly truth.

Nothing resolved disharmony so well as sheer, unrelenting aggression. And if Nemir couldn't maneuver around the man, then by the Gods she'd settle for going right through him.

She was able to time the next blow better than the last few, and the man's sword once more caught the bulk of a metal pauldron. But Nemir wasn't content to let the blow ring off of the metal. She pushed against the blow and threw her weight fully against Arvin's sword arm. Her legs found their footing once more, and she planted her feet solidly onto the ground before shoving off. Nemir allowed momentum to carry her forward, and she ducked beneath Arvin's extended arm to throw a metal-clad shoulder directly into his chest.

Much like he had prior, the Judicator refused to relent. She would not relent. Nemir was always slow to act and slow to respond. But she'd found her momentum in the rhythm of battle, as she always had and always would. Shoving her opponent back a few steps, the Judicator launched the heavy pommel of her sword into the mans's gut in a swift strike. Nemir dropped her arm to lock blades with Arvin once more, Raumspalter firmly in her right, but her left rose to throw a jab at the man's throat at the same time. All the while she moved forward, forcing the young King into a bloodied dance. The Judicator's pace was heavy and slow, but she showed no signs of tiring. She also seemed to have found the voice that she so often lacked in combat.

“Near twelve years back I battled with the dreadful Warlord Skarn for the entirety of one night. Orcs, don't die easily. Even in the high peaks of the Bleakwinter mountains. Not even when the sun died hours before, and on its heels came a cold that could be felt to your soul. And not as a howling blizzard rages all around, rendering you deaf and blind to the world. That, was a good fight. I will always recall it fondly. And when dawn came, and the sun painted the jagged peaks of the mountains red as the snow beneath Skarn's dying body, he had but one thing left within him to say.”

The Judicator surged forward, her armored form more monster than a woman in that moment. Each sharpened fang glinting dreadfully as she bore down on Arvin with Raumsplater in hand. She swung, forcibly and precise. The great sword did not sing in the air so much as it howled, steel clanging harshly against the metal of Arvin's own blade as she just barely replicated the same strike that laid the Warlord low. The impact was immeasurably powerful, kicking up a gust of wind and sending leaves and twigs gusting away from the pair locked in the epicenter.

"'Now here is a death that will make my Ancestors proud.' He told me. And I watched as the life faded from his eyes. Up there, we had all the time in the world. There was nothing else to consider. I hope that his Ancestors greeted him with pride in their eyes that morning. It is just the same here, Arvin."

Nemir braced herself against the man, their blades locked in a ceaseless struggle that had been played out for an eternity before either of them were even a thought in the cosmos. And it would continue to play out long after their bones had become nothing but dust, and even the oldest generation had forgotten their names.

"It is no different for me here." The Judicator continued slowly, evenly and without exhaustion. "No matter the place. The Person. The Battle. All that I have is time, I need nothing more. Even the beating waves can wear a mountain down to pebbles. But that takes a very long time. Time that I will gladly spend wearing you down, inch by inch and ounce by ounce. The weather isn't as bad here. So I can take far longer than one night."

Nemir brought the visor of her helmet close to Arvin's face even as the struggled for dominance. She stared him dead in the eye, even though the man probably couldn't tell. "This, has been nothing but a formality until now. Much like shaking hands. Pleasantries are over. It's time for me to see how much of your Father is in you. And if you've earned his Crown in the slightest."

 

[Siren77]

A fire burned in the pit of Arvin’s stomach. A burning passion of pride and dignity. The more Nemir spoke to the Young King the more excited he became. Surely this woman had hundreds if not thousands of the stories of the war she endured during her lifetime of challenging the evils of this world in the name of the Gods. Truly she was battle hardened and strengthened beyond belief in her tests of might against countless foes, yet he wouldn’t be surprised if every one was remembered in vivid detail. Even the ones with his own father, knowing full well that Kungen himself wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to duel such a worthy opponent.

When Nemir spoke of Arvin needing to prove himself, that was the final coal in the flame to ignite it to its full capacity. He was proud that his father had left such an impression, and now he was going to live up to the title of Warrior King. What’s more is, for the first time since being crowned as said King, Arvin would finally be able to prove that he’s earned this title and responsibility. As opposed to cowards hiding behind words and empty ideas, this was a moment of action and true revelation of potential. By the Gods, he would not allow it to go to waste. This became much more personal than simply earning respect, but also proving worth.

Looking to the strong woman through their locked blades, Arvin grinned with a determined stare. Through the pain in his gut and throat, and the usual wear and tear from his exertion of stamina and muscle while blocking and striking, he was still smiling.

“You speak of such a glorious battle that took what perhaps felt like ages to finally conquer. Whereas I have no great stories to tell. While do not have near as much experience, I admire your cunning soul for pressing on through the denizens of the Voids influence throughout these many years gone by. I yearn for such an honor, to be dignified as a warrior, and to be as well respected and revered as my father once was. I assure you the bloodline has not faltered yet, as I have dedicated my life to learning and perfecting every skill and technique he was ever able to show me. Look to mine own eyes, and you will see the same will to fight. Gaze upon my form and vigor, and you will see his own essence of battle. My father lives on, not only in me, but in my brother as well. And now, it is my chance to prove it!”

The two would continue to struggle in the locked conflict of blades. Her strength was formidable and rivaled his own to a great extent. Trying to force his way forward would require more strength than he wanted to expend, so he crafted a plan to work his way around her. Carefully edging his sword around the edge of her own powerful weapon, The King finally provided enough space and leeway to fully turn a a ninety degree arch to the left. The relinquished force would send the weapon Nemir held temporarily to the ground where Arvin once stood.

Now having the angle at the side, The King wasted no time in taking the advantage. Jumping up and over forward, he turned his body in a clock wise motion before slamming the bottom of the hilt into the back of Nemir’s helmet, right were the base of her neck would be. Landing on the other side of her, he skidded sideways and lowered his torso to slam his shoulder into her covered ribs. Finding her blade, he lashed out at the weapon with his own to cast it out of the way before finally working a quick array of elegant stroke and swipes with his footing advancing upon her with every movement.

“Tell me something Nemir.” He spoke as he continued finessing sword to and fro, making contact with both her own blade and armor. “Does it not bother a champion of your caliber that the greatest battle you were ever to contended with ended in failure? Surely your heart lusts for combat such as our own again? This thrill, the reward, the honor, and most importantly the satisfaction of destroying those weaker than you who dare opposed the very God your swore yourself to serve! A warriors heart does not forget such things so easily. The stories you tell are slowly fading into nothing more than mere legend, surely you wish to start a new chapter in your conquest. A chapter of redemption, and setting the record straight. The Demon’s left a bad taste in your mouth, I know this because they have done the same to me.”

With a final parry, Arvin took himself a few steps backwards to give himself and Nemir some space to breathe. Their intense exchange of blows and blocks had been raging effortlessly. Lucky for now the combat was on a momentary ceasefire.

“I know not whether I’ve proved myself this day, but I can assure you one thing. The Hordes are coming. The Apocalypse is on the horizon and is coming ever closer by the day. Surely you’ve seen it for yourself as you’ve spent your time living here in The Great forest of Terran. Those heathens lurk in the shadows poised to strike and awaiting their masters fall. Though they are simply a taste of things to come, a taunt from the Void at it’s first victory since the dawn of time. The Horde in all its horrifying glory will return, and when that time comes I know that you want to be there to avenge your fallen brothers and sisters in arms and to redeem yourself from that day.”

Arvin was having difficulty piecing together what he should say next. Should he come clean and tell her his true methods for being here today? No, with his little speech just now it was apparent. Ideas were circling in his mind, but without warning he began talking without thinking twice.

“Even if you don’t think myself worthy to lead such a vast army to contend with The Voids forces, surely you must think yourself capable above all else. Your skill knows few challengers amongst my Kingdom’s people. These skills can be shared with the ever expanding army that has a long way to go before it is truly prepared for combat. They need a leader who can constantly be with them to train and prepare. Myself and my brother have only been able to do so much during our time.”

“Now with the Gods influence I know that you are the one to aid me in this aspect. So I ask you, Nemir Cesti.” Arvin planted his blade into the ground and kneeled as a gesture of respect often shown between warriors. “As an old friend to my father, and as a fellow favored warrior of the Gods. Help me. Should you still find it improbable I will do whatever it takes. I’ll fight you here until the bitter end even until my body is rendered useless. Every bone broken, every fiber of muscle torn, and every ounce of strength. I know such respect to serve must be earned, and I swear on my soul I will earn it.”
Ramjammer

 

[Ramjammer]

Time slowed, as it always did for Nemir whenever she locked blades with another. Amid battle the world faded away. There was noise, and sensation but it seemed almost detached from her body during those times. As if she were not present, like a ghost observing from the outside. That is what the dance of Death did to men and women. It grabbed hold of their souls, and stripped away all extraneous thoughts and considerations. Only the moment at present, and the moments to come would matter. Nothing else.

Nemir watched in silence as a change overcame Arvin then. A familiar blaze alighting in the boy's eyes as she mentioned but one of many deeds written under her name. It was the same look she'd seen in the eyes of countless opponents. But it was so specific to the young King that she couldn't help but recall his Father.

It was an eternal flame. Passed from generation to generation. And with each successive passing of that torch, the flame grew hotter and brighter. To watch that blaze be ignited anew was almost humbling in some manner, though Nemir couldn't quite say why. Perhaps it sparked the recognition of true potential within her. Or perhaps, she was glad to have imparted something worthwhile to the boy. She would never really know. But what she knew is that it ignited a furious desire within the man, and his strength nearly doubled in the wake.

The Judicator planted her feet firmly, pushing back against the tremendous force as she stubbornly refused to yield. But there was too much of a good thing, and Arvin's sudden backing away to preform a swift side step yielded unfortunate returns. Gravity did most of the work, sending the woman sprawling forward as her blade thumped heavily against the ground. Nemir hissed in equal parts frustration and pain as the heavy pommel of Arvin's blade struck her square in the back of the skull.

She was silently thankful for the helmet she wore, knowing that she'd have been rendered unconscious had she not been wearing it. But the blow and the ringing sound that resulted from it where more than enough to daze her momentarily. Arvin made good use of her confusion, driving first a shoulder into her unguarded side before knocking her sword arm aside.

Nemir was forced to whirl on the spot as the man advanced, raising Raumspalter in a defensive manner as she staved off the oncoming blows. The Judicator grunted with exertion as the strikes fell, but she was still alert enough to give some measure of thought to Arvin's words as he began to speak. Her confusion was brief, and it instead gave way to a roaring anger.

"Honor? Thrill? Reward? You little fool, all that I've ever thought of since that day is my failure." She charged forward and swung Raumspalter with grievous intent. "There was no honor to be had that day!" She roared, rage lacing every word. "There was no glory! All that went into that battle with was a cursed sword and my own strength and I lost EVERYTHING." She clashed blades with Arvin once more and closing the distance she lifted a foot to deliver a swift kick to his gut.

"My Brothers and Sisters in arms. My King. My dignity and my purpose. All that it granted me was a never-ending shame, and a reminder of my ineptitude! What kind of Soldier outlives her own King? What Soldier dares to see a dawn that every man to the last died long before witnessing? Do you think I live in these woods to protect myself from adoring followers? I live here to hide my shame." The woman's voice cracked, heavy with a multitude of emotions. But her steps did not falter, nor did her blows.

"It matters not. If it is my fate to have my name unwritten from history, then it will be so. There is no dignity in living well past your time." Nemir staggered back and away from Arvin, her breath coming out labored and harsh. She swallowed thickly and struggled to regain control of her emotions, watching numbly as the young King knelt before her.

"All that you seek, is the respect of an old failure. Rise, you're better than that." She ground out lowly. Her hand gripped Raumspalter's handle so tightly that it began to ache. The Judicator let out another harsh breath, exhaling loudly as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Nothing will make right what happened that day. Filling the cracks in stones does not remove them altogether. Those are scars that run very deep."

A sudden snuffling noise to her left, and a nudging of her hand indicated that Ghan had arrived. He pressed his side to Nemir's leg and stared up at her with wide eyes. The woman sighed and reached down to ruffle the beast's shaggy mane. "I cannot give you the kind of warriors you seek Arvin." The woman murmured softly almost to herself. "Souls as damned as theirs are hard to save. And I do not have the power to bestow Greatness. Only the Gods can claim that. All that I can do point them in that direction and pray what I teach is enough. But I will fight the Void, until my dying breath and well beyond it if I must."

Ghan whined softly and nudged Nemir's hand with his snout, prompting a weak but hidden smile beyond that. "We will try. That is all to be said."

 

[Siren77]

Arvin raised his head to meet Nemir’s gaze, but his position did not raise in the slightest. Still and humble he knelt, refusing to acknowledge as Nemir as anything less than his superior. Despite her anguish and the sense of failure she felt, he knew she was too quick to throw her legacy aside and stay her skill in the waste bin.

He understood why she felt the way she did, as any sensible soldier would. Which is why it only made her more worthy in her eyes to return to her position amongst Örn’s armies, that she might pick up the fight she once had to leave behind. Those insensible soldiers on the opposite side of the spectrum would rather make every excuse and point every finger in an attempt to save their own public opinion and stance among the people. Instead of trying to learn and make themselves better, they would rather spit and cast dirt upon others who failed beside them. But not Nemir, no instead she was humble and accepting of the defeat she was to face. But it was not hers alone to grasp.

“Your shame? Nemir, the only shame you should have is thinking yourself less than what you truly are. Yes, you tasted defeat for the first time in an eternity that day, but it is not yours alone to possess. We all lost, not just the soldiers or my father who perished in the fray, but the entirety of the Kingdom of Örn. We all lost something that day, making it a shared defeat among us all. Some lost faith, others courage. Some merely lost loved ones and are incapable of coming back from such a pain... like you and I. But the one thing the entire kingdom lost, if not only for a moment, was our hope.”

Now it was Arvin’s turn to be choked up and unstable with his voice.

“But now, after all my time of praying and remaining faithful to the Gods will I can finally return hope to our people that the sun will shine upon our Kingdom once more. However, I can’t do it alone. That is why the Holy Order has instructed me to seek out talented and capable individuals who possess the skills necessary to aid me on my own chapter in history. And one of those people, called by the very Stone God Terran himself, is you Nemir Cesti.”

“You are correct in saying that nothing will make right what happened that day, but that fault lies not on any mortal person in this realm. Instead, it lies with the Demon Hordes who will pay the price for our brothers and sisters lost to their monstrous jaws and jagged claws. It is a scar that may have wounded us, but it is one that can fade with the destruction of those who have wronged us. So myself and the Gods offer you this chance of closure, to finally make amends to those you lost.” Arvin grinned. “And I’m afraid it’s not a matter of choice, as this is the fate they have chosen for you. Granted, it’s simply up to me to fulfill it, which is partially why I seek your respect. But the rest is much deeper than that.”

“You say I’m better than kneeling before an inherent ‘failure’ but I revere you Nemir. You are a legend who’s stories my father recited to me many nights over as a child. This made you one of the few inspirations I had to drive me to be who I am today. That, and you are one of the few people left in this world who knew my father on a deep and truly personal level. Your respect is something that is priceless to me, and something that I hope I might earn.”

Arvin was getting side tracked, going off in a tangent of rambling what Nemir probably thought to be pure nonsense. He could only hope that he got his point across. Fortunately, the woman seemed to be having a change of heart. While still somewhat on the pessimistic side of the argument, Nemir was coming to an agreement with his plight. This rang joy and wonder in his soul, prompting a relieved and unyielding smile as he gazed upon the older woman.

“I’m not expecting you to be the one to mold them into what I require. Your influence and direction is all I need and ask of you. Nothing more and nothing less. But above all else, just as you said, I ask that through thick and thin and all manner of frustration. You try. Just as you have been too stubborn to give in to any foe over the course of your legacy, so too will you do this same with this task the Gods have set before you.”

Arvin finally rose, retrieved his sword from the earth so that there was a stain of dirt upon the top of the blade’s edge.

“So, Nemir. Judicator of Örn, Paladin to the great Terran, descendant of the tribe Inviad. Do you take upon yourself this task, and make yourself once more as a Royal Knight amongst the ranks of not only The King’s and Örn’s army. But the holy army that will snuff out the darkness and return peace to our land?”
Ramjammer

 

[Juju]

A party was never just a party, just as an invitation was more than just choosing who you preferred to sup with on a summer evening.

However, Arvin had invited the whole kingdom to celebrate, a rather preposterous and expensive political stunt she was less than thrilled to agree to, but that was only half the battle. Personalized invitations to the lords and ladies of Örn had to be made and sent, lest the nobility feel spurned to the level of plebians. Aurelia had personally taken charge of this, as her duty as ambassador befitted. Still, it was mostly to dampen the inevitable drama that would unfold.

Half the current nobility were up-jumps from the past invasion and the other half were unhappy about it. The only thing that seemed to unite them was the growing opinion that Arvin was nothing but a boy ill-fit to rule in place of his father. Kungeon was not always loved by the nobility, but he was respected in strength and wisdom. Unfortunately for Aurelia, her new king had neither of those in the eyes of most nobles.

Once the invitations were curated, there still came the most important expenditure; entertainment. A party was nothing without it, and while the peasants could be entertained merely by low-grade spirits and harlots, the king's court was a much more refined and delicate manner. She had called for the finest musicians and performers in the kingdom and had gathered top chefs from the noble court to serve. Even her personal cooks had been brought to court for the occasion.

✧✦✧

Spoiler: Dress Reference uwu

Aurelia stared at her reflection, tilting her head as she made minute adjustments to her jewelry. As always, she was dressed to kill.

Twisting around her neck and shoulders was a collar of intricate gold, its raven-feather motifs glinting in the candlelight. It was only further embellished by the lattice-like corset hugging her ample chest and trailing down her hips. Even the rich silks of her gown's skirt -- a mix of crimson and black -- were bound together by threads of spun gold, so delicate even a spider could not have made a finer work. Rings of diamonds, emeralds and sapphires coiled around her manicured fingers, including the ruby-eyed raven seal of House Luxenri.

"You look magnificent, Lady Luxenri," said Lady Barra Selwyn from behind her, a rather simple girl in a rather simple dress. She had a whiny voice that grated against Aurelia's nerves, but since she was the sole heir to one of the most prosperous castles in the West she kept herself from strangling her. Besides, she had to keep her close lest the Lyncasters get their greedy paws on her and wed her to their son. Aurelia would find her a better match tonight, someone who supported the king. One easier to manipulate.

Aurelia didn't respond to the compliment and instead let her continue while she wordlessly looked at her reflection. "I wish the gods granted me half the beauty you have. You will outshine all the ladies tonight and I bet all the lords wish they could talk to you." Of course, she was right.

Cocking her head, Aurelia finally turned away from her mirror. "What do you mean? If I am the fairest than surely you must be the second? Perhaps even more, if I was a certain Lord..." She narrowed her eyes and smirked devilishly, letting the anticipation dangle in front of the other girl before giving her the answer. "...Harthlow~." It was flattery, and she was pleased to see a blush cross over the girl's face. It was quite obvious that she had taken a fancy to him, as she had been the one to carefully ensure it.

"Oh, Lord Harthlow? Will he be here tonight?"

"Of course. I invited him myself. Do you really think I would let you grow old as a spinster?" Aurelia purred, relishing the reverence in the girl's eyes. "Now, I think it is about time we join the festivities. Come, let us not keep the lords and ladies waiting."

✧✦✧​

Aurelia descended the staircase to the main hall, the generous lengths her dress flowing over the stairs behind her. Her steps were methodical, her posture perfect. So too was her golden hair, hanging in soft waves around her face save for the locks held back by a diamond and gold encrusted hairpin sat neatly at the back of her head.

As pretty as her companion was, Aurelia was fully aware that she was being overshadowed a hundred times over by her own beauty. The lords and ladies nearest to the staircase paused their conversations to look up in awe, even those at the back who had a good eye. They were all for her, the lady behind her hardly anything but an afterthought. Aurelia's lips parted in her flawless, beautiful smile.

The crowd below parted to accommodate her, the nobility bowing in greeting or giving compliments. Lady Selwyn followed after her like a trained dog and only faltered when she spotted Harthlow. She looked to Aurelia, as if in permission, and only left when she received a smile and nod. Aurelia felt like crying from joy. She was finally rid of her bland conversations. Through the party she would keep an eye on the two but for now, she relished her freedom. It lasted only until a group of nobles approached her, looking to converse.

Among them was a piggish looking man in a doublet the same colour as the wine he nursed. Lord Donovan Lyncaster. He motioned to the entire room and quirked an eyebrow. "Seems rather all for not. All this extravagance and the king is not even present. How sad. It seems the only ones enjoying our tax money is the peasants."

Aurelia could feel her jaw twitch, not because of the lord's audacity, but because she agreed with him. Arvin was still nowhere in sight and the lords and ladies were growing restless. "Patience is a virtue granted by the earth god himself. We Luxenri practice it often. Such as with debts long overdue...something I'm sure House Lyncaster knows all too well."

His face flushed deeper than the wine he carried, "My lady, I meant no offence. You know I-"

"Don't look so fretful Lord Donovan, it is too lovely a day to spoil it on such dreary talk. Worry not, we have great faith that all debts will be paid in haste. We are quite a gracious and generous house, after all."

Lord Donovan blinked twice and inclined his head stiffly. She could see the perspiration gathering under his collar.

"Speaking of generosity." Added Lord Harren, who stood beside him. "The harvest was blessed this year, though I hardly had enough men to gather it after the losses of the last invasion. Now that his grace is asking for even more men to add to his troops I fear I haven't the resources to sow the fields once the frost recedes. It is quite troubling. I fear I may not be able to accept the king's request."

"No need. We will be sending you Luxenri workers enough to seed your fields and harvest them come the end of the season."

A pleasantly shocked expression crossed over his face. "Lady Luxenri? Why I am at a loss of words. You have our deepest gratitude. Gods bless your kind soul." He took her hand and kissed it.

Aurelia allowed herself to smile. "It is during these dark times that we all must work together. I am merely a servant of the god's divine will."

It was generous, but not kind. The Harrens were growing steadily discontent with Arvin's rule with each passing moon. She gave to them only to have them in her debt, and ensure that the men marching to the capital was for the king and not against him. Even sweeter, there was hardly any loss on her part. The fallout of the last invasion had been rich in new workers for the Luxenri. Criminals, cripples, orphans, and the homeless -- more than enough to start a new mine and replace the amount they would be lending to the Harrens.

//open for any of you plebians to interact if you want. Especially that hobo seasonedcat //

 

[The True Plague]

Interactions: Jack19XK AiDEE-c0 Juju

Crow had a small smirk on his face, as he noted not only a way to mess with these two... But also to voice his usual frustrations whilst doing so. Also, they for some reason didn't refer to him by a name, he just knew they were referring to him because there was only one other person whom he could assume just came in, since he doubts the Prince and the Royal Adviser hadn't been in here all day. Like, why would such people have any reason to go out and mingle with the people on their terms? No reason, when they can just interact with those who enter here. Not that he, himself, is much of a social butterfly, but he at least walked amongst the masses to take part in how they choose to celebrate. Generally better than the nobles way, and even the royal's way. Maybe not in extravagance, but in sincerity and graciousness. There was always something that felt somewhat... Fake, about these celebrations. Something unearned, and yet expected. If he had o put a finger on it, he'd decide it's the belief that one must be absolutely happy with the event, and enjoy it, otherwise they're in some manner, offending the person whose day it is. As if having a bad day is a stain upon their honor, when it's not even their bad day. Some people are just going through some shit, you know? However, he has been in his thoughts much, much too long. So, this giant of a man decided to respond as needed by their questions.

"You know, I really wish I could enjoy the festivities around here. However, I can't help but feel slightly upset with it. Seeing vendors trying to exploit the naive and gullible with their 'sales' and seeing the nobles whom annoy me on principle, trying to be all buddy buddy with me on this day? It reeks of a falseness that simply ruins the entirety of this day. However, this is hardly my day, so I suppose I should accept these terrible things, and instead hope the King's private matter is going well for him." Sure, it sounded dangerously upset for a supposed insurgent, but he was simply being honest with these two. After all, the prince seemed to ask his opinion. Though the other had spoken to him as well, so he might as well respond whilst he's at it. "Oh, and unless these servants could potentially keep annoying nobles from me, I don't think I'll need much from them. After all, food and drink can easily be arranged by stepping outside and throwing some coins at the nearest vendor trying to exploit the vulnerable for his own gain on this most special of days. Sometimes, I can't tell which is worse, the vendors... Or the nobles. Probably depends on the noble." He side-eyed Aurin when he said that, chuckling slightly.

"Though I suppose I sound much too critical of this, for I can tell a lot of hard work has gone into these festivities. Simply isn't my cup of tea though." Crow walked to the nearest wall to simply lean against it, thinking. Was he forgetting anything? Possibly. Let's see... He's fully clothed, so that's a check. He has his mask at his hip, which helps to identify him, so check. Glasses? Given the world isn't a blur of colors and smears... Probably a check. Crippling depression that only a hearty bottle of ale could make him forget? Nope, that only comes around twice a year, and only at night. No check needed. So what is he forgetting... What in the present time is he forget... t... i... Son of a bitch! A present! He forgot to get a present! Sure, he could offer to take the King drinking, but that'd be ridiculous. What else could he offer, besides his bitchin' mask, robes, or cane? Not anything in terms of his supplies... Giving stimulants or drugs to the King as a gift is also most likely a big no-no as well. Well... He could give him the gift of the real world and give him nothing... No, he's a king. The real world for him is different.... Or is it? Perhaps it'd make him realize how everyone less fortunate than nobles feel about their birthday, Just another day. Not his best choice per se... But the best he had to offer the King for now. Well, there was another gift he could offer the King. One that the King often asked of him, and that'd be his time. No, not the time of day, or even to extend the King's time. Even though the latter is his job, only in certain cases. No, what he means is that he'll spend his time in the company of the King to enjoy with him and partake in the wonders of the day. That is the literal best he could do, for one never does get their time back. Nothing is more valuable.

Speaking of valuables, there goes the gem of this ball. The apple of the eye of many a noble. Somebody arrogant enough that he very well could mistake her for a Princess if she had literally any redeeming quality besides looks. Aurelia herself. Ice Queen. The very epitome of what he hated about the nobility, all wrapped up in one girl. Often he finds himself drinking late into the night, reconciling with the fact he technically has to work with her, with his deep, seething hatred of her. Though one must wonder... Why is he that he finds her specifically displeasing? There are rumors aplenty, truth be told. It is not like his contempt for the nobility was a secret, or if it is, everybody is extremely fucking dense.

These rumors varied in terms of absurdity, as any good amount of rumors should and would be. Some speculate he is some suitor scorned, which is ridiculous. She's like, half his age. Why would he want that? Not to mention, that'd not explain the sheer disdain. There'd be some longing or desire laying behind his actions towards her if this were the case. Another speculates that the father that pumped and dumped his mother was actually a part of his house, which transferred to the nearest member of said house for him to be angry with. This is unlikely, and also untrue. He isn't quite sure who his father actually is, he never met him after all. Another popular rumor is that said disdain is actually a ruse, and this is some sort of plan to overthrow the King to put her house into power... That last one is also untrue, and is pushed by those who believe him to be an insurgent. It is also a rumor that hardly gets said aloud, since they don't wish to piss off said family.

No, no... His disdain and hatred towards dear old Aurelia comes from a very personal part of him. You see, when they first spoke, she pretended to be all sweet. Trying to ply him for free work on one of her House... He refused, due to the fact it'd be a costly bit of work that may not even work. It was then that he was forced to endure her sharp tongue as she threatened him with throwing him into the mines with the rest of the filthy criminal element that have been rising up in the wake of the King's passing. He was the scum of the Earth, a bastard and son of a whore. Hardly even worthy of her time, and that he should be honored... Yada yada. She didn't quite say it in such certain terms, but he could gather it from her honeyed words of poison. This is what started his hatred, and hearing about the mines and how her House works the peasantry, the criminals, the urchins and orphans just cemented Aurelia as the literal worst person he has ever had the displeasure to learn exists.

"I'm sorry, excuse me for a minute." Crow spoke casually enough, not even bothering to explain himself as he broke away from his chatting with the Advisor, Prince, and Knight for him to enact his own petty plans. He used his size to simply force his way through the crowds with all the tact and efficiency that a battle ax has when going through a door. Many a murmur and glare were sent his way, but not a single noble was exactly raring to create a scene with the Royal Doctor, in the middle of a celebration for the King's birthday. Like it or not, they have to accept that he is here. Many were just glad to see that he wasn't stopping to talk to them and thus sully their reputation by associating with him. Possible insurgent, criminal and orphan to boot. The Doctor was not popular amongst the nobility, and that was fine. By. Him.

"Ah, Aurelia! Fancy seeing you here. I thought that you'd be here eventually. Still taking care of that issue?" He spoke broadly enough to allow for one to infer that she had some unseemly issue that she had come to the Royal Doctor to handle. Some blemish that one could not easily see, which a sharp mind would also take for him having seen more. Not the worst thing, given he is literally a doctor, and that's a part of his job, but it could give some fire to some of the rumors floating about. Sure, the rumors were focused on him, and his hatred of her, but it could still be used to affect her. "Ah, and hello to you two as well, whomever you happen to be." Was it petty of him? Yes. Of course it was. He was a man who lived off spite when he wasn't wearing the mask. What was wrong with this? Well one, not only has he walked up and spoke to Aurelia as if he were some friend of hers or a close associate by not using any form of title, but he then spoke to her speaking companions in the exact same manner, without the honor of even using their names or acting like he knew them. As if he, a close associate of hers, had never heard of them. Which would imply she never spoke of them, and thus, make any actions of hers seem suddenly a little less genuine. Sure, this could be fucking up a rather important moment, but one thing Crow was not, was socially savvy. Hence why he cuts up bodies and doesn't talk to them... Usually. He just really, really, really wanted to mess with Aurelia. Outside of Tessa, she was usually the easiest for him to get a rise out of if he played his cards right. Tessa was kinda too easy, since he just ignored her lessons on manner and politeness.​

 

[Ramjammer]

He truly was his Father's son.

Kugen had been a kind man. Hardened by battle, but he never allowed that to strip away that which made him feel. Particularly for others. Never for others. Nemir could see that it would be the same with Arvin. He was untested, true. But staunchly refused to remain that way for very long. And despite only haven spoken with him for a little while, the Judicator could read the young man well enough. He held hopes and ambitions just the same as any man. But he felt far beyond things decreed by his own desires. He'd grieved. Just as she had and still did. And just as much as the rest of the Kingdom. He bore the same scars that she did, and they still hurt him just as much.

And yet, he still hoped. He still dared to peer beyond the bleak reality in front of them to a future glowing with life anew. There for the grasping, so long as they were all ready to make the sacrifices needed to get within reach.

Nemir sighed and continued to stroke Ghan's ears in an almost thoughtful manner as she considered the young King's words. His dreams were not just his own. They were the dreams of Örn its people. Those countless souls lost and adrift in the dark. Each yearning to regain everything that the Void had so callously stripped from them.

With all that said, she had little if any reason to deny him.

"You speak the truth. Painful as it is. Bitter as it is. There is no escaping that which the Gods have decreed for us. If Terran wills it, then I will make it so. You have my blade and Ghan's teeth too. Though you'd be getting those whether or not you wanted to." The Hyena seemed to dance on the spot, his large paws shuffling gaily over the ground as his tail began to wag. Despite being unable to make sense of the words passed between Nemir and Arvin, Ghan could understand the emotion in the air well enough. Peace had been restored, and blessedly his friends were no longer fighting. It was good enough for him.

The weight prior to Arvin's surprise visit still hadn't lifted from her shoulders, even in the wake of the man's consuming awe or their spar. But Nemir knew that it would be there for a long while yet. Admittedly, there was some part of her that wondered if the man's appearance was at all related to the dream she'd been having every night for weeks. It wasn't a pleasant notion, given the vision's nature. But if the Demonic Hordes were once again bearing down on them then bloodshed of the highest magnitude was to be expected.

What concerned her most was the voice, and the hand. That awful, horrible shape in the dark and its abyssal voice. Whether it was a premonition, or a message from something else entirely Nemir couldn't say. But her gut told her that the answers lie within Arvin's request. It had yet to fail her.

She huffed and regarded the man in silence for a moment before nodding curtly. Then I suppose I'd better prepare to move my things hadn't I? I need little, really but haven't you got a party to get to? Gods forbid that you miss your own birthday because you're out in the woods chatting with me."

The Judicator assumed she'd merely take up residence at the Castle until they could afford her more fitting quarters. She didn't need much in the way of furnishings or space, Nemir was used to living a plain existence. But she'd prefer to be as close to whatever training grounds were being afforded to her as possible. Ghan was thankfully incapable of telling a good living space from a bad one, so long as he had the space to run around he needed the Hyena would be content.

But it would take hours to get back to the Castle and waiting for Nemir to get her affairs in order would only keep Arvin hanging around far longer than he should have waiting for her.

"It's best that you get back. I'll be along as soon as I'm able to." The woman said.

 

[Siren77]

“Wonderful! We’ll be glad to have you with us in the castle! It’ll be to the extent of your comfort of course. I’m sure you prefer you privacy so I’ll be sure to limit the amount of people bothering you during your time among us. By all means, take some time to gather the personal effects you wish to take with you and once you arrive we’ll show you to where you’ll be staying. I hope it might just be in time for the party, not for my sake, but for yours. Months in isolation is no way to live, I think it’s time you had some real human interaction after all this time. I’m sure Ghan’s a wonderful companion, but the lack of communication must be maddening.”

“Anyways, speaking of the party, while I enjoy that I’m a year closer to the age of accountability so some individuals will shut their traps about it. I’d hardly consider surrounding myself with said people something worth missing. They’d sooner see me dead and themselves in my place. But I must show good will, and my closest advisor suggested this would be the best way to do so. If not to appease the nobles, then it’ll at least give the common folk a reason to celebrate to be merry. After all there is very little reason to do so nowadays, isn’t there?”

Arvin carefully arched his blade into its sheath before nodding to Nemir with the solute of a soldier, that of course being a clench right hand set across the left part of the chest.

“I bid you a safe travel when you do arrive, not that you won’t be well taken care of in your own present company. We’ll have a warm meal for you to eat for a change this time around, and a cozy bed to rest your weary muscles. Until that time, may the Gods watch over you.”

The solute was ended, and Arvin gave the pair one final smile goodbye before turning about face and marching back the way he came. Just before he left the clearing however, he stopped in his tracks and looked to the sun above.

It was about three and a half hours until sunset, and with a four hour travel time back to his home, that would mean he’d be a half hour late to his own birthday party. Fan-fucking-tastic. He couldn’t wait for Aurelia to recount to him the crap the nobles would be saying about him during that thirty minute period. She herself would be just as displeased with him.

‘Oh well, it’s not their approval I’m expecting just yet. Simply their peace. For tonight at the very least.’

With that final thought, The King began the trek back home.
——————————————————————
CASTLE ÖRN - PRESENT TIME

Arvin stormed through the front door of his bedroom, simultaneously ripping off the armor he wore and casting it aside in a heap of metal and fabric. This was done until he was down to the long sleeve white shirt and light fabric pants that he wore to stay comfortable in the set of plating. After he checked that his door was locked, he stripped off the last of his clothing and headed for the small bathhouse connected to his room.

It was an extremely quick soak, with Arvin touching down in the water with just enough time to collect enough liquid to start rubbing himself down with a soap saturated rag. After another dunk in, he hopped out of the tub and pulled the drain to let loose the water down that intricate pipe system that led into the underground well that fed back into the soil to be recycled.

Once he was dried off and satisfied with the state of his body, Arvin quickly dressed in a more formal outfit that wasn’t too flashy that it was distasteful in enough eyes, but still brought the Kingly persona he needed to have. He’d much rather wear his armor like any other soldier or the party, but they’d simply think it barbaric of him. For the finishing touch, his mess of black hair was tied back in a loose pony tail to keep it out of his eyes and to make him look a bit more presentable. Rubbing the sides of his face, he contemplated shaving the scruff off of his face, but dictated that he didn’t have the time so instead headed straight out the door. And down to the grand hall where the celebrations were being held.

Spoiler: Outfit

Arriving just outside the main entrance to the festivities, Arvin stopped to find a small trio consisting of his brother, Tessa, and Aurin who had convened together. Approaching them all with a broad smile, he put a hand on his brothers shoulder and looked to the other two.

“Good evening my friends! I apologize for my late arrival, it seems my meeting with The Judicatory was a tad more intricate and lengthy than I had planned. It was a pleasure to see all of our people so joyous and enjoying the festivities we presented.” His attention focused on his brother Lyrren. “What of the rest of our guests dear brother? Are their spirits well? Or have they already begun to gripe of my absence?”

He already knew what the answer would be, but he reaaaaaally needed to talk with some friendly faces before he was to walk inside and deal with the false smiles and darted eyes always pointed at his back. There would be some snide and backhanded compliments to be exchanged and he honestly was not ready to put up with that just yet.
Ramjammer Juju AiDEE-c0 ItsKenAgain

 

[Juju]

The conversation with the two lords carried on with pridicable and rather boring talk. The harvest had been good and tensions were high. Lyncaster didn't seem bothered by the threat of the next invasion, which was no surprise, but at least Harren took it somewhat seriously. With a little help from Aurelia, be decided to expand his fields in favour of producing more resources for the king's troops.

It was going well until out of the corner of her eye Aurelia spotted a looming figure parting through the crowd like a broody spear. Fantastic. Could she not have some peace and quiet without him swooping over to be a pestilence? It was no wonder why he got his name, Crow.

"Look, my lords... it appears a lost crow has flown into the castle..." she murmured, annoyance flashing in her hazel eyes.

The two lords looked over their shoulders just in time to see Crow's imposing stature step out from behind the sea of nobility. Harren raised his bushy eyebrows while Lyncaster merely ignored the man and took a sip of his wine.

"Hmm? What issue?" Aurelia said with an innocent look of bafflement on her face. She tapped a slim finger under her jaw and tilted her head in a way that let her hair shift on her shoulder. "Oh! Do you mean to ask about Lady Selwyn's fainting spell yesterday? How thoughtful of you to ask. I was worried so much I could scarcely sleep knowing she could be ill for the king's birthday. I am pleased to say she is quite hale now and the weight in my heart has lifted."

Aurelia gave Crow a bright, lovely smile that didn't reach her eyes. It was an old game he was playing, one that was sadly child's play by now. It was almost adorable how the doctor tried his hand at it, like an amateur. Unfortunately, the nobles trusted her enough that she could make up anything to counter Crow's claims and they would eat it up. For Crow, well, they didn't trust him enough to look away from their jewellery. Like a hatter, it was said that the herbs had altered his brain with a spark of madness and his heart had grown vile and cold.

"Lady Luxenri, you truly are a blessing." Lord Harren chimed in, "Lady Selwyn is fortunate to have you look out for her in place of her late father. Gods grant him peace for his bravery in the last invasion."

The Crow greeted the other lords but didn't receive one in return. Lyncaster glared at Crow from over his wine glass while Harren blinked in disbelief.

"You have the honour of addressing Lord Donovan Lyncaster, and Lord Fenno Harren. Lords of the Twin Rivers and Southern Croplands, respectively. They are steadfast allies of his grace and two great pillars in the kingdom." she said. They were important, but not that important. Still, flattery always worked.

"Forgive me," she continued, placing a hand delicately on her chest while looking at Crow. "I often forget the intricacies of nobility are lost on those who do not come from such a background. You probably only recall the names of nobles you have served. Which would be..." she frowned thoughtfully and blinked, "Oh, dear me. I do not seem to recall your service to many noble houses, if any. How saddening. I heard you even turned down one of the sick Harthlow girls a few years back. I wept when I heard the news. She was hardly on her tenth nameday when the illness took her."

With the conversation redirected towards the trustless Crow, Aurelia simply waited for his response. Any more snide remarks would only further his reputation that he was a muddle-minded lowborn. Any denial of his lack of service would prove he couldn't be trusted, for every noble knew how he spurned their sick families. If he attempted to defend his stance then he would only make the two nobles beside her hate him even more. Even if they were already supporting her claims and needed little convincing, it would be wonderful to see Crow struggle and squirm like a bird with a broken wing.

The True Plague

 

[The True Plague]

One would imagine that Crow would be cowed by the turns this conversation has taken. To see his attempts to sully Aurelia's character be met and effortlessly beaten back to be directed at him. Any lesser man would quail, and hurry to end the conversation or find the best way to spin it. That's what a man of class would do. A lying, scheming bastard, which as a breed he'd label as Noble, would try to do. It was a very effective method, for those Aurelia normally dealt with. Of course, Crow was no such beast. Thankfully, through being a neglected bastard, he'd manage to find an honest living worthy of mild admiration given the adversities he had to tread to get there. So where others may calculate how to respond to the clearly loaded questions and statements directed to him, he met them head on with nothing but his honest thoughts on the matter. Much easier to not get swept away by prissy little wenches playing their hands at being important if you don't play the games their way.

"Odd... I don't recall ever meeting Selwyn. I do, after all, keep good records of who has bothered to enter my halls with their petty issues. Oh... Or do you mean to tell me that, instead of coming to an appointment, you chose to make up an incident that you've mixed up in your addled mind with another doctor?" He grinned slightly, turning his head ever so slightly to make note of the positioning of people around him. Perhaps with enough prodding, he could create a scene if a particularly chivalrous noble happened to come by and hear him mocking a 'Lady'. "After all, I was much too busy yesterday tending to the sickly orphans around my shop. Somebody has to keep an eye out for them, they are our future after all. Had to turn away a fair few of them so that I could handle your checkup. Alas, you never did show up. A shame that a few had been taken by their maladies and the cruel conditions that none of you seem to care about unless it affects you."

Where Aurelia faked her smile, Crow's was wide and genuine. His eyes seeming to brighten up. After all, he was enjoying himself. Did he ever win these games? No, of course not. Though truly, that was never the point. No, the point for him was to amuse himself at the cost of others enjoyment. Despite the ribbing the King will probably give him later for this, and the possible satisfaction Aurelia might get from 'winning' the conversation has already been sullied and the nobles mocked. He has already gotten what he wanted, but he's simply sticking around to see how this plays out. As for claims of his sanity going awry from herbs... He can't be certain, he is not, however cruel and vile. All the vitriolic hatred within him, was reserved for the very scum of humanity. He knew that if anyone here was cruel and vile, it was Aurelia and the conditions she sent the unfortunate to work in. To slave away and die for nothing more than her gain to bargain with others for. The only thing noble about nobles is when they die and no longer poison this land and it's ideas.

"Thank you for introducing them to me, but it is not an honor for me to meet them. After all, they should be honored to meet me, the ROYAL Doctor." He stressed and emphasized the royal bit, a slightly smug look on his face. He always did this whenever he met snooty nobles. Nobility is neat and all, but can they claim to have royal in their titles? No, they can't. "Nevertheless, it'd be rude to know their names and have them introduced without me doing the same. I am Gabriele Heartsong, Royal Doctor to the late King Kungen, and Royal Doctor for the current King, Arvin. The only land that I own, happens to not be too far from here, nice little apothecary where I do most of my work. I'd offer my hand to shake, but alas, I fear I may get filthy from touching your lot." His tone turned slightly mocking towards the end. After all, he sincerely doubts it's the first they've said or thought that.

"Intricacies of nobility? Sorry, I don't have the time nor patience to learn such bullshit. You know, I'm generally busy doing things none of you or your servants can seem to do, given how often nobility come to me for aid." Now was the time to make a choice, truly... Does he rant about this, or continue straight to the point? The rant would make him feel better, but no doubt he'd be ignored halfway through. So, he chose to forgo the rant for efficiency and also because given an infinite time, he'd probably still not run out of things to add about his disdain for the nobility and the work they ask of him to do. "Perhaps it'd do to actually give a name as to which one, instead of merely alluding Aurelia. There are a lot of sick and dying, and in that, all of you are equal. Though of course, with you nobles and your arrogance and incompetence, I'm sure you're unaware of how this is the case. So perhaps allow me to enlighten you three into why it is that I had to turn her down. Her illness, if I recall correctly, given she perished from it being left unchecked, was a notably severe one. One that very well could've affected her life long past the time that it ended. The treatment for it, would've been painful for her to undergo, and to top it all off, the Harthlow's were attempting to short-sell my work and strong arm me into accepting a price that'd not begin to recover the lost assets needed to cure her. The herbs aren't cheap, neither is my time, the constant check ups I'd have to do which eats away time I could use to save many more lives, and to top it all off, there wasn't even a guarantee it'd work. Perhaps if the nobility didn't try to bullshit me on my job, and cooperated with me, they'd see me taking more of their cases. As it stands, I serve mostly the lower houses. Know why? Because they understand that I'm a person, and understand the things that go into my work."

"As for services besides my doctoral duties? I'd not come near a single noble house if it were my only chance at life. Life was much better before I had to deal with your lot, a bunch of babies playing at being important when just like any other, you'll die and pass on with hardly anyone to remember your name soon enough. I'd rather spend my time with those who understand life and how to live it right." He chuckled slightly, gesturing out to the party. "Far as I'm concerned, outside of the King, his advisor, and the Prince, this entire place right now is fit with nothing but idiots who lucked out when being born. None of you are special, and none of you are entitled to my time and services over anybody else. Perhaps you two lords should learn something from this. Who knows, maybe you'll not see others of your house taken by sickness and wounds because I'd be able to stomach their personalities long enough to help them out."

Not only did he own up to his actions, he turned it into an attack against the nobility. Sure, he did some wrongs, he could admit that. These wrongs were done because of the nobility. Not to mention what could be considered a not so veiled threat of watching their loved ones, if nobles are capable of love, die to disease or wound unless they shape up and grow up in his eyes. Was that the smart way to handle it? Of course not. However, he never cared for the smart way to do something. He wanted his point across, and as far as he was concerned, he got his point across like a spear through the heart. However, he was not done.

"Of course, that might be asking a bit too much of you guys to grow up and listen to somebody that your bloated egos and narcissistic personalities don't recognize as a person. In which case, feel free to continue dying because I could not give an iota of a fuck less. I may not be saving your lives often, but I do much good in this world, and honestly? It's not shocking to me if the common folk respect me more than any of you, given I care about them. I help them out. What do your lot do? Abuse them and treat them like toys. How is that relevant? Well, consider this." He spoke softly, the light in his eyes hardening into nothing but malice and his grin disappearing. "When the pestilence comes, for there is no doubts these demons carried diseases, I have more say than any of you ever would. So perhaps erring on my good side would mean a lot more when the common folk panic." The grin returned to his face and his mood seemed to brighten up.

"Though truly, that is too dark a tone for such a day. How are you enjoying the party?"

Juju

 

[ItsKenAgain]

The well spoken replies of the Prince and Advisor fell on Aurin’s ears and piqued his interest. So the King was off conducting business on his own birthday? Certainly this had to have been a matter of great personal importance to him. With how King Arvin met the current state of affairs with such seriousness, however, many things seemed to him to be quite personal. Aurin could tell when he was being led away from asking further questions. Though he intended to disregard this subtle social que, he was unable to pry for answers due to the arrival of one tall, foreboding presence. Gabriele Heartsong, the Royal Doctor strolled in with a casual wave, hardly dressed for such an extravagant event, and that long, dark mask hanging from his hip. The half-elf had no interest in the fineries of high class socialite events, and it radiated from him like the malice on his face. Aurin did little to hide the parting of his lips and brows which raised slightly in contempt at the Doctor’s appearance.

The Crow as many called him, greeted the Prince and Miss Rimbaud, then as an afterthought acknowledged Aurin as well. Aurin pursed his lips in a tight smile, giving the man a nod, though he exhaled deeply through his nose. He, too, inquired the whereabouts of the King and was met with the same answer. Miss Rimbaud politely encouraged them both again to enjoy the party, and let them know that of course there would be servants at the ready should they have any needs. Crow, however, already seemed to have a bone to pick, so to speak.

"You know, I really wish I could enjoy the festivities around here. However, I can't help but feel slightly upset with it. Seeing vendors trying to exploit the naive and gullible with their 'sales' and seeing the nobles whom annoy me on principle, trying to be all buddy buddy with me on this day? It reeks of a falseness that simply ruins the entirety of this day. However, this is hardly my day, so I suppose I should accept these terrible things, and instead hope the King's private matter is going well for him. Oh, and unless these servants could potentially keep annoying nobles from me, I don't think I'll need much from them. After all, food and drink can easily be arranged by stepping outside and throwing some coins at the nearest vendor trying to exploit the vulnerable for his own gain on this most special of days. Sometimes, I can't tell which is worse, the vendors... Or the nobles. Probably depends on the noble." The man ranted condescendingly to Prince Lyrren, giving Aurin a sly side eye with the finishing remark and a chuckle.

A short laugh escaped on Aurin’s breath at this suggestion of an accusation. What should this man know about nobility? He spent his days immersing himself into the filth and pestilence that plagued the commonfolk, and then had the nerve to enter into the King’s castle and look upon his chosen council like they were the true disease that choked the land. As if the common folk didn’t have the nobles to thank for building this country and harnessing the resources that kept it alive, especially in times of such peril. Truly this man must favor chaos over the rightful order of things. Having pledged himself to serve those above his own noble class, Aurin was at a loss for how one could owe so much to his superiors and act like the position they’d been granted was a curse.

Though Aurin had little acquaintance with Crow, he had a distaste for the Doctor’s disrespect of those he had been called to serve with. In truth, he could easily tell why such rumors of the man being an insurgent were still brewing. He had crawled his way up, a half-elf bastard, a criminal not only against the laws of man, but against the laws of nature, only to be pardoned and welcomed into the fold under King Kungen, then trusted to serve under King Arvin as well. Such a situation would insult many of the higher class, and raise talk of hidden motives. Perhaps it was this mystery that made Aurin truly wary of the Doctor. He dreaded the day he may fall prey to injury or illness, for surely he’d be damned if saved by the Doctor’s knowledge gained only by way of sin against the gods. The thought, if not the man himself, made Aurin adverse to having anything to do with him.

Before he could say anything though, Crow was excusing himself, having set eyes on other goals for the night. Namely, on striking up a pointed conversation with a radiant Aurelia Luxenri who was gracing two lords with her presence. Surely no good would come of this, but it was not of concern to Aurin at the moment, as he cared not to follow Gabriele around this party. Aurin shook his head and mused to the Prince and the Advisor.

“Surely spending his days with the lower class have made him mad. He seems to forget his place as a Royal, what, with his blatant rejection of such kind accommodations. I couldn’t imagine having the gall.” He insinuated incredulously, making his stance on such matters clear. Shortly after he had spoken though, the King had finally arrived and came towards the three to greet them before diving into enjoying his party. Aurin bowed respectfully, greeting him ‘My King’.

“Good evening my friends! I apologize for my late arrival, it seems my meeting with The Judicator was a tad more intricate and lengthy than I had planned. It was a pleasure to see all of our people so joyous and enjoying the festivities we presented.” Arvin said, then turning his attention to his brother, Prince Lyrren. “What of the rest of our guests dear brother? Are their spirits well? Or have they already begun to gripe of my absence?”

“The Judicator?” Aurin interjected aloud, a look of interest and surprise on his face and excitement tugging on the corners of his lips. Is that what the King had been up to this morning? Certainly that meeting could have only one purpose, as Aurin was painstakingly aware of Arvin’s struggle to find another Royal Knight to assist him in building an army. “You mean the Judicator, Nemir Cesti? What a meeting that must have been...”

His eye fell upon the signs of a swollen bridge of the King’s nose as he pondered if it was a result of such an encounter. There was no shortage of stories being told of the greatest of King Kungen’s knights during the Void’s wave. Aurin had heard of the surviving Paladin’s role in fighting the demons that swarmed the Kingdom. Through blood and fire, she remained, but just like the ghosts of the fallen seemingly vanished after the fighting was over. A servant of Terran, surely she was chosen by his grace to fight another day. If King Arvin had sought her out, would it then also be for that purpose? Aurin was holding out for answers, that he was certain would affect him directly if his assumptions were correct. A mix of awe an anxiety accompanied even the idea of working beside such a legendary, and notoriously terrifying warrior.

 

[Juju]

Crow never knew when to stop. It was an annoying little habit of his, just one of many that made Aurelia want to cast him into the ocean. Or maybe she'd have him thrown off of the Darkwing Peaks and see if crows really could fly? It was fun to fantasize at least, and made his disgusting face a little easier to endure.

She continued smiling as he talked, even as he insulted her 'muddled mind'. As if that statement had any legs to stand on! She would have laughed if it wasn't so pathetic. Lyncaster, on the other hand, took the bait. "You had better watch your tongue, you are speaking to-"

Aurelia gently placed her hand on the lord's shoulder. It was all it took to make him freeze his speech and she could feel the flabby muscles beneath his tunic tense up. A look of disbelief filled his eyes, overshadowing something darker hiding in the depths. It made her skin crawl. "Lord Lyncaster, you are noble to say such. But let us humour the crow for now. I am sure he will enlighten us with his great wisdom."

"Truly a philosopher." added Lord Harren in amusement, "If our future lies in diseased waifs then we all are truly doomed."

Aurelia shared a smirk with the lord but let Gabriel continue on his rant. She smiled pleasantly, blinking and tilting her head at different words as if it were as interesting as hearing about the weather. Still, her eyes were like chips of ice. They tore into Crow's own like tiny daggers, not even trying to hide the pure ire. He really was an insolent cretin, bordering on the amusing and the bothersome. He was speaking to one of the most cut-throat lords in the riverlands and another whom had lost many workers from the last plague. A rather bold move, even for him. It was unlikely that he would last until the next winter. That is if the lords actually could be bothered to deal with a single whiny crow.

In the middle of his rant Aurelia seemed to lose interest in his words, glancing over his shoulder to look at more important guests. King Arvin had finally arrived -- she would have to go greet him later and present a gift -- and by the looks of it, Lady Selwyn and Lord Harthlow were deep in conversation. She could tell they were getting along swimmingly. Perhaps she would have another wedding to attend to soon. Wonderful.

She had been loosely following Crow's words, enough that she got a good idea of what he was saying without being too particular on the details. It was all the same to her. Peasants this, peasants that. What was he going on about now? Ah, the choice between working with nobles and sparing his life. Well, it was good that he preferred death over working with nobility. His fate would probably be that regardless of his preference. Especially the way Lyncaster was looking at him. His face had turned a deep shade of red, his knuckles white from gripping his wineglass. Aurelia wasn't sure what would snap first, the glass or his temper.

Perhaps emboldened by the lack of objection, Crow continued. He demanded they respect them, threatening them with the danger of the next plague. It earned a certain shift in the posture of all three nobles. They exchanged a queer look, going silent.

Harren was the first to break. A smile crept up his lips until suddenly he couldn't hold it in any longer and he burst out into laughter. Aurelia joined in at the same time, followed by Lyncaster, his rage momentarily forgotten. He almost spilled his wine on himself as he boomed with laughter.

"Oh, gods have mercy on us! We have summoned the wrath of King Crow! What shall we do?" He chuckled.

Harren was grinning like a cat. "We shall truly rue this day."

Aurelia covered her laughs with the back of her hand, her eyes never leaving Crow. "Yes, it is quite a splendid party. I had a hand in its making, after all," she said after her laughs had subsided. "The guest list could be much improved, but overlooking that I believe I will remember this day for years to come."

The True Plague

 

[The True Plague]

Crow knew exactly when to stop, actually. He simply chose to ignore the ringing bells in his head about this being an absolutely dreadful avenue to pursue in favor of allowing himself to enjoy the moment for long to come. He could also say the same of Aurelia when it comes to envisioning the others' demise. After all, there has been many a time he's considered granting mercy to the world if she ever showed up for something life threatening. All it'd take is a single slip, an 'honest' mistake for her life to end by his own hands. To watch the life drain from those eyes. The only question is, does he laugh at the moment, or does he savor the feeling to remember on especially boring days? Truly, the things one must consider in his line of work. Absolutely heart wrenching.

"Oh? I had better watch my tongue? I believe it is you who should watch theirs, given you're spineless enough to lose it from a simple touch. My tongue, however, freely continues on. Know why? Because I'm speaking to two sacks of shit whose livelihoods matter very little in the end, and one whose life I must grudgingly admit holds merit due to the fact she works for the King as well as I. After all, you two won't be fighting if the demons come back. You'll send your poor, your workers. You'll do every last bit to keep your family close to safety as you can. Once your lower class end up dead, you'll all be fighting to send your enemies and save your own hide so that you can usurp power. Know why? You're all nothing but spineless wimps, scum suckers whose livelihood depends on your ability to kiss up to whoever has the most power, and eventually overthrow them once your nose is a sufficient color of brown." He was more than willing to goad the one who had taken the bait. After all, he is fairly certain he could handle the circumstances without worry. He was strong enough to easily haul around corpses, and amputations were a one and done deal. He knew the human body to an extent most consider creepy. Unless you sneak up upon him in the little time he spends sleeping, he won't exactly go down easily.

"Feel free to laugh all you want, for it is best to enjoy life before disease takes even that away from you. Though I do believe you sincerely are making a mistake in mocking the one man who knows more about this than any of you. At most, you lost family to the diseases of the past. You didn't have to be there to hold them as they died to ensure they died in comfort. You haven't had to see the desperation some will fall to in the hopes of a cure. Your coin, your status, and your protection mean nothing to them if you can be used to get what they want. Though even if I error when it comes to the masses and their willingness to do as I say in exchange for the best chance of getting cured, I do not error in saying your houses will be brought low. All it takes is a little bit of a cough, a little bit of contamination, to ruin centuries of hard work." Their amusement at his darker tone was very little appreciated, but expected. After all. they're arrogant and stupid. "Even worse, when one uses a sub par doctor, who negligently could cause it to spread like wildfire among your lands. The only one who'll see help out of your three houses, will be Aurelia, and only because the King will force me to do so. Of course, why do I bother speaking to you about this though? Your pride, hubris really, is clearly enough to cloud your minds. Otherwise you'd have already noticed how your kind is a rot upon these lands. One that I'm sure will be removed in revolution. Though perhaps, hopefully for you, it'll be a peaceful one. Your descendants don't deserve to suffer just because their ancestors are useless and hardly worth the life imbued into their fleshy bodies. "

"Oh, but alas it seems that I must away. The King has arrived and I must give him a gift and see how things have been. Goodbye, Aurelia. See you later, Harren. Good luck with the workers you need, yes I overheard that." Crow smirked slightly, giving a deep bow to Lyncaster. "And fat, and certainly least, goodbye to you, Lord Fatass of No Spine. If you ever need a doctor and think you can afford my expertise, perhaps I can retrieve what remains of your spine after your cowardly actions and flab has taken most of it to dust." Purposefully antagonizing the one who seemed the easiest to anger. Although the nobles may feel like they won, he has, in his own way, won by causing trouble that Aurelia will have to smooth out... Tessa probably as well. Oh, and if Lord Fatass takes the bait, he gets to punch a noble in the throat. That'll be fun... Probably need to take that outside. Upside though, the orphan children can rob him blind after he's knocked out. Assuming they didn't just kill him to find out how it feels. Ah, children will be children after all.

Nevertheless, hopeful fancies aside, Crow began his journey back to the entrance hall to speak to the King and see how things have been and to wish him well. It has been a while since they last talked face to face, given he's been busy in his apothecary and Arvin obviously busy with Kingly duties and responsibilities that he couldn't care less for. He'd simply force his way back through the throng of nobles, whistling a merry tune as he stayed prepped for the potential attack. If the man chooses to not pursue him this moment, Crow would enter the entrance hall with a wide grin. He'd also do the same if he were to pursue him now, actually. That's how little Lyncaster registered as a threat to him. "Hope I'm not interrupting, but welcome back King Arvin! I trust this personal business has gone well, yes? Wait... Are those injuries I see?" His grin tightened ever so slightly, annoyance creeping into his eyes. Whoever did that better have a good reason, because if he had to work today he'll need a good reason to not drink himself blackout drunk and create a scene much worse than he already has. "Do note that although I can't charge you for my services, sir, I will make sure to not be as gentle about cleaning the wounds out for thoroughness reasons."

Juju ItsKenAgain Siren77 Jack19XK AiDEE-c0