Marching to Destiny: A fantasy military RP (O/A)

[Sinoke]

"Gods be damned..." Nissa rubbed her fingers over the so-called "finery" she'd been instructed to wear. Human fibers, however formal they were intended, were indeed a foul thing. Upon her silky, elven flesh, each article scratched and rubbed in such a way her very spirit was a writhing mess. The garish blue color--a color of "mana"--did even less to soothe her already irritated person. For a woman so attuned to the forest, the ocean color gave her an almost sickened glow. Her heart so yearned for sweet, elven silks, for forest-scented leathers, and even the strange, sensual cool of mithril upon her skin. Regardless, she was stuck with the hooded atrocity granted to a woman of her (albeit wrongfully modest) ranking. With whatever mottled dignity she could manage (and a hell of a lot of swallowed pride) the elf stood pin-straight among her inferiors, wearing nothing more than an expression of sheer distaste on her pinched, pointed features for her current colleagues.

The rousing speech spoke volumes of the orator's lack of genuineness. In fact, the words themselves oozed with crowd-pleasing intent that truly didn't fit the overall look of the speaker--rather, the General. Nissa couldn't help but note his costumed armor: one more waste of precious funds that served no purpose other than showing off its own uselessness. She wondered whether or not he was even remotely keen to be wearing such attire, and his concluding attempt at a grin confirmed her questions. This man felt like a fool wearing a maiden's glittery armor and that there was a sheer lack of faith in the untrained masses of men and women serving in this army. A hundred words came to mind in the high elf's revision of his speech. 'You are no soldiers. You're nothing more than children playing at war against a host more dangerous than you can imagine. You're fools, the lot of you. My soldiers. My fools. My corpses.' Each mental hiss came dripping with acidic truth that sent her eyes to roll. When the sea of applause rose, Nissa respectfully declined the gesture and instead folded her arms over her chest.

The most trivial moment of the night had yet to pass. A luxurious banquet, oh joy. The invitational parchment felt so crisp in her fingers, another spot of extravagance spared on a "lowly member" of the mage corps. "Hîn.." she spat beneath her breath in her native tongue to the nearest group upon dismissal. Gods knew she wanted nothing more than to hide away and rip the nasty garment she wore to shreds and exchange it for something more natural, though, this new "duty" of hers called for uncomfortable clothing and kissing the asses of human swine.

Her form loped through the masses in practiced, swaying steps nearer the palace. Despite her love of critiquing all manmade devices (including man itself), she wouldn't deny the building its impressiveness. Perhaps not as intricate as she'd prefer, but substantial enough to be, well, fit for a king. A furtive gaze was spared for her personal commander as well as the general himself. Rancour lurked deep beneath her stare, though, an outward serenity through emerald eyes ought to have been enough to fool the men. In silence, she returned on her castlebound trek muttering curses of spite in her head...


[[ TT^TT I'm ashamed to say I've already got writer's block! ]]

[The Immortal Pupper]

єкαη уѕя

Out in the sunny fields nearby Jaestam where he and the rest of the Seventh Army stood, they awaited the words that he's heard many times before from their very own general. It only bored Ekan as his eyes wandered the vast sea of soldiers. The robes he was required to wear made him uncomfortable, preferring his own as it's collar covered his lower face. He felt naked without it, and sighed, some of the soldiers around him hearing it and giving him a sort of stare. Almost all the soldiers he met knew he was a High Elf and a Beastman, even if his facial features looked more Elven than the latter. His hair covered his Elven ears and his

After the speech ceased and the general stepped down from the podium, he crossed his arms and watched him as the army applauded his speech, well, the speech provided for him. He kept his arms across his chest as he took a step from where he stood during the speech, seeing as the rest of the army slowly began to disperse. The invitation that was in the pocket of his robes sat noticeably inside, reminding him to go to the August Palace. "Why would this "Almighty Majesty" want to see us, some lower ranked mages and soldiers? Why not just the higher ranking men?"

Ekan's thoughts drifted to memories of his mother and father, wondering how both were doing. They probably were dead, either killed or some other way. Maybe his mother died of old age, seeing as she wasn't too young when having him. The sudden thought of his mother's life expectancy, and the Beastmen's short lives made him wonder about his own, being of High Elf and Beastman blood. One lived exceptionally long, while the other short.

It wasn't relevant, seeing as he couldn't change the situation. He saw another mage walk off towards the palace and decided to follow her. He didn't know her too well, seeing as he never talked to anyone in the army, or in general.

[I'm pretty much hanging onto my consciousness by a thread, so if my entry's jumbled, it's because I'm so drowsy, I'll see if I can't help it tomorrow. Night ^^]

[CatsAndCatsAndCats]

~Bartok Hallimont~

Bartok was trudging along stolidly, lost in his own thoughts, when the High Mage Brocken Nailwood came to speak to him. "Well-put together, was it, High Mage? Well, you can thank our friends in the Inquisition for that. You think I believed a single word I said there, I'll put you on potato-peeling duty for the next three campaign seasons." The corner of his mouth quirked up, highlighting an old knife scar on his left cheek. He spoke softly, so that the Inquisitors would not notice. The four they had with them looked almost identical, bald, hook-nosed, their white robes immaculately pressed. Did the Arch-Inquisitor have the Engineers produce them in an assembly line?

Bartok continued. Just because they were headed to a celebration, did not mean that they could not discuss their future movements. "There's more worrying news. I've heard reports of a demon infestation in Blegvad, on the west coast. We're used to this in the Old Lands, but an attack on Koradus itself... it is almost unheard of. The Third and Fourth are still in tatters, the First, Fifth and Sixth are occupied on the frontiers, the Second is bogged down in Komoldo, the Eighth and Ninth aren't even out of their first recruitment drive... we must march out as soon as possible to take care of it. Tomorrow, if we can, in case it spreads. "

Bartok nodded, and moved to the back, where Private Sikil was being prodded along by his sergeant. Privately, he thought his being bound all the time was a little ridiculous. How was a man meant to fight with his hands tied behind his back? Besides, he was so tightly guarded anyway that his much vaunted skills at stealth would do him little good. "Enjoying army life so far, Private? Don't worry, you won't be bound all the time, just until we have been greeted by the Emperor. We trust you enough to let you feed yourself, at the very least. But there'll be a good few Inquisitors keeping an eye on you. Speaking from my own personal experience, that's far, far worse than anything I could throw at you." Eating next to two Inquisitors was utterly awful, both of them spouting the most disgustingly patriotic rubbish they could think of and glaring at you like your eyes might turn the blazing red of a demon's at any moment.

He said little more until the soldiers reached the August Palace. It had the look of a castle which had not seen attack in generations. Built of white marble and painted with outlandish murals, it only had a token guard. At the gates, one of the castle guard came to greet the soldiers. "Greetings to all of you! His Almighty Majesty awaits your presence eagerly. Oh, and keep your weapons on. He wishes to see you as soldiers." Bartok shrugged. It was a little odd, but he would accept it. During the reign of old Emperor Marcel, Ludovic's father, anybody who went armed before the Emperor would have immediately been dragged away by the Inquisition and thrown into some dark hole full of snakes for the rest of their days. How times changed. If the demon infestation spread here, what would happen? The gods only knew.



((OOC: Herpaderp))

[quiksilver001]

Tahlia Yasil

Invention does not consist in creating out of void..

She stood in line among her peers, feeling strangely at ease, though she had a terrible desire to pull faces at the engineer to her right. The armour she wore was regulation and fit for the ceremony, but she had refused to tame her hair. It fell down her back in a tangle of wild fiery curls, catching the light. Her superior shot a disapproving glance at her as she moved her head a fraction of an inch, trying to look across the top of a fellow engineer's construct to see if he was as bored as she was. She refrained from rolling her eyes, choosing instead to glance downwards at her own creation. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at it, her impossible standards not yet met as far as it was concerned. She returned her eyes to the podium as the figure on it began to speak, finding herself zoning out as soon as he uttered the words "mighty oak". She almost jumped when the polite applause started, noting how unenthused her fellow engineers were. She guessed that, like her, most of them itched to return to work and leave this ceremony behind them. She turned to the creation at her side as the ranks began to disperse, her impossible standards not yet reached by this creation. It turned it's great head to look at her, the movement jerky, accompanied by the hiss of pistons. She sighed at it, before pushing a few controls on it's side so that it turned to face her. She began to walk back towards the engineers camp, the lumbering mechanical wolf following behind her, as far as she was concerned the feast could wait. That had been hard enough, to teach a construct to see. It wasn't perfect yet, the creation kept stopping, or turning to follow another heading in the other direction. She kept returning to the console, her patience limitless even as she felt the sting of failure. Eventually they made it back, and she sent her construct to sleep amongst the other inventions.

She straightened up, sighing as she realised she could put it off no longer. She pushed her way out of the tent, past the other engineers trying to get good spots under the canvas for their own creations. She turned for the palace, following the steady trickle of people heading that way. She fell into step behind a group, preferring to walk on her own for the last few minutes of peace it afforded her. She thought on why she had been asked to attend, wondering idly if it had something to do with the eyebrow incident. After all, being invited to attend a feast must be a punishment. She found herself staring at something further along the line, realising that one of the men rounding the corner had his hands bound. That confirmed her fears, this truly was a punishment. She groaned inwardly, halting on the path as she considered turning back. She had plenty of work she could be doing. A hand shoved her in the back and she stumbled, even as she grabbed it and forced it away from herself. She glared at the soldier before continuing to walk, remembering from her early days that food was almost always a good thing. Although she wondered what was paying for this feast. She quickened her steps, wanting to catch up with the group with the bound man in it and ask him if his crime involved eyebrows.

..But out of chaos.

[obsidiankatana]

Ekkehard Heldenhammer
Commander of the Seventh Army Cavalry

_____________________________________________________

Ekkehard sat with his back straight and his greathammer resting on his shoulder and the soldiers of the Seventh Army cavalry arrayed behind him in ordered ranks, with lances, axes, spears, swords, and shields all held drawn and displayed. The image was an intimidating and powerful one, each man mounted in a strong Kordhelian stallion rippling with muscle, strong enough to bear armor of their own while still charging with enough speed and force to shatter enemies formations and lay waste to armies. They were the pride of the plains city from which Ekkehard came and he swelled with joy at leading a contingent of men born on such noble beasts. His only hope was that this new General he served would appreciate the gesture of mustering these creatures, as well as a gathering of mares to breed fresh steeds for the Seventh on the march. Quality came from all ends of the Empire and it took a great man to appreciate it in all its forms. Hopefully, the man leading the Seventh was such.

The delivered speech did little to rouse Ekkehard's spirit, though it no doubt accomplished such in a number of his men. The Commander himself was hoping to tour his ranks and gauge the mettle of these men he was set to lead, ensuring they quickly understood and adopted his creed. They would not be swayed by words, but by action. Pride would come from their own self-confidence and the assurance of their own military might. If he had any say in it, Ekkehard would forge the cavalry of the Seventh into a weapon of legend of which word would spread to each corner of the Empire. A lofty goal, but they were the only sort he bothered to entertain. There was little purpose to leading men into battle if legends were not to be forged. Service to the Emperor, despite what the Inquisitors insisted, was not recognized by the nameless hundreds that died in war. Men of honor, of valor, men who smote down the Empire's foes and lived on to drive fear into the hearts of those who would oppose them, they drew recognition. They were the soldiers who would be remembered. The sacrifices of men would not go unremembered, but Ekkehard was adamant that those under his command would be those who brought retribution and vengeance unto the Empire's enemies, not the corpses which demanded it from others.

The applause startled him from his reverie and the Commander took stock of the field. It seemed it was time for the banquet, a time of celebration before seasons of war. Appropriate. Ekkehard would feast and drink, just as his men would in the field they stood upon, for once blood began to flow there would be precious little joy abounds. With a nudge of his knees Ekkehard led his stallion forward, a loyal creature which had served him since his first march from Kordhel named Diethelm. Despite being twenty nine years of age the old beast was strong as an ox and could outpace and outcharge any horse on the line, such was the quality of its heritage. Mounted as he was with greathammer still resting upon his shoulder, cavalry hammers dangling from his waist on ringing chains, and a leather sling of javelins hanging off the right of his saddle, Ekkehard caught up to the General and a number of others rather quickly. While holding the reins loosely in his left hand he raised his greathammer in a salute with his right, nodding towards the assembled.

"A good day to march, General. I look forward to spilling blood beside you."

The Commander found himself interrupted by a greeting from the token guard of the palace.. They were a pretty group, no doubt, but Ekkehard doubted their mettle in combat. Their arms lay polished and gleaming, utterly untouched by the woes of combat. Despite this, he offered them a nod of greeting before dismounting from Diethelm, landing heavily upon the cobblestones. He turned his hammer over, resting the head of the four foot long weapon on the ground and resting his right hand upon the pommel of the haft while patting his stallion's flank with his left. The warhorse would await his return faithfully, and woe be upon any would-be horse thieves. Kordhelian steeds knew their owners and were smart enough to recognize ill will, while also conditioned to fend off such dangers rather than flee or comply.

_____________________________________________________

[NovemberRain181]

XxX~ Aedan Threshervan ~XxX
Major of the fourth regiment, fifth division, seventh army.

Aedan was standing at the head of his regiment as the General made his speech standing stiffly at perfect attention, earlier that morning he'd woken all of his company captains and ordered them to assemble their troops for inspection before noon. Of course he'd personally gone along each and every single line of his soldiers with a foot long sturdy piece of wood that had once been used to hold up a table; Of course he'd had it in hand for different purposes as one of the few things he'd learned during his brief time in combat was that aside from morale and the well-being of your troops the next most important thing was the discipline behind those men. Aedan was not ashamed to say he'd seen hardened veterans twice his age likely just as experienced with blade turn and cry like children at the sight of a demon horde, yet Aedan was given a regiment of boys all of them looking as scared as he likely did his first inspection from a commanding officer.

His captains had been training his men for weeks but he himself had been too busy to personally inspect them. He caught one of his men slouching and in three quick movements the table-leg met the man first behind the shin, once in the gut and then over the back and within moments the man was doubled over on the ground tearing up in pain "Not one man slouches in service to your emperor! Not in front of me! not in front of him! and most certainly not in front of his enemies! Understood?!!!' He'd shouted hefting the downed man back onto his feet with a single hand hearing the chorus of a response in return. During the speech Aedan didn't dare turn his back on the general for a second to check his men but he knew for fact each one was as rigid and straight as the stick he'd brandished as his learning tool earlier; he was still getting used to the idea that that lot of boys were his 'men'.

Aedan still couldn't believe how circumstances had taken him out of active combat for this but it was his duty and he would serve however the emperor saw fit for him to do so. From what he'd heard his new general had quite the esteemed reputation; Aedan hadn't looked into it much preferring to get to know someone personally though from what he had heard his new general was most definitely a man worth following. Aedan waited until all the other regiments began ti disband having been dismissed from their general to finally turn around casting a single glance over his 'boys' a small smirk spread across his lips, each was still standing at perfect attention "Regiment attention!" he shouted over the din of voices and laughter from people making their way to the banquet. The stomps of six hundred soldiers clashed like someone smacking a cymbal against the music of the banquet "Address ranks!" each soldier crisply raised a salute "Aaaaand Dismissed!" Aedan followed suit and returned the salute "I'll see you all bright and early tomorrow, try not to celebrate too hard while I'm stuck with the politicians and inquisitors and make sure the message gets around" Aedan said to his assembled captains each nodding before running off to join their men. Aedan sighed and wished he could partake in the revelries his 'men' would likely find for themselves "Ahh to be young again..." He sighed as he turned to head for the banquet hall. Aedan only took his Halberd and morning-star to the feast not wanting to be bogged down in weapons while eating. Why he was armed in the first place eluded him but he did not question, it was not in his duty to question.

[IDoDrumStuff]

I'll cut the words from your mouth
You'll never speak my name again
Locked up and sold the ******** out
Don't think you won't see me again

→Via Sikil←
Shady Rogue
Via spared a glance at no one as he walked up towards the great August Palace before the group of 7th Army High Ranks. Nobody spared a glance at him, aside from the guard burning a hole in the back of his head with his iron gaze, so he decided returning the favour would only instigate feelings of suspicion towards the assassin and thief..'Is he going to try and rob me?', 'Is he going to cut my throat?'..the usual assumptions. Truth be told, Via enjoyed stabbing more than he enjoyed the cutting of throats, which was why his dagger was shaped as so, to accommodate stabbing to a much greater degree of ease. Not like he would ever use it again where he was going, the battleground was no place for little knives and party tricks like he was used to, it was a place for hammers, swords and shields, barbarians and destruction...a rogue like him wasn't cut out for a war of attrition, but he was adamant that was the main reason he was sent there, given the choice of definite death or certain death.

The General slowed himself, to come beside the rogue and his Sergeant, who's shield was close behind Via's back at all times, so that if he slowed he would be shoved forward without time to think about it, which would normally end with him face first in the dirt, but oh well. He began to offer conversation, asking him how he felt about his current 'situation'...'army life'. Oh he had many things to say about how much he was enjoying army life: firstly the comfortable accommodation, followed closely by the wonderfully thoughtful and kind people he was sharing the experience with, the complimentary garments where also high in his list of things that he just loved about 'army life'. He did have to admit that the accommodation, people and mandatory attire were much greater here than say, a headsman's block, an executioner and a severed head, so his reply to the first statement stood as appropriate, "It's better than a sword to the throat...Sir.", the final coming out after he initially finished and felt the Sergeant behind him almost smash his fist on the back of Via's head, the man didn't move physically, but Via could tell he wanted to, his accidental disrespect to authority would obviously anger those lower than the General who still followed the rules of the hierarchy so blindly. He let the General continue, and realised that this man was actually much friendlier that Via had initially given him credit for, but Via had obviously had some questionable experience with the high ranking before. So he would have free use of his hands, and he would be allowed to eat as a normal human being would be, it was nothing he could complain about, and of course he would be under the ever watchful eye of the inquisitors he was so excited to abandon when the army headed out. He had to hand it to the General..he was actually a fairly tolerable person as far as his current experience of 'army life' had went, and he replied, perhaps his first kind gesture outside of his brotherhood, "Thank you, Sir.". When the General parted from the two, the guard behind him granted Via a token smack on the back with his shield for 'disrespecting authority'. This caused Via to fall on to his chest and face on the cobblestones, and the Sergeant covered it up with a petty "Private! Consider that there's people behind you and keep walking!" before grabbing him by the rope that bound his arms together and pulling him back on to his feet. Via had been embarrassed by this man for the last time, but currently there was very little he could do about it, keeping his head down he walked onward, wanting to brush the dust at least from the front of his assigned armour. "You're very lucky I don't gut you..." he muttered silently, just loud enough for his Sergeant to hear before they continued onward to the front gates of the Palace.

Weapons on his person, and his hands unbound? Was the General genuinely looking for the Sergeant behind him to be killed? The greeting soldier opened the gates for the little band of soldiers, he probably personally recognised each and every one of them, but not Via, and this was expected. If Via was perhaps wearing tattered hooded cloak and face mask, the story would be different because practically everybody knew who 'The Phantom' was and admittedly, more or less everyone had been effected by something he or his Brotherhood had done, which was why many people would have rather seen him beheaded in public than fighting for their safety, the General practically saved his life, for the few more days he would have it...

((Bit of block here..))

I'll come back three times
Once in the name of deceit
Twice for your malice
Three times when I take you away

[CatsAndCatsAndCats]

~Bartok Hallimont~

The guards led them into a small antechamber, where, flanked by four Inquisitors, the Emperor had come to greet them. Rather young, at a mere twenty-seven and on the throne for only two years, Emperor Ludovic, with his handsome, boyish face and thick mane of fair hair, looked little more than twenty. He wore a grand formal gold crown, when a smaller gilded one would have been more appropriate, and kept touching it as if to reassure himself that it wouldn't fall off. His face was alight with genuine excitement as he stepped forward to embrace Bartok. "Hallimont! Ah, but it's good to see that face of yours. My father spoke very highly of you. Something about you being an inveterate, humorless a** whom he'd gladly send off to die in the Demon Lands." The Emperor laughed uproariously, while Bartok could only smile thinly. "I am certain he said something like that, Your Majesty," he said stiffly. "I was under the impression that there was to be some kind of celebration of our commissioning?"

"Dispense with the formalities. I shall give you my blessings after dinner. Now, come into the Great Hall so we can eat." The Emperor headed off to the Great Hall, and the rest of the soldiers followed. Bartok addressed his troops as they passed through the doorway into the Great Hall, with its grand, vaulted ceiling. "Sit wherever you like, but anybody who wishes to discuss strategy, sit with me. Escort Private Sikil to the end of the table with the Inquisitors, and unbind his hands when he is seated." Arch-Inquisitor Tyralai, a sharp-chinned, sour-faced, rather sallow Koradian, sat at the Emperor's right hand, as was traditional, and as the highest-ranking man in the room aside from the Emperor himself, Bartok would be expected to sit at his left.

Almost as soon as the soldiers were seated, a veritable army of servants began to bring out the food. A massive joint of wild boar, thick slabs of roasted fish, massive tureens of soups, salads and vegetables, and gods only knew what else. Bartok stared at all the food, quietly agog. Where did the royal family get all this money? Especially considering the richly woven Komoldim rugs on the floor, the stained glass in the windows and the tapestries hung on the walls. Ludovic gave a beatific smile, and gestured across the table with his fork. "Enjoy it. It may be the last good meal you have in a while. I am led to understand that soldiers on the march live primarily on hard biscuits and salt beef, General." Bartok smiled, shaking his head in reminiscence. "Hopefully, the campaign will be over before we have to subsist on that, Your Majesty. Though I did learn six ways of preparing a dish of rats at the siege of Syrhost, when I was a young sergeant... a long time ago, of course." Saying that, Bartok began to heap his plate with food and put it inside him mechanically. Through almost thirty years of service, he had learned the value of a good meal when you could get one.



((OOC: Time for some chat))

[IDoDrumStuff]

I'll cut the words from your mouth
You'll never speak my name again
Locked up and sold the ******** out
Don't think you won't see me again

→Via Sikil←
Shady Rogue
As the men and women of the 7th Army's officers and specialists groups were lead in to the great August Palace, Via couldn't help but feel a slight deja-vu like feeling, like he had been there before, and seen it all previously...shortly afterwards he remembered that he had on many a mission to steal certain objects from the palace or kill a certain person within it. Not last year he was contracted to kill the Emperor himself, and this was the first contract Via ever turned down on the grounds that fulfilling it would more than likely leave him dead with the Emperor, if he was lucky enough to even get there in the first place, and a large fortune in reward was not enough, as Via was aware that money didn't carry on in to the afterlife. Soon he emerged, the boy with his narcissistic attire and pompous air about him as far as Via could read, and he began to talk to the General, laughing away at his own, pitiful jokes. He infuriated the ageing rogue, and even his voice made Via regret not taking up the chance to cut his throat. Soon the 'great hall' was mentioned, and Via couldn't be more delighted, being out of the Emperor's direct company, indeed he would be sat with some boring old hook nosed Inquisitors, but at least he didn't personally want to gut them..yet.

So they were escorted in, when Via passed his General he said that he was to be unbound when he was seated so that he could eat, to which he replied, loud enough for his Sergeant to take note "There's no rush sir, I forgot I had fingers long ago..". He was shoved along to the end table where four inquisitors were already sat, staring at him like the mangy, bald vultures they resembled. He wondered who was worse off...him for having to put up with their company, or vice versa. He was sat down by his Sergeant, who then drew a knife and cut the binds from his hands roughly, narrowly running the blade along the skin on his right forearm, perhaps as a warning which Via took little notice of. He let out a sigh of relief as he moved his hands back to his front and flexed his fingers slowly, despite the sarcastic tone behind the comment he had made to his General, Via was losing feeling in his hands and it wasn't in the least bit pleasant, he then moved his hands to the table, where he clasped them in front of himself and looked directly at the Inquisitor before him, who simply stared straight back at him with empty eyes, before slowly turning to watch the food being brought in.

It was brought in so elegantly, in portions Via had never imagined, a whole boar just slapped on to a table top like it were an entrée, platters of fruit, massive pots of soups and broths and other things Via had only dreamt of, after living in solitude for years with a group of mercenaries and assassins, food became a luxury regardless of it's portion size, he could have an apple and be appeased for hours. Before Via and his enviable company was a pot of soup, and a platter of vegetables, no meat, no hearty drinks..just soup and vegetables, and to make the matter worse, the Inquisitors had already collected their soup to their bowls before Via was even given one, leaving him with a fine selection of vegetables..lettuce..carrots..leeks..it was a heaven he couldn't begin to comprehend. Sitting silently as the Inquisitors rambled on about politics and the state of the 7th Army, Via let his eyes wander the hall and admire it's grand design, and then let his eyes roam the other people in the hall with him, few interesting faces sprung out, and so he simply went back to staring in to blank nothingness and enjoying the feeling of having his hands free. It wasn't long before hunger for the better of him, and he said to no one in particular, "The Boar looks nice..", to which he was quickly met with "indeed..as do these vegetables..", all the Inquisitors at the table stopping and looking directly at Via, before the same one asked "aren't you hungry?" in a teasing manner..this man knew Via was being tortured, and he had to resist the urge to pull the knife from his right hip and stab him in the throat. "Oh no..I was simply complimenting how... well cooked it looks.." he said, giving the Inquisitor no pleasure in watching him suffer...it was going to be a long night.

I'll come back three times
Once in the name of deceit
Twice for your malice
Three times when I take you away

[Dark Sea Captain]

↘↘ Br o c k e n

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxNa i l w o o d ↙↙

✘✘✘We fight for the greater good !

With a small smirk Brocken gave a small nod before making his way forward still. Potato-peeling duty was it? Brocken could only laugh inside at the thought. But thanks to the Inquisition Broken couldn't let his happiness be on display for to long now could he? Glancing over at Bartok when he began to speak again about matters of grave importance Brocken could only wonder what was going on with the demons. Brocken had heard reports of a demon infestation in Blegvad, on the west coast. Lie he said them being in the Old Lands was nothing new but an attack on Koradus? That was very strange. It seemed as if they would be marching out soon. And Brocken understood why. This was very dangerous news. " I will make sure everything is ready when the time comes to move out sir. Worry not." With that Bartok moved back in the line and Brocken kept moving forward. It seemed as if the people who were battle hungry would see there fill of blood soon. Brocken on the other hand would have to get his magic and strategy ready. He didn't think they would be moving out so soon. But maybe this is a good thing. When they reached the castle Brocken looked at the guards before they began speaking. Diverting his eyes away from them once they spoke Broken sighed and followed the guards into the small antechamber. Looking at the young Emperor Brocken rubbed his chin and closed his eyes thinking back to when the High Elves ruled. Sadly thanks to there pride and traitors there rule over there own area was cut down. Opening his eyes and when Bartok spoke Brocken made his way into the Great Hall with the others when the time came. Sitting down and watching as the food came in Brocken eyed the food for a while before even thinking about partaking in the meal. Something about all of this just felt...wrong. This meal was not cheap. Nor the fancy having's of the Emperor. Rubbing his chin and sighing Brocken began to fill his plate and partake in the meal

Or so they say!✘✘✘

[obsidiankatana]

Ekkehard Heldenhammer
Commander of the Seventh Army Cavalry

_____________________________________________________

Ahh, the Emperor. In all his grandeur, finery, and that heavy crown upon his brow. None of which was too necessary, but the mindset of the young was something of a mystery to Ekkehard. At least, young royalty. He understood the materialistic tendencies of youth but not to the extent that this lad carried them to. Perhaps he felt a need to cement his rule in his own mind through displays of wealth and icons of power. It made more sense that anything else he could think of at the moment, though that meant little as he lent the matter little thought. The prospect of a good meal was far too distracting to keep Ekkehard's mind dwelling on the origins of the Emperor-child's attire. Then again, it didn't take very much at all to keep Ekkehard occupied with that train of thought.

As Bartok suggested, Ekkehard traveled to the far side of the banquet hall and settled himself to Bartok's left along the length of the table, leaving the head of it to the Emperor, Bartok, and the Arch-Inquisitor. The Cavalry Commander was not proud enough a man to lord his position over others but recognized its significance and the social expectancies of such stature. That, and the food was better the farther up the table you sat. Just as the thought crossed his mind the food was delivered, and such a feast it was. Ekkehard wasted no time in filling a mug to the brim with frothing ale, loading his plate with great slabs of boar meat and fish, and a second of bread with which to soak up the juices already filling any openings left on his dishware (not that there were many). It was the man's honest opinion that one never grew in social stature to the point where he could not enjoy a good feast, and Kordhelian men were a hearty breed that took great joy in their meals and the company that followed them.

Not even the presence of the Inquisitors could sully such a meal. Ekkehard had no love of these men, despite understanding their role in the Empire. To doubt the rule of the Emperor was to speak blasphemies, but it was not by threat of retaliation that great men ruled. No, truly great men needed no reinforcement to their rule. It was by force of charisma and a vision worth working towards that kingdoms rose and fell. This lad that wore the crown now - he was a small man next to his father. Yet to prove himself in the eyes of the citizenry, This, unfortunately, was where the Inquisitors were at their most dangerous. It was also where a common man could most easily lose faith in the crown under which he toiled. It took a careful balance of maintaining a leash on the Inquisitorial lapdogs upon those expressing understandable doubts and loosing it upon those truly seeing to usurp a grand thing. They were a tool much as the Armies were, but one loosed upon their own people exclusively. This was Ekkehard's main concern with them. Despite all attempts to the contrary, the Inquisition's wrath would only ever be unleashed on servants of the Empire.

Banishing such dark thoughts, the Kordhelian man dug in to his food. Several bites into the boar and a number of gulps of mead later, Ekkehard turned towards Bartok.

"Much as I'd hope the strategy you spoke of pertained to the food, I assume it was meant for the battlefield. Share your schemes with us, General, that we might plan in the company of good friends and good drink."

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[quiksilver001]

Tahlia Yasil

Invention does not consist in creating out of void..

The group in front of her stopped so she stopped with them, craning her neck to try and see what the hold up was. She heard the low rumble of voices in the distance before the group started moving once more. She glanced behind her, wishing for the solace of the tents and receiving a glare from the soldier behind her for holding him up. She raised her eyebrows defiantly, wondering what his rush to be surrounded by the gentry was. She followed the group ahead of her into the hall, taking little notice of her surroundings as she peered through the bodies to find the back of the bound man. The group in front of her stopped again and she sighed audibly, recieving a dig in the ribs from the soldier behind her. She turned to confront him when something from the front of the crowd caught her attention. She stood on tiptoe, her auburn head barely raising above those around her as she spotted what the hold up was. She whistled through her teeth lowly, narrowing her eyes as she braced herself for another dig, hearing a subdued chuckle from behind her. She remained on tiptoe, watching the boyish figure who greeted the group in front until a head blocked her view. She lowered onto her heels slowly, rubbing the back of her neck with one hand as she waited for the crowd to resume walking. She caught snatches of the conversation, fighting to keep her face straight at the peal of laughter that broke out from the Emperor.

She fell back into step behind the group as they moved on, following them into the dining hall. She finally saw who she had been following as they filtered into their seats, her eyes following the General as he sat at the Emperor's side, her gaze briefly flicking to that great ornate crown before moving on in distaste. She hung back as the bound man was led to the end of the table, surrounded by nothing but inquisitors. She followed them to the end of the table, eschewing the boar in favour of sitting as close to the bound man as she could on the opposite side of the table. She recieved a few disapproving stairs from inquisitors, countering with a blank expression she had learnt from previous, if sporadic, interaction with them. She glanced accross the table at the unbound man, her expression carefully neutral as she asked "Have you finished with the vegetables?"

..But out of chaos.

[IDoDrumStuff]

I'll cut the words from your mouth
You'll never speak my name again
Locked up and sold the ******** out
Don't think you won't see me again

→Via Sikil←
Shady Rogue
Via was growing painfully impatient of the constant chatter from the monotonous inquisitors around him, he was very close to hurting somebody if something interesting didn't happen soon. He would even take the 'Emperor' talking aloud over these infuriating, vulture like men. He stared blankly at the platter of vegetables, he wasn't a fan of soup but the aroma of it was becoming tempting from the bowls around him, had the situation been different Via wouldn't go near the stuff, but as things progressed a desperate man would change his ways to get himself comfortable again. He didn't even want to strike up conversation, he knew that they would just belittle him, and insult him; this would only lead to some kind of violent retaliation, justified in his eyes and probably the eyes of all around him, but the inquisitors had much more power than anybody who would take his side, and so he stayed silent. He eventually lost track of what they were talking about, fixating his vision on a carrot wondering how he could use it to perhaps murder the Inquisitor to his direct right, he began to realise why he was normally bound.

It was then when someone sat down in front of him, someone who he didn't initially recognise. She was an attractive red haired woman, sitting more or less directly opposite him, the Inquisitors looked at her as if to say 'you're not supposed to be sitting here', but they said nothing directly to her, they would probably file a complaint to someone or another Via imagined. She looked to him with a fairly blank, emotionless expression and asked him, he assumed sarcastically about the vegetables. Looking to the pile of green, orange and yellow he simply looked back and smirked at the woman before him, the scar from his right lip stretching upward and almost touching his right ear as he did so, which left a tight feeling in that area of his face which he had become almost completely numb to, the fresh branding on his back from the short spell he spent in the dungeon of this very Palace, that was one recent enough to feel, as the initial scabbing of the wound was yet to die down, which often made leaning directly on to his back a painful task. The rogue, whilst continuing his characteristic smirk, said "unless my company would like to indulge, I think we're finished with them.." before shooting a glance to an Inquisitor diagonally to his right, who looked displeased with is attitude, like it had some effect on the man.

I'll come back three times
Once in the name of deceit
Twice for your malice
Three times when I take you away

[NovemberRain181]

XxX~ Aedan Threshervan ~XxX
Major of the fourth regiment, fifth division, seventh army.

Aedan had to admit that even his armor all buffed and polished for the occasion was completely dull and looked in fact shoddy in comparison to the gleaming arms and armaments of the palace guard as he entered the hall uneasily making eye contact and staring down one of the gatekeepers upon passing. The man had been dressed like an armored Trasta bird from his homeland, his father had kept one as a pet when he was younger but past that he kept no recollection in his mind; the mans eyes seemed blank though as if staring out at nothingness. Aedan had to admit if he was assigned to a gate he'd be just as bored standing at attention all day just for appearances. The man was practically paid to stand like he had a pike crammed up his rear which then got Aedan thinking of how someone was able to acquire such a position given how young the guard had looked though he easily summed it up to family status and wealth. As he passed he saw the General speaking with young emperor himself and bowed his head out of respect passing by quickly and silently easily slipping past many of the more notables sliding like the black oily shadow color of his armor over to where many of the infantry officers were gathering with drinks in hand.

A few of the other officers recognized him and greeted him offering him drinks which he kindly refused "Too early in the night" he said simply which implied that he'd rather not be seen drunk in front of others of his rank. He honestly much preferred to do his drinking in the taverns with the men where he was very much less often capable of making a total drunken arse out of himself; not to mention that the sheer fact that many of the men he was currently surrounded by were obsessed over the state of their high-breeding disgusted him frankly. It looked as if most of them had spent the last week polishing their badges just for this which in turn made him sigh. They were about to be sent out into the battlefield where life was hell and these men of 'status' were eating roast duck and dividing into cliques, cavalrymen with cavalrymen. Infantry like himself bunched together to the right over by most of the food that was now beginning to be brought out and other specialists weaving through the crowd. Aedan heard the general tell them to seat where they like though he'd be discussing strategy with those nearest to him. Aedan found that option much better than hearing about how the captain beside him managed to hide in a nearby monastery's bathhouses for the priestesses; He was tempted to backhand the man just out of respect for tradition but instead chose to slink away and appear close to the General's side by the table taking his seat to the to left of the cavalry commander himself choosing not to take a plate. When offered one he politely declined with a simple shake of his head and instead leaned in close to not miss out on the conversation.

The Cavalry commander beside him was a large gruff-looking bear of a man and much like most of the troops gathered at that point was eagerly devouring their way through their plates. Aedan reluctantly stood and gathered a mug of ale spotting a sight which made hims stiffen for a moment. His eyes narrowed and he raised the mug of ale to his lips taking a single sip before he began moving once more passing the elf woman who looked completely out of place in the garbs she were attired a hiss of a voice coming out as his shoulder bumped into her on his way past "Watch it knife-ear" he said careful not to spill his drink. His halberd clinked as it bounced off the back of his armored form with each step as he walked away ready to make his way back to his seat at the table.

[70 Percent Ethanol]

+Vidar S. Grey. Beauclerc+
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The Master Archer; (1-5th Division) Archer Regiment, Seventh Army

It was foolish of him to think that every single passing-out ceremony would have a new speech. He always expected some new content, and yet he never received it. It was the same drabble every time, and probably boring enough to put half of the army to sleep. Or at least, that was his opinion. Had Vidar not been in a patient mood, he might have fallen asleep where he stood whilst listening to the General spout out nonsense that would never come from his own mouth. The words were fed to him by others. When will they ever let the General give his own speech? Be it flawed or not, it would be better than hearing so much repetition. Luckily, it came to an end at a decent time. Vidar had been bored, which was more than likely obvious to anyone who saw his expression during the lecture, but not to the point where it dampened his mood. He still wore a neutral attitude upon his features. The fact that they were headed towards something great next was probably what kept him going. A feast. Oh, how he longed for it. He felt as though his stomach was ready to digest itself.

The entire trek up to the location of said meal Vidar had remained silent, only listening to the others as they conversed about the good and the bad. He didn't mind staying out of the conversation, and in fact found it more enjoyable to let the others talk amongst themselves while he simply eavesdropped back and forth between various chats. Sometimes he'd ignore everyone else entirely, tuning out every sound that wasn't natural. He could hear his self-made armor making distinct clacking noises as he walked, though it wasn't nearly as annoying as the sounds that came from the armor of others. His bow was hidden under his cape, along with his stock of small-sized arrows, where it always was when he wasn't in battle. It fooled a lot of people. It was incredibly hard to determine who he was (if someone didn't know him already) unless he was firing a wave of arrows at demons and hitting them in the face, laughing afterwards. The only weapon always visible was his wider-than-most rapier. Vidar could use it to be useful, or to be the one that pissed everyone off by fooling around with the demons as he gradually cut them down, causing them to get angrier and even more aggressive than before. He was getting better about that bad habit, though. Noticing how many people began to despise him for that made him realize that it wasn't much fun for the ones the demons took their anger out on, so he stopped. Tried, at least. He still does it, but it's uncommon.

Now that they were in the dining room, Vidar's excitement for food became close to unbearable. He hadn't eaten since the day before because he'd been so busy working with his divisions. After grabbing a small bite to eat for his grumbling stomach (rumored to be the size of a peanut), he remained standing, one arm crossed with the other holding a fancy looking glass holding a sweet beverage of some sort. Vidar had absolutely no idea what it was, but he drank it without a moment's hesitation. He could have stayed standing in the same spot for the rest of the feast, but at the mention of strategy discussion, he felt obligated to sit near Bartok's location. So he did, and now only waited to see what the General might have been scheming.

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OOC: Hope this is alright for an intro. ;v;