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

[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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【xxxxx"It's terribly quiet, wouldn't you say?" the question rang eeriely through the mostly empty hall, disheveling the silence and prompting the turning of a few guardsmen's heads in response to the sudden speech. A pair of golden eyes crossed the room in a glance, passing disinterestedly over the hall's intricate and masterfully sculpted architecture, white and gold-trimmed vaulted ceiling and marble columns to rest instead upon an empty seat, freshly enough that the dust had not yet began to settle. This seat was identical to the one the Ljosalfar himself sat upon, yet it differed in that it lacked an occupant and additionally a recipient to his question. His gaze lingered on this vacant seat, a glint of something that could have easily either been confusion or sorrow in his eyes before it quickly dissolved. The Ljosalfar then, without warning, wrenched his focus from the throne to one of the still gawking guardsmen.

"Do you insult me?" he demanded, now speaking in a much more audible and distinctly acidic tone of voice that against the empty hall resounded much more fiercely. The guard, clearly taken by surprise by the High King's accusation, quickly spat out his reply with what he hoped was the correct answer.

"N-no, Your High-"
"Do you think me a fool?"
"N-"
"Well, if you neither insult me or think me a fool, why is the High Queen's seat still present in my throne room?"
"Forgive me, Your Highness, but you said-"
"The Queen is dead. Have you heard?" the High King leaned forward with brows raised, as if revealing a great and unknown truth to the guardsman, who in turn hesitated to answer.
"Y-yes, Your Highness, it's only that-"
"The dead have no need for seating arrangements." the High King stated, falling back into his seat and adopting a more somber tone of voice before a brief wave of silence swept between the two. He quickly reequipped his bitter countenance, however, and spoke once more to the guard.
"You will remove this seat from my hall or I shall remove your head from your shoulders." the High King warned with utmost sincerity, motioning with his right hand to his own head and shoulders to more clearly express his point, and if the pale, frozen expression on the guardsman was a reliable indication, then he clearly succeeded.

Deciding it might be best if he simply held his tongue, the guardsman simply nodded and quickly went to do as he was told. The High King watched the guardsman like a hawk, perhaps even more closely than that, as he and a fellow guard went to remove the High Queen's seat from the throne room, though, almost as soon as the scolded guard laid hand on it, the High King in an instant reached for and grabbed this guards wrist, prying his hand from the chair. The silver-haired Ljosalfar turned the guards hand over palm up and stared down upon it, studying it like one would a tome.

He was unreadable for but a moment before his face curled into an expression of disgust. He released the guards hand, practically flinging it back at him. "You are unfit to even lay hand on it." the High King snarled, while the guard, petrified and unsure whether to leave or continue to follow the orders given to him, exchanged wary glances with the other guardsman who looked equally as puzzled. Thankfully for him, the High King cleared his uncertainty though not in the most ideal way. "Why are you standing there? Take it. Once you've done that, you will stay out of my sight." with that, the High King turned, and did not watch as the two thoroughly unsettled guards hoisted and made off with the High Queen's throne.

The hall's doors opened, flooding the dim and dreary room with warm, golden light for just a brief instance before they were sealed shut once again with an echoing boom that veiled the grand hall in silence.

"Yes, it is dreadfully quiet." the Ljosalfar sighed softly to himself.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

[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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◥xxxxxEven from its distance, the flesh-biting winds that choked Blodhjelm traveled far, and every now and again the calm air that still surrounded Trygholde would be displaced by these gusts, sending chills down Men’s spines and reminding those who felt it that it would be only a matter of time before those frigid gales would also occupy Trygholde if nothing was done. It was just such a wind that drove through the Captain’s unkempt blond hair as he stood atop the fortress’ most eastern wall, steel-blue eyes fixed upon the vague outline of a mountain in the distance as if staring it down would force it to yield an answer, though, he wasn’t quite foolish enough to believe that. Even so, this was still the reason he came here on most days when he didn’t have other duties to attend to; the harsh wind and sight of the looming mountain often paved the way for useful ideas. However, as the Captain stood here, no idea that hadn’t already been thought of came to him, and regardless, ideas without the means to put actions to them were worth about as much as the horse s**t stuck on the bottom of his boots.

Militaristic activity in Trygholde had hit a rather formidable wall as of late; the bulk of Hjerteland’s forces had been killed in the elven incursion while several others were still trapped inside, likely biding their time until their wintery deaths instead of preparing a counter-attack, though Jens could hardly find reason to blame them. The cold didn’t seem to affect the elves as heavily as it had their men, meaning that if they meant to take back the city they would have to do it well before they made it to Trygholde and backed them into a corner. Supplies were in an even sadder scarcity than men, and that which was here before the attack on Blodhjelm was quickly spent as survivors and escapees overran those who were already here. Even now, men, women, and children continued to slowly trickle through the outpost as the outer reaches and smaller villages surrounding Blodhjelm saw the wrath of the elves spread into their homes.

A scowl stretched out across the Captain’s features; frustration was a common sentiment as of late seeing as hungry, tired, and grief-stricken masses tended to be irritable and uncooperative. Turning, the Captain stepped down, eliminating his view of the mountain and replacing it with one of those very same masses as they poured in from Trygholde’s open gates. There was nearly complete silence apart from the shuffling of worn, tired feet across the gravel, each man and woman with their eyes lowered as they pressed forward with their solemn march. On either side of the slowly crawling stream stood other survivors, soldiers, and Trygholde natives, many with bitter faces as they realized that their already thin rations were to be spread even thinner.

”Haldur.”

A man stood some short distance to the Captain’s right, joining the rest of the crowd in gawking at the pitiful parade, so involvedly, apparently, that he registered no response to the Captain’s calling of his name.

“Haldur! Clean out your ears, s**t-wit, and get over here.” the only immediate response he received then was a hurried convulsion of sound, ones he could only attribute the rushed movement of a man who knew that he wouldn't want to hear his name called a third time.

“Captain, I'm sorr—“

“Shut-up and listen to me.” the Captain interjected, effectively drawing the man’s full attention to him at the premise of what Jens might do if made to repeat himself a second time.

“Start sorting through the men. Find those who are able, and start handing out whatever blades we can spare from the barracks.” The man offered no objection though it was clear from his expression that he wasn’t happy about his assignment. The Captain recognized this, though spared the soldier any further berating; he wasn’t happy about assigning him such a task, no one in their situation would have been, but being happy about much of anything was a very little importance as things were. They were no closer to regaining their capitol and no close to figuring out a way to strike back at the elves. As cliché as it was, desperate times called for desperate measures.xxxxx◤

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[UmbreonLad]

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яσɢυε σƒ εℓσмσи∂εяε

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»xxxxx"So I finally get to get off my a** and go somewhere and all we are doing is just sitting here." Naldyn mumbled as he paced, waiting for orders, the attack on Anduril Harbour caused quite a substantial stir within the Dwarven government. He sighed and finally sat down, he could not possibly understand why they would think that the Dokkalfar had anything to do with aiding in the attack but what could he do. Naldyn was instructed to attend court in Kargath to obtain any and all information he could, while politics was never something the elf enjoyed he did whatever he happened to be paid to do.

The information he was aiming to acquire was general information on the thoughts and actions of the dwarves concerning the attack, not in dokkalfar presence. "Sigh... it seems as though this shall be a largely unexciting mission, I just don't see why we are even needed." the elf turned to a comrade, another more patient spy, who had been twiddling with a piece of grass in between his hands. "Hm? Oh... I suppose you are right, it doesn't seem to be an action packed mission but complaining won't get you paid aha." the younger spy laughed, Naldyn just sighed again and slumped down. His boredom was getting to him and he was feeling as impatient as a young child. He quickly stood up again as he heard the mages call out to the group.

It was time, time for him to go out, time for him to do what he does best and he was damn ready for it. As he made his way to the portal, he gave his comrade a smirk, they had gone so long without a job they were going to make this mission worth it one way or another. And into the portal they went, the dwarves would be expecting them and Naldyn had to make sure he could keep himself out of trouble.

xxxxx«


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Company: Dokkalfar council
Where: Drowfen to Kargath
Mood: Bored, Impatient, Adventurous

[Shmitter]

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

[▣] SIKKE ERAM STURHALD [▣]

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He that cannot reason is a fool
He that will not is a bigot
He that dare not is a slave
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These grand Dwarven halls, built into the very mountain that bears its name: Kargarth. Strong and impervious beyond the comparison of any elf or man-made city, its walls: as thick as the earth itself, its steel: unrivaled and envied across nations, its men: brutal and unerring. It is the crown jewel of Gilduum and the center of free thought, art, and industry throughout the world over. The city under the mountain: in past centuries, a home to all manners of seclusion, celebration, and deliberate action, in recent days however, a place of deliberation, and a rather passionate one at that.

All over Kargarth there are rumblings about the incident at Anduril Harbor, from what is to be done to what even transpired. The state of the College is no exception, if anything it is a magnification of all the houses voices being thrown about in one room to have at one another, but such is dwarven politics on such matters. So far this day the Assembly has been host to bouts of yelling, proclaiming, and even a few movements for votes as well as maces cast about the hall, with little hope of a consensus being reached in a timely manner lest someone’s voice shake the very stone above their heads, which hadn’t been done since Nain “The Proclaimer” Kazrik. Stone keep her.

Sitting among the rabble was Sikke, having foreseen this current state of stately affairs he had sent for one of his cousins to bring him a few pieces of parchment and a pen so that he might occupy his time with actually running his house. Eventually the Dwarf’s calm was interpreted by some as disinterest or acceptance of the topic at hand. And as for the past few days the topic of the day had in one form or another been those damned stolen shipments.

“Sturhald! I swear every time we look over to your seat, you have your nose buried in your letterings or what have you. This discussion has as much to do with you as the rest of you merchants who’s holdings was stolen from them. The All-Father gave you a voice, put it to use.”

Sikke ceased writing his memo and places the pen in its well. Standing from his chair to meet the gathered College before him, the Dwarf cleared his throat.

“Well if you insist Gamil. I didn’t mean to offend, I was under the assumption that the reason for today’s assembly had been the preparation for the arrival of the Conclave, to then address the very subject that has been on the floor since word reached us. So forgive me for not joining you in screeching like a sun-touched duster.”

His comment caused the College member Gamil’s head to light up like hot iron and without the interjection of another head of house declaring that Sikke’s point, if inappropriate, was correct, Gamil might have thought to demonstrate why his house had the reputation of “Red Coin”. And at that the rest of the College calmed to that of what might resemble a respectable entity of government. Resuming to an assessment of current affairs the day went to conclude with an agreement of an organized but brief welcoming ceremony and subsequent College assembly to address how both effected nations should react to the recent Ljosalfar actions along with a few other unrelated matters.

After the Assembly hall doors were closed for the day Sikke made his usual stop to the Sturhald house shrine to pray and provide offerings to alters old and new. Soon after he had retired back to the Sturhald estate and resumed with the time honored method that made his house one of the most influential merchant household in all of Gilduum, accounting.

[Caleidah]

Istolil Filifar

The high market of Drowfen was, as it was any day, teeming with life. Merchants, buyers, guards, caravanners, thieves, beggars, anything. Among the whole throng of them, though, a courier boy was threading his way between the stalls. A wagon nearly crushed him, but he jinked at the last moment, bumping his shoulder off of the rear boards as he continued on his way. For how young he looked, and he was perhaps only fifteen years old, he moved with the speed and grace of a skilled nightraven. The satchel at his side, fine dark leather, never bounced far enough from his body to tempt a cutpurse into stealing it.

Or perhaps there was another reason that the thieves didn't attempt to cross him. His tunic, fine dark blue linen with silver trim, was embroidered at the chest with a mark that anyone in the city would recognize. The badge of a merchant king, a Supreme Chancellor. More importantly, the badge of someone who would not hesitate to take their hands for harassing one of his men.

As soon as the young Dokkalfar was clear of the market, he took a moment to adjust his tunic and satchel before moving again. He took the steps two at a time, dipping and weaving around the courtesans and fops that populated the upper terraces in the early afternoon. Past the homes of the rich merchants, past the amphitheaters, past the homes of the court judges and justicars. When finally the courier reached the level of the city that housed the Supreme Conclave and their households, he was sweating and out of breath. The guards of the home he approached waved him through on sight.

As he passed between two midnight blue and silver banners at the entryway, he realized that the whole city was as busy as the market. Guards were adjusting their gear and helping to prepare a few merchant wagons in the courtyard. Other couriers and pages, most near his age, were running to and fro in the manor with letters, order slips, anything imaginable. He moved past them all, up the central stair, and directly toward the main study. Most of the faces stared at him in question, but the man behind the desk held out his hand. The courier pulled off his satchel, laid it in the man's hand, bowed, and left.

"I apologize for that interruption," the man said, opening the flap of the bag. Within were three sealed letters. One with a Dwarven rune, one with the seal of the High Chancellor, and one with his own personal symbol, signed and resealed. "It would seem that the proper passports are all in order. I don't feel I need to remind all of you just how strenuous the situation is now. If you are going to act the fool, or decide to pick a fight while we are in Kargath, I will have you publicly flogged in -their- square, and then you will be sent back here to be dealt with in a more proper manner. Do you understand my meaning?" The men in the room, a mix of merchants, soldiers, and professional "fixers," nodded their confirmation. Istolil seemed pleased at that and stooped to pick up his own belongings. "The portal has already been opened, and our guests will be expecting us. See to it that the caravan moves through quickly. My retinue and I are going now." As Istolil left the room, he passed his bag to a waiting guard. They were joined by a compliment of five others, all dressed in merchant's clothing. He hoped that there wouldn't be cause to need guards, but with the Ljosalfar attacking and Dwarven goods being stolen, it wouldn't be becoming to take an unnecessary risk.

He adjusted his dagger and the armored collar at his neck, shifting his robes to accentuate the fine Dwarven work. As they reached the portal, another page joined his party. To this one, he handed the marks of travel. With a final check over his retinue, and making certain that their swords were visible and their knives well hidden, he led them through the portal to Kargath, hoping that his reputation as a fair merchant to the Dwarves would aid their case.

[Suwosa]

Phallos stood over the shallow grave, the ground covered in a blanket of snow. Every now and then the wind would howl, slipping through her clothes to kiss the warmth away from her skin. Her hair rested on her shoulders, she'd done away with putting it up, the thick blue locks protected her neck as best it could. The cold had been the furthest thing from her mind as she stood over the grave, a hand holding the fives rings which lay on a silver chain around her neck - the last memento she had of the Witch. "This winter will be colder without you. " she thought softly. It had been some time now since the death of the Witch. Despite knowing her for majority of her life, Phallos never did learn her real name. She only ever referred to the old woman as 'Master' when out in public, or 'Granny' when they were alone together. The loss felt like a thorn vine had been wrapped around her heart, each passing moment stabbing deeper into her. She felt water swell in her eyes the female cupping her hands below her face to catch the 'tears' that fell. She glanced down to her hands, seeing three pebble sized pearls sitting there. Every few hours Phallos would come back to the grave to grieve, taking what pearls she managed to cry out from each visit and putting them away. There was little she could barter for with them with the city in this state. She was lucky she had survived the attack - all credit for her life going to her mentor who lay beneath the snow covered ground. She heard the cry of Hiruma, Phallos turning her attention to the sky as she set out her leather gloved arm."Come Hiru, " she sent to him, the bird landing gracefully on his perch. "Any luck?" she asked him, her lips pressing to a smile as she ran her fingers under his neck, the bird cooing a bit. He squawked a few times, his head turning in funny directions before he flapping his great wings a few times. "A simple no could have sufficed my dear friend," the thoughts were set to the bird as she glanced up at the sky, blinking her sapphire hues a few times as she watched white flakes slowly begin to fall. "Come, we must take shelter. " she told her feathered friend, turning swiftly away from the grave; the only indication that told Phallos it was the grave of her fallen were three sticks in the ground. The grave wasn't alone either, many had dug small graves for those who had died, and even some for those who would die.

The snow continued to fall as the white cloaked Phallos ventured through the city. She never did have a home in this place, after all, she was only visiting for a short time - the gods must have wanted to laugh at her pain. They had planned for staying three days, and now Phallos was here, most likely till she died. Phallos hadn't eaten in four days, and it was steadily taking its tole on her. Hiruma usually did the hunting for them - he'd go off, come back with a rat, a rabbit, or even a house cat if they were lucky. Despite the conditions she had managed to avoid losing any fingers or toes - much of this attributed to many layers of clothing and nights by the fire. She tucked him under the cloak, afraid that the bird would freeze if she let him out. She hadn't intended to bring him along with her and the Witch, but on their way off the island he had followed - not that she minded, she'd had him for years now, and he was closer to being her best friend than he was to being a pet.The city was crawling with death - everywhere you looked, there were traces of it. You truly got to see the desperation of Man within the city - what people were willing to do in order to stay alive astonished the female. Parents killed their children to avoid letting them stave, crime was nothing more than common sight now as people looked for whatever means of food they could get. All thoughts of trying to strike back from the inside were elusive, the people reverting to barbaric means to survive.

She let out a breath of air, watching it steam away into the cold as they paused. "Where will we stay for now...you'll stay up, and wake me up every so often, won't you?" she asked him, the bird tilting his head as she asked this. You even had to be careful about everything you did in the city now, sleeping out in the open was completely out of the question. Sleep was even difficult to come by - Phallos had never experienced a cold like this, but she saw what it could do to weak, tired souls. They'd fall asleep and never wake up; to avoid this she had Hiruma wake her up every few hours. The concept of time was all but lost to her in this never ending winter She'd freeze, or worse...she'd run into unwanted company. As they moved Phallos couldn't help but feel eyes on them - she really had to stop jinxing herself. She glanced at Hiruma, extending her arm out and tilting her head behind them a bit. "Take a look," she told him, tossing the bird upwards a bit, Hiruma taking flight not long after. It was at this moment that an arrow from behind came whizzing by, nicking the horns on her head as it went by. "You damn fool! How could you miss!?" came a voice from behind, Phallos whirling herself around to see a small group of four. "Fly, fly! " she sent to the bird, turning herself back around and breaking into a sprint.

She pressed onward, careful not to trip over anything hidden in the snow. "Have to keep moving...of all times to run into thieves.." She felt her heart race, her body warming from the run as she took numerous turns to try and evade the chasers. The elves who guarded the city cared little for the atrocities men committed within the city, nor did most who were still living. Everyone had reverted to a state where it was all that mattered was that so long as it wasn't them robbed, they didn't care. She was too afraid to look back, so instead she extended her telepathy outward, catching a few words that indicated that she was still being hunted. All she could do was run - Phallos would never resort to fighting so long as she could help it. So she ran, and would continue to do so until running away was no long an option.
" "

LOCATION:Blodhjlem COMPANY: Hiruma + Cannibals MOOD: Fearful

[Yokka]

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



Despite the bitter winds that cut through Trygholde, Tuula couldn't seem to stop sweating. She'd been on high alert since the moment she reached the outpost, tirelessly combing through the crowds of people in hopes of seeing a familiar face. From time to time she'd be stopped by a weary traveler, who seemed to think that the uniform she wore meant she would be a good source of information or direction. But Tuula was neither. She was just as lost as the rest of them, too concerned with finding her family to think of much else. In fact she'd rather estranged herself from her fellow infantrymen, though she'd never even seen most of them before, so she supposed no one was really looking for her. Not that it mattered. Her duties as a soldier were very very low on her short list of priorities. First came finding her family. Then came everything else.

Tuula snaked her way through the people lined up on the side of the road, popping up and down whenever she got caught behind someone taller than her. Soon she found a crate to climb on top of, and from her new vantage point she was able to witness the people marching in much better. Her eyes darted back and forth, desperately searching for any sign, any hint of her family. But the faces she saw bore no semblance, and within time they all began to blend together.

The crushing weight of it all suddenly broke down upon her shoulders, and she shakily sunk to her knees. Who was she kidding? Her family had probably been slaughtered, or were stuck in Blodhjelm waiting for their inevitable death. She hung her head, biting back the tears. The image of the city in turmoil as she fled was burned into the back of her eyelids. She hadn't even thought of them as she fled. Of all times to be a coward… Tuula wanted nothing more at that moment than to melt into a puddle and dissolve into the earth.

She'd been sitting in a stupor for quite some time when talking nearby brought her back to reality. A pair of soldiers were being given orders by another, to start finding able-bodied men to join the cause. Tuula sniffed and wiped her face, then climbed down from the crate. Should she help? Was it even worth it? Was there a plan for a counterattack in the works?

The thought grounded her further. A counterattack… Would they even be able to mount one? If they could take back Blodhjelm, then…

She caught the soldier delivering the message by the elbow as he began to move away, and asked whereabouts she could find the captain. He gave her a rather worried look, then pointed to a scowling, blond-haired man nearby. Tuula stared at this person for a moment, eyes squinted. She'd been shown the captains before, back when she was in training, but she did not recognize this person. Was she so far out of the loop? Tuula Helmi Hall would go down as the worst soldier in existence.

Straightening her armor and uniform, she carefully moved toward the captain. The closer she got, she better she could see his features––and there was some semblance of familiarity within them. He looked a bit like Captain… what was his name? Sorenson?

Coming to a stop in front of him, she saluted awkwardly and then cleared her throat. Twice. Just to be sure.

"`Scuse me, sir… I, um, got a little caught up all the, uh, turmoil, and I'm not really totally sure `bout what all is going on. I heard that we're supposed to be getting together anyone who can pick up a sword… Are we gonna mount a counterattack at Blodhjelm?"

Tuula was a lot of things. Tactless was certainly one of them.

[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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◥xxxxxAs the last of that day’s refugees crept into the outpost, Trygholde’s gates slowly came to a close and the crowd that had gathered to gawk gradually dispersed and cleared the area. Those who’d recovered left-behind family members and friends huddled together in celebratory embraces while those who were left empty-handed hung their heads, wept, or simply removed themselves from the area to grieve in private.

The Captain watched as the soldiers returned from the barracks hauling armfuls of swords, spears, and whatever other arms they could scrounge up and began distributing them; many of the men, particularly those who had just moments ago been reunited with their loved ones, offered firm resistance while others solemnly accepted the gesture, some even going as far as to thank the soldier who’d placed such a burden on them. Jens very nearly feared a revolt of some sort in light of these actions, but as the minutes passed what little clamour he’d caused settled down, albeit the tension left in its wake was more than imposing. Moving onto his next matter of business, the Captain waded into the steadily dissolving sea of worn and bleak expressions, looking for only one face in particular.

“Has Brynolf returned yet?” Jens asked, stopping one of the soldiers just as he was giving out his last blade to a young man who could have easily been a few good years Jens’ junior.

“I haven’t seen him, Captain.”

Pausing, the Captain silently recalled when it was that the Knight had set off, and decided to himself that he should have been back by now, granted that he hadn’t been captured. He released a frustrated sigh; he didn’t have the time to go running around Trygholde looking for a single Knight, who by all accounts would have probably preferred not to be found if he knew who it was that was looking for him. Jens knew the Knight Brynolf well enough, having been a fellow Knight of his for several years and in fact the man had been stationed with him in Blodhjelm when the elves launched their attack. Despite that, the two were far from what most would consider friends.

“Then find him; tell him he is to report to me immediately. Make sure he knows that means no detours, no going to take a piss, nothing. Got it?”

Hastily nodding his head and saluting, the soldier hurried off halfway hoping that he wouldn’t have the luck of running into the missing Knight solely for fear of having to repeat the Captain’s message.

Just as the Captain was turning to leave, another soldier, surprisingly enough, actually approached him. This was rare enough in and of itself, mostly due to the fact that many of them didn’t recognize Jens as a Captain as new as he was to the position, and secondly because those who did avoided him like the plague, if they could manage it.

The woman who stood before him was largely unfamiliar to him, though if first impressions were worth anything, she seemed awkward and not wholly fitting to the position tied to the armour she wore.

“A counter-attack?” the Captain repeated, almost astonished at the question.

“With what army? With these people? Most of them are starving, sick, and too weak to wipe their own asses, much less mount a counter-attack.” He scoffed at her, at this point doing little more than venting his frustrations onto the poor woman who’d done little more than asked him a fairly reasonable question, in all honesty.

“What about the elves? Do you think they’re starving and wallowing in disease?” It was a rhetorical question; they obviously weren’t doing either given how tight of a grip they still held on the human capitol. However, it was also a slight hint to the plan the Captain currently had running around his head.

The Captain sighed, regaining what fragment of his composure he had left before continuing.

“No, not a counter-attack, not yet.” he said simply, finally delivering a direct answer to the woman’s question.

“Captain, there’s no more blades in our reserve.” The soldier, Haldur, interjected, suddenly appearing at the Captain’s side while he was too wrapped up in his irritation to see the man coming.

“Fine. Haldur, assemble a company of thirty men at the gate.” The Captain said bluntly, already prepared to hear whatever objection the man undoubtedly had.

“Thirty men? Shouldn’t we inform the General?”

“Not if you value having all of your limbs attached.”

“But, Captain—“

“I suggest that you don’t keep me waiting, Haldur.”

Met with an all too familiar silence and the shuffling of feet, the Captain returned his attentions to the woman soldier, just now taking notice of the weaponry holstered to her back.
“You. You’re an archer, yes? You’re coming with us. State your name and be quick about it.” he ordered, his scrutinizing glare honed onto her while he waited impatiently for her reply. If there was any real skill to be found in that bow of hers, she would prove a rather valuable asset for his scheme.
xxxxx◤

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UmbreonLad




Yokka

[the unavailable memory of]

【xxxxxIf she had to hear the words ‘Anduril Harbour’ one more time, she thought that she might just puke. It wasn’t merely the fact that it was all that anyone had been talking about for the past few days (though that certainly was a large contributor to the issue), but mostly because she had somehow ‘missed’ the invitation needed to join the other Shields in heading out and first-handedly dealing with and investigating the matter. Of course, her superiors got quite the earful out of her and in a shoddy attempt to dissuade her aggravation she was, quite politely, reassured that she was much more needed here than there, as if they had some crippling shortage of errand monkeys that she alone needed to fulfill.

Regardless, Galessa of the great and fearsome Ovdukr household was stuck in Kargath, meant to be playing escort to the Dokkalfar guests that were coming in from Drowfen to attend the Court; a duty that not even she could romanticize into something truly worthy of her time or position. On the other hand, Galessa’s philosophy had long been that one must endure through all of the lousy jobs to work one’s way up to the better ones, though at this rate it seemed like less of an uphill battle and more of an impossible one. Still, she hadn’t shirked off an assignment yet and didn’t intend on starting today.

However, she had one quick stop to make before heading to the portal vestibule.

The Shield’s thudding footsteps stopped just short of what she knew was the Sturhald estate, which was unquestionably much more exorbitant than any home she’d ever had. She supposed that this could have been very simply attributed to the house’s better than moderate success in the mercantile arts, which was apparent enough seeing as the head of the Sturhald house was currently the appointed Delegate of Merchants in Gilduum. Such things had never been a large part of Galessa’s life and therefore her knowledge on the subject was very limited; she did not care for the practice of figuring numbers or really for arithmetic as a whole.

Given all of these reasons, the Shield’s lingering presence there seemed all the more unusual, especially when the Shield in question began intently rummaging through her belongings.

A mild frown tugged at the edges of her mouth as she saw that the parchment had earned a few extra creases in it than it had to begin with. Taking a brief moment to smooth out the worst of them with her hands, she turned the vellum over in her hands a few times before gently, but firmly, nudging the sealed letter into the split in the threshold of the Sturhald house door. The dwarf hesitated for a moment as she deliberated on knocking on the door, but seeing as it looked like she was going to be running a tad late as it was, she opted against it. After shedding one last glance in the door’s direction, the dwarf started forward back onto her earlier course, leaving the area before she could be discovered by prying eyes.

“I’m a Shield for cryin’ out loud, not a blasted tour guide.” the dwarf grumbled to herself as she neared the archway leading into the portal vestibule, designed specifically for instantaneous travel between Kargath and Drowfen, to meet the city’s supposedly esteemed guests. Permitting herself a quick sigh, she stepped over the threshold.

“Is this all of ye?” the dwarf asked, eyeing the company of tall, dark-skinned elves standing around the portal. She couldn’t quite gauge from their expressions whether or not she was early or later than expected, though she figured if it were the latter she’d heard about it at some point. The group, while a relatively large one, still wasn’t quite as extensive as she’d imagined.

“Alright then,” she said, giving the guests little to no time to reply to her first question since it was a bit obvious as to the answer, “follow me and I’ll show ye to the Court. They’ll be in shortly after someone tells ‘em you’re here, I expect.” she explained, trying not to make her boredom with the assignment too terribly apparent lest she offend them, but it was difficult. She gave them the motion to follow with her hand and then turned to lead them out, trusting that if they intended to make it there that they’d follow suit. xxxxx】





”UmbreonLad”




”Caleidah”

[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 ?

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»xxxxxBrynolf dusted himself and the child he was carrying off, ash from the burning building that he had rescued the boy from was caked into the young one's hair. He set the boy down and directed him where to go, "You see those encampments up there? You will find safety there. I must be off." Bry had begun to leave the boy when he felt a tug on his cloak. "Si... sir are my mom and dad okay?" Bry bit his bottom lip in contemplation on what to say, "I am sure they are back at the safe camp, and I am sure they are worried sick about you. So go along now, be safe. He watched the young boy walk to safety with eagle eyes, making sure nothing happened to him, the boy was welcomed in by some of the women stationed there and Bry nodded to himself satisfied with his actions. His soft spot for children would be the death of him one day.

xxx He had seen ljosalfar encampments on the outskirts of town, many of their fighters had fallen back but alas there they were waiting to attack again. There were many more healthy elves than there were humans. He scowled in disgust and looked in the direction he had seen them and continued to his captain. He knew that Jens would more than likely be wondering where he had been However he had no time to listen to any complaints the man might have. He would just report his findings and go about his business, he did not like chatting more than necessary. He had a headache and needed to rest, he needed to put his glasses back on, he had been straining his eyes for far too long. He shoved his hand into his pouch to check the status of his glasses [********... another pair broken, just what I need.' Brynolf's mood was just getting worse and worse. He really wasn't looking forward to talking to anyone, he just wanted to go and cool off alone. But now was not the time to lose it, his comrades needed his help. It would be certain that there would be an extreme shortage in supplies and many would be in need of medical assistance. Brynolf trudged on, taking one last look behind him before he made his way to where he was supposed to report.

xxxAs he approached where his captain stood he saw two other soldiers talking to him, Jens' looked less than enthused about the man talking to him but was surprised when the young girl came up. Brynolf noticed the girl did not seem to be of high rank yet was wearing what looked like quite heavy plate. As he approached he smiled and nodded to her, he applauded her for being able to more than likely maneuver much more efficiently than Bry could ever in such armor.

xxxHe then frowned again and looked to Jens and the messenger Haldur next to him "Excuse me sir, apologies for any delays. I had important civilian matters to take care of. It seems that the ljosalfar have made camps along the Blodjhelm borders but it seems that their soldiers have fallen back for the time being. I am sure to recuperate and re-supply." As he finished what he was saying he began to walk off. He stopped before looking over his shoulder and asking one last thing, "By the way, is there anything I need to help with? I can offer minor medical knowledge if need be. If not I will be resting until further orders." And with that he walked off, knowing that the Captain would be fairly upset with his words and actions.

xxxHonestly Bry didn't desire to anger him, he was just so exhausted and his head was pounding. Any trouble he would be in would be forgotten due to the current wartime situation. He just sighed to himself, all he really wanted to do was rest.

«


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Company: Jens, Tuula, NPC Haldur
Where: Trygholde
Mood: Exhausted, on edge, annoyed

Jacque Sassington

Yokka

[Yokka]

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



Yep, worst soldier in existence.

The moment the captain responded to her, Tuula regretted her decision to approach him. The muscles in her body tensed and she prepared to disappear the moment he turned around, but as he commented on the status of the men they had ready, she observed them. The captain was right. She knew the people in Trygholde were worse for wear, but she hadn't fully realized how bad off they were until that very moment. Would there even be able-bodied men to recruit? Even Tuula was barely running on fumes. She frowned and shrunk down a bit, ready to slink away at the first possible opportunity.

But there was no opportunity. The captain went on in an angry tone, this time about the elves at Blodhjelm. Tuula hadn't thought about that, either. She hung her head and tugged at the end of her sleeve, remaining as quiet as possible.

“No, not a counter-attack," he stated finally, and Tuula's heart sank.

"...not yet.”

She looked up, light in her eyes. Not yet meant that there was a possibility. Obviously that possibility wasn't going to be happening any time soon, but… If her family was alive and could hold on until then…

The soldier from earlier interjected, distracting the captain. Tuula turned to tiptoe away, hoping to disappear before he noticed, but before she could, the captain addressed her. She stood up straight again, as if her escape attempt had never happened.

"My name is Tuula Hall, sir!" she said, for the first time actually sounding confident. It was a phrase she'd repeated many times during her training, typically right before she'd be scolded. As she processed what the captain had told her, however, her rigid stance slackened. "Come with? Where are we going?" Plainly it wasn't going to be a counter-attack… But what could they accomplish with just thirty men?

She lightly touched the leather strap across her chest, which held up the bow and quiver on her back. Her "skill" with the bow wasn't quite something she prided herself on, but shooting arrows was just about the only thing she could do. Even so, she hoped it wouldn't come down to that… This captain was pretty scary, and she definitely didn't want him to scold her if she messed up.

Another man approached them, looking very big and also rather worn out. And yet he smiled at her and nodded in acknowledgement––the only friendly gesture she'd received in a while. Tuula smiled back, however pathetic of an attempt it was.

The man began to update the captain on what he'd been doing thus far, and Tuula listened carefully, though her gaze was toward the ground out of politeness. So the Ljosalfar had set up camp on the Blodhjelm border, and their forces had fallen back for a bit… Did this guy know anything else? Tuula looked up, hope in her eyes, but the taller of the two blonds was already walking away. He stopped to offer another comment and then was gone.

Tightening her jaw, Tuula subtly took in a deep breath and turned to the captain for further orders.

[milky tee]

Jebore blinked slowly, meditating to keep his mind sharp and his body strong. He was no stranger to fasting for weeks, especially during some of his more intense training, and so he was using some of his old techniques to keep the hunger at bay. There wasn’t much left in the way of food in the besieged city, and the people were desperate for food. Some had even attacked him, much to their dismay when he defeated them with little effort. Still, he spared them and let them run every time, his outlook more merciful since he wasn’t being commanded to fight. His breath puffed out in front of him, and he slowly closed his eyes, thinking back to the East. Strange as it was, he missed his former master. At that thought, his eyes snapped open, and he looked down at his blades, tremendous gifts. No mere slave or gladiator should ever have such gifts, even lesser nobles and warriors back in the East did not possess weapons to match their caliber. These were the weapons of a high lord, one that should have been passed down to his heir. Jebore reasoned that in some way, he must have been like that to his master, and he thought back fondly on their days together as he ran his hands over the intricate scabbard.

He was sheltered in one of the abandoned houses, but he knew that it would be unwise to stay around. The people were desperate, murdering each other and eating their flesh just to survive. Despite Jebore’s mastery of his weapons, he would never underestimate anything; it was the reason he had lost, so very long ago. He slid his weapons into his sash and drew up his scarf around his neck, trying to conserve his body heat as he stood and exited the house, moving up the street. The elves had made an absolute mess of this place, and they were still out there, simply waiting for them all to starve. Jebore knew he could not stay here forever; he’d eventually need to try to escape the siege or die trying. But, what thoughts drove him to this? He did not see any need to find a new master, and he had no desire to return to his duties in the arena. Yet, what else could he do? Jebore felt that the answer was somewhere out there, in this new land, and he had to leave this place to find his purpose. He moved through the snow, his arms tucked into his kimono to keep them warm, the empty sleeves waving in the wind.

His golden eyes searched ahead through the snowbound streets to see a horned, blue-haired woman running through the snow, and he felt something deep within himself stir slightly. What was it? Before he could explore this feeling more or call out to the woman, he noticed the four thieves chasing after her. Jebore frowned, his arms slipping back into his sleeves as he ran to intercept them, coming to a halt in front of the four men, his calm gaze stopping them in their tracks. ”Turn around,” he spoke calmly, his soft voice carried to the men by the wind. Jebore made no threatening movements, his arms calmly resting at his sides. The assorted thieves carried a motley assortment of weapons; one with a dagger, one with a club fashioned from a piece of wood, one with a sword, and a bowman, who already had an arrow nocked and aimed at Jebore’s forehead. ”Let’s kill him too,” the swordsman said, obviously in charge. Jebore gave a sigh as the archer fired, his hand moving in a blur as he caught the arrow with his left hand, the group’s eyes widening as he snapped it casually, Jebore’s calm expression unchanged. ”Turn around. Last chance,” he said, and they suddenly felt an overwhelming killing intent from him, a technique Jebore always used to unnerve opponents and avoid fights. These men were even more desperate than he had imagined.

”Get him! He’s just one guy!” the swordsman shouted, and Jebore sighed once more. How many times had he heard that phrase? He moved his hands to the hilts of blades, then remembered who he was facing. His swords were for more than putting down common thieves. He watched them calmly as the club man charged, the man with the dagger following behind, the swordsman hanging back with the archer. Jebore let them close in, the closest man raising his club high for a powerful overhead strike as the man with the dagger lunged low, probably hoping to catch him as he blocked the club strike. Jebore stepped in so fast neither man had a chance to react, his hands moving in a blur. In the blink of an eye his hard left fist drove into the club man’s solar plexus while his right hand slapped the other man’s knife hand down, deflecting it almost effortlessly. An instant later Jebore’s left hand came up and chopped directly into the back of the club man’s neck, dropping him to the ground like a sack of potatoes, the club falling uselessly into the snow. At the same time as all that was going on, his right hand balled into a fist, flew up, and caught the knife man between the eyes, knocking him stone cold unconscious. In the span of two seconds he had incapacitated both of the thugs sent to attack him. He still had two more though, and he swayed to the side as an arrow came at him, stepping over the fallen bodies carefully as the swordsman advanced to meet him, the archer nocking another arrow and firing again. Jebore dodged that one two, then another, and then the swordsman was upon him with a wild cry, swinging his sword with the fury and desperation wrought by starvation. Jebore paced him, dodging both sword swings and arrows, the archer unrelenting in his volley. Suddenly, the stream stopped, the archer having invariably run out of missiles, and in that instant Jebore made his move, dodging another errant swing and catching the man’s wrist to hold him in place. At the same time, he slammed the knife edge of his palm into the side of the man’s neck, and he let go as the swordsman crumpled to the ground, unconscious as well. His golden eyes settled on the archer, who stood there, nervously brandishing the club that had fallen into the snow.

”They are not dead, merely unconscious. Take them and go,” Jebore said calmly, hoping that the fighting was over. He knew it would be too much to ask the man to get his group to stop thieving and killing altogether, but at least he wouldn’t need to fight them. To his great relief, the archer dropped the club and proceeded to individually drag his comrades away into a nearby building. With that affair taken care of, Jebore turned away, wondering where the girl from before had gone. Something told him that he needed to find her, although the how or why escaped him.

Company: Phallos
Location: Blodhjelm streets
Mood: Calm, curious

Chakolati

[UmbreonLad]

╔══════════════╗

яσɢυε σƒ εℓσмσи∂εяε

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»xxxxxNaldyn wandered around the Dwarven city, he had gotten distracted and separated from his caravan. For him this wasn't uncommon, he loved the architecture and loved looking around. He would easily find the other dokkalfar; so it wasn't much of a problem. 'How interesting this place looks, I quite like it...' he thought to himself. 'Mmm... I should probably head back though, I must've missed some important orders or something.' he briskly walked back in search of the others. But alas the elf was distracted by something else again.

He looked at all of the merchants in awe, as a child raised around many goods he was always entranced by new tools and knick knacks. So much metalworking was being done and there were many blacksmiths, some making weapons while others making various decorative odds and ends. Naldyn really needed to get his head straight but he just could not look away, venturing into new lands had always been his dream and now that he was somewhere new he just couldn't look away.

Naldyn sighed to himself, knowing he was acting extremely childish and knowing that he was here for important business. Who knows maybe he may come across useful information while meandering around, maybe he will just end up being scolded. Nonetheless Naldyn was just too distracted to care. As he continued he realized that he stood out, not just a little bit but a lot. Around him was substantially less busy than the street he was previously on and not as many merchants were selling their wares. More bars popped up and the street seemingly grew darker, the all-around feeling of the place was drearier. He was in an area where not many aside from the dwarves visited and he was putting attention onto himself. Dwarves were turning around to stare at the young elf that really did not belong in that part of town.

The elf highly disapproved of being the center of attention and quickly made his way back to the main square, hoping now to finally find his group. 'Of course I just had to get myself noticed and stared at, I despise being stared at. Why would I even go somewhere so far from the main streets.' he scolded himself as he brusquely walked.

The streets grew lighter and traffic became thicker, he then knew he was in the correct area again. Naldyn wandered around for a bit, and soon found that he was near the entrance of the city. He began to retrace his steps and slowly found his way to more familiar territory.

As he neared the spot he assumed was where they were meeting the dwarven council he saw his group, he saw one of his superiors. His eyes then wandered to a female dwarf talking to the lead of their group, everyone seemed to have their eyes on her. He took the chance to sneak back in with his group. "Where the hell did you go? You got here just in time... thankfully no one else noticed you were gone." his friend scolded him. Naldyn just rolled his eyes and scoffed, "This whole thing is boring; I decided to make it a bit fun and look around. Need to survey my surroundings anyways." He looked back at the woman directing them and laughed to himself, she seemed as bored as he was. Her fake interest in the group seemed to indicate to Naldyn that this was not her typical job. He casually followed the group though, making sure not to be distracted again. He couldn’t help but look around, the buildings held more interest than any meeting he would be forced to attend.


xxxxx«


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Company: Galessa, Istolil, Dokkalfar council
Where: Kargath
Mood: Impatient, bored, distracted

Jacque Sassington


OOC: I am gonna initiate contact with Istolil at a later date but I will definitely interact with him sometime soon. Considering we are in the same group and all. Ehehe

[Shmitter]

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

[▣] SIKKE ERAM STURHALD [▣]

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He that cannot reason is a fool
He that will not is a bigot
He that dare not is a slave
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A knock resounded from the outside of the office door quite efficiently jarring the Sturhald house head away from the focus he had over the papers systematically organized on his desk. As was estimated for this time of the day the incoming stack of forms and proposals just about matched the height of the outgoing paperwork. The busied Dwarf had been documenting the events and transactions of the day so far in the family ledger, a bound tome of knowledge that has been passed down from each Sturhald generation to the next, not all held in the one Sikke was currently holding of course, there was an entire storage vault that housed the Sturhald’s business legacy of information and wealth in equal measure. This being the case, such knowledge has statistically been the subject of more espionage and outright bloodshed than some of the wartime campaigns of history, but returning to the present, Sikke dotted a final decimal point and closed the tome before bidding whomever was at his door to enter.

“Greetings sir.” The estate steward entered and shut the door behind him, les the ever vigilant ears and eyes of the curious grow too bold. “Forgive my intrusion but a messenger arrived to inform you that the Eldmondere High Chancellor and his Conclave have arrived in Kargath and you are expected to attend with the rest of the College to convene at Court, sir.” The estate steward informed Sikke with a calm and professional tone fitting his position. “As well as a few personal messages have arrived for you sir.” The dwarf remembered the bundle of sealed papers held in his hands, all being thoroughly checked for any harmful effects and passed inspection.

“Oh, thank you Alvrig. Let the College know that I will be attending and you may leave the letters on the pedestal if you could. I’ll get to them eventually.” Sikke said straightening his back with a stretch and moving his arms out of the mechanical rhythm they tended to operate at while he worked. “Oooh by the ancestors, I swear this room will be the death of me.” He said jokingly as his joints accustomed themselves to general movement once again.
The steward cleared his throat.
“Oh! Yes, you are excused steward, my apologies.” Sikke hastily said having caught the purpose of the gesture.
“As you say, sir” And with that the dwarf bowed and left the room, making sure the door closed securely behind him, went about his assigned duty.

Sikke on the other hand had a meeting to attend with foreign delegates, to discuss the very hot issue of the mishap at Anduril Harbour. With an exasperated sigh, the dwarf needed to prepare.

A few minutes later walking at a brisk pace toward the Court with his second, who held all physical copies of each proposal the Sturhald chair wished to present as well as a few talking points and script prompts to follow if a friendly or even unfriendly exchange were to occur, and a full escort detail to clear the way and assure a timely arrival. During this time between a wall of armor clad dwarven bodies, Sikke was finalizing a few opinions and finer points of what might be expected during this conference, all while being rather mute about the surrounding subterranean city or its inhabitants, but that is what happens when armed conflict is looming over the horizon and you are one of the members who is deciding on how the reaction if even the retaliation if necessary. Speaking of which.

The arrival at the Kargath Court Hall was as underwhelming as it had always been, even with all its grandiose structure and stout detail, truly a fine example of 8th era dwarven architecture and artistry. It was 8th and not 1st era because of house Torkval’s infamous and failed siege upon the building that required its remodel afterwards. Now however, Sikke and his entourage entered the building’s magnificent and not to mention defensible entryway. The escorts quickly dispersed to that of a small bodyguard arrangement as Sikke and his second, as well as other relevant College members and their company settled into each of their designated seats.