Fantasy The Wolven Queen: A Northern Rebellion [IC]

[idalie]

The Wolven Queen

At night I still hear the screams
Haunted by everything you took from me
But lying there in my blood
I vowed to myself that my day would come,

When you hear my battle cry
Fire and wrath burning in my eyes
You kicked a Queen to the floor
And raised a warrior.

These scars will never heal
So I bandage them in layers of steel
Till I see a girl no more
But a she-wolf ready to win this war.​

The North was once a proud country, the powerhouse of iron ore and agriculture; proficient in seafaring with some of the best sailors in the world. They were rich, pleasant lands of rolling green hills and dark winters. Pagans following the ways of the Old Gods, connected to the Earth with deep, ancestral roots. It was a day in Midsummer that the boats came, shadowing the horizons with foreboding. The wise-women had whispered of the comings that would turn the ages, and they came in the shape of an Empire. Thirsty for war, greedy for money.

The Eastmere Empire started with offering trade and through time turned the Northern tribes against one another. Their infighting weakened them, so when the time was right, the Empire began to purge the wise-women, the Druids, those who had divine power. Next they came for the chieftains, offering to leave them be if they signed a declaration of obedience.

1. Their only trading partner would be the Empire.
2. Every first-born son would be a soldier of the Empire.
3. Their right to religious freedom was forfeited, and they would outlaw praise and preaching of the Old Gods.
4. They would be ruled by the Emperor and fall beneath his domain. All land would be the property of the Empire.

Tribes who resisted were wiped out. Yet pockets of men and women who still held the Old Ways dear created an underground resistance. They would not let the North forget. It was during a dispute of land between the Empire and one of the Tribes, that a chief was killed. His daughters raped. Wife beaten. They were the Vadinii. A warning to those who might argue against the rule of their divine Emperor.

His wife was known as Ailith. Her Highness, the only survivor.
Her screams, her begging, her call for mercy; would wake the North from mountains to sea. A bereaved mother, a native, and the wife of a murdered man. A She-Wolf would rise from the remnants of her slaughtered family with a thirst for blood.

War is not a woman's game. But she could no longer fight with her words and raised a blade. Ailith called the Three Great Tribes to the Grasslands, bearing new scars of her mistreatment. Now was the time to rise.

RULES:
- You must be able to write a decent, five line paragraph for your character. I will not tolerate 1 liner responses.
- Please say something before vanishing! I'm here for the long haul, if you're not going to be committed then just leave ploz.
- This is going to contain adult themes! Violence, sexual abuse, and other topics! If you're not comfortable, please don't join!
- READ THE LORE PAGE, FOR GODS SAKE PLEASEEE
- This is period, magical realism. Don't be a douche. Act your role.
- Don't be a wanker.
- Be nice

 

[idalie]

It was midnight when it happened. Days before Ailith sent out the call for the meeting of the tribes and subsequently, during her mourning, all seers had the same unsettling vision. Storm clouds gathering in a thick blanket concealing the skies; seas tossing about in an unspoken rage whilst Trodaí, the Warrior, pressed his hands against the brow of a red-haired maiden weeping. Yet darker it got, darker till the only thing which gleamed was a milky-white stone, cradled by the void as it changed hue and colour -- set amongst the material of velvety nothing. A voice rang out, deep and lilting in the old Northern tongue, steeped in magic and age. Mother wolf, mother wolf, look for the hunter. Look for the suns and sorrow of their seas. Listen, for the North wakes.

The grasslands became a hub of activity as tribes arrived in the thousands, trampling acres underfoot as they moved in to set up tents and devised camps which bordered one another. Of course, there was a thick tension in the air and yet an easiness which hadn't been felt since the Empire came. These men and women may've had their feuds, their fights, and petty jokes, but they were brothers and sisters within the land of the North. Something which was under threat of being stripped away from them so there was an un-uttered celebration when another clan rose their banners and settled in. Larger tents signified the chiefs, whilst in the very centre of the gathering there stood a stage of three wooden thrones surrounded by an expansive field of space. The Northerners, unlike how they were presented by the Empire, had their ways of lawmaking and parliament, so there, upon that platform the fate of the Great Three would be decided. Agreements to be reached with the input of the crowd and those brave enough to raise their voices to offer an opinion on the matter.

Ailith was bathing. Letting the water lap against her skin as if to clean the pink, healing wounds. Washing away the touch of foreign fists, as her pale features stared up to the tented, canvas ceiling. She was numb. From her insides to the tender, bruised skin beneath her breasts; ribs wracked by colourful shades of yellow, purple, and blue. The chieftain's face had all but healed, apart from her upper lip which had scarred in a vicious line, plump from the after-swelling. A handmaiden appeared, quietly setting out the pieces of attire for the Queen in addition to her quiet mumble of: "They're here."

She rose from the bath slowly, rivulets like crystals gliding down the curves of her hips and stomach. A body which had battled with childbirth, a body which bore stories within the wrinkles that had begun to gather about her eyes, hair turning silver; strand by strand. A maiden, mother, and crone. Her hands sought the pleasant soft cotton of her underdress, pulling it on over her head with the help of her trusted attendant, adding another dark woollen dress before chainmail, trousers, and furs. A necklace about her neck, unwashed with her husbands coagulated, dried blood. Red paint was drawn across her nose, down beneath her chin before it swirled vibrantly across her cheeks and danced along the jaw; rising from the neck. Ginger tresses were braided back into plaits, her gaze steeled in a dark grey.

She could still feel their hands. Nausea rose in waves, Ailith covering her mouth as she tried to keep what she could of her meal down. Now wasn't the time, she had to stand tall. Taller. Taller and taller till her fingertips brushed the stars and captured them amongst her palms. He used to call her freckles constellations of cinnamon and spice. Rough, kind hands which had traced them one to another, hands she felt safe in; not like the others. Not the Empire's hands. A shuddering inhale left her, suddenly seeming small.

But even the small could topple the mighty.

Ailith left her tent, followed by a procession of bodyguards, her wise-woman, and a collective group of seers. Through the camp, she marched and took her place on the centre of the stage. Skin still dewy with moisture, which made it glow in the late afternoon sun. Ailith, daughter of Alvis, leader of the Vadinii, took her seat upon the middle throne.

***

Bear had been with the Damnonii setting up the tents which required a little more manpower, even going as far as to lend a hand to a few other tribes who took one look at the big fellow and knew exactly what he was most useful for. He'd been carting supplies back and forth by the armful, making small talk with a few of the other men who had tagged along to the grand meeting. Not many were willing to miss such a monumental event. There was, after all, only two possible outcomes. There was war, or there was continued oppression. And it was by no measure of the imagination, that his sword itched to meet the scum of Eastmere. The men who took his father, his eldest brother, and continued to ruin anything their grubby hands seemed to touch.

When Ailith began to move towards the meeting place, leading a group of Vadinii, the word spread quick. A horn was sounded; indicating the that the discussion would soon start. Thus, collectively the tribes began to move in on the main event. They surrounded the stage, Damnonii to the far left, Epidii to the far right, and Vadinii creating a barrier down the middle. The Damnonii weren't exactly famous for keeping their mouths shut, and more than once had a grand meeting been brought to childish bickering after the mountain-dwellers kept making jokes about gnomes. Some men sat, others stood towards the back of the crowd, nonetheless, all were in attendance. Now they would have to wait upon the other chiefs, and thus the meeting could ensue.

Einar, due to his height, stood midway towards the back, looming over a large portion of the crowd. It was a perk of being born the size of a bear, even if he got a few looks which were either appreciating or filled with a reminder not to bump into him on a bad day. Arms crossed over his expansive chest, he puffed it out and let it sink back with a long exhale. Tonight, they would make history. He could feel it from the tips of his toes to the top of his head. Something in the air perhaps? Like it was familiar, a tingle which invigorated the spirit like that of a healers touch.

***

The Emperor had sent his second son to the Northern colonies, knowing the boy had yet to prove himself. It had been years since they'd last spoken, not since the mention of an incident. The older ruler had sighed and bemoaned the accident which he proclaimed made his son a cripple, alas, the North had always been a ticking bomb. Its people were wild, unruly, users of magic and disorder, of women! Women who would rule single-handedly! Despicable. Wrong. Illogical. Perhaps William had been sent on some form of mission to keep him occupied, like distracting children with a plaything; no one would know unless they fought their way into the thought process of a father who had an unhealthy habit of conquering and genocide, with standards that would make any child feel a forever failure. He raised his sons with that unhealthy mentality, the sort which made them tough. Tough in the wake of the universe, albeit, it made them grow cruel.

Yet, it was in one of these forts which occupied the nearby coast that the second in line to the Eastmere throne resided as of the current moment -- alongside his fellow generals and elite soldiers. A messenger came running, bursting into the study of the Prince, humbly bowing in repetitive apology. "Ther-there has been some disruption! The savages--" He panted, hands on his knees. "The savages are leaving, headed somewhere. We believe it to be serious. Forgive me, forgive my intrusion, but I was told to come here. Talk to no one else." He winced and clutched at the stitch in his stomach, having sprinted for so long it pulled the abdominal muscles.

Since the silence of the Northerners who had accepted the treaty, legions had begun moving out of the North, going on to conquer as yet untouched lands. Thus, with numbers, the Northerners could overwhelm if not evenly matched by the legion tactics and equipment. Any healers they found, were forced into shackles and denied from fornicating in fear they would create more of said magic users. Use them till they could be used no more, and then let them die out was the idea. However that didn't stop it from happening occasionally here and there, which either caused the child to be dashed against the stone of the garrison walls, its parents executed, or for it to be swept under the rug and never spoken about again. It was the same for seers. Alas, many were uncooperative and often lied about their visions, which meant they had taken to murdering them as they had the others.

Outside of the fort, on the trail leading up to the grand gates, the path was lined with crucified corpses of druids. The dead, wooden planks being reinvigorated with the life of those which had been strung up, buds beginning to sprout and roots digging deep into the Earth. Ashes whispered on the wind, whipping about them after coming off the ocean in the voices of lost witches who were burnt upon the sands of the beaches and thrown off the cliffs to drown within the murky depths. That fort, stank of death to any Northerner worth their salt.


mian boo. Rusty of Shackleford Wreadite Kloudy The Suspicious Eye ThePerpetualShadow Vera Kelland thebigbadwolfy Pavan KingHalliwell​

 

[The Suspicious Eye]

Noelani

Mood:
Curious

Location:
The Grand Meeting

Mentions:
Ailith

With:
No one

Tags:
N/A
Open for interaction
​

Reaching the end of a arduous two week journey a small but dynamic ship glides past the last of the sharp coral and gently rest to the side of the slippery black rocks of the hidden coast. Hazel hair peeks out of the hooded captain as she steps off her ship rope in hand. I was gone for much longer than I expected. Who would have thought my adventure would lead me down such a path. Especially with those people again, I should probably lay low for a few days before returning out. A soft flutter of sound pulled the woman from her thoughts, looking over her shoulder through the dense mist her piercing blue eyes searched for another's. She could feel her heart beat, pulsing through the slick fabric of her dark clothing. The mist enveloping and sliding off it, keeping the woman warm even on the coldest of nights.

Gripping the rope tightly she waited and listened for something more, another sound of a presence. Then she saw the fluttering of a gull and let out a sigh. "Thank goodness I thought I was almost caught." Making her way over to the large rock she tied down her boat her only for a slipper to step into her eye line. The delicate onyx embroidery trickled with emerald gems, Noelani knew those shoes. Raising her head, her hood slid back revealing the delicate features and luminous skin of the young captain. Giving a roguish smile she cocked her head to the woman standing before her. "Ah, Elder Mother. What are you doing out here? I was just-"

A manicured hand adorned in a thin layer of what looked almost like spider silk stopped her from continuing. "Do not attempt to explain yourself, grand-daughter I already know of your outings as do the other elders." The voice was aged, with a hint of kindness but always held a tone of power.

Finishing her knot Noelani straightened up and her smile faded. Crossing her arms her whole demeanor grew sturdy and cold. "Very well. I'll accept my punishment, but I stand by these words. There is nothing wrong in wanting to explore more of this world. It is vast and full of things to see and I want to see it. I will not apologize for doing what I want." She said with an added huff at the end. The old woman looked at her grand-daughter and the light wrinkles on her face rose as a warm laugh escaped the woman's chest.

"Oh grand-daughter, you've never apologized for doing what you want. It's why I keep you around. Come darling we will continue or conversation in the walls of our home." Reaching out she coiled her hand around Noelani's arm and rested against the girl. As the two began to walk the wet and rocky path the old woman looked back at the ship and waived her hands. A heavy mist engulfed the ship and much of the secret coast expanding vast and wide out to the seas, merging and coiling with the natural mist around them. Smiling the woman walked with her grand-daughter feeling the girl's support as the two made the climb up.

A few moments later after arriving, home..."What? You want me to go to the mainland and see the tribes?" Noelani said as she turned back to her mother, the look of confusion evident on her face. The elderly woman got up from the kitchen table and moved past her daughter and granddaughter as they spoke. With a audible moan of comfort she rested herself in the soft fur chair as the warm bristles settled against her familiar form. She would let her daughter handle the conversation she was far too tuckered out and could feel her eyes begin to grow heavy and her mind begin to drift into her subconscious.

"Is this a joke? Why would the elders even decide to let ourselves be truly known to the mainlander tribes? Especially converse with the Vadinii, the ones who banished us to these Isles. I thought you all hated them." Bringing up what she knew the other elders complained about the mainlanders, young Noelani wanted answers. She was not the type to blindly say yes to what she was told to do, even if she was secretly ecstatic to do so. Having mostly seen the mainlanders in passing as she sailed by them under her mist illusion or when tricks them to ruin their ships. It is wasy for her to say that she was far from impressed but intrigued by them. Those she'd met had made a impression, but they were just the sea faring folk. To go to the mainland was something completely different, a new adventure she was eager to see.

Her mother let out a soft sigh and shook her head, her nearly luminescence hair draped across her broad shoulders. A gentle smile matched the delicate and beautiful face of the woman as she took a step closer to her daughter. It was impossible for a mother not to see the light of excitement in her daughter's eyes. However, she knew that Noelani must know the gravity of what she considers a new adventure. "If this war the mainlanders and invaders have made goes wrong we will be at the tip of the invaders's blades. All the elders discussed it, even those across the Isles, we need to establish ourselves for protection when it is needed. You are the only one of us who travels beyond the Isles. Even though you know it is forbidden. You've been chosen to be the ambassador for the Lost Isles and assist the tribes in any way you can." Before Noelani could say anything she raised a hand and continued. "This is your punishment for breaking the rules and traveling off. Lenient one as it is, this is a serious matter that should be treated like one, daughter. The elders have put their trust in you. Trust that you will represent us well. That you will show not just who we are, but what we offer. You're gifted my daughter, far more than me or your grandmother when we were young. Do not waste such gifts to antagonize others." Her gaze rested on her daughter, the piercing black eyes of her mother causing her unease as Noelani reluctantly settled down.

"I understand, mother. But come on some trickery is alway needed in life. How am I supposed to have any fun with the mainlanders if they are gullible enough to fall for my slight of hand. It's all fun and... game... especially..." Her voice weakened under the stern look that her mother was giving her. Her black eyes began to expand until they engulfed the whites of her eyes, skin growing paler and black veins rising up as her temper rose. It was unbearable, there wasn't much in this world that could cause Noelani to concede to anything, but her mother was one. Looking away she glared down at the floor, the black rock dry and polished shimmering her own reflection in it. Letting out a sigh Noelani nodded, before meeting her mother's frightful gaze once more. "Alright, alright. I'll try to be on my best behavior. However, if I go and the mainlander witches think they can stand against me. I will not show mercy. I have to stand up for myself after all. From what I've heard they may not be to happy to see someone of the Isles. They may not see me as a sister." She said the smile returning to her face.

The frightful visage of her mother faded with her long sigh. Turning away she walked over to the table and leaned against it. "I know, I know. It is something we all will have to face. But it is important to take the high ground when possible, even if I know you prefer to play rough. We need to show that we will support their cause for we may need them if our time of need comes. We can hide, we can destroy, but we are not eternal, the seers and their visions will change with the tides as all life does. With more and more invaders appearing around, we cannot simply do the same. It is time for change it is time to join in as much as we can." She took a seat and let out her own softer moan of relief as she sat. The sound being cut off as the woman realized how much it sounded like her mother's, and realizing she herself was growing old. Smiling as she saw her daughter, her future she waved her hand to the other chair. "Now sit and listen, daughter. I have much for you to tell the tribes and little time before you must start your journey."

The ArrivalThe travel was long from the coast of the mainland, to the grasslands she's never laid eyes on, luckily not a difficult one. Arriving in a port, a real Vadinii port, she was able to follow the other Vadinii members to the grand meeting. As she made her way through the colorful wold that she only saw on the blue ocean, never in her life had she been met with so much green. The wayward islands of the Isles had light and more plant life but nothing as vast as this. As the others went to set up with their friends and family Noelani stopped to stare as the cascading sea of grass around them. It was absolutely breathtaking to see for the first time. Clutching her chest she gazed over the vast planes to the horizon where the blue sky kissed the tender land. Then she rested on the most surprising scene of all, the people.

Well this is certainly something different. All these people in one place. Following the path the other sailors took her head swerved around at everything around her, a smile growing on her face. It's like an invitation to be naughty, Noelani thought as she passed tent after tent. Letting her small frame, dark clothes and hidden features allow her to maneuver though the crowds of mainlanders with the ease of a shadow. Glancing around she noticed the strange division of tribes, in the wide area. The smaller more delicate featured individuals to the right, holding themselves with delicate poise. While on the left there were larger men and women who bellowed loudly and flexed their physical power, their presence simply overbearing compared to the others. Then there were those who held the line between them, the tribe she and her people were supposedly apart of, the Vadinii. A coalition of those found in the middle in some way, holding the passion of those to her right, but the poise of the group on the right, along with something they held on their own, a unspoken powers one familiar to her. It wasn't strong in everyone but the presence was there and binding. Noelani took the shifting features of each tribe, molding possible versions of herself as them in her mind, like clay. Letting her hands glide against the gentle and soft curvatures of a Epidii tribsemen, carving the strong jaw and shoulders of a Dammnonii member, painting the sun kissed skin of the Vadinii. She crafted her image for a few minutes as she wandered around, her shielded eyes resting on every person she could, using their mold for later.

Taking another breath she steady her heart and mind and focused on what mattered, her message, her service and the end of this war. Yet, there was the fire of adventure and discovery that made her unable to quell her curiosity. The desire to investigate took over her and she needed to do one of her most favorite things, snoop around in other's business. As some of the others were busy setting up tents Noelani began to shift though belongings, picking up and inspecting the items the tribes used and how they varied in styles and design. Head peaking into empty tents of every tribe as she took in the way they set their traveling homes up. Making sure to cover her tracks and cover herself in a illusion to pose as a member of the tribe, dropping the used appearance quickly when she moved to another tent or satchel. This is all so interesting. Furs and pelts of animals I've never seen before, food I've never seen, let alone smelled before. How interesting are the colorful items that these mainlanders have. They seem to have given designs for items, which change from tribe to tribe, from their attire to their utensils. For a girl who grew up owning things that were washed up on shore, gifted or stolen to see items of such similar style and design intrigued her. She saw a heritage, a shared story in all of their items something that was only practiced loosely on the Isles. Doing her best to follow her mother's instructions she made sure not to take anything or leave something fun to antagonize anyone. Though the thought of doing so did cross her mind more than once.

Dropping her disguises she returned to the shadows, and rested against one of the sturdy tents. Stroking her chin with her blackened tipped fingers she let all she'd acquired organize in the endless rows of information of her mind. Gazing up the formation of resting tribes she noticed the open peak at the top, where there rested three large wooden chairs. One with an aged woman, nearing that of her mother's age sitting upon the middle one. "I suppose that is where I need to be." Deciding to worry about lodging and food another time, she stepped away from the tent and disappeared into the crowd as easily as a ghost.

 

[mian]

Location: The Grand Meeting
Mentions: N/A
Interactions: N/A

- - - - - - -
​

"How many times do I have to tell you? You shield isn't for decoration, use it!" A gruff voice barked at Helle from the sidelines.

Her forehead creased, sweat collecting on the sides despite the cold bite of the wind. Eyes locked on her opponent, Helle made an inward step and swiftly raised her sword above her head, just in time to block the downward swing of her opponent's. Clang. As her opponent pulled away, Helle wasted no time. She raised her shield-bearing arm and threw herself against it into her opponent's chest. The force threw the man backwards and onto the ground, his word scuttling in the dirt not too far from him.

Helle turned towards the voice from before, attempting to steady her breathing. "Was that a good use of my shield, father?" She asked, doing her best to hide her smugness. Barlis only huffed in response, his heavily wrinkled eyes bearing into her before he turned away. She never knew if his huffs were positive or negative, but it was better than being bit at.

"Put your equipment in the tent and meet me at the gathering place." Bralis said as he parted, cold and short as always. Helle sheathed her sword, paying no attention to her opponent on the ground as she departed their sparring area. As she made her way through the bustling crowd, she carded a hand threw her hair, pulling it from her face where it stuck slick with sweat. She was always training, even in times like these. Most people were helping set up tents, helping gather supplies, but she was training. Her father believed in training constantly, with only breaks to eat and sleep and occasionally be diplomatic. Helle didn't mind, though. She was strong, she was good, she beat men inches above her without getting so much as a bruise.

As she entered her and her father's tent, one of her father's underlings was inside putting away supplies. His name was Håkon Olaksson, and he was a fresh-faced boy whose father, Olak, was old war buddies with Bralis. Håkon smiled at Helle as she entered, Helle's blank expression stood unchanged as she stopped in the doorway. Håkon was only 2 or 3 years younger than Helle, but he looked a lot more like a boy than a man. He was skinny, short for a Damonii man, and had large blue eyes. Olak had practically begged Bralis to take Håkon in and turn him into a man. He'd turned a girl into a man, after all. Helle had almost thrown herself at Olak when he made that remark.

"Helle!" Håkon chriped excitedly. Helle made her way past him, throwing her shield in the corner and picking up a rag to wipe her face. "Training, I assume?" Håkon continued. Helle prayed to the gods that the boy would shut up. She was never one for idle conversation, especially not with some twig who never left her alone and followed her every move with his big doe-eyes. For whatever reason, Håkon took her silence as an invitation to continue. "You know, if you spend all your time training you'll never have time for a life." Helle remained silent, turning away and removing her plated armor before arranging it on the floor of the tent. Håkon, still unphased by her silence, continued on behind her. "You'll never have time to go to a festivals, or uh, meet new people. Maybe a man to marry and have kids-" Helle cut him off with fist balled in his wool shirt. She had crossed the room so fast Håkon barely had time to register she had moved at all. "Keep me, and my life, out of your head." She all but spit at him. Håkon's eyes were wide with shock, and fear, as he very well knew Helle could skin him like a lamb. Helle gave him a stern look before releasing him, pushing past him, and leaving.

That boy has a head full of rocks. She cursed internally as she made her way to the gathering area. It didn't take her long to find her father conversing with other advisors of the Damnonii chieftain. Helle swiftly and quietly joined them as they entered the meeting place and took a seat in the front of the Damnonii. She sat next to her father near the end of the row, crossing her arms as a cold gust of wind partially shifted her hair across her face.

 

[thebigbadwolfy]

Caoimhe Dubhshláine

.

Caoimhe blinked. She watched her handmaidens scuttle about her, making sure her armor looked clean enough to lick, that nothing hung loosely that was not intended to do so, and above all: the the Damnonii chieftan presented a proud, put together, and brave image. She had to look like the hero she woefully did not feel like. A leader. A real, honest to gods leader that was about to step outside this tent and discuss war with the other tribes. The idea alone was more than enough to keep her aware at night. Or rather, several nights. She was thankful that no one seemed to notice what she could only imagine was a bedraggled appearance.

Earlier in the day, she had walked about, weaving inbetween partially setup tents and children playing- she had stopped to play a short game with one group -and thought back on her own childhood. Caiomhe wasn't groomed for this sort of leadership, unlike her brothers. But even then, she could hardly recall any gatherings like this in her lifetime. Or at the very least, nothing of this scale. Not to mention the impending danger that lurked in the North, like snakes that forgot how to sneak. Snakes that breathed fire and razed villages. Snakes that Caoimhe wished nothing more than to cut the heads off of.

She was responsible for kids now. For families, and grandparents, and quite possibly the safety of tribes beyond her own. Sure, power was exhilerating, but this felt absolutely crushing to Caoimhe. Passing by everything as she walked in the morning, she was so accutely aware of the life brimming everywhere. Life that could so easily be snuffed out, and that she swore fealty, dedication, and protection to. Caoimhe, despite all her flaws and the whisperings of her cowardice, desired nothing more than to fulfill her promise to her people that the title of chieftan ensured.

So standing there, preparing to walk outside, at the center of everything, sit on a throne, and eloquently portray her thoughts? Well, Caoimhe half-jokingly wondered if it was a better idea to run off again, and this time never come back. Pracitcally lost her trance-like anxieties, she barely noticed one of the maidens speaking to her. Apparently, she was ready, and looked just like a chieftan should.

The young woman, looking so childlike next to the other chieftans, stepped out of her tent and made her way towards her throne. On the left, which she found appropriate considering the association between left and all things bad. She glanced towards the group of advisors nearby, hoping and praying that the worry she felt internally did not shine through her eyes. Caoimhe took her seat, fur collar giving her an intimidating appearance on top of all her armor- ceremonious in nature -and a long sash draping over the edge of the seat. She was the perfect image of Damnonii chief.

you must do the thing you think you cannot do

coded by e d e n​

 

[Wreadite]

Soft whispering could be faintly heard coming from inside a dimly lit tent quite far from the other ones. Inside, a hooded figure sat cross legged in front of a couple items. Two pairs of earrings, a bracelet, a mace and two axes. All which in some way or another, were imbued with bones. A pair of hands were hovering atop said items, one of them holding a white wand which was made of bones. As the whispering continued, the parts of the item with bones glowed softly. Only when the whispering stopped did the glow ceased as well. The figure put the wand down and let out a sigh of relief.

"Frigg?" An all too familiar voice pierced through the silence.

"Yes, mother." Frigg rose up and made her way to the entrance of the tent. "Come in," she said, voice soft and warm akin to that of an elderly woman or a mother to her child. She opened one half to let her mother in. Sunshine poured in, filling half the tent with light and the other half with darkness. Frigg squinted her eyes as she accustomed them to the lighting.

A woman in her mid forties entered the tent. Her face wrinkled a bit more as smiled at her daughter. She pulled down the hood that shadowed Frigg's face then proceedeed to stroke Frigg's cheek. Although Unna was Frigg's mother, they hardly looked anything alike. It seems that Frigg took on more of her father's features although no one could deny she had the eyes of her grandmother. Frigg placed her hand on top of her mother's and brought it down to her lips. She kissed the pale knuckles of Unna's hand and gave her a warm smile.

"It's time to gather, my dear. Are you done charming the items?" Frigg nodded and made her way to the place she sat. She bent down and picked up the earrings and necklace. She placed the accessories inside a small wooden box with eagles carved into the sides. After that, she placed the weapons in one spot at the far back of the tent.

"I will give the items back to their owners after the gathering." While waiting for the gathering, some of Epidii warriors asked her to put a charm on their items. Naturally, she said yes. After all, it didn't take too long. She picked up the wand and smiled at her mother. "Shall we go?"

As both women walked outside the tent, Frigg pulled up her hood. Ever since arriving, she only stayed inside her tent so it was the first time she saw the other tribes. She remained quiet as she followed her mother to the designated place. She made sure to keep her eyes forward and not bump into anyone.

When they arrived, there was already a big crowd. Frigg couldn't help but feel amazed at the mix of people. There were people that were towering over others which she assumed was the Damnonii tribe. Then there were the Vadinii tribe. Taller than most of the people in Epidii but still not as much as the Damnonii. She could see that moist of them were red heads. Finally there was her tribe, Epidii. Smaller than the rest but just as determined as everyone else. After all, they all had the same goal.

Unna and Frigg were somewhere at the back of the crowd. Both of them were uncomfortable in large crowds but neither showed it. Frigg's light black eyes were drawn to the three chairs. Two were already occupied by the chieftains of Vadinii and Damnonii. Frigg didn't know much about either of them but she felt a great deal of respect for those women. Being a chieftain wasn't an easy task especially not a female one. One could only imagine what hardships they endured especially in these times.

[Mentions: idalie thebigbadwolfy ]

 

[Pavan]

Gregor Bellthorn
Location: The Grand Meeting
Mentions: Sorcha
Interactions: boo.
​

Gregor sat in the tent that had been set for him in the center of the Epidii camp. It was fairly spacious but Gregor still felt trapped. The sounds of the hundreds of people outside setting up camp was surprisingly quiet. Everyone knew what was coming. The Council only met in times of great need. This was the first time it had happened since the empire arrived. The meeting would have only two outcomes. War or oppression.

It had not taken them long to reach the meeting point. The Epidii were always good at moving with short notice, a skill they had had to perfect to keep out of the empire's reach while they struck at the trade caravans. While most of the other tribes had been silenced the Epidii had continued the fight in secret. The Empire never knew who was attacking them so they could not exact revenge. Gregor wondered if his secret war was actually of any worth. It gave the people some hope of remaining free but also cost them more than the empire. If his tribe lost a warrior If took weeks to train a replacement and they lost warriors often but the empires legions were endless. Of recent Gregor had ceased the attacks in favor of remaining hidden. He had told his people that it was temporary until the empire stopped actively searching for them, but in reality Gregor was tired. He had been given the role of chieftain with no real warning and since then had not had a chance to stop to get his bearings. He was broken. He had planned to submit himself and his tribe to imperial rule. The cost of freedom was just too high.

Then he had received the message from the Wolven Queen. The great tribes were gathering. The parliament of chieftains was summoned to a meeting point. Gregor felt hope grip his heart, something he had not felt in months. This could be it. If the tribes worked together they could push back hard against the empire. He did not know if it would be enough but the possibility was too tantalizing to ignore. Gregor stood and walked towards the three thrones in the center of the clearing. As he walked he saw Sorcha Tulac one of the Eppidii's Fiercest warriors. He had made her his adviser and guard. He trusted her with almost everything. The only secret he kept from her was his previous intent to surrender. It was a moment of weakness that even she might not forgive him for. He simply nodded at her as he passed. "It's time." He walked to the right throne and took his pace with the other chieftains. As he looked out on the crowed gathered he took a deep breath in and whispered to himself "Trodai help me." He looked over his people. Today would decide their fate. Oppression or War.

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Marcus Lanius Flavius
"The Fist of the Empire"

Marcus did not want to get up. He was dreaming. Dreaming about you is wife, her brown hair flowing down her back as she stood in the field outside their villa. He wished he was there, that his conquests to unite the world were over, and that he could go home. But he couldn't. Not yet. Not until every country and every man, woman, and child bent the knee. Then he would be at peace. Yes, they would be oppressed. But there would be peace all the same, and that's all Marcus cared about.

He slowly got up, sighing as he mumbled his prayer to the God's. He wasn't a pious man. The God's never helped him, and to him, they wouldn't now. He grabbed his sword and donned his armor, heading out to the daily execution. App criminals were punished together when Marcus did it, no matter their social rank or where they're from. He was to hang three rapists, all of varying classes. One was one of his own soldiers that raped the wife of a native. He was whimpering and moaning, praying for the mercy that wouldn't come. Another was a native that raped another native, and he was so dazed by the previous night of torture that he couldn't even speak. The last one was a soldier that was known as a paedophile. He had gotten away with it in other legions, but not under Marcus. As extra punishment for his crimes, he had his fingers cut off and his eyes gouged out, along with a dozen other things.

Soon, the nooses were around their necks, a priest giving them their final rites before Marcus personally kicked the stools from under them and watched them struggle. The first one went first, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he went limp. Then the second one, and then the third one. They weren't even cut down, the priest demanding that they be buried. Marcus shook his head, saying, "No. They need to see how we deal with scum like them. This is an example." He walked off to his tent, waiting for the Prince to arrive.
Kloudy​

 

[boo.]

(scrollie!)​

[class name=stoneBackground] height: 725px; width: calc(100% + 17px); background: #fff3d1; margin: auto; overflow: auto; [/class] [class name=stoneImage] height: 750px; width: 100%; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9e/1a/00/9e1a005c43d4b038c51ffffb68c261d4.jpg); background-size: 100%; background-repeat: no-repeat; [/class] [class name=stoneHeader] margin: auto; padding: 5px; text-align: center; font-size: 50px; color: #1c3d41; [/class] [class name=stoneArrow] margin-top: 150px; text-align: center; font-size: 60px; color: #e2eae8; [/class] [class name=stoneContent] padding: 5px; color: #1c3d41; margin-top: -10px; [/class] [class name=stoneWrapper] margin: auto; overflow: hidden; width: 440px; [/class] [class name=stoneCredit] font-size: 10px; color: #426369; text-align: right; [/class] [div class=stoneWrapper][div class=stoneBackground][div class=stoneImage][div class=stoneHeader]

[/div][div class=stoneArrow][/div][/div][div class=stoneHeader]

Sorcha Tulach

[/div][div class=stoneContent]
It was a gathering, the likes of which Sorcha had never seen. Tribes, no longer wary and untrustful, were mingling together like brethren, as though they were all a part of something bigger. And so they were, for the intent of the meeting would be to bring for themselves freedom from the oppressive rule of the Empire. Now was the ripest time, when the pompous rulers thought they had the Northern Tribes tidily under their thumbs. Nothing could be further from the truth; the hour had come when the tribes would free themselves and bring about a change in the once-peaceful lands of the north.

With some amount of difficulty, Sorcha had positioned herself near the front of the thrones, her dark eyes looking up the inspect the chiefs that had already taken their places. The first was Ailith, the leader with locks of fire and eyes of steel. The Wolven Queen. Every fiber of her being thrummed with the passion she bore for her tribe. There was no hesitation across her face, only the vibrant swirls of haematic paint that marked her as a survivor.

Next was the youngest and perhaps most inexperienced chieftain, Caoimhe. Sorcha had heard whispered rumors of her past, being that she had abandoned her tribe only to return, taking the role of her father after he passed to the higher lands. While her face was hard-set and certainly spoke of ferocity, there was a glimmer of something else that hidden in her eyes, something that Sorcha didn’t feel suited enough to seek out. It was not her place to judge a chieftain, especially not at a time like this, but that didn’t mean her opinions were any less true.

Sorcha felt a pair of eyes on her, and her head turned to see her own chieftain, Gregor Bellthorn, murmur a few words to her as he took his place on the throne to the right. It was with him that her loyalties laid, no matter what had happened before he ascended to his position. She confided with him regularly, and it was clear that he still felt guilt for his dead predecessor, even if the circumstances had been completely unexpected. Sorcha’s head bowed to his in a sign of respect, her eyes never leaving the strong figure he presented.

Despite the fact that Sorcha had done nothing to draw attention to herself, she knew that some eyes had probed her in curiosity, which was well-placed. Her dark chestnut skin and pronounced cheekbones were a far cry from the fair faces of the native Northerners. Yet she bore it as a symbol of strength, that her skin did not define her loyalties. She was as much a warrior as everyone else, and if the iron spear she held at her side wasn’t enough, her determined expression and hard eyes were enough to convince anyone.

Mentions: Gregor ( Pavan )

[/div][/div][div class=stoneCredit]Coded By || StoneWolf18 [/div][/div]

 

[boo.]

(scrollie!)​

[class name=stoneBackground] height: 625px; width: calc(100% + 17px); background: #474337; margin: auto; overflow: auto; [/class] [class name=stoneImage] height: 700px; width: 100%; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/fa/0a/e7/fa0ae7b84ebaee9b35b385db25f38424.jpg); background-size: 100%; background-repeat: no-repeat; [/class] [class name=stoneHeader] margin: auto; padding: 5px; text-align: center; font-size: 50px; color: #1c3d41; [/class] [class name=stoneArrow] margin-top: 150px; text-align: center; font-size: 60px; color: #e2eae8; [/class] [class name=stoneContent] padding: 5px; color: #1c3d41; margin-top: -10px; [/class] [class name=stoneWrapper] margin: auto; overflow: hidden; width: 440px; [/class] [class name=stoneCredit] font-size: 10px; color: #426369; text-align: right; [/class] [div class=stoneWrapper][div class=stoneBackground][div class=stoneImage][div class=stoneHeader]

[/div][div class=stoneArrow][/div][/div][div class=stoneHeader]

Benneit Loganach

[/div][div class=stoneContent]

The constant chatter and joviality of the mingling tribes had initially driven Benneit away, but it was the peaceful murmur of the trees that kept him from socializing much. He sat on the bank of a small brook, eyes closed as the sweet wind blew golden hair across his face. Beneath his outstretched palm was the gentle rising and falling of a soft-pelted creature, and a wet nose nuzzled against his knee, accompanied by a quiet whine.


Just because druids were awkward in conversation did not mean they were weak; the opposite was actually true. Benneit’s power stretched beneath the earth, reaching the root of every plant that grew and connecting with the fauna of the world. It was an incredible feeling, magnified by the meditations he often held that stretched his senses beyond the material.


And yet, there was a feeling of loneliness that often accompanied Benneit like a shadow, his soul yearning for company but not wanting to put in the effort of conversing. That was where Seòlta, his fox familiar, came in. Ever since the two had encountered each other, they had formed an unbreakable bond, strengthened by their similar outsider attitudes. While many would think the fox was just a fox, Benneit would say there was no such thing. Seòlta was more than that; he was a brother, a friend.


The friend suddenly rose from beneath the druid’s hand, stretching out before rubbing his shoulder. His dark eyes peered into Benneit’s with a sort of feral intelligence, and his ears flicked before he turned to the camp. The man’s own hazel eyes opened, and looked down at the fox with a grain of annoyance.


“Cannae get a moment’s reth... retht?” Benneit shook his head, his lips curving slightly. “You’re foul.” The fox blinked slowly at the druid before turning to the gathering, clearly intent on joining the crowd. It was most likely time for the meeting, which was truthfully something Benneit didn’t want to miss. And yet, there was hesitation in his movement as he rose to his feet, gently brushing away the vines and blades of grass that had crept along his legs and feet.


It was a bit of a walk back to the camp, but it wasn’t hard to find. The constant roar of pleasantries was like a beacon to Benneit, and he soon found himself pushing into the mass of people with murmured apologies until he could get a clear view of the thrones. Immediately, his gaze rested on Caoimhe, but he found himself studying the other chieftains as well.

[/div][/div][div class=stoneCredit]Coded By || StoneWolf18 [/div][/div]

 

[ThePerpetualShadow]

The sea port of Ostia was certainly a heart-warming sight to the weary sailors of the many merchant vessels that frequently made port at the massive dockyards to offload their valuable cargo of exotic spices, metals, and furs from the many lands conquered by the Empire. The ship’s crew would be greeted by dock officials who would examine the cargo held by the vessel and ensure it was all in one piece. Dockworkers would then swarm over the ship, hauling the load out from the dark and dingy hold back out into the beaming sun, while the crew prepared for some time to stretch their tired legs and perhaps visit one of the multiple brothels in the city.



The people of the city were well fed and relatively content. The markets located near the docks and in the centre of the city were full to bursting most days, with citizens shopping for essentials and getting ripped off completely by greedy merchants with greasy smiles. The city itself was guarded by high walls, with various balista towers and well trained patrols manning them at all times. Amongst the crowds, the distinctive armour of Imperial soldiers could be seen here and there. Some were on patrol, but most were off duty, making use of their meagre wages in the markets.



Titus Varus made his way through the throng, which parted before him like a wave to parted before a rock. His scowl and the hand that rested close to his sword was enough to dissuade opportunistic merchants and his sheer aura made the various cutpurses that infested the market place think twice about trying with him. He stopped outside a rather flamboyant looking building, with red walls and paintings of women’s faces plastered all over.

He stepped inside the brothel, the scantily dressed girl with flame coloured hair and full lips began to smile sultrily, but froze as she seemingly recognised him. Her expression became more serious and she nodded and beckoned to him, moving off with a far more disciplined walk than she had before without waiting to see if he was following her or not. His scowl never left his face, in fact it only seemed to grow as he followed the girl deeper into the brothel, ignoring the moans and cries that seemed to shake the building’s very foundations before arriving outside a plain wooden door.



“He is inside my Lord” The girl bowed and left. Titus did not acknowledge her, opening the door and stepping inside.



The room was a stark contrast to the others in the brothel, with the red paint and colourful decorations. This was plain and simple with a complete lack of any furniture. There was only one occupant in the room. A bald man in his late forties stood there dressed in a simple short sleeved tunic and sandals. Despite his choice of attire, the man’s steel grey eyes held a seemingly centuries worth of confidence and experience, one worthy of respect.



Titus snapped to attention, saluting the man with his clenched fist slammed against his breastplate.



“Reaper” The man said shortly.



“Sir” Titus replied, staring straight ahead.



“I called you here because I have a new assignment for you” The man told him, walking forwards to stand in front of the soldier, holding out a sealed scroll. Titus recognised the seal. A dragon with folded wings. He took it, looking at the man with a questioning gaze.



“From the Emperor himself” The man confirmed, returning to his original position on the other side of the room.



Titus broke the seal with his thumb and read quickly. As he read, one may have been able to see a slight smile grace his features in place of the usual scowl before returning to its original position.



“The ship ‘Tarquin’ leaves for the North in one hour. I expect you to be on it” The man told him. “And one other thing” He continued. “You will be working with another agent to ensure the safety of the Prince. Am I correct in saying that you will work with him to the best of your ability?”



Titus blinked but then nodded. “Yes sir. Might I ask where he is?”



“Here” a soft voice spoke and a man in skin tight black leather armour stepped out from the shadows. Only Titus’s impressive self-control prevented him from drawing his sword. The man showed his teeth in a smile that seemed unnatural.



“It appears we will be working together for the foreseeable future” The man said calmly. “My name is Lucius Aelius, Royal Assassin, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Reaper”

 

[Vera Kelland]

A small group of mounted warriors rides through the open grasslands. Out in front, rides their leader. A menacing-looking warrior, whose face is obscured by an iron mask. Atop his head and shoulders rests the mantle of a wolf. He is Gerulf, youngest son of Theodemir, the avenger of Athair, and scourge of the northmost empire provinces. At the present, he is scouting the area surrounding the great gathering of the tribes, at the behest of chieftain Ailith.

The wind blew straight through Gerulf’s padded armor, sending a chill down his spine. The north was cold the year round, and he was not yet used to it. As he rode, he observed his surroundings. To the south, the rolling hills and dense forests. To the north, frigid tundra and snow-capped mountains. The great grassland they currently occupied served as a sort of barrier or transitional zone between the two vastly different environments.

Gerulf ordered his men to stop at the top of a small hill, the highest vantage point in the area. Even from his current position, miles away, he could easily see the massive gathering of men. There must have been upwards of 200000 warriors gathered in one place. The three great tribes of the North, Vadinii, Damnonii, and Epidii, all bringing the full extent of their numbers. It was an impressive feat, gathering such a great host in one place. The Northerners themselves were something of an odd bunch. Gerulf had noticed a sort of faint, almost magical, aura about them. It permeated both the Vadinii he’d been staying with for the past few months, as well as the Epidii scouts he’d talked to briefly, though it manifested itself in different ways. Perhaps the legends about the northern tribes being descended from mythical creatures of old hold some truth, he mused to himself.

While there would be no hiding a gathering of this size from the empire, Gerulf and his men had been tasked with looking for empire scouts nonetheless. Better to obscure the exact details and leave the Empire guessing as to the exact size and nature of the meeting. Misinformation could easily be used to their advantage in what would no doubt be a brutal campaign to come. He didn’t mind the job at all. It gave him a chance to survey the land, learn the topography, and formulate tactics for potential conflict. Though he would have liked to continue scouting, Ailith had requested that he be back for main gathering and ceremony. Directing his men to continue surveying the perimeter, he quickly rode his horse in the direction of the encampment, to make it back in time for the rally.

He needed no motivation for the conflict to come. In his years spent raiding Empire territory, he’d seen what submission wrought upon the lands the empire occupied. The forests were cleared, to make room for great cities and paved roads, the people of the land were enslaved and conscripted into Empire armies, the druids and wise-women slaughtered. The empire had no room for nature or magic in their aspirations. He feared of what this destructive force was doing to his homeland and wished desperately that there was something he could do about it. All in due time, he thought to himself. Soon, this great army would march upon the empire, and along with it, the old Angrivarii land. Soon, he would return home.​

 

[The Suspicious Eye]

Eoghan

Mood:
Annoyed

Location:
The Grand Meeting

Mentions:
N/A

With:
N/A

Tags:
N/A
Open for Interaction
​

"I'm going too!" The young child cried out as she stood in the small grassy hut of her master. Dried leaves, plants and bottles of liquid salves hung from the ceiling. There keeling beside his pack was a young man with long white hair draping out of his green hood who turned to look at the child standing bravely a few paces in front of him. Her chest rising and falling with nervous energy as she spoke up. "I want to help too. It's a war, it's my duty too..." She grew silent as the man pulled himself away from his pack and moved over to her.

"No you're going to stay here, Ailre." Eoghan said in his soothingly sweet voice. He always had a soothing tone to his voice as if every vowel was honey being poured. With a gentle smile, he took her hands in his and squeezed them tightly. Her hand were so soft delicate against his own rougher one covered in scars from his tireless work studying and training. Ailre was a new healer, from a small village in the grasslands, who he had been teaching the basics of herbology along with how to properly use her healing power. She was so young, only barely twelve, yet such a eager healer for her village. It was endearing but also a bit panful to the older healer, having seen how healers are treated, used. How their lives are filled with pain and death even when they devote it to healing others. He often wonders which god truly holds them close, Máthair Spéir or Bás?

"But master, the call fro the great meeting means that there's war. Wouldn't they need all the healers." Alire said as she looked up at him with such innocent eyes only a child could have for one she admires. He'd only been in the village for the past two months but already the girl had grown attached to her master, who'd been kind enough to teach her when no one else would bother.

The look in the innocent girl's eyes brought a sharp pain into his heart, he knew her story. Her parents killed, her brother taken, and her hidden away so she wouldn't be taken as well. It was a story that happened to so many Northerners it as solidified itself as a common trait. He was the outlier, and yet he knew all too well of what atrocities the Empire brings to everyone. However, the empire was not the only problem and he would not subject to letting this girl fall to what he's seen happen to healers in times of war. Squeezing her hand tighter his eyes grew serious as his mystical purple eyes met her grassy green ones. "Ailre, I would want nothing more than to say that you should come, but you rely too much on your gift and so will the warriors. Like with all magic it comes with a price and we pay with our sanity and our lives. I will not be the reason you lose either. I remember my father's and my teachers's stories of great wars. A war is not without casualties and warriors are not the only one. They claim to take healers in high regard, but in truth we a seen as a disposable analgesic one who's pain doesn't matter, even if it was once theirs. In wars they work Healers to their deaths because the warriors believe that they can go back out and fight the same way, amassing injuries again and again. I will not allow you to fall to that, I won't allow any healer to fall to that anymore. My studies in the healing properties of plants and salves will help almost as well as a healer. Easing pain, erasing burns and bites, hold wounds closed and speed up the healing process, and healing bruises in days, these discoveries will go a long way. I am going to show those warriors that there is a alternative that they can learn to use, so one day a healer can see their loved ones grow until their grey years." His grip on her hands loosened as he smiled at her again, his whole face softening with kindness. "Stay here. Stay safe. Stay hidden. Help the people here, who will caught in the crossfire. Heal those who you love and care for you the most. They are the ones that matter most."

The young girl nodded, but teared up as her master spoke. Her master's kindness and devotion to helping everyone, although a bit callous at times, was alway just. She knew he cared even if no one else did. "Y-yes... master. I'll do just that."

He patted her hands and nodded, "good. I'm glad to hear that. Oh!" He exclaimed as he let go of the girl's hands and went over to the tall stump they'd used as a table. Leaning over to grab his pack, he picked up the large bound book on the stump. The edges frayed and the skin encompassing it tattered and stained, the book had been through quite a lot in its time being used. Looking down at it he smiled at it, remembering how young he was when he first started compiling his work. We've seen quite a journey. Let's hope your new owner adds much more to you. Turning around he stepped forward and handed the book to the small girl who almost toppled a bit at it's weight. "I want you to have this, to take care of and add to if you come across a new discovery. This book and this hut are now yours. I've packed most of the longer incubation slaves but using this book you can make much more on your own."

The girl was shocked, "master, I can't...this book, this place it's...Yo-"

"Yours. It always has been. I didn't write the book or make this hut to keep my knowledge hidden. I know you will do well carrying on my work. I can't wait to see all you accomplish, Ailre. I know you will do great things." He patted the girl's head, slung the large pack over his shoulder and stepped out of the grass hut. Without looking back he gave her one final wave as he began his journey towards the grand meeting. His heart heavy with every step, but his determination continuing to push him further. He was going to make a difference in this war. He won't stand to lose.

The Grand MeetingAs he made his way closer he finally noticed the incoming members of every tribe making their way in every direction to the central meeting point. Seeing his own tribe to the far right he took a deep breath and kept his head up as he returned to face those he chose to leave. Remembering back only a few years ago to the events of his leaving, the discovery he made, the betrayal he felt to those he trusted most. It still left him sacked at the thought of it all, his stomach turning and the bile beginning to rise up his throat at the memory. Yet he persister and entered the area of the Epidii tribe.

The whispers were hard to miss as everyone began to notice him. His hair, strangely whitened for his age and his unusual purple eyes gave him away quite easily. He didn't look but he heard them in their hushed tones, 'isn't that the Pain-killer?' 'Where has he been?' 'That is Cairistiòna's son. What is he doing here?' 'You heard about the sister right? It was him who made her that way.' 'No!' 'Pulled her back from Bas himself.' He hated when they spoke of his sister. They knew nothing of what the talked about and yet they bring up her death to entertain themselves. It's wrong and disgusting. Even now it seems nothing has truly changed. Pathetic. He quickly realized his hands had begun to shake and he quickly clenched them. Sliding his hands forward into the long sleeves of his robes as he came across more familiar faces. Men and women he'd known as children, their faces a mix of pity and welcome when they saw him. A few pointing up further towards what he assumed to be his mother's tent.

Passing by them without a word or a kind look he trailed upwards until he reached his mother's tent. The weight resting upon him was backbreaking as he felt the stagnant tension between himself and the woman inside there. Standing in front of the tent for a moment Eoghan honestly contemplated entering, it had been nearly five years ago when he learned the truth. Five long years. Is that enough time to earn forgiveness? A crowd began to slowly form around him and the tent. His thoughts and body stopped as he felt the presence of eyes on him and looking up and around to meet the eyes Eoghan's brow furrowed. The crowed stared eagerly back at him, wondering what he would do. Clenching his teeth tightly to stop himself from yelling at them he clenched his fists tighter. He was no spectacle for these people. Turning from the tent he passed it, refusing to see his mother altogether. I came here for the war not for reconciliation. Five years is not enough time. There will never be enough time. Forgiveness is impossible. The only thing to do is move on from here.

 

[Kloudy]

William Caesarus Daemonis Augustino

William had been in his study, sitting at a desk and labouring over some papers, when the messenger arrived so startlingly. The last few hours had been spent scanning report after report, calculating logistics, official requests and generally observing the day to day status. His expensively quality royal clothing had a few creases as he had been up all of last night drawing up battle strategies in the event of a surprise massed attack, and it seemed as though his instincts had been right. Glancing with an unsurprised, noncommittal look of expectation, the prince waited a few moments as the man hysterically rambled on before raising a hand to stop the tumble of words, “I understand. You were right to come to me first. Please, take a seat.”

The messenger, slightly taken off guard, took a seat in the chair opposite the prince. A black gloved hand went to his chin as William sat back in his beautifully carved cushioned wooden chair, a little something he’d picked up in the wealthier parts of the last town they’d restocked supplies at. The tribespeople were gathering somewhere further North, likely in order to amass their numbers to form an actual functional army. The stragglers they had been facing recently were little more than armed peasants with a bit of fire in their eyes. Still, a peasant was a peasant no matter how excited they became. They had all fallen to the machine of his legions’ devastating assaults. It was inevitable, the Empire had superior equipment, strategy, training, teamwork, systems. Those savages had large scattered numbers and plenty of raw iron reserves. Indeed it was the raw iron that had mainly garnered the Empire’s attention. William did not necessarily share that lust for resource exactly, as he was more concerned about his own self improvement than the Empire’s. Every man was capable of greatness, it was effort and talent that drew it out. It just so happened that William was more capable of greatness.

“Take this message to the Third Legion, I want one of their archery cohorts to track where the savages are going. They are to remain hidden and are granted permission to destroy those that discover them, if the odds are favourable. Withdraw immediately if heavy losses are sustained.” William finished his sentence by replacing the quill he had been holding in its inkwell, rolling up the fine parchment into a scroll, tying it off and handing it to the seated man. The Centurion in command of that cohort was competent enough to handle such a delicate mission, William was sure as he had met the man in person. The prince took his image very seriously even in the battlefield, as well as in the political world. He knew his Legion Legatus’ well, as they commanded entire Legions and he needed to know who he could rely in in battle. Even the Centurions of the more promisingly Legions had been paid a visit by the royal prince. This hands on information not only supplied William with extensive knowledge of his army’s leadership effectiveness, but it also massively boosted his men’s morale to see their general and second prince to the throne visit them personally. Opinion of the second heir to the Augustino throne soared throughout the military and throughout the people back home, who were told tales of his great victories and benevolent acts towards his soldiers. They believed he would make a fine ruler someday, supposing nothing happened to the first heir.

William had never been particularly close or fond of his brother. A pretty boy groomed for political success, the man could charm the coins from your purse with ease, but that was as far as his power went. He had no military experience, no fire, no cunning. Even now, the very thought of how unfair the world was made his mouth curl in disgust. He was not naive enough to believe that utopia was possible, a fair world in which no wrong could be done existed, but he believed that at least an enforced peace could be achieved with Imperial rule placed upon every land. That is, utopia was not possible currently. With a new leader in power of the Empire, such an ideaology could be made reality. William resented his superior position in royalty, knowing it was undeserved as he just lounged in the Empire’s capital. It was this very fact that had drawn William to the military, that with his father’s blatant indifference bred a constant need to prove himself. Whether that came from the influence he gave gained politically or the blood he shed in battle, the Second Prince of the Empire would stop at nothing to achieve. Even if it required trampling over everything he and everyone else believed in.

The messenger left hurriedly after placing the scroll in a satchel. William closed his eyes, resting then wearily for a moment before returning to his papers. A steady hand held the first document closer, the nearby candlelight flickering across the sea of ink that was scrawled across the paper. What was written made William’s eyebrows raise in mild surprise, eliciting an impressed whistle as he leaned back into the expensive cushion so once more. It seemed as though their coastal supply routes were being raided by some unknown tribe. Although that was not exactly true, the skill and power demonstrated from the casualty numbers that he was seeing suggested something a slightly impressive than some branch tribe. No, it had to be one of the three. The Vadinii were not much for fighting physically, but he had been told that their magic is strong. The Damnoni were formidable warriors, but lacked the brains and coordination for such precise attacks. The elusive Epidi were the most likely contenders. A few had been captured and tortured for information, but so far the yield was not much. Their weapons and tactics seemed fitting for their tribe, but it was not much to go on. However, if the tribes were working together...

“The Damnoni would have someone to coordinate them. The Vadinii would be protected while they cast their magic and the Epidi would have somewhere to run to after their raid is done.” The implication made William frown thoughtfully, his shadowed face brooding as rays of morning light glossed through the large window at his back. He quickly blew the candle that had been burnings all night out and stood, donning his royal coat before striding out of his study. Two guards stood outside to either corner of the corridor, they immediately moved to William’s side, matching his step as he made his way through the fort. They had been lucky to come across this coastal town. Not only did it have a convenient trading port right next to a channel current, but it featured a highly defensible castle nearby. Likely from some eccentric noble that lived in the large town, William had been able to easily occupy it in the name of the Empire, much to the displeasure of the noble. Camps still had to be set up for the several Legions that remained with him, but it was a comfortable little temporary home nonetheless. On the forefront of uncharted territory, a mass of other towns and villages belonging to the tribes existed. Some had expressed hostilities to the exploratitive scouts, some compliance and some indifference. It truly seemed as though the tribes were divided on whether to simply surrender or resist the Empire’s indomitable will. Indeed, William’s additional Legions would more than add to the current ones that occupied this land. William currently had 10 Legions with him at the castle, with 15 more being transported promptly from the South. 25 Legions, 150,000 men had been granted to the prince by the Emperor, who, despite his apparent dictation that William still had yet to prove himself, apparently believed enough in him to allow this massively large military force at his disposal. Along with the other general’s men, the savages would be no more even if they didn’t decide to desperately band together.

Waving another nearby messenger toward him, William took out another scroll and handed it to the man. It was one he hadn’t prepared earlier having arrived at the fort less than a week ago. Gossip in the town had already spread that the ‘Emperor’s Eye’, the Second Prince, had come to wipe out the resisting barbarians. This knowledge had likely reached not only the barbarians mentioned, but the already present Legions that had been fighting thus far. Still, William did believe in discipline and a formal introduction would be greatly appreciated. The scroll was an update, telling the general that the relief force had arrived and the prince would visit the camp soon. The scout saddled a horse and rode further North towards the friendly encampment.

Rusty of Shackleford idalie

 

[Cosmo]

The North, a wretched, cold and bleak land. Compared to the wonders of the rest of the world, it was woefully lacking, but it held its charm even if that charm had to be hunted and scavenged for. Its people were simple and crude, volatile and unimaginative led by a group of crazed woodsmen with cantrips believing themselves to be more then what they were. Its women were good if strong women were someone's preferred type as if there was one universal truth about the North is that its men were strong, its women were stronger. A fact his sister used to beat into him when they wrestled, yes, the North was a gods forsaken land, but it was, once, his home.

But it was being invaded, civilization was being brought to them by fire and sword by the Eastmere Empire, just another land that will be added into the fold, Asgar wasn't sure how he felt about that. In many ways, being brought into the Empire was not bad, the quality of life for people tended to improve under their dominion, of course, Asgar highly doubted the wisewomen and druids felt the same since they were likely to be crucified if they didn't let go of their practices, and given how stubborn the people of the North went... well, they Empire would need a lot of wood by the end of this. No place showed more of that incursion then the sight before his azure eyes, Victoria Castrum, or 'Fort Victory' in the tongue of the North... It sounded much better in tongue of the Empire. Although, the desert Q'uarthu people would have had a much more poetic name. They did so love to be poetic.

Victoria Castrum was a city onto itself, as most Legion camps were. People imagined long column marches, run down tents... but no, that wasn't an Imperial Fort. Already he could hear the songs of steel as blacksmith repaired equipment, the stink of curing leather that would soon be turned into shoes to be sold to the Legionnaire, the hint of freshly baked bread and cheap ointments from the local 'bath' house. It was alive with activity, even more so then many tribes of the north. For every legionnaire, five camp followers were there, some were horse, some traders and craftsmen, others simple family members of the legion as many can not settle down or afford land to settle, so the family is dragged along with them. A dangerous life, but it gave the Legionnaire's something to fight for knowing if they retreat and the camp falls, their families will suffer for their failure.

Asgar took in all and breathed deep, letting it fill his lungs. He had been lost on his return, the few steadfast he had found mostly abandoned which he could only assume was them hiding or attending a meet, and the fear of seeing his family still rested in his belly, so his feet had carried him to the closest thing he had to a home, a Legion Camp. It was... a sad revelation, but it was brightened when he saw the flag, the IXth Legion, perhaps there was mercy in the world after all.

As Asgar neared the gate, the two legionary, fresh faced optio if he ever saw one, straightened. The one on the right, who Asgar noted had a certain swagger in his step compared to the expertly done blank stare of his fellow guard that held about as much intelligence as Asgar expected, approached him, "Aye? What business do you have here, Northerner?"

"Tell Centurion Atticus that Asgar Havardr is here for that five sestertius that he owes him," Asgar said with a firm voice, one that did not book questions nor expected them, merely obedience.

"No one here by that name," the youth said, puffing out his chest as he looked up at the much larger north man, his eyes fell down to his waist and onto the gladius that hung there, "Where did you get that?"

The fact he did not simply obey such a brazen command surprised Asgar, it was in their nature, but then the denarius dropped. Of course, he didn't. They were in the north, with what, to him, were rebel barbarians about and now one had brazenly walked up to the fort of the IXth Legion with what, could only be, a looted galdius. It did not paint a pretty picture and Asgar had no real mark or letter to prove that he was no normal northman.

"Its mine," Asgar said, stressing the ownership of the blade, as he let his massive hand rest on its pommel, "Earned it. At the Battle of Dabui where Centurion Atticus and I stared down a whole damned lot of Q'uarthian Cataphract. Get Atticus, boy, I have no desire to spill honest legion blood especially from a boy too stupid to know better. "

The second the words left his mouth, Asgar knew it was a mistake. The optio was young, this was likely his first real outing as a member of the IXth which meant he was young, dumb and out to prove something. If possible, he puffed up even more and if it wasn't for the dangerous gladius at the youth's side, Asgar would say he would make a rather fetching hen.

"By Prudentia's saggy tits, what is going on here!?" a voice roared from the top of the gate, a voice Asgar recognized and apparently the youth's did to as they deflated and straighten up faster then if their own mothers had caught them up to mischief.

Asgar stepped away from the gate so he could get a better look up there and could almost smile, "Atticus! Tell these whelps to open the gates, it damned cold out here."

He could barely make out the face of the man above him, his face further enclosed by the helmet he wore, but Asgar swore he saw a smile, "Bellum's balls, is that you Asgar? I can't believe I didn't see you sooner, Obsequium only knows how something so big and ugly can be missed. "

"Aye, its me, who else would want to see your mangy hide out here in the arse end of nowhere?! Now get down here and open the gates before I climb up there and beat my sestertius out of you."

"Your sestertius!? Last I checked it was you who owed me, you cheap bastard," Atticus's armored head disappeared but Asgar could still make out his rough voice yelling, "Don't just stand there, open the gates!"

Asgar did not have to wait long before Atticus was walking towards him, and Asgar's eyebrow raised and nodded at Atticus' new uniform, "Who in the hells would make your sorry arse a Tribuni?"

"I ask myself that same question every time I wake up, but it makes the old girl happy," Atticus said and the two warriors embraced, smashing each other's back with their fist, "Damned good to see you."

"You as well, brother, I heard you weren't around anymore," Asgar said looking at the youth standing by the gate.

"I said there was no Centurion Atticus here," he said smugly, but it quickly fell when the Tribune glared at him, a glare refined from multiple campaigns and years as a Centurion. Like a preadtor stalking a defnesless calf, Atticus move towards the Optio, "What was that, legionnary? Did I just hear you speak in my presence without cause or warrant? Breaking the discipline of my glorious Legion?"

"No, Tribune!" the optio shouted, his body ramrod straight.

"No? That's mighty odd as either you're a lying little shit or I'm getting old, which is it?" Atticus made a show of looking around for a second opinion before returning to the Optio, "Well!? Which is it!?"

"Tribune, I only meant it wouldn't happen again, sir!" he shouted, and Asgar could see Atticus' hand reach for his belt for the rod that wasn't there any longer, a habit he had developed during his time as a centurion.

"Of course it won't, because Optio, if someone comes here looking for Atticus, you send for me. I don't care if they are looking for your whore mother named Atticus, you find me is that clear?" Atticus said, leaning so close their helmets pushed against one another, "Because if it isn't, I'm more then happy to have your centurion whip you until even that whore mother of yours wouldn't recognize you and only thing that stupid little mind of yours will be able to understand again is 'Tribune Fucking Atticus', Is that clear!?"

"Yes, Tribune!" the Optio shouted, his face a slight shade paler then it was before. ​

"Good," as Atticus turned back to Asgar, his face transformed from stern taskmaster to a wide, friendly smile, "Come now, big oaf, lets go back to my tent. Meera would have my guts if I didn't bring you to her."

Asgar fell into step behind his friend as if he knew Meera, which he certainly did, she would have something cooked up and prepared. How she managed to turn the scraps they gave the Legionnaires into such fine food, he would never know, but a greater magic he had yet to see. ​

 

[Rusty of Shackleford]

Marcus Lanius Flavius
The Fist of the Empire
Marcus received the letter from the Prince reading it slowly as he said, "So, the Prince wants to see me. You there, go tell the Prince that he is welcome in my camp. And get the wine for us." He leaned back on the pillows that he was sitting on, wishing he had a chair instead. He hated these pillows. They reminded him of those fat slobs they call governors. As loyal as he was to the Empire, he hated the politics and bueracracy of it all. To him, only a few people in power were decent people, and the rest were on s one way trip to whatever hell that awaited them when they died. As mentioned before, he wasn't a pious man. But he did believe that your actions would decide what happened to you after death. For himself, he expected nothing less than a cold, endless void. He didn't consider himself a good man. He had slaughtered Innocents countless times, and he knew he would be punished for it. The best he could do is try and be a good person in this life.
​

 

[Kloudy]

William Caesarus Daemonis Augustino

It took days of travel after a short period of preparation. William would be accompanied by four of his legions as the other five assumed territory in the surrounding land of their destination: the fort of Marcus Lanius Flavius. A single legion would be left behind in the castle to defend the port city from a surprise attack and to ensure William’s other legions could arrive safely. The journey was long and tiresome through the rough terrain of the North, leading to the army having to rest and restock at nearby villages. Some showed resistance, but they were dealt an unkind hand thereafter to ensure submission. It was a less than a week before the fort was in sight to William’s scouts.

“Ah... General Flavius seems to be taking good care of the place. I suppose I should make a good first impression.” William raised a gloved hand to cover the smirk on his face as he glanced at the publicly executed soldiers at the entrance. The prince couldn’t quite tell from the distance, which was quickly being closed on horseback, but the bodies seemed slightly rotted as though they had been there several days. Quite the deterrent to troublemakers in the General’s legions, if not a daunting spectacle to any enemy scouts passing but. Almost as if it were a message that the Empire’s power crushed all, discriminated none, consumed everything. William couldn’t help but wonder if dissent was a common occurrence amongst Flavius’ men.

Reaching the gates, they passed through easily as the large wooden doors swung open before them, the wall scout obviously having seen their arrival. William dismounted near the close by stable, leaving his horse with a stable boy who seemed too excited to take care of the Second Prince’s for words, and made his way to the command tent. This place was no castle with it’s wooden palisade walls and gates and it’s hastily erected tents, but it served its purpose for now. The first cohort from William’s First Legion had followed him into the fort, 500 hardened professional-looking armoured men acting as an honour guard of sorts, the rest of the legions setting up their own temporary tents outside the walls. William’s arrival was announced as he entered the larger tent, “Now announcing: the Royal Prince of the Augustino family, William Caesarus Daemonis Augustino, Second Heir to the Emperor!” William nodded his head graciously with a small smile, before looking over expectantly in Marcus’ direction.

“General Flavius! Good to see you! Those decorations outside are quite the sight; definitely a rather peculiar way of greeting an arriving prince. I trust the savages have been giving you less trouble than your own men?”

Rusty of Shackleford

 

[idalie]

The Wolven Queen
When the crowd had settled down in the chaos of finding seats and chatter as familiar faces were recognised between tribes, Ailith stood. The movement quietening any last murmurs that lingered, whilst the red-haired Queen scanned the crowd with those cold, grey eyes. "I bring the meeting of tribes to order." Her voice was husky with melancholy and age, yet loud without effort. Commanding dominance at no real expense of the lungs. "You all know why I've called this gathering of our people, from the mountains to the seas," Her hands moved fluidly as they motioned in either direction. "From the grasslands to the forests." The Vadinii chief moved further out to centre stage. "The Empire. We admitted our defeat after they turned brother against brother and blade against blade. We held hope, they might prove better for our future. I desired unity, I know everyone did -- something people rarely speak of." Ailith fell into a small lull, "They betrayed what we stood for. Killing our magic, our faith, stealing away our sons --" The Queen's stomach clenched with sickness, "--Raping our daughters. They killed a man for trying to defend the harvest, raised their fists to me, and took what little else I had left. My girls are dead. Seventeen and fifteen summers old. I bore them each nine moons, I birthed them in blood and tears, and they were taken from me. Girls. Not women. The Empire sees us as animals, savages, they take what they want and they leave us nothing. Without the druids, our crops are failing. Athair Foraoise becomes weaker, his influence leaving us bare. Our healers vanish, our seers hide themselves away, and our casters are burnt. Not only do the Empire take life, they take the soul of our lands. I demand war. I will rage against them, whether or not I garner the support from today. If the Vadinii die, may it be in the memory of those who should've lived long fulfilling lives."

The Chieftain returned to her seat, hands placed over her knees whilst gesturing for anyone to speak in agreement or debate, Things like this were usually common. Hands going up as people spoke their minds, Vadinii mostly in agreement with their Queen, all bloodthirstier than the shades of their vibrant hair. This was a larger version of a parliament, much larger, where there would be necessary confrontations to suss out whether or not the act was worth it. Yet Ailith had made her stance clear, for the harvests got smaller each year, and the flowers struggled to grow. Butterflies were lost half birthed from their cocoons, deathly still and unmoving. As if miscarried in the womb. No healers made it hard on expecting mothers, who had no blessings from Máthair Spéir, leaving infant mortalities up and women who simply died during the birth. Without the Gods or the trades related to the Gods, there was a fading sense of vibrancy. A thick, creeping cloak which threatened to snuff them out. All things came to boil over. Even for the divine.

Lately, to have the sun shining on their backs in a warm, summer heat, was foreign. A dwindling fire, blanketed by clouds which wept cold tears. Not summer rain, it was sorrowful. Any healer could acknowledge that, any druid could recognise the emotion which seeped into the land, the witches could feel it in the air, and the seers could see. A mother bereaving her children, one by one. Kissing the horizon with her fingertips to bless the sailors on the seas, her breath the balmy breezes and sweet soft caresses, picking up the flowers of her husbands making to whisk the scent of nectar to giggling, swaddled infants. No longer did the elements seem playful, the light never reflecting off gorgeous ice-capped mountains, or highlighting the green plants and the fjords amongst the landscape which varied from coast to coast. There was something created for everyone to love, for the North was a beautiful, rugged wilderness to the eyes of the South and beyond, and indeed -- it's own people. Lush and healthy, but now, folded like Seanbhean everything had an air of death about it. Foretelling what was to be, what will always be, and what could be.

mian thebigbadwolfy The Suspicious Eye Vera Kelland boo. Pavan Wreadite
[Empire not included, sorry lads]​

 

[Pavan]

Gregor Bellthorn
Location: The Grand Meeting
Mentions: Ailith Alvisdottir, Caoimhe Dubhshláine
Interactions: idalie thebigbadwolfy
​

Gregor felt his fists tighten, reacting to the rage slowly building in him. As the Wolven Queen spoke Gregor looked over the faces of his warriors watching some visibly flinch when she claimed the northern tribes had admitted defeat, the farmers eyes wander when she mentioned the failing crops no doubt remembering the fields they had burned to keep them from the empire, but it was when this "queen" spoke of her tragedy that kindled the wrath that now burned inside Gregors veins. Not towards the empire. He had burned through his fury at their acts. Now all that remained was apathy and a deep seated desire for it all to end. Gregors blood boiled because the chieftain spoke as if she was the only one who had suffered and that her suffering was the only reason to fight. While her past was indeed tragic, her suffering was not rare. The thousands of warriors that had died in their burning village buying time for the rest too flee into the forest, The mothers forced to give birth to and raise their children in the woods and caves to keep them from the legions, and the children that lived in constant fear of the day as the night hid them better all of these had suffered. But Gregors people had not fought for revenge on their torturers. They fought for their rights and their freedom. And now this chieftain had been personally wronged and suddenly she was standing up for the North, brave, noble and somehow above those that had fought so hard for so long. No. Gregor would not let this pass by unquestioned.

As the Chieftain sat Gregor leaned in and gently placed his hand on her arm. His face remaining neutral, as if he was commenting on the weather. The last thing his people need was to see division among the chieftains. Hope is a fragile thing. His voice was quite so that only the two chieftains could hear him. "If the Vadinii die, may it be in the memory of those who should've lived long fulfilling lives. How noble, and where was the Vadinii when our lands burned and our children screamed." He fought to keep his voice even. "Or the Damnonii when our food reserves ran out and our people starved." He shifted his gaze slightly to the other chief. "I ask because I know where my people were. They were buried in the forest fighting this fight that you now claim as your own. I will not allow you to disregard their sacrifice. You may be a figure for them to unite around, but do not presume to command my countrymen to fight for your personal revenge." His eyes shifted between the chieftains once more before he leaned back in his chair, breathed in deeply and tried to stop his hand from shaking. It was often siad that the Epidii were more arrogant than their neighbors. But today Gregor had seen an exception to the rule.

 

[thebigbadwolfy]

Caoimhe Dubhshláine

.

There was a certain sort of buzz in the air, like before a thunderstorm. Except this was a thunderstorm of rage and sorrow and... Caoimhe looked out on to the crowd, eyebrows raised ever so slightly. She was thankful she was already sitting, because it was all so overwhelming. Never had she, as a small child running around and ruining her clothes in mud, or getting covered in scratches spending her days in the woods, that she would have thousands of eyes looking to her for leadership.

The eyes of a crew of a mercenaries? Easy to handle. The eyes of the village she lived in? Sure, a little nerve-wracking, but fine. Especially when she had her advisors nearby.

Here, she sat on a large throne, on an elevated platform, with all advisors and potential friends feeling an ocean away. As the meeting began, Caoimhe shifted in her seat, praying to the mother that her breakfast stayed down. Her eyes followed the Wolven Queen as she stood and addressed the crowd. But a quick glance past her, to the other side of the platform, she could see Gregor looking... agitated. Well-hidden agitation, no doubt. But it was clearly there, and anyone near enough would be blind to miss it.

At first, the Damnonii chief only thought it was in relation to the empire. After all, they were all here because of their shared hatred of the invaders. As the queen sat back down, Caoimhe flashed her the smallest of half-smiles, as if to say "good job," though she quickly realized someone like Ailith would never need any sort of encouragement or praise like that. She made a note to herself that friendliness was not important during this meeting.

Momentarily lost in her own worries, Caoimhe had to blink a few times before she was fully investing her attention in Gregor. She wished she hadn't. The anger she had worked for three years to suppress suddenly flared with such an intensity that the young chieftan had to white knuckle the arm of the throne. He lip twitched. But, she was patient. A chieftan was patient, they waited their turn to talk. So the second Gregor finished, Caoimhe leaned closer, furs and metals and other such trinkets of her tribe knocking together with the abrupt nature of the motion.

The young chieftan scoffed lightly, "You speak as if you are better. 'Oh we, the Epidii, all only fight for our oh-so righteous reasons. Revenge? We've no clue about it.'" She grit her teeth, took a deep breath, then continued with what she presumed was less ire in her tone. "Where were the Vadinii?" She nodded towards Ailith. "Watching their villages razed and their women raped. Where were the Damnonii? Busy making sure that they, themselves, did not starve. No one is useful if they're dead."

Then, leaning back as though she were miming his actions, Caoimhe spoke a bit louder. Easy for anyone around the platform to hear. "Do not assume that Ailith's loss disregards your own, or your own, her's. And do not assume that revenge is the wrong motivation for this war. Does it matter why we are doing this? If we're here to fight, then we're fighting. That's it. We all want the empire gone. We all want to make sure that our fallen brethren did not fall for no reason." Quickly glancing between the two chieftans, she added, "So I suggest that we don't squabble between ourselves and for once in the history of the North, we ignore borders and rivalries. The way I see it, they only weaken us. The Empire is one complete, and expansive unit. We can't hope to win against an enemy like that if we fall victim to the in-fighting the North has never escaped."

idalie Pavan

you must do the thing you think you cannot do

coded by e d e n​

 

[mian]

Location: The Grand Meeting
Mentions: Gregor Bellthorn ( Pavan ), Ailith Alvisdottir ( idalie ) , Caoimhe Dubhshláine ( thebigbadwolfy )
Interactions: N/A

- - - - - - -
​

As the room filled with murmur at the bickering of the chieftains, Helle sat silently and respectfully next to her father who was conversing with the other Damnonii chieftain advisors. She had an unusual pit in her chest. It was heavy, sinking, and full of... sorrow. She had known of the Queen's tragedy, she known of the starvation and the death, but she had never thought of it much before. She, after all, was born for war. She wasn't born to mourn or ask questions or to worry about anything other than how many chests she had flayed and heads she had sent rolling. Helle swallowed, quickly suppressing her thoughts before they ran any further. These were ridiculous, useless thoughts, and this was certainly not the time for them. It was that damned Håkon getting in her head.

Clearing her throat, Helle focused her attention back to the meeting. Really, she couldn't agree more with the Queen. It was time for the Empire to be driven out of the North like the diseased rats they were. Helle had dedicated her life to defending her people from the Empire and other invaders, and she would be willing and ready to lay down her life if it meant the freedom of the North. It wouldn't be easy, though. The North barely united on anything (as it was clearly apparent from the current state of the meeting) and everyone liked to blame the other tribes for the troubles their own tribe were facing. It was truly like a trio of rowdy siblings, always kicking and screeching at each other. Besides that, though, was the size and brutality of the Empire. Sure, the tribes could always hold their own against small factions of Empire troops, but if the tribes ignited a rebellion... the Empire would waste no time in squashing them like a roach. Complete unity across all the tribes was essential if this were to happen... but again, that was nearly impossible.

Helle turned to her father to listen in on his conversation with the other advisors. Mostly, they were bickering over if a war like this was worth it. If the possibly deaths, damage to the villages, rapes and kidnappings, would really be worth an unsure victory and unlikely freedom of the North. The Empire would never give up easily, one advisor said. Bralis assured him that he knew, and that the Queen knew as well, and regardless of a war these horrible things were still happening to the people of the North. They would continue to until nothing of the North was left, he said. Helle agreed, but did not speak her agreement.

Soon, the advisors broke apart and directed their attention back on the chieftains. Chieftain Caoimhe, specifically. Helle's father was unwillingly an advisor for the chieftain, doing it as a last favor to his old friend: Caoimhe's father. When Chieftain Caoimhe's father died, the last thing he asked of Bralis was that he made sure Caoimhe was well-guided as she continued to get her footing in the world. Bralis never backed out on a promise, especially to a man he so greatly respected. So, Bralis for the most part had given up his battling days to ensure the chieftain was on the right track. Much to Barlis's annoyance. Helle, however, thought it was a good thing for her father and the tribe. He was getting older, after all, and few people knew the tribe as well as him, knew battle as well as him. His knowledge and wisdom would be very usefully. Especially now, Helle thought, as a revolution might be on the Northern horizon.

​

 

[boo.]

(scrollie!)​

[class name=stoneBackground] height: 725px; width: calc(100% + 17px); background: #fff3d1; margin: auto; overflow: auto; [/class] [class name=stoneImage] height: 750px; width: 100%; background-image: url(https://i.pinimg.com/564x/9e/1a/00/9e1a005c43d4b038c51ffffb68c261d4.jpg); background-size: 100%; background-repeat: no-repeat; [/class] [class name=stoneHeader] margin: auto; padding: 5px; text-align: center; font-size: 50px; color: #1c3d41; [/class] [class name=stoneArrow] margin-top: 150px; text-align: center; font-size: 60px; color: #e2eae8; [/class] [class name=stoneContent] padding: 5px; color: #1c3d41; margin-top: -10px; [/class] [class name=stoneWrapper] margin: auto; overflow: hidden; width: 440px; [/class] [class name=stoneCredit] font-size: 10px; color: #426369; text-align: right; [/class] [div class=stoneWrapper][div class=stoneBackground][div class=stoneImage][div class=stoneHeader]

[/div][div class=stoneArrow][/div][/div][div class=stoneHeader]

Sorcha Tulach

[/div][div class=stoneContent]

Ailith’s words fired Sorcha’s soul into an inferno. She felt moved by the Wolven Queen, and yet she could sense a tone of revenge lining Ailith’s anger. Was she here to fight another woman’s war? There was no doubt that the evils of the Empire stretched further than the Vadinii, for they had all been affected, but Sorcha felt as though there was too much personal motive here for a full-blown war.


The warrior could see her own chieftain speak to the others in a low tone, and her brow furrowed. It was likely he was voicing what Socha was thinking, but it didn’t seem to go over well with Caoimhe. The youngest chieftain spoke louder, announcing that motives were irrelevant, then putting forth another, more cutting-edge idea. Ignore borders and rivalries. Sorcha’s head shook, her eyes narrowing. That would never happen. The traits of the tribes went too deep for a mere opinion to dispel. And yet, as much as she would hate to admit it, Caoimhe had a point. Working together would require no small amount of setting aside differences.


Sorcha raised her hand in a fist, then spoke in a loud, deep voice: “Are you suggesting we become more like our enemy? Our greatest strengths have always been our differences.” Her staff struck the ground as if to draw attention to herself. “We can never hope to overcome the Empire if, in the end, we become them. We desire justice, not the conquering of lands.”

Mentioned: Gregor Pavan ; Caoimhe thebigbadwolfy ; Ailith idalie

[/div][/div][div class=stoneCredit]Coded By || StoneWolf18 [/div][/div]

 

[ThePerpetualShadow]

“Here” The burly Northerner grunted in heavily accented Latin as his little boat came to rest close to the shore. Titus rose to his feet, picking up his Pilum bag and slinging it across his shoulder. After arriving in the only port the North possessed, he had found this man who was willing to take them up the coast to bring them nearer to the fort, which was much quicker than travelling by boat. The North was cold, even in summer. Harsh winds blew in from the ‘North’ of the country bringing with them a biting chill that seeped into his bones. The Imperial had no idea how the savages could stand there and not be affected by it in the slightest. He’d even asked the boatman, receiving a reply in the form of a grim laugh. He respected them for their resilience to the unpredictable temperatures of their home, but that would not save them from his wrath. The savages would learn their place in the world or be crushed, like many others before them.

He stepped out of the boat and onto land, his armoured boots splashing water in all directions. He showed no sign of his discomfort, turning to the boatman and reaching into his satchel. Withdrawing a coin purse, he tossed it over to the savage. The big man caught it and grinned, a look that seemed far too animal like.

Only for him to grunt in pain as something was jabbed into his neck.

He blinked, dropping the purse and clutching at his throat. He started gasping for breath, his face turning an unhealthy shade of green. Titus stepped back instinctively, putting a hand on the hilt of his sword as the man clawed at his neck before stilling and falling face down into the boat.

“Was that really necessary?” He asked with revulsion as the Assassin joined him on land, handing him the coin purse he had just given to the boatman. For a moment, Titus could have sworn he saw a look of pure ecstasy on the Assassin’s face before it was replaced with his usual neutral expression.

The man had seemed polite and refined at first glance, yet during the brief time they’d spent in each other’s company Titus had growing wary of the man. Perhaps it was the time he’d journeyed to the hold in order to have some time to himself when he had caught the Assassin seemingly conversing with himself in frantic, hushed whispers. He’d chuckled when he’d lifted up several syringes holding a sinister green liquid that had glowed faintly in the semi darkness of the cargo hold.

The man looked at him. “No” He replied simply.

With that, the trained killer turned and began gliding away, hopping from rock to rock with speed and grace expected from someone with his profession.

Titus shook his head, sparing one last glance at the boat before turning and following his companion.

This was going to be a long campaign, he just knew it.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Lucius smirked to himself as he navigated through the maze of rock and boulder that covered the coastline of the ripe land of the North. Oh how long he had been looking forward to this! His orders from the Emperor were clear. Protect his son and follow his orders at all costs. Personally, Lucius would rather have not taken orders from anyone but the Emperor, but this was ordered by the very man he served. And he would indeed serve, just as his family had done for generations!

He had longed for the opportunity to ‘work’ in the North ever since the Legions had first arrived on the cold and hard land. Oh the stories he had heard! They said that Northerners possessed an unusual tolerance to pain, as well as the cold. He couldn’t wait to try some of his techniques on some ‘volunteers’. He would have used the boatman, but he simply didn’t have the time. Plus, the Varus was there, and he didn’t like having witnesses to his work. Those usually ended up dead. Alas, he couldn’t afford to kill the brute. It would raise too many questions.

He came to a stop after crossing over a small rise to see the wooden walls of their destination lying before his eyes. His smirk widened and he turned back to the soldier, who was trudging up the slope with a slow but sure stride.

Lucius scoffed internally. Varus was another mindless brute that did not appreciate the finer things in life. He had seen the man’s disgust when he had killed that dog of a boatman. He simply lacked the mental fortitude that he himself possessed. No matter. As long as the soldier kept his distance, he was invisible as far as Lucius was concerned.

“Come Reaper” He spoke loudly, wind whistling past him, causing his un-donned cowl to flutter about in the breeze. “Our destination awaits”

Varus grunted in response, finally reaching Lucius’s side and fixing the Assassin with his familiar scowl that seemed to be a little more pronounced.

Lucius never let his friendly smile slip as he gestured to the fort ahead.

“As part of my orders, I must not be seen by the common soldier. I will meet you when you find the Prince” He didn’t give the man a chance to respond, fixing his cowl over the lower half of his face before slinking away, seemingly disappearing.

________________________________________________________________________________________________

Titus blinked as the man left, bringing with him a sense of wrongness that had been present ever since they had met. Glad to be rid of him, at least for the moment, he made his way towards the fort. A few minutes of walking and he had reached the entrance. The sight of the executed soldiers did not bother him. He knew they had most likely committed a crime that their commander felt was grounds for execution, therefore he didn’t think much of it. He was challenged by the sentry on duty, a bored looking Optio. He quickly scanned his papers before nodding and admitting Titus through.

Making his way past the gates, Titus reached the command tent in almost no time. The simple, yet practical layout of the camp made Titus feel at home. The familiar sights and sounds caused him to relax slightly. He caught himself almost immediately. He couldn’t let his guard down, even for a moment. Not even an Imperial fort was unbreachable. He’d learned that lesson more than once.

 

[The Suspicious Eye]

Noelani

Mood:
Insensitive

Location:
The Grand Meeting

Mentions:
Ailith Alvisdottir, Caoimhe Dubhshláine, Gregor Bellthorn, Sorcha Tulach​

With:
No one

Tags:
Pavan
thebigbadwolfy
idalie
boo.
​

As the crowd of northerners settled Noelani took her place hidden amongst the crowd unable to get a seat. She preferred to keep to herself for now, curious on how the mainlanders were going to address one another. It was already much different from the meetings of the elders of the islands. They kept their discussions secret, inviting only a few to see what truly goes on, it was nothing as open as this. Crossing her arms she stood, her blue eyes peeking out from under the shadow of her hood, honing her vision on the three chieftains of the north. Having already seen the Vadinii chieftain, Noelani's attention shifted to the other two. One a striking older man of average height, the other a younger woman looking quite out of place given her surroundings. Tilting her head at the two she wondered just what made a chieftain a chieftain. Neither looked old enough to be powerful or wise enough to lead, the elders of her home were far in their 70's and 90's powerhouses if not a bit forgetful at times. She had to remind herself that most of the mainlanders did not live as long as her people. I wonder what these people have in store, if their leadership is not based on power or wisdom, just what could it be.

Eyes set on the three chieftains her attention was also on her surroundings. Her body began acclimating to the shifts of energy around her as the others moved behind her, tensing a bit as some one passed by her. Shifting her weight, she took a deep breath and listened as the Valdinii chieftain stood up and began to address the masses. As she spoke Noelani could see the command the chieftain held over her people, a dominance that she yet did not know where it came from. Noelani listened to the words of a woman who lost so much, but still stood to ask for help. Her story was something that Noelani had never heard, but had seen quite often on the seas. Traveling opened her to new sights of all kinds, both wondrous and cruel. Feeling a chill up her arm, she gently rubbed it as she listened to the chieftain vow her vengeance, and her rage after what had happened to her family and the other mainlanders. It was something she and her people were lucky to never have happen, and something she wondered would happen. For all she hated being trapped on the isles, they were her people and they taught her too much for her not to be willing to protect them. Her heart beating faster, letting energy flood through her veins, the chill subsided and Noelani raised her hand to her chin, stroking it as she thought on the woman’s words all the while the other Valdinii burned for their 'queen.'

Her thoughts swirling around, Noelani noticed the shift in the male chieftain. Honing in on the interaction Noelani read the lips of the whispering chieftain and raised a brow in interest as she pieced together most of the passive aggressive message. A smile grew on her face as there was a air of discontent between him and the other tribes, and Noelani had to admit she agreed with the man. Noelani was no seer, but she did not see herself fighting alongside those who only are out for vengeance. Vengeance is for the survivor and only for the survivor. No other life is meaningful when it is placed on the line for the ones who are already gone. She saw nothing in dying for people she didn't know, dying for anyone who was gone, when she could honor their memory through living. Vengeance leads you down one path and as she learned, there is no one path, everything is fluid and changes like the tides. That rage and fire that even she felt was a power, but power wouldn't win a war, it would only make them animals to be easily trapped. She respected his opinion as she respected the Valdinii chieftain's pain, but neither made her see these mainlander leaders as allies. She turned to the third and youngest chieftain as she wondered where this woman stood. She'd notice the kind and supportive smile that she'd seen many times in her life. However, she knew there was a equal amount of rage and aggression in the woman. It was clearer to see on the young woman, than on the face of what she assumed to be the Epidii chieftain, aggravation at one another. The names of the tribes were hard to piece out especially through gritted teeth and new lips, but Noelani could yet again piece what they hissed about on their thrones. Their quietly aggressive quarrel was entertaining and something extremely dangerous at the same time, which only excited the witch even more.

As she spoke up it was easier for Noelani to understand, and what she heard surprised her. It was something that she herself had considered and stood by. My, my, maybe there is something here that is actually worth supporting here after all. The childishness of 'my tribe' and 'your tribe' was starting to make me question on whether this side of the war was worth backing. She may have been given the order to join the mainlanders, but Noelani was never good at following orders. If she saw that they weren't worth fighting besides, she wasn't afraid to look elsewhere. Looking the young chieftain up and down, Noelani bit her blackened thumb and contemplated on the possibilities on what this war could actually end in. Many were quite intriguing to her own desires. Her thoughts were interrupted by the booming voice of a member in the crowd. Letting out a soft laugh at the woman's comment, she shouldn't and quickly covered her mouth as she could feel the eyes on her. Reaching up she pulled her hood further over her face as a heavy mist engulfed the area around her. Once it cleared she was gone from her former position, having snuck away to the far left corner of the crowd. Crossing her arms she stepped forwards, mist dancing and expanding behind her with every step. "If your differences were working then this would be a war rather than the massacre that it is. If you don't think like your enemy how will you ever hope to effectively fight against them? The Empire has done everything it can to become like you, from living on this land to taking your loved ones, and is succeeding because they understand how you act. Banning together is one thing, actually knowing your enemy is another. You'll never overcome the Empire if you refuse to change. Short sighted views and claims for justice won't win a war."

 

[Pavan]

Gregor Bellthorn
Location: The Grand Meeting​

Gregor was taken aback by the young chieftains response. He had expected some words of anger from the Wolven queen and if he was being honest he was hoping for it. Just the smallest crack in her calm facade would have been a victory. She had insulted his tribe and he had sought to hurt her back. It was childish, and the words of the Damonii chief had shocked him back into the real world. She had spoken bluntly and while Gregor disagreed with her argument she had won his respect for voicing it. He turned his attention back to the crowd. Sorcha's voice cut through the murmuring, followed by a rebuttal from the other side of the crowd. If we continue like this we will achieve nothing. Gregor thought to himself. He had to decide now if he would throw his people against the empire. As if the choice was his. Gregor looked over the faces of his people. Moving from warrior to warrior. Men,women and children until his gaze on a boy. No older than seven winters and yet by his side was a sword. His eyes stared up at Gregor. Gregor new that if the empire continued unchecked that this boy would soon be forced to fight. Too soon. Gregor simply nodded at the boy, and stood from his chair.

"Brothers, Sisters the time is upon us to make the greatest decision that has ever faced our people." Gregor breathed in deeply trying to quiet the sound of his heartbeat that now thumped through his body. "War or oppression. The empire burned our land and took our children. They have shown us evil that none of us could have fathomed. They have sought to take us all under their rule and force shackles on us that would make us all the same. Make us all slaves. It is in this that the empire has left itself vulnerable. Our differences make us unique, and our unity despite them will make us strong. This is something the empire and its faceless legions will never understand. Unity by force is fragile, Unity by choice is powerful. If the Vadinii are to stand against the empire then the Epidii will stand beside them. Until Trodai grants us victory, or until we rush into the arms of Bas."

Gregor waited as a wave of murmurs and shouts came from the crowed. "But there is one thing I would humbly ask my fellow chiefs to consider. Many a war has started with noble ideas and noble hearts. There are few that end that way. We must be clear on our intent before we act on it. Why we fight may well be more important than how we fight in the coming months. We cannot allow hatred to drive us. This may seem a naive idea, but mark my words, any war fought against evil for hatreds sake is a war we will lose. We must ensure that if we remove the empire from our land that we do more than just change the faces on the coins."
Gregor sat back in his chair. He looked to the wolven queen and bowed his head slightly. He spoke quietly again so that the chiefs would hear him. "I have committed my people to your cause. I pray that it is a just one."

The Suspicious Eye
thebigbadwolfy
idalie
boo.