Fantasy The Rose's Obsession | Private

[LONELYRAIN]

Joan nan Rose​

"I apologize with all sincerity, my lord!" The panicked speech of the soldier rang out through the thick tension within the spacious throne room. The line of soldiers behind the commander who was quivering in his armor all held their heads downcast, not one daring to look the woman -- their lord, in her eyes. However, the outburst was one that made the woman release a sharp breath through her nostrils, sitting with a lax manner upon the stolen throne; her hand draping lazily over her stomach, the other resting upon the decorated sheath of her nearby sword, one that most knew she never let fall free from her grasp. Ever since the Rose Empire had spread their imperial might from their cold, northern homeland of Druovania and taken control over the lesser, savage nations; it was she - Joan nan Rose, daughter of the current emperor; Earle nan Rose; had been charged over the imperial occupation of a particular resistant and rebellious lot in the magic wielding people whom lived in the southern, hot climate nation of Rascilla. Though, the occupation occured during a certain upheaval against the former ruling monarchy, resulting in it being too easy for the Rose empire to sweep in to assist the rebelling Rascillians only to "betray" them; forcing them to submit.

However, it was not a victory that was lasting it seemed. The people were far from broken, much to Joan's utmost pleasure; for more than one occasion did her scouting parties would come back defeated, such as the man before her now. It was only under strict orders from her father that Joan didn't take to whipping the people up into more of a frenzy with her own presence, for war did always set the young woman's blood ablaze. The only time where she would feel anything aside from the empty numbness as she regarded the trembling, pathetic soldier giving his report, not a single scratch on the white plate of his armor, already a telltale sign of cowardice, "U-unit A was ambushed by the savages in the southern oasis, all but one were wiped out and is currently receiving medical attention from our chirurgeons." The solider held a firm salute as Joan's eyes dropped from the soldier to the sheath she had now moved upon her lap, fingers lightly tracing across the intricate designs of gold upon the jet black background. At this point, she could hear the faint creak of armor of the soldiers before her, their anxiety and fear being all too heavy in the air.

But, it was simply divine. All of it was to the woman, and as she lightly brushed her fingers in a loving caress over the sheath of her weapon, her eyes were slowly panning upward to face the trembling solider before her, although still frozen in a salute, even the very hands of the man were quivering, shaking with such prey-like fear, it almost made Joan find delight in his terror. But, her hounds needed to be disciplined, despite their amusing display of fear, such weakness was not befitting of the Rose empire, regardless if their enemy were magic wielding savages or no. Standing from her seat, Joan's facial expression, ever locked in one of emotionless countenance had shifted her sheathed sword as she took heavy steps toward the trembling soldier, her heavy steps echoing within the tense throne room. Her steps did not stop until she had taken a place before the solider, her soft spoken voice filling the tense air, "Did you fight, soldier? With all you had within you?"

There was a tense silence in the room, before the man responded in a shaky tone, a thick swallowing of saliva as he stammered, "I-I was the commander of the patrol, m-my Lord, I-I could have fought but that would have-" The abrupt sound of a blade sliding from a sheath finished the hasty excuse, the sword finding its mark in the weak point of the armor, just below the where the helmet protected the soft flesh of the neck as the other end pointed through the soft flesh before her, bloodied and shining in the natural light of the throne room with an evil delight, not so much unlike its owner whose face, still as blank as ever had a faint seraphic gentleness as she said coldly, "To run from the enemy while your own fights till their death, till their breath leaves them, till the savages rip them limb from limb with their cheap tactics... is this how you repay the Rose empire? Is this how my hounds hunt?"

"You dare to show your face to me, apologizing with every ounce of empty words hoping to slither away like a worm from punishment." The soldier's gags for air caused a shiver of delight to crawl up and down Joan's spine as she ripped her blade free from the man's neck, the soldier collapsing to the throne room's floor, as the woman stood back abruptly, his hands clutching to his bleeding neck in futility, writhing and struggling, gargling pants and swelling crimson to stain against the pristine armor. A sigh left the princess's lips, "As a loyal hound, I expected you to do better. Best to die on the battlefield than to die a coward. A lesson learned unfortunately far too late for you. One that I hope your fellows have learned... I hope?" She looked toward the other frozen soldiers, all of whom quickly saluted as their fellow lay gagging for air upon the throne room's floor, his blood tainting beautiful marbled flooring in a dark crimson pool. Closing her eyes with satisfaction at the sight, she lowered her blade to her side, turning and walking toward the throne room as she proclaimed firmly in her ever soft, velvet tone, "Good. We are the hunters, and they are the prey. By no means do the hunter allow himself to be hunted by mere pests. If you follow such cowardice, pray do not return. I have no need for weakness."

Upon sitting on the throne, settling back into a position of ease as she gazed blankly at the soldiers before her, the sudden slamming open of the doors broke the thick tension as soldiers were currently grabbing hold of a wriggling, thrashing figure, spitting curses and screams of rage as the ball of fury had been thrown before the princess, narrowly missing the dying soldier upon the marble flooring. An eyebrow raised as she looked upon the savage man before her, no doubt one of the magic wielding barbarians that the majority was supposed to have given up their fighting... but this one had such hatred, such venom in his eyes - oh, how it made her heart pound in delight! Never had she seen such hate-filled eyes look upon her with such disgust, at least not openly. When she did leave the palace that once belonged to the many scattered tribes of the Rascillian people, there were downcast, broken gazes wherever she trod in the streets, for the main capital was subjected to the worse of punishment when someone did step out of line - not so much the outer reaches where Unit A had unfortunately failed to handle. The people were beaten into submission, while others who enjoyed the high life of the Rose empire had traded their loyalties for full bellies and citizenship, the ones who refused the Rose empire of course were treated like beasts. A fitting punishment in Joan's eyes, until all of them broke or accepted this as reality, for she found their struggles that of children still chasing after an impossible dream: their freedom.

But, part of her did delight in their little rebellions, as they did crop up ever so often here and there within the city and the nation's massive continent. She always delighted in crushing them utterly, just to see their anguish and the light of hope and hatred die out in their eyes. But of course, there were a few like the man brought before her which showed such vibrant defiance, it nearly made her wish to leap from her seat and see just how much that hatred would last. Ah, I'm getting shivers~

Her expression however left no such emotion or inkling to what she was thinking, instead she raised a brow at the feral man before her whom she had no doubt would leap at the chance to blast her with some sort of strange barbaric magic. She was truly anticipating it, or rather wanted him to do so. But, such an... unbecoming side of her would not do to show for a princess of the Rose empire, so her gaze turned expectantly to the soldiers whom held a tight grip on the poor soul brought before her, "My Lord, we've found the leader of the rebels within the city. One of his own kind sold him for the bounty on his head." A faint twitch of a smile touched the princess's faces as she looked down at the man, her seraphic face taking on the usual tender expression as one of her hands absentmindedly handled the bloodied end of her sword, fresh with the blood of the soldier whom at this point had grew silent and still on the marble floor. The brilliant red, no longer warm was now cold and sticky on her pale hand as she said softly, "As expected, one of them would cave in for money. Tell me, how does it feel to be stung with betrayal? Ah, forgive me... I'm sure that is one your people know too well, isn't it?"

 

[Jon]

Vincent set his goblet down before he was overcome by a coughing fit. Leaning to his side and turning away from the men, the merriment paused as the three older gentlemen now looked on with concern. "Is this your attempt at the great lion's roar?!?!?" One suggested in jest though he grew silent as Vincent's head lowered below the table. Normally he had been able to contain himself but several hours of drinking had certainly aggravated something. Making sure to wipe all the blood from his mouth, Vincent slowly sat up before offering them his usual bright smile. "Got caught in that downpour the other night. Didn't know the dame was married..." Vincent cursed as the men erupted in laughter once again.​

"Perhaps we should conclude this meeting? They've been increasing patrols to the east and I should take this back to my men. You should get some rest!" The grizzled veteran across from Vincent then suggested as he traded his goblet for the map spread over the table. Rolling it rather carefully, the man slipped it into a leather sleeve he kept in his coat. The other two men followed suit as Vincent let out a heavy sigh. "You've all done very well, we have the Roses scattered. My men are completing their final raid tonight. We will continue to rotate attacks in our sectors so they cannot pin any of us down." Vincent commended them before moving to gulp down the rest of his wine and ease his aching chest. Vincent nearly flew into another fit as a broad hand came crashing down on his back. The hulking mass of muscle beside him smirked as he adjusted his collar. "We should be praising you, boy! The Lion of Rascilla would be proud!" The giant laughed as he pulled Vincent to his feet.

"Indeed Vincent, I do not know where the resistance would be without your efforts." The Veteran was quick to add but Vincent could not escape his discerning gaze. "Do take the time to rest while you can. We cannot make you our general until Rascilla is won back and you'll have to live to see it..." The veteran mused before continuing to pack his things as he knew Vincent understood his meaning. The young general merely nodded before moving to stretch as he let out a yawn. His symptoms were severe but to think him ill would be jumping to conclusions even for one with such experience.

"He is to be our King!!!" The other two nearly sounded off in unison, insulted by the veteran's sudden demotion of Vincent. "I had thought we fought originally to bring down the kingdom?" The veteran was quick to retort before turning his attention to the door of the small tavern. The cloaked figure entered rather gracefully before offering a curtsey to the three men standing before her. Pulling back her hood, a crimson mop erupted forth though it did little to mask the piercing green eyes that scanned the room. The mood seemingly soured by her appearance as the resistance leaders merely awaited Vincent's approval.

"I will see you all in a fortnight as scheduled." The general waved them off as each man seemingly made an effort to ignore the woman's presence as they left the tavern. "As cordial as ever. It is not like I've saved their asses more times than I care to remember!" The woman moaned as she dropped her cloak and began to adjust her rather revealing emerald dress. Vincent paid her little mind just as the others. Moving instead to retire on the long sofa in the corner of the tavern. Immediately descending upon him, the woman began to entangle herself until she could no longer be ignored. "You were a sorceress for King Ashnard, Isabella. Beyond helping me, you've done little to redeem yourself..." Vincent attempted to explain for what felt like the thousandth time. Isabella was seemingly too preoccupied with playing with his hair to listen to him.

"I'll have your child. We have the night alone." Isabella suggested with glee before starting to move into a mounting position. "Where are the others?" Vincent sighed as he closed his eyes, refusing to play along with her games. "The warehouse on the old harbor..." Bella responded as she started to slip her dress off her shoulder. Nearly falling over, the sorceress rolled away as Vincent lept from the cushions. "I said I wanted everything stored outside of the city! We found that barn on the farm just outside the walls!" Vincent scolded her, watching as she took her time to get dressed once again.

"Why risk moving so far? We live in the city center and they never guard the old harbor. They only bother to send a patrol when they see a boat pass and we aren't using boats!" Bella attempted to explain to no avail. Vincent had already equipped his sword with his head nearly wrapped as she moved to follow. Pleading with him the entire way, Vincent only increased his pace as they leaped across the rooftops. Isabella had disobeyed him in the past but never had she been so extreme. They had been stockpiling stolen supplies for nearly a year and this would be all they had in the battle to come. To lose even a single crate could spell their doom yet she decided to store their largest haul next to the empire's shipping lane. The logic was lost on him as he struggled to make sense of her actions. Not a single member of the resistance approved of her joining. Vincent had even stopped attempts on her life by those she had wronged during the war. She was an asset, one he could control. It was that simple when they needed every advantage they could get, Vincent could not part with such a sharp blade. The other leaders certainly still disapproved but they believed in him. Her games he could entertain but they would part this night if she had truly become such a liability. Gripping the hilt of his sword, Vincent raced onward toward the old harbor. Leaping down just as they neared the warehouse, Isabella was finally able to grab his arm.

"You're going to make a scene and this will get us caught!" Bella scolded him now as she tugged him back. "Leave them to their work! Even if you don't trust me, you must trust Marcus?" Bella questioned him as Vincent could only glare at her. Pulling away, Vincent pushed in the doors before moving into the dark warehouse. "Marcus!" Vincent called out as he sensed nothing in the still darkness. A ball of flame suddenly raced past him, igniting several torches along the walls. Finding the warehouse completely empty, Vincent simply turned back to the Sorceress in confusion.

"I did want to gather you all here but your loyal crew would never disobey you. They left me with the mess of the ruined Rose caravan as they made for the barn!" Bella laughed as she moved closer to Vincent. "I wasn't joking earlier either. I did want to make our final night special, have your child..." Bella lamented his loss rather honestly. "...there is still time if you're up for it, though I do know you struggle now. It is more common than you think with young men!" The sorceress teased him as she placed her hand on his chest.

"What have you done?" Vincent nearly shouted, his demeanor slowly boiling into a rage. "No need to get frustrated darling, we have plenty of time for sex. I mean you're essence blocked. The glass in your chest? Well it only feels like glass, it is actually crystalized essence..." Bella began to explain before taking a moment to enjoy the look of horror on Vincent's face. "...oh, you thought no one knew? With your symptoms and you all of a sudden stopped going on raids? Suddenly stopped using magic for some reason. I guess being a half-blood isn't as great as you thought?" Bella teased as she toyed with the button on his shirt. "Come now, let's enjoy each other while we can?" The sorceress suggested as the clashing of armor began to ring out in the distance. Smirking, "Let's give the boys a show?" Bella teased again as she watched Vincent reach for his sword.

Dodging his swings, Isabella dashed away from him before moving to fix her dress. "I'll have you know I did believe in us. At least until you got sick that is. You truly were something magnificent. Regardless, with the bounty from your head, I'll still be magnificent!" Isabella began to laugh as she pelted him with fireballs. Just enough to keep him at bay, Vincent easily sliced them with his sword though he was unable to close the distance. Increasing the size of her attacks, Vincent was forced to use his magic to dispel them. Each cast acted like a shock to his heart eventually bringing him to his knees.

"You'll burn for this..." Vincent muttered between gasps, struggling to catch his breath. Attempting to find his feet, the young general feebly raised his sword just as the warehouse began to fill with soldiers. "Let's spare the theatrics love. You're the one that wanted to skip all the fun..." Isabella sighed as she brushed his sword aside before placing a hand on his chest. "...no way around it but this will hurt you much more than me." Vincent's mind began to race as he desperately tried to think of a plan. There had to be an out, some possible way out. Attempting to convince himself, Vincent suddenly found himself in agony as if Isabella had shattered him from the inside. His vision started to fade as he could only feel their hands seizing him before he blacked out.

Coming to his senses, Vincent struggled against the two guards dragging him through the castle. Much of his antics were merely for show as the pain still raged across his body, radiating from his chest. Upon entering the throne room, Vincent started to fight harder though he could tell he did not have much left. Staring at the dead captain in front of him, Vincent could no longer think as he looked up at Joan. The thought of death filled him completely though he could not help but laugh as this was never how he had pictured their first meeting.

Glancing between the guards beside him and the dead captain, Vincent simply lowered his head. Kicking the captain slightly, Vincent then looked back at the guards. "Is he talking to me?" Vincent whispered to them before kicking the captain once again to check for life. "Ah, I don't think he can hear you Sir, he appears to have bled out..." Vincent called up to Joan with timid hesitation.

 

[LONELYRAIN]

The woman gazed upon the prisoner as he had promptly kicked the dead captain with his foot, a disrespectful action for certain but one that had garnered no disapproval from the stone-faced woman, her eyes instead seeming far more interested in burning little holes into the prisoner as he opted to not play along with her questions directed to him; questions that sought to make the prisoner enraged, to make him bare teeth at her in anger. Joan had thought that these people were far more aggressive and stupidly proud of their heritage, their culture. It certainly had worked before, but now this man was playing the part of a fool; timid hesitation guiding his words and and stupidity in regards to the dead hound at his feet. Golden eyes slid to one of the soldiers who had announced to her that this fool was the leader of the rebels, the pressure of her gaze causing little tremors in armored plate.

Joan was wondering whether it had been worth the effort of putting out a bounty at all, for this... thing?

Where was that anger she was seeking? The golden eyes of the woman turned back to the man again, her bloodied hand coming to the side of her cheek, red was the stain as the iron liquid tainted pale flesh. "Of course not, savage. My questions were not directed to the corpse." The soft tone of her voice settled to cold, dismissive as she shifted her position upon the stolen throne, "Though, I know well enough that your people are quite the uneducated bunch. Do you think it would do me much good to speak to the dead, little fool?" Her hand pressed tighter against the skin of her cheek, a twitch upward of rosy lips as she regarded him with icy contempt, "But, perhaps my words alone are wasted on someone who doesn't know how to comprehend the situation? My mistake, little fool." The cold words sought to agitate, to enrage, the woman's eyes poking and prodding at every surface that made up the man before her, as if seeking any reaction, anything that she could see could make anger flare. At least then, she could make an excuse to quench her thirst, to ease the boredom that settled within her chest like that of a curse.

Perhaps, considering this man supposedly was leader of the rebels, he could provide her some good sport? Long lashes came down to half-conceal eyes in a lazy expression to continue to probe the man with her gaze. Although he certainly seemed the worse for wear; there was at least some strength within that body, a warrior's build perhaps? She pondered for a brief moment what he was capable of, or even if it would be irresponsible of her to order the guards responsible to let go of their hold on him just to see what would happen - would he run? Or would he try to fight her tooth and nail to get away? Joan's eyes closed as a slow exhale once more left her, the pounding of her heart echoing in her ears in the rush that sent prickles of anxious energy to her hands and feet, coiled and tense in the prospect of beginning a new hunt. Ah, she really wished she was on a battlefield right now instead of dealing with this sad excuse.

"Now, little fool, when I ask you a question directly, I expect you to answer. You should be lucky I am not in the mood to run my sword through you, especially since it's already tasted blood." The woman's eyes settled back upon the man, probing again though more impatiently it seemed for what she sought. "Considering I am your pitiful country's ruler, it would be best not to try my patience, understand?" Granted, whatever questions she had asked was not truly questions. No, instead it was obvious taunts; blades meant to sink into hearts and make it bleed nothing more than pure molten hatred. It was something that Joan was very much fond of doing when the mongrels were dragged into the throne room; as increasingly rare that was becoming that is.

 

[Jon]

Vincent began to wonder if it was inherent in all royals to bloviate even the most simple of conversations. He was grateful she had not chosen to skewer him immediately, but this fate somehow appeared worse. The little Princess had seemingly fallen for his charade only to wound his ego. He had pictured it hundreds if not thousands of times. The delivery of her head to the Emperor and the ensuing war. Perhaps this was an overdue taste of reality; Vincent began to wonder as he dropped his head submissively. She was a fierce warrior, but she was hardly a ruler. Her soldiers incompetent, her policies and practices all misguided. Facts that had allowed him to build and supply a formidable resistance.

Yet here he knelt. Overexerted to the point of impotence and about to lose everything. Vincent's mind began to spiral before falling to instinct like a cornered wolf. Twisting against the rope that bound his wrists, her soldiers had still not learned. Even with his limited powers, a small blast would reduce them to ash. Closing his eyes, Vincent started to count the guard that had passed him during his imprisonment. Adding to the count what he knew of their patrols and occupancy of the barracks. Even at his best, it would be a challenge, impossible with her on his heels. His mind raced to create options, only to grow more hopeless as the reality of his situation set in.

He was not the Lion of Rascilla. The laughing faces of his resistance leaders played in his mind. He had foolishly believed in their praise, as did his men, who now perhaps still sat in the old barn awaiting his arrival. Recalling their true leaders before the betrayal, his adoptive father's words rang in his ears to drown out her instructions. The site of them all kneeling before the Princess filled his mind just as he did now. Their fearless eyes locked on the people of Rascilla, their faith unwavering before certain death.

"She must enjoy hearing herself speak, hmm?" Vincent mumbled to the guard beside him as her first actual question appeared to wake him from his crisis. "34 bust? No, 32...you wear your armor large. A fine waist, as I suspect, no corset? It would only limit your movement and breathing. If you could just turn around?" Vincent accused her before starting to scan her form. Catching the Princess's eyes, the rebel was quick to drop his head again.

"Proof, I am but a simple tailor. I make dresses, fine dresses. The rebels heard of my offer to repair your men's armor, and I was turned in as a traitor. Tricked by that witch that turned me in for ransom..."

Vincent remained silent after his rant, listening closely to gauge a response as he kept his head bowed. Several feet lay between the two of them. Plenty of time to burn his ropes and dodge her sword. Vital points appeared to be her focus, the rebel determined as he stared at the dead Captain's wounds.