◆Cold Wind to Valhalla [Norse/Fantasy/War]Need High Elves!

[Caleidah]

Istolil Filifar

"We'll have a few more carav-" Istolil bit back his words when the Dwarf before him continued talking. Her impatience with the situation gave him the starts of a very bad taste about the day, but it could be excused. She had the raiment of a city officer, and was likely not the first person that had been assigned to welcome them. Istolil gave a hand sign and the group began to move along with their escort. "I do appreciate that your College of Delegates was able to see us on such short notice. It will be better for both of our peoples if this is handled and set aside as quickly as possible."

As they walked, he took in the city on all sides. It had been decades since he had set foot in the capital, and that had been on the long end of a trade caravan. Exhausted and coated in the dust of the road, he had not been able to properly take in the sights. The city had seemed elegant then, even from the caravan barracks. Now, it was a true sight to behold. Dwarven architecture, dating back thousands of years. There were differences here and there, generational styles rising up beside their ancestors. As much as he would love to spend a week, or even a month, in the city to absorb its architecture and to build up new trade, he forced himself back to the situation at hand. One of his aides came up to his side. He was one of the few in military garb among his retinue, though it was still in Istolil's personal colors, not those of Drowfen. He walked with a swagger, and carried a sword and dagger openly on his hip.

"Istolil, I have seen to it that everyone is well appraised of what to expect today. A few of our men from within the city were funneling reports back this morning. Everything should be as it seems." Istolil's raised eyebrow made the Dokkalfar grin. "If I'm going to be the head of your household guard, I get the right to act like it from time to time."

This time, Istolil laughed and nodded. "True enough, Ristel. If you'd do one thing for me, ensure that any of ours that come through the portal stay out of the markets. We're surely not going to be looked at with adoration any time soon."

Ristel bowed his head and turned back to the small procession. He tapped a few men out of the line and they returned back to the portal. With that done, he trotted back forward and resumed his place in the procession at Istolil's left hand.

Istolil returned to his thinking for a time, and had to be shaken out of it by Ristel when they reached the court where the meeting would be taking place. His page came forward, carrying their passports and the letter from the Chancellor. "I hope they weren't expecting someone higher ranking," he muttered. The page and Ristel both heard, but only the latter showed it, patting Istolil on the shoulder. "And who outranks you in a city that you have bought and sold?" It was enough to settle Istolil's nerves.

The retinue dispersed as they reached the courtroom, some moving to benches, others taking up places near the doors, nodding in recognition to their dwarven counterparts. All around the room, Istolil's guards were adjusting their clothing. To most, a simple act of courtly etiquette. To any that had worked in shadier business, a recognizable check done by each to ensure that their weapons were in place. The page trotted before them all and stepped up onto the dais at the center of the room.

"Esteemed and respected dwarven lords, Delegates to the College of Kargath, I present to you Istolil Filifar, Caravan Lord and Merchant, member of the Supreme Conclave of Drowfen and the Dokkalfar." The page bowed deeply and stepped forward with the documents, the letter from the Chancellor sitting on top. As a guard took them, he bowed again and turned, returning to stand next to the dais as Istolil climbed it.

"Lords, Delegates, it is under unfortunate terms that I have come today to treat with you. However, I am certain that we will be able to reach an understanding of things that will benefit both of our people. The Chancellor has sent me in his stead, and has imparted his authority unto me for all dealings and agreements made here. He has sent a letter explaining, and apologizing for, his absence." Istolil bowed just as deeply as the page had and straightened. He would let the Delegates make the first play of this conference.

[the unavailable memory of]

YES SIR !
YOU LEAD ME INTO WARxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx↘ command me to attack
you save me from ʙᴀcᴋғɪʀɪɴɢ with letters and numbers
XXXXXXXXXXXI AM WHAT I THINK I AM; but hey, you ain't s**t
WHERE IS HOME?, explain to a fish what water is
WHERE IS HOME?

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◥xxxxxThe Archer’s name was, as he expected, utterly unfamiliar to him, though he did his best to commit it to memory now, if only to avoid having to shout ‘You!’ gratuitously across a field full of potential ‘you’s.

“Do you think the dark-elves will come to our aid? The dwarves?” the Captain asked the Archer, once again jumping around the direct answer to her question with another dose of ranting, though there was much less anger in this than there was logical speculation. The dark-elves and dwarves had, as far as Jens could tell, nothing to gain from assisting them in the fight against the light-elves; Hjerteland could boast no good relations with the other races.

“We have to make due on our own, and longer we sit here rotting in our own filth, the easier it will be for the elves to take out what’s left of us.” he continued, letting his sights roam from the Archer to the slowly organizing group of mix-matched soldiers bustling about the keep as his orders were being carried out.

“We need able men, not hungry ones. The elves are well fed, are they not?”

His train of thought was disrupted by the emergence of a looming, too familiar figure. Brynolf seemed to have a knack of appearance at precisely the moment when Jens both needed to see him and didn’t care to, but nevertheless, he couldn’t fault the man just yet for reporting his findings which were extremely pertinent to the here and now and especially towards gauging the success of the Captain’s plan in progress.

The news was both a relief and somewhat troubling; if the elves were falling back it meant most likely that the resistance within the walls no longer necessitated the bulk of their forces to manage, or, as Brynolf suggested, they were regrouping and resupplying. Something in the back of his mind warned him of another possible outcome, however, one in which the elves were possibly gathering their forces to launch a second attack, which really only served to usher the urgency of action at Trygholde even further.

Before Jens could reply properly, or even give so much as thanks (as unlikely as that was), the Knight began to wander off, stating that he would be resting until further orders.

“Brynolf.” the Captain snarled through clenched teeth, visibly perturbed by the Knight’s decision to promptly remove himself from the situation, and then secondly proceed to inform him of what he would be doing as opposed to waiting one goddamned minute to listen to what he had to say. He couldn’t honestly say he was too surprised; the two had been perpetually butting heads with one another since the days when Jens shared his title as a Knight, though it appeared to him now that the man had yet to fully come to terms with Jens’ recent upgrade in position nor the protocol that superseded it.

He’d see that little issue rectified very quickly.

“You’re just in time, actually.” he called to the retreating Knight, carefully clearing whatever traces of resentment he could humanly manage (which a large amount, truthfully) from his features before continuing.

“You’ll be going with us as well.” he added bluntly, directly negating any recognition of the fact that he just returned from a rather long haul as it was and then successively negating any possible concern for how weary he might have been, which would have been noted well enough if only appearances could speak for themselves.

“That is, of course, as soon as you manage to remember that I am your Captain, and that you do not take rests unless I give you the order.” The volume and intensity of the Captain’s voice unsteadily rose as he came to the end of his rebuke, glaring acidicly at the irreverent Knight. A moment of silence rolled uneasily between the three of them before Jens broke his eye contact with the Knight and acknowledged the Archer who hadn’t decided to slink away while his attentions were focused elsewhere.

“You, tend to whatever last minute matters you have, and for your sake I’d recommend that you be here when I get back.” he ordered, the remnants of his exchange with Brynolf still lingering in his voice as he turned to leave, for the moment anyways. Stopping just short of his first step in the opposite direction, he offered one final piece of advice (if one could really call it that) to the Knight.

“You will learn your place Brynolf, or you will not have one.” he warned solemnly and rather quickly, leaving before the Knight could offer any retort.

The Captain’s heavy footsteps thudded loudly across the sturdy stone that paved its way from his quarters, his feet lead-footed under the weight of not only the thick, heavy leather hide that served as his armour, but most notably his signature Greataxe. Many scoffed at such a choice in weapon, demeaning such a weapon as slow and ineffectual in comparison to quick and light swings of swords and daggers, though, these people had obviously never seen Jens in action.

He breached the threshold that separated the keep from the grounds outside; from darkness to the dreary albeit bright light of day which shone down upon the gradually congregating forces at Trygholde’s gate as they began forming their lines. Several heads turned as they spotted the Captain approaching, and many of them put on expressions of disdain for the one that they saw was meant to be leading them. That, obviously, was an all too common sight for Jens, and he fully accepted that he’d rightfully warranted such a reaction, and in fact was his intention.

The Captain stood waiting rather impatiently despite the quickness in which his call to arms to was met, yet to say that he was unhappy with what he had to work with would have been a vast understatement. However, he withheld comment or any statement at all until it was clear to him that everyone who planned on showing up, had.

"Is this it?" he asked finally, taking a step forward to get a better look at the mis-matched men that stood before him. This wasn't good; this was worrisome, in fact, though all that could be read on Jens’ expression was frustration. Approaching one soldier, he snatched his weapon from him and brought it to eye-level, inspecting it before angrily thrusting it back into the soldiers hand. “Do you think the damned elves will have sent men with dull blades?” the Captain asked, leaving a moment of pause to his obviously rhetorical question just in case someone would have the nerve to answer. No answer came, of course, and those gathered before him simply stood fearful and in waiting of what was to come next. He took a stride away from the soldier, and came to stand before the next one in the line, who looked less than pleased about this fact. “Draw your weapon.” Jens ordered, his eyes piercing into those of the soldier, who looked uncertain for a moment before he slowly went about grabbing and drawing his blade from its sheath. Before the unfortunate soldier had even fully unsheathed his blade, the Captain had drawn his hatchet in one, smooth movement and had used it to knock the barely unsheathed weapon from the soldier’s hand; this gesture only hinted at the Captain’s impatience for the situation at hand. “I ordered you to draw your weapon, not take it on a leisurely stroll. Not only that, but your grip is pathetic; it should take a hell of a lot more to disarm you than just a flick of the wrist.” he scolded, not solely for the sake of scolding; it wasn’t as if he got some sort of enjoyment out of berating these men, but in his experience the hardest lesson was always the one that you learned the best and in Jens’ opinion, the lesson he offered by being an a*****e was nothing compared to what they would learn once they found themselves against an elf and utterly unprepared for it.

“Pick it up, and hold on to it like you would your own life, unless you would prefer to go ahead and begin plotting out your grave.” He spat, not sticking around to watch the soldier quickly pick up his weapon and resheath it.

He turned, leaving the men unto their own devices for the time being and sought out the Archer and the Knight and hoped they both realized that he was currently not a man to keep waiting.xxxxx◤

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UmbreonLad




Yokka

[Blue Ballet]

███████████████████████████████████████████ ☪ ███████████████████████████████████████████
*******************************ღ 100% Healthy

The Ljosalfar war camp was a cacophony of motion and noise as soldiers rushed about to shore up defenses and aid wounded that were being brought in from the many camps blockading Blodhjelm.

A lone figure stood atop a sentry platform, staring off towards the besieged city and watching as the storm system raged, covering the land in snow and ice. A shiver coursed through her body as a chill gust of wind reached her and she pulled her cloak tighter. The female high-elf turned partially to move her gaze across the controlled chaos of the camp, a small scowl crossing her face. "If you're going to attack the enemy like this, don't stop 'purify' one city and give them a chance to raise a proper army against us," she muttered under her breath. If they'd just razed the city and moved on, the elf was almost certain they would have taken Trygeholde as well by now. Taking a deep breath, she let out a soft sigh and started to turn back towards her view of the city, her mind turning towards thoughts best not to voice. A voice below caught her attention however, and the elf arched one slender eyebrow and looked down.

"Captain! I've a missive for you!" One of the runners shouted up to her.

Nodding, Sýlil mounted the ladder and worked her way down quickly with the grace and agility inherent in her people. With her feet firm on the frosted ground once more, the elf turned and held out her hand to the runner who placed the rolled scroll in it quickly. After nodding her thanks, the runner saluted with a closed fist to his left breast and turned to run off.

"Hold, I may need you in a moment," Sýlil said sternly, eyeing the runner as he stumbled then turned back towards her and bowed in flustered apology.

"Many pardons, Captain!"

Waving the apology away, Sýlil unrolled the scroll and scanned the contents quickly. The corners of her mouth turned down ever so slightly and her eyes narrowed to slits. 'Curse that fool,' Sýlil thought bitterly towards the High Commander before looking up sharply at the now very nervous runner. "Inform Second Lieutenant Fangon to gather my company, form them up on the west gate, and to meet me at my command tent."

"Yes, Ma'am!" The runner said and saluted once more before turning and sprinting away.

Sýlil watched him go for a moment then shook her head and turned in the direction of her tent. There wasn't much her company would be able to do against a large force, but she was confident in their ability to hit and run. Once in her tent, she moved to the low table that held what was supposed to be the current positioning of their forces around Blodhjelm and the current battle plan of wait and purify. With a few quick gestures, she shifted the units closest to Trygeholde and pulled them away, closer to the main camp. She studied the situation and what her scouts had provided her in the missive. There was a large hole in their siege now, one large enough for a decent sized platoon to punch through their thinned front and provide support to the city. She intended to plug that hole.

She looked up at Fangon entered.

"You requested my presence, Captain?" Fangon asked. He was a tall elf, broadly built and muscular from centuries on the military. He wore his company colors of green and tan proudly, with the same black cloak that she wore pulled closed against the chill.

"Indeed I did," Sýlil responded and gestured to the map. "The High Commander has pulled back the front line to consolidate our forces and secure supply lines. In doing so, he's considerably weakened our front line with Trygeholde that we're going to go mend." A wicked smile flashed across her face and Fangon shifted uncomfortably.

"Your orders?" He asked curiously, leaning over the table to observe.

"We're going to swing down the west side of the blockade, staying clear of what few city defenses there are. Once we're at the target location here in the treeline, we'll set up to ambush anyone that tries to punch through and provide support to the front should they need it. We're to employ hit and run tactics only, I'm not going to sacrifice lives to defend an already doomed city."

Sýlil looked up at Fangon and nodded. "Go issue the marching orders and get everything squared away. I'll join you and the troops momentarily." With that said, Fangon nodded, saluted and left the tent briskly. Sýlil watched the tent flap settle before turning to look down at the map once more. 'Will they try to push out from Trygeholde?' She narrowed her eyes in thought. 'If they have the strength, most certainly. But no, not yet, they need to gather an army first.' With a nod, she gathered her own equipment and strode from the tent, making her way towards her unit.

«▫»____________________________«▫»
● ● ● Sýlil ● ● ● Langeth ● ● ●

__________▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀▀

[ Thoughts ] ;; "The High Commander will not be pleased with my independent actions."
[ Those close by ] ;; Unknown
[ Location ] ;; Ljosalfar Main War Camp

_______________ Dauntless ✸ Intelligent ✸ Flirty

[the unavailable memory of]

τɧɪѕ ѕτατϵ σғ ςɧασѕ ѕυɪτѕ ʏσυ
ɓυτ ɳσω ɪ'ѵϵ ɡστ α ηατɪση τσ ςʀυѕɧ ʏσυ σɳ мʏ ςσммαηɗ

. . . αηɗ ɪ ςαη'τ ωαɪτ

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【xxxxxThe throne room was once again shrouded in silence, with only the soft pattering of distant footsteps elsewhere in the palace to hold the proof that the High King indeed was present in reality, and not merely an entity in some form of wordless, dimly lit purgatory. The room’s towering and grandly illustrated glass windows had been veiled for some time since the High Queen’s demise, and left the once bright and vibrant room now cold and desolate, augmented even further by its limited access to outsiders. The High King would see no one, and in turn no one would see the High King; a suggestion given and taken by those closest to the High King’s seat, though it was uncertain whether this was offered in the interest of the High King or as merely an attempt at calming the growing storm that lingered in the minds and hushed conversations among the citizens of Alfheim. All of this the Ljosalfar was more or less made aware of but chose not to think on.

His people would persevere, just as they always had. The race of Men were weak, licentious and honourless; nothing but embers to glow and die within the everlasting flame that was the life of a Ljosalfar. This atrocity that blackened all of Alvaruil was an omen of what would surely come to pass if the humans were allowed to continue to live their petty lives.

If anything, he providing them a service; the poor, miserable heathens.

A sneer spanned slowly on the lips of the High King, suffering disgust, hatred, and all that he could find to express his animosity towards that which robbed him of his Queen. “No.” he cooed, closing his eyes and breathing in one deep, solid breath, ”You needn’t worry yourself, Saelyth’efel; it is only a matter of waiting, and we’ve time to wait.” The High King said gently, gazing emptily across the vacant room.

A burst of sun-filled radiance wrenched his thoughts away from him, drawing his scrutiny upon a womanly figure momentarily dressed in darkness, silhouetted by the blinding light. The hall's doors laid spread apart for only a few moments, opening a window into what seemed like an entirely different world to the High King; a small breeze seemed to dance upon the sky and in the distance he could hear what sounded like the trickling of water from a fountain, and bird-song.

And it was gone, the doors back into their positions and his glimpse of Alfheim suffocated from his hall of white.

A familiar shape stood at the hall doors, though despite its familiarity the High King felt little joy in its recognition. She moved unspeakingly into his hall, seemingly unaffected by the High King's golden, piercing stare as he observed her entrance.

He sat still and stoicly, as if trapped in a rigor, and he looked to be either contemplating the appearance of his sister or deep within the grips of a daydream.

“Dear sister,” he began dryly, greeting her though his voice lacked all the staples and inflections that would have identified it as welcoming. “How do our people fare?” he asked, receding his gaze from her and placing it back upon the hall doors as he did so.xxxxx】xxxxx】

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ɪ'м ʀαɡϵ αɳɗ ʀυɪɳ ɓϵғσʀϵ ʏσυ αɳɗ ωɪτɧσυτ
α τɧσυɡɧτ ɪη мʏ мɪɳɗ, ɪ'ʟʟ мαӄϵ ʏσυ ςσмϵ ςʟϵαɳ

. . . ʏσυ'ʟʟ ɳϵѵϵʀ ѕϵϵ ɧϵʀ αɡαɪη





xXxLucreziaxXx

so sorry for the wait! sweatdrop

[Yokka]

♐ .ＴＵＵＬＡ .ＨＡＬＬ. ♐
x
xxxx. ARCHER .+. INFANTRYMAN .+. HJERTELAND .xxxx



The captain was turning out to be not very good at giving her direct answers. Tuula tried to make sense of what he'd said as he called out to the retreating knight, her brows furrowed. Yes, they were all quite hungry––her own stomach would be growling if it wasn't currently busy processing all of her stress… Were they going to go hunting for meat? She lightly felt the feathers of the arrows in her quiver, wishing that the captain was capable of getting to the point instead of talking in circles.

"Brynolf."

Tuula raised her gaze at the captain's harsh voice. Was this the name of the other man? Her eyes darted back and forth between them, and she tensed as the captain's tone turned acidic. Although his anger wasn't directed toward her, she felt fear on Brynolf's behalf. Note to self: do not get on the captain's bad side. Things got quiet after he stopped, with Tuula standing uneasily in the midst of it.

Finally, the captain looked to her, issuing a simple and direct order, which Tuula found oddly comforting. She didn't like not knowing what was going on, or the discomfort that arose from not knowing what to do.

"Yes sir!" she responded, along with another salute, and she was gone so fast she didn't even heard the captain's final retort.

Tuula kept walking fast down the main road until she was finally alone. It was only here that she felt safe enough to crumple to the ground, face-down and defeated. All at once the energy left her body. The cool stone felt good against her face, and she once again considered her plan to melt away. The thought was cut short by a familiar voice echoing in her brain––that of her father's, telling her that she'd exhausted her allotted chances to give up. In her mind she complained in response. There was no such thing as a limited amount of anything in life, except maybe years.

And yet she knew her father was right. She could not give up now. She could not run away now. That captain would hunt her down and hang her if she did.

She laid there as long as she dared, taking in long and steady breaths. Then she rose and found a place to pee.

On her way back to where she needed to meet the captain, she stopped by the makeshift barracks, where she was offered some water and a small piece of bread. For better or for worse, she felt no shame in gobbling both down as she continued on her way.

She spotted the captain walking as she hurried along, and out of reflex she backstepped and hid around the corner. Offering a small prayer to any god willing to hear her, she slapped her face in a feeble means of self-encouragement. By this point she was not so much worried about their destination and task as she was about pissing off the guy with a giant axe on his back.

At last ready, she darted out from her hiding spot, nearly running into the captain in the process. Apologies flew out of her mouth as she scurried backward. Offering her signature salute, Tuula opened her mouth to say something––but she couldn't quite think of what to say.

"Uh… Tuula Hall, reporting for duty, sir!" she worked out after an uncomfortable moment.

[Shmitter]

[-] Head of Sturhald House [-]
[-] Delegate of Merchants for the College of Gilduum [-]

[▣] SIKKE ERAM STURHALD [▣]

╔═══════════════════════════════════════╗
He that cannot reason is a fool
He that will not is a bigot
He that dare not is a slave
╚═══════════════════════════════════════╝

The clamor of dwarven voices politicking and light conversation within the Court settled to a near silence as the company of Dokkalfar delegates gathered in the hall and their designated speakers took to the center of the room to present themselves. Although there seemed to be something amiss in the crowd of assembled dwarves, a slight murmurings started to grow and strained necks to try and locate a certain face or attire that appeared lacking among the Dokkalfar. Those with even a rudimentary vantage point of how other nations conducted themselves, or those who made it a point of at least bothering to acknowledge how the rest of the world functioned outside the mountain, knew who the elf that stood before them was. Those who did not however, where still somewhat perplexed, and upon asking their seconds just who this Dokkalfar was, when the word ‘Chancellor’ failed to be expressed as a positive, the air of reason around such College members became rather thin.

Upon his introduction and subsequent apology, a rational and expected move elsewhere, the gesture might have been politically suicidal in a dwarven sense, nevertheless, that thin veneer of reason that was held for such a brief period, shattered rather unceremoniously.

An imposingly gruff and weathered dwarf was the first to stand along with the outcry of laughter and frustration in equal measure from those dozen around him “You, Frilifar, you mean to tell us that you have come all this way from your Deephold to stand here before this College, to give us your master’s regards for he had more pressing matters to attend to?!”

“You forget your place Rigolt!” A few accompanied nods and insistent agreements follow around the interrupting Collegemen

“I forget nothing you milk-swillin’ deshyr bootlick! If the act of the High elves blatantly assaulting their own caravans and stealing our own goods, let alone our peerless weapons, is not worthy of his highness’ personal time to address to the rest of us, then why should we offer our own time to his lesser?” Rigolt rebuked his compatriots across the hall.

“You slag-minded axe-on-the-wall! Silence yourself! You know nothing of what you speak of!”

“Go shave your beard Borri! Rigolt speaks truly! This man- No not just this man, him and his Chancellor mean to insult us by only offering this messenger boy instead of-!”

“Tordrum, shut your brainless mouth you blunt-nosed fool!” An elderly dwarf cut off the low standing warrior house head before he might say something the rest of his house would greatly regret. “All of you! Get the dust out of your ears and listen. This Dokkalfar before us today is the elf who the Chancellor of Eldmondere would look to for guidance on such a matter, we should be as fortunate as we are to have his attendance in this court than working around someone his lesser.” Aenduun, a very respected Deshyr house head, one such the whole of the assembled College fell from their fervor and refocused to the apparently self-important elf still standing in the middle of the hall.

“I’m afraid we must now offer our apology Istolil Filifar, we have delayed this court long enough with our bickering, we accept your audience with open arms and wish to continue to discuss these unfortunate events that have occurred in recent days.” The elder dwarf continued to speak and to bring the topic of discussion back into focus. “We are gathered here in these halls under the watchful eye of the All-Father to clarify our intentions on the increasing activity of Ljosalfar and Alvariul aggression. Namely what had transpired at Anduril Harbour. As well as reports of Dokkalfar corroborating with Ljosalfar forces. As the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Minister Furhal has the floor."

With his introduction complete the Minister went on to explain the recent accounts of the Alvariul actions against humanity as well as Eldmondere and Gilduum. The dwarf concluded that it was his advisement that confirmation of any involvement on the Alvariul Kingdom’s part as far as any persons being directly ordered to claim the shipments takes priority over any further action, and opened the floor back to the College.

“Now as the dwarf who’s interests was most tied with the losses at Anduril Harbour, I give the floor to Delegate of Merchants, Sturhald.”

And with his introduction done, Sikke stood to address the elf. “Greetings Istolil, it is an honor to finally make your acquaintance. As you well know the actions of the Ljosalfar are not ones that can be over looked or should be taken lightly.” The dwarf began to list off the shipments of weapons, armor, and other various supplies that had been found stolen. “All these items were destined for different parts of Eldmondere, Hjerteland, and even Alvariul, but they were intercepted by Ljosalfar soldiers as the Minister said. Now if the investigation into the incident reveals that it was in fact the Alvariul King’s order or that they are unwilling to cooperate, in either case we must focus on protecting our own interests while also discouraging such actions against us in the future.” Sikke rationalized the possibility of such an event coming to pass, speaking to Dokkalfar and dwarf alike at this point. “And if that is the case then I believe that trade sanctions to an outright embargo on Alvariul.” He paused to let the murmurs of his colleagues die down at his potential call to movement. “I do not wish for such things to pass, Alvariul has been a staunch economic ally with both of our countries in the past and I do not wish to meet that with bloodshed. Trade sanctions will put a strain on the Ljosalfar the way no war ever could, and as a single united front of Dokkalfar and Dwarven might, one that would clearly put any action against either of our nations in very severe consequence, I would be secure in the belief that both of our nations would become stronger as a result.” And with that concluded Sikke sat back down in his seat to open the floor up once more. There was a renewed clamor of voices both supportive and non after the delegate had finished but was quickly hushed once more by Aenduun.

“Now that Sturhald has enlightened us with his rather pre-emptive proposal we shall move on to our third and admittedly most delicate point of discussion, and as such I will take the floor. We here at the College have been given reports by reliable dwarves who claim to be witness to Dokkalfar assisting Ljosalfar in their siege of the human territories. Please understand Filifar, this is not an accusation, but an inquiry to clarify what they claim and to better understand what is Eldmondere’s stance on such an issue.”

[Yokka]

❖ .VＡＲＩＮ .ＭＹＴＨＡＮＴＨＡＲ. ❖
x
xxxx. IMMACULATE COUNCIL MEMBER .+. FOR THE GLORY OF ALVARUIL .xxxx

Despite the general feel of unease that had plagued Alfheim since the death of the High Queen, the idyllic city was finally regaining its energy. Varin Mythanthar was relieved to see this. He had always loved Alfheim, his one and only home, for its beauty and for its people. It was the proud capital of the proud nation of Alvaruil. The loss of the High Queen had taken its own personal toll on Varin, and even now he mourned, though he dared not show it. It was well known through the city that the High King (quite understandably) had not been the same since that fateful tragedy. To give even the slightest suggestion that anyone had been hurt more than His Highness–– Varin would not dream of it.

He closed the book he'd been staring at for the past hour, as he hadn't had the focus to actually read. Instead he turned and looked out the circular window by which he was sitting, admiring the ancient trees that still stood strong. With a sad smile, he finally rose from his chair and returned the book to its proper place. Then he began the long and winding walk to the Great Library's exit. The building was silent and somber; Varin's light footsteps were the only sound he could hear.

Outside he looked upward at the castle with its magnificent towers and arches. This was his next destination. As far as he was aware, there was no meeting scheduled for the Immaculate Council, but it never hurt to be prepared. The nation was in a time of war, after all. The Ljosalfar forces had taken Blodhjelm in an overwhelming victory. No doubt the rest of Hjerteland was soon to fall.

As he wandered up the peak, he kept to himself, politely explaining to anyone who stopped him that he had important business to attend to at the castle. The kind old woman who ran an herbal stop was the only one he actually spoke to, as he was one of the few people she trusted to give her news. He explained the situation at Blodhjelm, assuring her that their people had suffered few casualties, and at that at the moment this was all he knew. As thanks, she gave him two small pouches of incense, one that she asked to give to the High King as a gift.

Varin was not entirely sure this would be possible, but he promised her he would do what he could.

Upon arrival at the castle, he found that it was as silent here as it was at the library, as if even the most gossiping of servants dared not speak above a whisper. A guardsman he was on good terms with explained to him that Erulyth'ruil had decided to remove the High Queen's throne. Varin frowned at the news. Was this a sign the High King was still in mourning, or was he starting to move on? He prayed to Validrul that it was the latter. It pained him to see his lord in such a state.

At last Varin settled in one of the castle gardens, finding peace amongst the flowers.

[UmbreonLad]

ᴛ ʜ ᴇ x ᴋ ɴ ɪ ɢ ʜ ᴛ

ᴍᴀʏʙᴇ ɪ'ᴍ ᴊusᴛ cʏɴɪcᴀʟ | ɪ couʟᴅ cᴀrᴇ ʟᴇss thᴀɴ ɪ ᴅo | ɪᴛ's ᴀ ғᴇᴇʟing ɪ've growɴ ᴛɪrᴇᴅ oғ | ʜᴀvᴇɴ'ᴛ ʏou ?

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀ ▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀ ▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀ ▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀ ▀ ▀ ▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

»xxxxx“Brynolf.”

xxx Brynolf sighed to himself yet again as he turned around to face his captain. He knew this was coming, his words just slid out, not actually portraying how he intended to speak to Jens’. He stood and faced his captain, his face blank and void of any reaction.

xxx The Captain’s harsh tone and blunt way he spoke did not break Brynolf’s gaze, but it did silence him. He knew he needed to start respecting him more, though past feelings towards the man and the fact that he so suddenly became his superior hadn’t clicked yet. He continued to listen to Jens’; he then mentioned something that Brynolf had been expecting.

xxx “You’ll be going with us as well.”

xxx After that Brynolf didn’t really hear the rest of what the man had to say to him, he was staring at him but the words just flowed through his head. Finally the smaller man looked away from Brynolf and looked to the young archer. He watched them, unmoving, not wanting to offend the captain again. Before Jens’ walked away he turned to Brynolf and flashed him a warning, the words stuck in his head for but a moment. He nodded in solemn acknowledgement, not wanting to say anything else he just stood there.

xxx Brynolf finally moved from his spot, unsure of where to go, he went to go grab what little provisions he could. He ate his bread and drank the water immediately, not even taking any time to savor it. Brushing the sweat from his brow he adjusted his belt and sword, making sure it was all in the correct position. Even at a time like this he still felt he needed to look somewhat presentable in his outfit, it had always been something he concerned himself over since it was a large part of training. He fiddled through his back pouch searching for a spare pair of glasses; thankfully he had an unbroken pair.

xxx His eyesight was truly a burden to him, but it did not hinder his performance on the battlefield. He had gotten used to it, seeing things with a haze over it became commonplace for him, it was a treat for him to see clearly again. He looked at his surroundings and the people near him, they were much worse for wear than he was or has ever been since the beginnings of the attacks. They would not end any time soon, especially without proper nutrition and weaponry but… it couldn’t be helped, the humans had to press on and stay strong.

xxx Staring off into the sky he began to lose himself in his thoughts, which since the battling started he had not been able to do. Brynolf wasn’t a hateful or violent minded person, but he wanted the Ljosalfar to be put down. He had a certain glint in his eye each time he had struck one of them down; a rare and cruel smile could occasionally be seen. It was with these thoughts and actions Bry knew that he was winding down a negative mental path, and he hoped to whoever the hell was watching over him to keep him sane once this was all over. His mind suddenly drifted towards his family, blocking the thoughts out immediately he grimaced and shook his head.

xxx He had to force himself to not think about his family and their wellbeing in order to not lose his cool, if he sat down to think about his younger siblings and what fate could have befallen them, he would probably have an extremely rare meltdown. Brynolf had always promised himself to stay calm when others could not, because chaos led to situations becoming out of control and harming each other more than the enemy. He was a calm man, but even the most collected men can be taken down by war. He zoned back into reality, it was not the time to be getting lost in one’s thoughts. The tall blonde’s eyes narrowed and looked towards Blodhjelm, the humans would win, and he would see his family one damn way or another.

xxx Adjusting himself and double checking the cleanliness and sharpness of his sword one more time he headed to where the captain had ordered everyone to meet him. His pounding headache had cooled and became just a lulling pain in the back of his mind, he was glad it was over and even though he did not rest he felt relieved that the pain had subsided. Brynolf was ready for what was to come. He walked at a slower pace than usual somehow hoping that time would slow down around him, he wished time would just stop for a moment. That time would just pause, pause and give every soldier and citizen the moments of rest that they deserve. Finally after thinking about everything around him and in his mind he felt relieved; he had not once stopped to think. He had been running on autopilot, he smiled to himself and looked forward with intensity in his eyes. He was ready, his mind wasn’t holding him back and neither was his body, he felt confident and refreshed. It was strange for him; he never knew that just taking a break to think would make him feel so good. He saw the spot where Jens’ had ordered them to meet at; Brynolf wasn’t even feeling any annoyance towards encountering his captain again.

xxx ‘Let’s get this show on the road I suppose’ he thought to himself as he stood in waiting, he wasn’t necessarily looking forward to his next order but he had no desire to fight it.


«


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Company: Jens, NPC Haldur
Where: Trygholde
Mood: Blank, sudden switch to feeling pretty good and confident

[The Gluten-Free Bucket]

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⋙ Anluryn | Nendra | Torrae┊ ♔


tab tab tab ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ tab The Courtroom; Kargath. tab tab tab ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ tab The College of Gilduum and Istolil tab tab tab мσσ∂ tab Inquisitive.




tab With a sigh, the Dokkalfar woman followed behind her brethren who made the voyage to the Dwarven Capital in attempts to broker peace. It would seem that the High Chancellor had sent his advisors in excuse for their absence--something Anluryn wouldn’t do if she was High Chancellor. Nevertheless, she was to follow the orders given to her and use her information when it was needed.
Despite leaving the comfort of Drowfen--her home and playground--she did feel excited to meet the leaders of the Dwarves. She knew little to nothing about them and wanted to expand her knowledge on how they ran their system and if they could exploit any loopholes within them. Maybe work beside a powerful Dwarven House and use her own resources to bolster their standing to snag a seat of power? If she did that, this Dwarf would have been loyal to her and to the Torrae and she would add another agent to her arsenal.

As another sigh slipped passed her lips, she would realize that this would be a far-fetched dream and would be something that would take time and careful planning; now was not that time. She would glance down to a small tablet and look over the orders from the High Chancellor once more. With a slender finger, she would turn the page and nod to herself. Her job was to offer any sort of information she could to the Dwarven leaders in exchange for some information as well. The damned Ljosalfar had crossed the line by attacking the harbor. Her burning crimson eyes would flicker up from her tablet to the bustling city around her, and it would be at this moment she realized she had lost the male she came with.
“Great...” She would mumble under her breath. How could she lose a tall, dark-skinned male among a sea of small fries? With a groan, she would trudge forward until she would come across any sign of where the man headed! “Pig-headed bastards.” She swore under her breath as she marched forwards.

As she walked, her long hair would bounce to-and-fro behind her as she moved with determination. In the distance, she managed to spy not one, but two Dokkalfar in the distance being led by a Dwarven female! With an irritated sigh, she would move as fast as she could through a sea of Dwarves. The man she was following was the Advisor to the High Councellor--Istolil Filifar. She knew of his upbringing and how dirty his hands were--though hers weren’t any cleaner. The man had made it into a higher circle than she, so she showed him the proper respect he deserved--even though she detested it.
As he slipped into an ornate courtroom with the help of the dwarf female. That must be where they’re meeting the Dwarven delegates!

Anluyn followed quickly behind him and passed the female Dwarf and the other Dokkalfar male without a second glance. She needed to be somewhere after all. In the distance, she can hear a cacophony of voices, followed by an uproar that sounded nasty! Did the Dwarves not like the company they were receiving...? Not that she would blame them. Something dire like this deserved the attention of the High Chancellor. As the room fell in silence, Anluyn made her presence known.
She would open the door and step inside, before stepping beside Istolil. With a quick, sideways glance his way, she would smile graciously to him, before inclining her head. “Conclave.” She spoke gently, before turning her attention to the Delegates before her.

With a slender hand placed over her heart, she would bow forwards, letting her flowing white locks fall forwards before standing upright. “Vendui', College of Gilduum. I am the Marshal of Eldmondere’s Intelligence, Anluyn Torrae, hand picked by the High Chancellor. I am pleased to meet you all.” She would offer a calming and sincere smile, though doubted any of this would work on the robust dwarves of the College. “Please excuse my tardiness. The beauty of your city captivated me for a moment too long.” A soft giggle would slip past her lips, before she would pull out her tablet from before. “Now. To business? You must have important issues to attend.” She would clear her throat before looking across the faces in the room. Never before has she seen so many Dwarven Delegates in one room. It was amazing!
“Regarding your concerns about Eldmondere’s cooperation with Ljosalfar, I assure you that it must be inaccurate. Eldmondere’s stance with the Ljosalfar will remain the same: any trading or communication done with them is done with cautionout of the behest of the Dokkalfar. If your, very accurate scouts, had seen Eldmondere cooperating with the Ljosalfar, then we must look into this. Of course there are some Dokkalfar that resist Eldmondere’s ways of life in hopes to benefit their own--as there are in many cities.” She would pause to look over her tablet and tuck a lock of hair behind her knifed-ear. “Perhaps these Dokkalfar were a separate entity from Eldmondere? But, while I agree this is an issue worth looking into, I believe your trading caravans being attacked are the reason why we’re here today.”

As she would tear her gaze from her tablet to look at the Dwarf who had brought up an embargo, she would smile at him. “The idea presented by the Ser there--pardon I did not catch your name in my absence--is one of the best I’ve heard.” She looked around the room. “To cut them off where it hurts without drawing blood is the best cause of action to make and maybe it will wake up the King.” She spoke so casually about this bit, it was almost chilling. “We all know that the death of Alvariul’s Queen had left the King distraught, as would any death of a loved one. Perhaps it is the death of his Queen weighing on his mind that caused him to neglect and look the other way from his people? My resources in Alvariul stated that the King hasn’t made a public appearance in quite some time.” She would nod. “Whether or not this is a product of his direct gaze or negligence, we should not sit idle by. If our caravans are attacked and military gear is being stolen, it is either a clever attempt to cut off the life supply of any resistance or the act of a band separate from Alvariul.” With a pause, she would place the small book to her breasts and hold it firmly.

"It's a clever plan, and if they do intend to cut off any martial supply and, Goddess forbid, invade Eldmondere or Gilduum, we should be prepared. The Ljosalfar have done it in the past..." She would bring up the bloody war against the Ljosalfar waged against the unsuspecting humans. "It would be wise for Eldmondere and Gilduum to set aside any differences and work together to prevent any bloodshed of our bretheren." As she said this, she would look to Istolil, she would give him a nod and a smile. She was giving the Dwarves all the information and plans she could. She would keep her gaze on Istolil for a moment before adding in, “The arrangement with Gilduum will help flood the streets of Eldmondere with gold and jobs--bolstering our economy--and Eldmondere could provide mithrillian metals and maybe Shadow Scouts as an even trade...” She would flip through her tablet to check on the current stances of their mines. The Mithril mines rested solely in Eldmondere territory, and rumor has it that Dwarves love a new metal to work with... This small book was her lifeblood and would not leave home without it! "What does the Conclave think?"


tab tab xxσσᴄ tab Yaaay~



UmbreonLad

Caleidah

Shmitter

[Caleidah]

]

Istolil Filifar

Istolil stood with a grace that befit his rank and a silence that came from years of practice. He had predicted this outburst from the Dwarven lords, as had the Chancellor, in sending the letter of merit. The shouted accusations from the bench were nothing compared to the heat of a caravan lord. In due time, one of the elders spoke up, and Istolil allowed himself a grin as the others were silenced. He met the greetings from both Aendunn and Sikke with bows, but yet held his tongue. He would have his piece in due time, and all the better to speak well with no interruptions.

When the losses, attacks, and proposals were set aside, Istolil held his silence a moment longer. Perhaps a moment too long, it seemed, as the Marshall of Intelligence slipped up onto the dais beside him. When she began to speak, the look of shock on Istolil's face would have been visible to any in the room. Not only had he not expected to see her here, but her interruption of his dealing with the Dwarven lords hit him like a slap in the face. He would have expected her to have more tact to barge into the middle of dealings, but she had never been one for subtlety once her hand was ready to play. There would certainly be words about the nature of things once they were no longer speaking to their allies. For the mean time, he maintained his silence and let her speak.

"My lords, I would like to first say that your losses are our own. Not only were goods lost in the caravan attacks, but good men and women from both of our peoples. On the night that we believe most of the goods were taken from Anduril Harbor, three sentries were found with their throats slit. There are a few that have yet to be accounted for as well, currently missing. We are assuming that they were killed and thrown into the sea, taken away by the tide. I look at this with every bit the same seriousness that you do. I built my career selling Dwarven goods," he said, drawing the fine dagger at his hip. "I trust your forgeworks to protect me." He pulled the collar of his silk overtunic, showing the rich, blue mithrill beneath. "I would never do wrong by the Dwarven people."

"And now, I will address your concerns in order. Lord Sturhald, it is an honor to make your acquaintance as well. Your name is spoken with great respect in Drowfen. There has been great discussion of the Ljosalfar attack on Blodhjelm, between my colleagues and the High Chancellor. We are currently seeking diplomacy with King Alean'raheal, as our tenuous location on their border has left us uneasy, for reasons that I am sure you can all see. As such, we will be imposing trade sanctions pending our diplomatic mission to Alvaruil. We wish to speak with them before slamming the gate, so to speak. Their magical winter over Blodhjelm could just as easily spread over our lands, and we must tread lightly. I am sorry that I cannot make a more definite statements at this time." He bowed to Sikke and turned to face the conclave as a whole.

"Minister Aendunn, esteemed Delegates, I will swear to you on my own life that our people knew nothing of the Dokkalfar among the attackers of human lands. Our Marshalls have sent no soldiers to fight, and no spies to infiltrate. There are free mercenaries among our people, and we are not always in the know of their actions. I have sent my personal agents to contact them and to watch the activity near Blodhjelm, and our Marshall of Intelligence has sent her own, I am certain. Whether there is truth in this matter or not, we will find the bottom of it." He bowed again to the delegates. As he rose, he glanced once at Anluryn. Enough to acknowledge her presence in the room, but short enough to dismiss her input for the time being. There were more pressing matters to be dealt with than her interruption of his dealings.

[The Gluten-Free Bucket]

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⋙ Merethyl | Edea | Taionia┊ ♔


tab tab tab ʟᴏᴄᴀᴛɪᴏɴ tab The City Streets>>King's Throne Room. tab tab tab ᴄᴏᴍᴘᴀɴʏ tab Erulyth'ruil and Ariysa tab tab tab мσσ∂ tab Informative.




tab Slowly, the bright pair of azure eyes would flicker open and she would take in the sights before her. She stood upon a pedestal with a few guards beside her as protection, though she didn’t need it. In the High King’s absence, she was the next best thing to help guide the frantic citizens. In times of need, they look to their King or to their God--in this case, they had the God. Merethyl placed a hand against her bosom, before taking a deep breath. Public speaking wasn’t something she enjoyed to do, but knew the weight her words held.
“Brothers and sisters--” She would open her arms to the side and hold them out. In an instant, the crowd was silenced by her words and they would turn to her as she spoke. “Rest assured, the King’s plan is coming to fruition and soon, the death of our beloved High Queen will be avenged and our God will be pleased.” She would place her hands on her lap and stand straight. “All we ask is that you hold out for as long as you can and send any abled men to aid our divine cause.” She would nod gently and look to the many faces around her.
The Ljosalfar were a religious bunch, and the death of their Queen only furthered this belief. Some say it is divine intervention while others believed it was a ploy to usurp the throne from the High King. Regardless of what it actually was, Merethyl is attempting to maintain the sanity and comfort of the people of Alfheim and stitch together whatever remaining form of government she could. “We, Ljosalfar, are in the light of Validrul for our actions are the direct intent of our benevolent deity.” She would hold out her hands, and elicit a cacophony of applause and rallying cries. “Validrul favors those who aid him since he was so gracious to give us the gift of Alfheim and Alvaruil.” She reminded them of their divine purpose in this world and that it was a gift to them.

With a gentle smile she would take her leave from the pedestal and the people of Alfheim were content for the time being, but it would be short lived--she knew that. A gentle sigh would slip past her lips as she was approached by a guard who held a bundle of papers. He handed her reports from the front lines and the results made her smile. They have maintained their hold on Blodhjelm and the cold freeze was progressing wonderfully. The purge was beginning, but the humans were like cockroaches. They skitter away when the light shines in and they must erase every possible hole they hide in.

She would nod to the guard and inform him to request for more details, before taking some of the papers from him and move towards High King’s castle. Even though he was alienating himself due to grief, he needed to know about the well-being of his people and the war. Merethyl would tuck the papers under her arm and hurry across the stone floor of the castle. With each step, she would feel the icy prickles of the cold stone on her bare feet, but ignored them. It was a familiar sensation when in the High King’s castle now. Once upon a time, the floor was filled with the vibrant energy of the High Queen’s presence and the love she felt for the King and for their people. It was a sad sensation being in the house of the King now, but she wouldn’t let him know this.
She wasn’t sure how he took to her company, but she knew she had a duty to him and to the people of Alfheim.

Merethyl would round a corner of the corridors and manage to spot the Princess slip into the High King’s throne room. She didn’t know if she should intrude but, the King deserved to know how things were progressing. With a steadying sigh, she would approach the door, knock twice and then step inside.
“Pardon.” she would state emotionlessly, before inclining her head to the Princess and placing a hand on her lower stomach. “Greetings, Fair Princess.” She wouldn’t smile to the woman much, due to her not being close to the Princess, but would show her respect nonetheless. Her gaze would then turn to the High King himself, Erulyth'ruil himself. With a gentle smile, she would bow the same to him albeit a tad bit lower.

“Greetings, my King. How do you fare?” Her voice was soft, but void of many emotions--a typical sound for her. She seemed more lively when the Queen was alive. “I bring news from the front lines and from our citizens.” Merethyl would let her words sink in before continuing, “Our citizens are feeling a bit shaken by the descent to the world of men for the purge, but they are willing to do all they can to ensure the proper retribution is delivered both for your sake and for the sake of Validrul as well.” With a gentle nod, she would let her toes wriggle against the stone as she pulled the papers from under her arm.
“The hold on Blodhjelm remains tight and secure while the deep freeze takes a hold of the city.” She would extend the papers and incline her head out of respect. “Here are the letters from the front lines. Some humans have managed to slip out of the city, and are held up in a nearby hold. Some of the agents have gone to secure it--as the letters state.”

As she would rise to her full height she would add, “This is all we have received, unfortunately. I have requested a carrier eagle be sent to the encampments in order to receive the proper detail. Unless... M’lord has something else in mind?” She would place this ball in his court and she had hoped he would understand what she was doing.
Merethyl wished for the King to be well and back on his seat, and was cleverly trying to get him used to making decisions like this again.


tab tab xxσσᴄ tab Yaaay~



Jacque Sassington

xXxLucreziaxXx


tab

[the unavailable memory of]

YES SIR !
YOU LEAD ME INTO WARxxxxxxxxx
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx↘ command me to attack
you save me from ʙᴀcᴋғɪʀɪɴɢ with letters and numbers
XXXXXXXXXXXI AM WHAT I THINK I AM; but hey, you ain't s**t
WHERE IS HOME?, explain to a fish what water is
WHERE IS HOME?

▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇


◥xxxxxThe well-timed appearances of both Hall and Brynolf swept any further irritation on the Captain’s behalf at bay, and after allowing one quiet sigh of relief to escape him, he awaited the two to take their places among their fellows before turning to face the group as a whole for a second time.

“We’re taking the route through the eastern woodlands.” He stated loudly and clearly, assuring for no misunderstanding, especially towards the four or five mounted forces. They had few horses to spare, and so those who were deemed befitting enough served as their riders, and scouts of sorts. He realized that he had yet to explain the true nature of their departure to them as of yet, though it didn’t largely concern them yet. He knew already that the bulk of them would feel anxious about setting out beyond the safety of Trygholde’s walls, and saw no need to inspire any further distress into them just yet.

“Haldur, Esluf, take a couple men and scout ahead. Do not go so far that you cannot reach us in a timely manner.” He addressed those few mounted forces and then quickly redirected his attentions so that he didn’t see them as they sped off through the gates without them.

“Brynolf, Hall, you’re with me. Brynolf, you’ll be holding the rear.” He directed towards Brynolf as he took his position at the head of the march.

“Don’t fall behind.” He added, remembering the Knight’s apparent weariness from earlier.

“Hall, keep your bow ready at all times.” He said, issuing his last command before their company was ready to depart.

The Captain’s raised marked the beginning of their journey, and Jens and his men poured out of Trygholde and onto the still green grasses of Hjerteland.

Their march continued for what seemed like an immeasurable amount of time, and with each step that drove them closer to Blodhjelm, the cold in the air became thicker and served as an inescapable reminder of the threat that they faced.

It was just as they were approaching the woodland’s membrane that the horses belonging to Haldur and his fellows emerged galloping out of the brush. The Captain gave the signal and the march came to a stop, awaiting Haldur’s report.

“Captain! Not far into the woods, there’s an elven encampment, and—“

“How many?”

“No, Captain, they’re all dead.”

The Captain was for a moment silenced by this fortunate, albeit troubling news. No attacks, at least not originating from Trygholde had thus far been staged against the Ljosalfar. While it was true that there were others that lived outside of either Trygholde and Blodhjelm, it seemed unlikely that the attack came from the ranks of Men.

He took some time to consider this, not meeting the concerned and exasperated face of Haldur or of the likewise and confused faces behind him.

“Lead us.” he said finally, and allowed Haldur and his company to lead their march into the woodlands just a ways west of Blodhjelm.

“Halt!” the Captain called, and more or less at once their heavy march tapered to a stop, creating an intense silence that was only reprieved by the rustling of winds as Blodhjelm’s icy winds combed through the thicket.

The camp was, as Haldur reported, undoubtedly elvish. In what he considered another display of stereotypical elven pretentiousness, their tents were made of much finer and vibrant materials than those that Jens had ever slept beneath but, in what turned out to be to their misfortune, stuck out like a sore thumb when built amongst the dirt and trees. It hadn’t been a terribly large one, if Jens’ judgment was to be trusted, and after a once-over of the place he concluded that there had to be at least nine towering tents; twelve at the very most.

The second part of Haldur’s report appeared to be true, as well. Bodies lay scattered haphazardly around the campground, and the cause of their demise, at first glance, seemed to be a marksman of some sort. Perhaps even a troupe of marksmen, though their arrows were large and bulky; not like anything he’d seen the men of Trygholde, or even Blodhjelm wielding. Maybe the dark-elves or the dwarves? There was no definitive way to be sure. He hoped, however, that whatever faction of people were responsible would not show them the same hostility.

Something wasn’t right here, that much was obvious.

“Search the tents for rations and supplies; only keep that which is still usable.” He ordered suddenly to the men behind him, breaking the mixture of murmurs and whispers emanating from the equally as puzzled crowd.

Taking a step forward into the camp, he noted the central fire was still smoking from its last blaze, signifying that whatever transpired here had happened fairly recently, perhaps even moments before the scouts arrived. His gaze traveled from the fire up to the surrounding woods, scanning for signs of movement or stray sets of observing eyes.

Of course, just as he’d expected, he saw nothing. Assuming the assailant, or likely assailants, had achieved what they’d come to achieve by slaughtering the camp of elves, they would have moved on by now. Still, even given that logic, the Captain wouldn’t be weakening his guard any time soon.

As he tread further into the scene of the slaughter, he came across one elf that lay with his (or her, honestly, sometimes he couldn’t even tell the difference) face buried in a newly concocted solution of dirt and blood near the western entrance to the moderately sized camp. Using the toe of his boot with no spared ounce of disrespect, he kicked the body over onto its back. It’s eyes were still open, though one could hardly tell with the bloodied mud that caked its typically elven features, though there was one particular aspect of its appearance that added a somewhat troubling aspect to the entire mysterious scenario.
Both of the elf’s ears had been sawed off.

“Brynolf.” He said, assuming that the man was nearby, and if he wasn’t that he would have been shortly if he was in earshot, “Does this seem familiar to you?” he turned the elf’s filthy face with the bottom of his boot, inspecting the sight of the incision more closely. Something about this incited a severe sense of familiarity in him, something he thought he’d heard talk of, at least in passing, but he couldn’t be sure.
Reaching for the overtly broad arrow jutting crudely out of the dead elf’s chest, he dug his boot into the corpse for leverage, and with his left hand he yanked the object up and out, grimacing slightly at the foul sound it created.

“Archer,” he began, turning to Hall with the bloodied arrow still in hand, “What do you make of this?” he asked, practically tossing the object into what he hoped would be her waiting hands. He needed to get to the bottom of this, and most importantly ascertain whether or not this mysterious force was their friend, their foe, or maybe even neither.xxxxx◤

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UmbreonLad




Yokka




Unseen_Paine!

[Shmitter]

[-] Head of Sturhald House [-]
[-] Delegate of Merchants for the College of Gilduum [-]

[▣] SIKKE ERAM STURHALD [▣]

╔═══════════════════════════════════════╗
He that cannot reason is a fool
He that will not is a bigot
He that dare not is a slave
╚═══════════════════════════════════════╝

The calm that had been so gently held within the Court began to tear as a second Dokkalfar approached the center of the room. Aggressive mumblings and questions asked to their neighbor or to whoever’s ear it could reach erupted throughout the hall and before a dwarf could stand to ask this woman’s business in this delicate conference, the elf began to speak, and speak, and speak. And with every word she spoke the Dwarven College’s reaction became more and more refined to that of a true response. At first some were baffled at this woman’s audacity to just walk into this institution, introduce herself, and continue on as if she had not just interrupted this entire meeting, though for some that bafflement would not last long. Some of the still agitated heads of house were just waiting for their opportunity to have a justifiable outburst so that they might speak out against any action put forth by the other houses with the aim of either teaching them a lesson in speaking against their own house or just out of spite. Nevertheless no one could have foreseen they might have gotten their chance so quickly.

“Another one!? This is an outrage! Not only have they sent another deeplord before us in their master’s queenly stead, but now they send those do not respect this very institution! This is ludicrous! How much more is this College willing to be the brunt of these insults? What next? Should we just let them all into our Court hall and mountain while we start shoveling dirt on each other’s heads? Sod it! Why stop there? Why not let all these dusters in so that they might all get to piss on the Stone while their Deephole is empty enough so their all-mighty chancellor can prance about his own city in his smallclothes in peace? House Talyth will not stand to witness this farce any longer! Any house who does not wish to see our glory or the All-Father disgraced in such a horrid manner a moment longer, banish these elves from Kargarth immediately.”

With the Dwarf’s impassioned speech concluded, many members of the College seemed in accordance with the call to action that was just made, a fair fraction more than that had been speaking out in the first outburst. Many dwarves had taken the first conclave member as a necessary evil seeing how they could still work with what was offered, but with this other woman, much fewer knew who she was and what her importance to this conference actually was. She could go on about how she was hand plucked by their Chancellor or that she was the Intelligence Marshal of the entire eastern hemisphere, she would need to make a spectacular showing to bring back any footing she might have had beforehand. As far as a large portion of the Court was concerned this meeting was now for the purpose of disposing the Dokkalfar that had overstayed their welcome. And the entire room was in uproar as voices calling for action drowned out other voices calling for order. The house heads that were prodded at the beginning were now sharpening their pitchforks and lighting torches, others, namely ones whose business it was to set a precedent for other nations to follow or fear, were waiting for someone who was still in control to put a stop to the commotion.

With a sigh, a certain Dwarf amongst this madness remained in his seat and waited for an item he had called his second to fetch for him as soon as the mob of a College had begun its headhunting. The other heads of house who had instigated this were all too riled up to be approached rationally, even if one were to have done so, any opposition to the mob would be quickly devoured and forgotten to their fervor. One couldn’t bring this room back to its calm with brute force with anything less than an army. The grand thing about this mob was, to the clever and observant, one knew of much better ways of regaining the peace than to call the city guard and have every delegate escorted around by their Shield. In fact one such solution just arrived at the College member entrance, it was Sturhald’s second with what looked like a brass snake that coiled around his shoulder and torso, widening along its length till it flared out at the mouth of the creature, at its tail a small stub that hung close to the Dwarf’s mouth, all in all the creation was as tall and as wide as the dwarf was carrying it. The second caught Sturhald’s eye and the house head gave a nod, signaling that whatever was about to begin was soon to do so. Placing his lips on the tail piece and breathing deeply enough to completely fill his lungs, the Dwarf blew out of this contraption, with a resulting tone deeper and more trembling than any horde of Dwarven politicians could ever hope to match. The tone lasted long enough to garner the attention of the entire hall and by its end the room was more than ready for the prepared to take this opportunity.

“Delegates and members of this great College, you shame yourselves! We invite these representatives, our allies, the Dokkalfar of Elmondere into our home and once they come to bring our worries to rest you call them blasphemer and demand they be removed. Does a single one of you believe that the All-Father would honor any Dwarf who would disgrace himself so thoroughly?” He gave a short pause to allow anyone to speak out not only against him but against their own beliefs. When little but rumbles resonated from the crowd of assembled Dwarves Sturhald took that as a unanimous ‘No.’ “We are here so that we might bring the Ljosalfar into accountability for their actions, and so we will listen and corroborate with these men and woman until we stand as Stone.”

Reason seemed to spread much slower in passion across the faces of the College but the respite of rage and loudness had blown enough hot air out of the monster so that it could only collapse in upon itself. Dwarves from each delegation nodded and agreed, if some more remorseful than others. The Court had again regained its order, and with it progress would soon follow once more.

“Thank you, Delegate Sturhald, for allowing this College to see some of its humility; certainly it is a breath of fresh air amongst all this fire and brimstone. And if we are done with such outbursts, I believe it was our turn to respond.” The elder Dwarf looked down to the notes his second had prepared for him. “Ah yes, there seems to be a misunderstanding with the Marshal of Intelligence, it was not scouts that had given the report, it was the account of the survivors of what had happened at the Harbor of which we are referencing. The question itself was intended to seek direct orders given to other Dokkalfar, though seeing both of your and Filifar’s sincere accounts; this College must conclude that the actions at Anduril Harbor were not instigated by the Eldmondere Conclave.” And with that the action was closed with the College all but in total agreement. “On to Delegate Sturhald’s proposal,” He looked once more at the notes before him. “Oh yes, of course this is a delicate matter for all of us who rely on the food and grains that arrive from the surface, if I may speak for the Delegate I believe it was not his intention to enact his proposal right away, but a course of action that would benefit both parties, should those unfortunate circumstances come to pass. Details will be shared and discussed in a more appropriate setting.” He coughed into his hand clearing his throat, his second with a water skin at the ready. Finishing his drink with a wipe of his beard, Aenduun smiled. “Thank you Filifar. As your word with what happened at Anduril Harbor as well as this, we accept what you say to be true and hope that your investigation is fruitful. Now with these points resolved, I must ask if either of the representatives of Eldmondere have any further concerns regarding these topics of our discussion?” The old dwarf concluded, giving the floor back to the Dokkalfar in the center of the room.

[Caleidah]

Istolil Filifar

The eruption around the court room was enough to try Istolil's patience in a way that it hadn't been in years. His control of the room had been entirely hinged on their respect for him as a merchant. And the instant that the room had ceded that he deserved that respect, Anluryn had burned it. As he waited for the room to still itself again, he felt old resentments bubbling up in his head. She had been the one that he had not backed for the role of Marshall of Intelligence, after all. And though the discussion had occurred behind closed doors, he was fairly certain that she had found some way of learning of his vote. Was that why she had stepped in so abruptly? To undermine his appearance before the Dwarven College?

Regardless of their past, he forced himself back into the present. Outrageous, ludicrous, heresy, all phrases that he had expected to hear yelled earlier in the conversation. It was amazing that Eldmondere and Gilduum were such close economical allies and yet lately swords were drawn by both sides over every perceived insult. The magical winter haunting them all was affecting the mood, though. It was not a true distaste, just one built on fear.

When Aenduun turned the floor back to them, Istolil stepped forward and looked along the bench, looking each Delegate in the eye. Most met his gaze. Some that had just been cowed looked away, or scowled back at him. "My lords, I apologize for any unprofessional actions taken in your presence today. The missing and raided caravans, the Ljosalfar actions against the Humans, and most importantly the attack on Anduril Harbor, have weighed heavily on all of us. I am sure that, in more calm times, our meeting here today would have been one with fewer barbed words and less need for unplanned players." He gestured to Anluryn with the last statement. He reached into a purse at his belt, drawing out a golden coin marked with an ancient Dwarven king. "Our alliance is such that the coins of your people are as well known in our lands as our own. The Dokkalfar will not let this ancient friendship fall to ruin."

Istolil slipped the coin back into his purse and sighed. "We have agents moving to find any information that they can turn up, in our own homeland and abroad. Any of that information that comes to me or my fellows will be shared with you as quickly as possible, to ensure that the correct decisions are made." He held out a hand to his page, who presented him with the final letter from his pouch. It was written on fine vellum, and sealed with the crest of the Chancellor. "For that reason, we have brought an invitation for any members of your College to join us in Drowfen until such time as the issue at Anduril Harbor is resolved. Whomever among you accepts will be given fine lodging and allowed to bring any guards or attendants that they deem necessary." The invitation and enclosed mark of travel had been a last second plan, and the Chancellor had passed them directly to Istolil earlier that morning.

"Should the College accept this invitation, I will remain here with my retinue until the chosen Delegate and his party are ready to travel. This will ensure that the portal remains open a time longer. Once we pass through, it will be closed again. Also, if you should desire, two mages will remain here. Their counterparts in Drowfen will allow for rapid communication or transmission of messages. This comes at a great cost to us, but we are prepared to spend a great deal more if it ensures that this matter is resolved neatly."

The sheer prospect of the planning and magical components to open the portal had been incredibly expensive, even with donations from a number of merchants. It had taken nearly a full cart of magical reagents to open the portal in the first place. The results had been a hefty lightening of the city's coffers.

With his message done, Istolil bowed again to the College. "What shall it be, my lords?"