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Wildear19

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Post: 97234835_136 created on Sun, 23 Aug 2015 01:07:20 +0000
Posted: Sun, 23 Aug 2015 01:07:20 +0000

Torvény Ingvar Yate

Torvény ignored his sister. In fact, the crown prince ignored everyone. His head throbbed in time with annoying click-clack, click-clack of his sister’s damnable heels and her grating conversation with the lord and lady Beauson. It took every ounce of restraint he had not slap his sister across the face. Instead of giving her the open handed slap she so rightfully deserved, Torvény deepened his scowl and kept walking, albeit at a more appreciate pace, given the statue of their company. Where Alessandra was all smiles and politeness to their guests, Torvény was one silent brooding scowl and one monumental searing migraine. He wondered if Alessandra was at all familiar with the old Southern proverb, ‘you can’t lance a boil with sheep’s wool’. Probably not.

Unfortunately, his sister was far more interested in drinking and probably contracting venereal disease then reading the fascinating insights of current scholars and of thinkers of old. A pity, maybe if she opened a book every now and then, she might realize the rot eating away at their city couldn’t be treated with cloth, it had to be cut away with a dispassionate hot knife. As they reached the quarters set aside for unwholesome sea slugs and the lady Beauson Torvény untangled his arm from his sister’s death grip. Let someone else deal with her grating chatter and gushing concern for the sick and poor, someone like. . . Mortimer Beauson, with any luck, Alessandra’s outing should keep her busy and more importantly, out of his way until dinner. Thankfully, Torvény had more important things to do then watch his sister feed stray kittens or whatever charity she wanted to waste her time with.
“please make yourself at home,” Torvény said in parting to the lady Beauson, he ignored his sister completely, largely because he had the very powerful urge to slap her. So for her sake he strode away, going back the way they had come. His next order of business? Find his brother.

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Post: 97234835_137 created on Mon, 24 Aug 2015 16:19:03 +0000
Posted: Mon, 24 Aug 2015 16:19:03 +0000

= Guardian of the Mountains =

Vormund der Berge

Vormund for his part, made almost no visible commentary as the meeting wound down to its conclusion. Which was probably for the best, given the very long list of materials he’d have to write up and sent back home. To say he was skeptical about the peace talks was putting it mildly, Vormund had been in enough wars and minor battles to know one thing, prepare for the absolute worst. He needed to make sure the North, with it’s consider wealth of iron had enough to endure a prolonged conflict, among other things. Which meant invoices, letters, and the like. The very thought of exactly how many of those damned things he was going to have to write, was enough to deepen his already considerably deep scowl.

With the meeting ended and everyone going off to their various rooms, Vormund hung back a bit, a great big gleaming scowling mountain of man as he watched his lord and the lady Eyre for a moment. He might have been out one eye, but he wasn’t blind and he was old enough to see love when it bloomed in front of him. well it’s about time, he thought as he withdrew. Vormund wasn’t stupid, and he’d be a fool to not send guards with the lord and lady, motioning to some of the Latham guards he gave them strict orders to nearby the lord Latham and the lady Eyre. Though at such a distance as to give the two some space for a privacy while being close enough to jump into action should something awful happen. Vormund doubted it would however, but it was always good to have a plan ready just in case it did. With that taken care of, Vormund retired for the night, shedding his shredded armor and tossing it aside, revealing the plan homespun shirt and pants he wore underneath.

There were some, Florenz for example, who believed Vormund lived in his armor, which wasn’t far from the truth as the old knight spent most of his dressed for battle. It was just that given the state of the armor that had protected him from all sorts of nasty arrows, hammer blows, sword thrusts, and the like, there was really no point in sleeping in it tonight. He almost felt naked without it. In any case, Vormund slept, and slept like a brick that had other heavy bricks stacked on top of it. There were no dreams worth remembering.

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Post: 97234835_138 created on Mon, 24 Aug 2015 20:54:07 +0000
Posted: Mon, 24 Aug 2015 20:54:07 +0000

xxxxxxxxxxxxxGaran Henrik Latham
The Lord of House Lathamxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adrift on a silent sea
The cold night surrounds me
Black ice forms beneath
The waves of a childhood dream
A far light hypnotized

It ebbs and flows and comes and goes
And rips you up and lets you go
It eats inside and splits your mind
As you search around for others kind

It's getting colder
I'm getting colder
Let it get colder until I can't feel anything at all

x ✁

The young lord's lips shifted ever so slightly upwards as Etana took his hand, and continued to rise as she declared her night not quite over yet. Frankly, it was late, but who cared for a few hours of sleep anyway? He'll just be sure to be especially kind to her tomorrow whilst the two of them remained peevish in the earlier hours. He watched as her hands raised to fix his jacket, and he felt a sudden urge to pull a lock of her hair back behind an ear. Once all their primping each other was done, he grinned at her and motioned toward the door, watching as Vormund sent a few after them in the distance. Such things were normal, though.

He led her down the halls, sharing small snippits of jokes and conversation about the day and the feast. She truly had a distaste for greens, and he jested about the meats in equal turn. By the end they were grinning wryly at each other before moving on toward the quips and comments aimed at the various guards and family members, even ranging toward funny things they had noticed on the road. That one poor lad which had fallen into that stream. The other which seemed to never be happy when Garan was around. That one who accidentally led a horse too close to Etana and had to spend the next hour before sundown attempting to run it down. Eventually, though, the two fell silent and all pleasant conversation had left them, and there was not much more to say. They spent a few more moments--or an hour--being grossly infatuated with each other. Thankfully, between the guards Vormund assigned to them plus the ones Garan assumed Baldrik sent to lurk in the hedges, only a few light touches of the arm, plus a few kisses were exchanged. By the end of it all, Garan escorted Etana to her bedroom and made his way to the place provided for him.

Slipping into his room, he hardly remembered the various things he needed to worry about, and found himself grinning all the way to his undressed state and slipping into his bed without much care. He did halt at his trousers, finding it odd that he nearly slipped into bed with them on. The eldest Latham hadn't been a strong advocate for sleeping with clothes on, but had begun doing so once Etana became aware that his bed was somehow warmer than her own. He sighed, considering whether or not she would attempt to pull the same again now that they were in her parent's home. The chances were slim, and so he stripped back down and slipped into his bed.

His dreams drifted as his mind led on making lists of things he needed to tend to and care for in the morning. Vormund would add to it, and he would not find much rest at all until they left for the road, yet again. The road led on, though, and eventually all those who he imagined were with him drifted, and the dirt path soon faded into a grassy field. He also found that the horse under him was not a horse at all, but hooves that seemed to respond to his mind alone. He snorted, realizing that he was shifted into the alternative form, larger than any and with double-sets of horns and a thick skin. The usual panic and struggle between his mind and that of the shifter was gone, though, leaving only him in control of the body, and no fear to spur him into a raging panic. Instead, he gave into the whim of going on a little trot, and soon slipped into a canter and then to a sprint. He felt no telltale pain in his chest, and while he was winded after a long time, he found that there was no ache or sudden lack of air. His head didn't grow groggy and his muscles ached, but in a pleasant way.

The worries of tomorrow would hold off for another day, as far as Garan was concerned at this very moment.

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Post: 97234835_139 created on Mon, 24 Aug 2015 21:49:07 +0000
Posted: Mon, 24 Aug 2015 21:49:07 +0000

D O R O O N xx K O R O D U L L E N
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

{

}

oroon beamed at the compliment, practically glowing. Part of him knew that Sir Christopher valued him and his work, but it was always nice to hear that one's hero said good things. He continued on about the rest of the day, noting that Vaughan didn't choose to speak much, but when he did it was usually extremely polite and pleasant. Doroon guessed it was trained, from living up on the hill all his life. He probably didn't spit, scratch his butt, or do all manner of other things that many of the other boys had grown accustomed to doing since they had been separated from the finer way of living as page-boys. Naturally after an extended visit home they would have to adjust to the swap of lifestyles, but it was amusing to see someone as old as Doroon was, and yet not be broken of that behavior. He did join late, too. Some exceptions were made for some reason, obviously. Perhaps he was wealthier than the rest?

"Oh, if you're sure?" he questioned, eyeing Vaughan a little and wondering just how easy or hard he would have to take it to spar so that he didn't overpower his new squire too soon, nor offend him by underestimating him. He was a little shocked, though, as he ended up following after Vaughan, the blond's pace quickening with the anticipation of touching the weapons and likely showing off his skills. Doroon watched as he picked up the sword and asked about it. If he was new to combat, sparring against a different weapon would not do, and Doroon himself was less skilled with a sword than he was with a polearm. It would do well to re-run the lessons and practice against someone less skilled for a change. Perhaps teaching would aid him to learn? "Alright, swords sound fine to me," Doroon made his way to the rack and eyed the various weapons, deciding on which practice blade he wished to use. They were all dull, but swinging something too heavy would still leave a considerable bruise, or in some occasions could break something. The heavier weapons were also left to those more skilled and to those who could control their movements to avoid such unfortunate occurrences.

The red-headed squire decided upon a single-handed sword, testing the thing to ensure it was still in good order before stretching his arms and waist a bit and heading over to Vaughan. His perpetual grin stayed plastered on his face, "Right! So I suppose since we don't know each other's strengths we should do some light sparring. None of that 'all-out' swinging or anything like that." It was commonly considered a rookie's mistake to do that anyway, but Doroon was still unclear as to what Vaughan knew and didn't know.

He readied himself, sinking into a common stance, and took a few breaths to carefully watch Vaughan's movements. He eventually gave a small test jab and then another. Once he was sure the blonde had some skill, he shifted and circled a little. What came next was a common maneuver, again testing the waters. Finally, he approached. A jab, low, then a squinter cut to the side to block whatever incoming attack he left opening for, and ending with a jab and then an cross-cut in quick succession.

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Post: 97234835_140 created on Mon, 24 Aug 2015 22:54:50 +0000
Posted: Mon, 24 Aug 2015 22:54:50 +0000

xxxxDavid Franc

Spirits of the night communicate with me
Their visions of a future of what is yet to be

'Til the moment comes around
Like I've been here once before
And I'm questioning the truth
No escaping déjà vu

If I could harness this power
Assume absolute control
Of my visions from a future
No one will ever know

The painter raised her eyebrows at the response she received. That certainly was.... well, quite a bit to say. Florenz had the same reaction, and she remembered how grateful she was that the explanation about vocabulary wasn't necessary. He let out a small 'okay' as she wondered whether or not she should give an equally unsure response. At least keep up with the ruse that they were not of nobility, "Lot of awful long words there." she commented, nodding to him, "If it means friendly company, though, it works for me." The rest of the instructions were fairly simple, and she was already looking to Florenz to see which he wished to do. He seemed set on the wood.

“Circumvent the monotony?” She sighed at the same time and shrugged, "I figured it was safer to play dumb at it. Too much intelligence and we'll appear wealthy enough for misdeeds to befall us. I'd rather avoid that." Florenz went on to suggest her chore, as she fed the small fire a little bit more twigs whilst sending a glance toward the horse, "I'll go get the rocks then. I'm sure I can keep an eye on her from there, and if you need anything give a holler. It isn't hard to hear around here, what with the water being pretty calm."

David left Florenz to go off on his own and shifted her attention to the river. Her first move was to yank her shoes off and roll up her chaps to wade into the freezing water and withdraw a few rocks large enough to not be considered pebbles. She sent a few glances back toward Mist, but didn't see anything amiss aside from the horses's grateful and more chipper demeanor at the break. She even found a clear spot and dropped down to roll in the dirt, to her glee. David grinned as she headed back, an armful of rocks held close to her chest. The fire pit was built around the small area she had already cleared and begun to fill, the meager flame now contained.

Sighing, she looked about herself and wondered what else there was to do. She could attempt to gather herbs or whatever, but she had no clue what anything was when it wasn't already ground-down and resting in piles within a bag. The most she could guess at was basil, or rosemary, but she doubted such things were honestly needed out on the road like this. She wasn't about to go picking up mushrooms or other plants for fear of nearly being eaten again by some stupid flower, and she certainly wasn't going to pick up a bug on the off-chance it had some stinger that would paralyze her just long enough for a troll to walk by. Overall, she once again concluded she hated the Elynbrigge lands and camping in general. Instead, she collected a few more sticks, just nearby, and pet Mist, running her fingers gently through her mane in an attempt to make her feel a bit better and relaxed.

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Post: 97234835_141 created on Tue, 25 Aug 2015 21:57:30 +0000
Posted: Tue, 25 Aug 2015 21:57:30 +0000

Speirr "Talon" Tynan
The Outlaw Archer

Speirr was glad to be away from there for the moment. Not that he was ted of them already, but once away, he turned back, under cover of the forest foilae and looked back, listening in with his heightened hearing. He was able to pick up a few bits of their conversation from where they thought him out of ear shot, and what he was able to pick up, well didn't really help him discern too much about them aside from what he already knew. Regardless, they didn't belong out here, that much was obvious from looking at them, so he had to wonder why...

Well, thinking on it wasn't going to catch him a meal any time soon, so he put those thoughts aside and seriously got a move on this time. Normally his hunts went down as something of a ritual, to him anyway, where he'd find traces of his prey to be and then follow them and stalk them, not just to track them down, but to get as close as possible before he made his move. Today he couldn't do that, he had to provide for others now, which meant getting it done quickly. Bran, his faithful wolf companion, came up to his side, happy as could be to be beside his human companion like this again instead of a distance. Speirr ruffled the wolf' fur on his head, before he moved into a trot. Bran sensed it of speirr, this hunt was going to have to be fast. Which meant that speirr and bran both were now moving at a good pace, traversing the forest floor with expertise and grace even. This was their element, and the two worked as well together as any pack of wolves would.

With his bow in hand along with a few arrows held by the same hands fingers, he caught the scent of something, more than just earth and plants, an animal smell, and as he looked to the ground, he kneeled and bran noticed the scent first, where Speirr saw the tracks. Deer. The tracks were still fresh, the edges of the track still moist, the grass still fairly plodded down, not yet haven sprung back up to standing yet. Rising up, he pulled an arrow from his quiver instead of his finger held arrows, those were for quick draws, and pulled the arrow onto the string, twisting his fingers along the fletching to turn the arrow until the string found the nock and fitted into it, where he pulled it back to full readiness now. Staying low, he moved swiftly but quietly, his steps chosen meticulously so to not make any noise and leave as few of his own tracks behind.

Now while hunting for sure involved a lot of skill, more often than not, it's luck that plays an equally large role in hunting. He came around a tree, and by a small stream that fed into the ne near camp most likely, was a deer drinking from it. In the bushes, he edged closer, stepping with his feet sideways, planting his full foot to the ground before advancing. This one wasn't all that big despite it being full grown, likely a runt. Speaking a small chant voicelessly, he drew the bow back to half draw, feeling the force of the bow, string, and cable backing working against his pull. Taking a breath, he held it as he leveled his bow at his target, aimed, both eyes open but in line with his arrow. He waited a moment before he drew the bow back to full draw, and exhaled, loosing the arrow and it flew fast. The deer likely didn't have time to even hear the small 'wha-whap' sound the arrow made as it flexed against the bow while it was shot before the deer was hit. The narrow triple blade arrowhad he used piercing the animal, which shocked it severely and it panicked, but the placement of his shot was good and it went down after a few paniced leaps.

Bran barked and speirr rubbed his head as he stood from the bushes and made his way over quickly, drawing a knife. When he got there the deer was still breathing, but unable to move as it bled out. "I'm sorry for taking your life, brother. Rest assured, your life will not be in vain as your body will sustain mine and others. So rest peacefully." He said, before slipping the short blade into the deer, the same spot his father showd him years ago on how to end an animal's suffering quickly. Sighing, the der stopped moving and breathing all together. Drawing back his knife, he pulled his arrow, wiped it off and put his arrows back into the quiver, and his bow over his torso. He quickly dressed the deer, bleeding it out and removing the entrails, covering them with some light dirt so they wouldn't immediately stink.He skinned up one leg and and popped the joint, before cutting the leg off completely and tossing it to bran, who grabbed up his portion. Pulling the deer over his shoulders, he started the trek back to camp. This was a fairly quick hunt, so he wondered how far they had gotten on the tasks he had given them.

┏▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬┓
Location: Elynbrigge Territory - East Road Campsite
Company: Bran, Florenz, David.
Status: Healthy
Inventory: Bow & quiver of arrows(x30), sword, forest ax, knives(x7), leather satchel, map & compass, cloak, arrow heads, feathers, cordage, leather wrapped bottle of mead, metal canteen & cup, metal plate, fish hooks, fire steel, flint, steel tinder tin, whetstone, can of fat, can of herbs & spices, rags, braided twine, tarpaulin, triple braided rope, linens, spare materials, dried meat, fruits and a bit of bread, padded pouch of coins.

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Post: 97234835_142 created on Thu, 27 Aug 2015 01:39:48 +0000
Posted: Thu, 27 Aug 2015 01:39:48 +0000

Places: music room, the palace at Iskra ~~~ Faces: Connor, and Val

“Oh, you know how he could be.” Someone could have been mean, or spoken without thinking, and the Prince take it completely the wrong way. Wouldn’t be the first time such a thing occurred, nor would it be the last.

“I think it was more a conversation of notes, rather than words,” she offered a grin. “However, I shouldn’t take up all of your time. I’m quite adept at it should you not watch me carefully. There’s a limited amount of time for you to set about raiding the grand library before you’re taken away again, and I would feel very guilty should I not let you at least make a small dent.”

She looked to the Duke. “Do enjoy your dinner, Duke Valentine. I’m sure the trip to the summit will help you get into fit form, so don’t shy away from those special delicacies.”

She started walking towards the door. “I’m sure you both know where to find me should you need me.”

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Post: 97234835_143 created on Fri, 28 Aug 2015 05:31:28 +0000
Posted: Fri, 28 Aug 2015 05:31:28 +0000

xxxxx It was cold. He knew that, felt that. It made his skin feel as though a hundred ants were crawling across it, picking at the hairs on his back, his neck, his arms and legs. He imagined the ants yanking and pulling at the stalks of hair, saw them biting into his skin. But he was cold and shivering and that was the end of it. Though, strangely, he understood that being cold wasn't the only part of the illusion with which the dream had placed him. Because he wasn't cold, but he was in a cold place. It was dark, empty, and seemingly spaceless while at the same time having walls, a floor, and a ceiling. A place he could only describe as being nothing from something. His imagination, perhaps, or simply being trapped in a large chest. When he tried to rise the ceiling of nothing would push him back down and pull his knees closer. He was naked, kneeling, and staring at the nothingness below him. He could see, strangely, because his body was the only thing that held color, as if he were in the full light of day, yet the world around him was completely empty. Strange dream, he thought, and he knew very much that it was a dream. He was aware, he'd had this dream before. The few talks he'd had with some of the older soldiers told him that this dream, if it had been recurring, must've had a deeper meaning than what he was simply seeing. It was his mind, they had told him, trying to send him a message that he'd been ignoring. But what the message could be, drenched in darkness, shadow, and cold, was unknown to him. He'd never been a man to think around corners, he lacked imagination that way. Maybe it was because he wasn't allowed to daydream when he'd been young and only understood the realistic, necessary, experiences one must have in order to survive past training. His father had always told him that to daydream was to be a fool, and to be a fool was to be a dead man. While not entirely wrong, he still felt some anger over his father for what he'd not been allowed to experience. That was not to say, though, that his father was entirely cruel. He was certainly cruel --- to a degree. He never outright beat his son, he never outright insulted or attacked his son emotionally. He was, for the most part, impartial to his son. What he did was for the good of his son's life, it would keep him alive well until he was old enough to settle down and that was the important thing. In his father's mind, a dead imagination was the price to pay for a living child.

xxxxx It was his mother though who kept his childish side alive throughout all those years of harsh training and practice. He couldn't remember her smile or her face in complete detail now however, he'd been away from home far too long. He did remember that she had the complexion of porcelain and long hair that looked like fire. She had bright blue eyes that, to him as a child, seem to be the eyes into her very spirit. While his father would rough him up during the day, his mother would hold his hand and tell him stories. She'd sing him little songs, ones in her calm, flowing voice that reminded him of silk and wind.

"Hush little lord,
"Don't cry a word
"Mother is casting her protective ward
"And my love is good and free
"But only for one such as thee."

xxxxx The song, he knew, had been much longer. It would span the whole night, so it seemed, and he only knew that when the song ended a new day would've begun and he'd be well rested. There had been a few days where he fell asleep immediately upon landing on his rough bed and he would awake with a blanket wrapping his body closely. Even when his father had caught his mother she still did not break her relationship with her son and refused to leave him cold and wet. Though he rarely saw her as his father had seen to it that she was never around when he returned home, he would still find a fresh bed, fresh stew, and the supplies for a healthy fire awaiting his room. It was no wonder that his father would eventually force him to live in the woods for a month, alone and scared. His father believed he'd been weakened by the tender care and love of his mother and sought to rid him of both of these things. Even when he'd survived the harsh punishments of a cold month in the forest with nothing more than a woodsman's ax and a waterskin his father was still not pleased.

xxxxx Maybe it was because he hadn't been blessed with a caring mother himself, maybe it was because he was jealous of the love his son received. Whatever the case, his father was a hard man, a strong man, and one that was unrelenting with his training. There had only been a few times where his father had shown his heart to his son and while these moments were few and far in-between, they were enough for his son to truly love him. Baldrik the Black, the knight protector of the house Eyre, never hated his father truly. He was angry, yes, but he could never bring himself to truly hate him. There had been plenty of times when he'd wanted to kill his father, but what son hadn't desired to kill his father, and what father had not desired to kill his son at one point or another? The beauty was that they didn't, that they held themselves to a higher level of self-restraint because they loved each other though they did not show it. Baldrik would contemplate if things would be different if war hadn't been waiting 'round the corner when he was young and stupid. He would think and consider this well until he died.

xxxxx Baldrik closed his eyes, squeezed them shut, and then opened them. He was standing in a tavern, a fire burned low at the head of the room while a group of stools sat against a table. A few patrons were lazily drinking from their cups, some were staring at the ceiling. It all looked very familiar. The door at the front of the tavern opened and Baldrik stepped in, a much younger and more alive version. He was sixteen, brash, and stupid. He ordered ale, paid up front with far too much gold. Within a few moments a girl fell into his lap and they negotiated a deal of sorts. She took him up into a room and they lay together. It was Baldrik's first, and last, spent within this tavern. As soon as they had finished and they lay against the bed, Baldrik's father broke into the room and yanked Baldrik by the hair and threw him, naked, into the carriage. Seeing it as a dream, in all of its clarity, Baldrik, the older one, believed he saw a strange smile on his father's face. Baldrik later spent the rest of his day after being yanked from the tavern scrubbing the floor of the kitchens. Even still, his father had done much worse before.

xxxxx The tavern suddenly fell away, the walls crumpling and disappearing into the dark. The nothingness enveloped him again, but only momentarily. The tendrils, dark and cold, sat at the edges of his vision but did not move. In his hand was a sword and in the other was a shield. The sigil of house Eyre sat on the shield. The tendrils rushed forward and Baldrik attacked them. He severed them left and right, able to see them in their full appearance. Long, sinewy, and blurry. The sword cut through them easily but the shield seemed to have a strange effect. When he raised it a bright light would envelope his whole body and the world around him would become clearer. He would be able to see everything. In the dark he saw Etana, but she was grown and no longer needed him. Her husband was her protector now and Baldrik found that he accepted this. He saw Dorian, who was old enough and strong enough to protect himself. He was brave in his own sort of way and was smart enough to not get himself killed immediately. Baldrik understood, however, that Dorian still needed him. And then came the youngest child of house Eyre. Not yet old enough to see war let alone lead a family. The child needed him most of all.

xxxxx The tendrils whipped and lashed against the abyss, fighting itself, and Baldrik understood just then what they were. He cut them off, black blood splashed his naked body. The tendrils seemed to scream, an empty sound that one could feel instead of hear, and then they disappeared. Gone. Vanished. Vanquished.

xxxxx Baldrik, alone, sat in the center of his own psyche and, for the first time in a long time, found it to be very peaceful.

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Post: 97234835_144 created on Fri, 28 Aug 2015 05:51:02 +0000
Posted: Fri, 28 Aug 2015 05:51:02 +0000

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░ ▌▌▌▌▌██████ ᴇ ν ᴇ ʟ ʏ ɴ xн ᴇ ι s н ██████ ▌▌▌▌▌░░░░░░░░░░░░░░
________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

• • • • "A Man's World is No Place for a Woman..... But if a Woman can Fight Like a Man, Who's to Tell Her the World is Not Her's" • • • •

”

Evelyn covered her mouth as she let out a large yawn and did a hard blink. It felt as if she had fallen asleep with her eyes open during the conversation of what to do with the upcoming peace meeting between the North and South. While she knew it was significant for her to listen in on what the course of action was for the upcoming meeting, she was feeling quite faint. She patted her cheeks lightly as the lords and ladies began to stand from the table. Evelyn let out a sigh as she had only picked up some notions about using pirates and to try and hold off on war till they were at better footing, or at least that's what she took from it. The guards stood up straight as the family stood up and had begun to go their separate ways. Evelyn bowed her head to the rest of the guards and the Eyre household as she tried not to seem too desperate when heading towards the kitchen, feeling the cold eye of the mountain man that had come with Lord Latham.

She shut the door behind her gently as her stomach began to growl with a vengeance. Thank gods she had zoned out during the meeting or who knows how much she would have embarrassed herself in public. Now she only had a few cooks giving her weird looks instead of her employers and the fellow guards she was trying to show up. She tried to press down her stomach, but he chest plate made it a bit of a challenge. She could feel herself getting a little light headed as she walked over to a small cupboard she had claimed to herself in the kitchen. She could've easily stored her food in her room, but she didn't want to run the risk of unwanted "guests" in her room, which sent a small shiver up her spine. It wasn't that she was cut off from the food supply of the Eyre household, but by conditioning of her knight training, she had developed a habit of stashing food for herself, and making sure it was known as her food. It took some convincing of the kitchen staff, and especially that she was relatively new to the castle, that it still had to be formally assigned as her cupboard.

Evelyn pulled out a small loaf of bread and some cheese as she could feel the saliva pooling in her mouth. It was nothing like the feast that was laid out for the lords and ladies, but it was food, and mostly fresh, which was better than some other food she had had in her life. She closed the door behind her as she nodded to the kitchen staff, which rolled their eyes and proceeded to clean up the dishes and scraps from dinner. She headed out the door as she reached into her small satchel tucked on her side and pulled out one of her small double blades. Putting the bread in her mouth, Evelyn hummed as she walked over to her quarters to change into some less stifling dress-wear. She used the blade to slice off some cheese as she transitioned the bread to her other hand, consuming the cheese slice. ”Gods… food is wonderful…” She continued to hum as she reached her quarters, which weren’t that far from the Lady Etana’s room, as she was told by fellow guards and Lord Eyre. She let out a tired sigh as she used her shoulder to push the door in, trying to avoid getting dirty door cooties on her food. Her room was simple, with her luggage resting against the side of the room with her bed resting to the left, somewhat near a small window, or more of a slit in the walls. There was a chest in front of the double size bed, which she had begun to fill with clothes, not that she had many. A small table rested by the bed side, hosting a candle and a torch rested against the door. Evelyn pulled out a small cloth from the trunk as she set it on the bed, setting the food on it. She proceeded to sit on the edge of the bed, beginning to remove her armor.

Evelyn’s mind flashed briefly to when the armor used to be such a burden to wear, seeing how it added another ten pounds minimum to her usual weight, which originally delayed her quick footing. She slid off her gloves first and proceeded to take off her boots and leg armor. She could feel the cool air on her skin, and then removing her chest plate made it feel as if she could breathe normally, more relaxed. While most women wore corsets, she would much rather wear a chest plate. She was now wearing a long dress shirt with under wear underneath. She walked over to the right side of the room where an end table rested with a large bowl and a pitcher of luke warm water. She poured the water into the tub as she reached into the drawer of the small table and pulled out a small packet of herbs and a medium sized towel. She placed the packet in the water as she undressed, getting the towel damp to wash herself.

*---------------------------------------------*

Evelyn poured the water out through the slit in the wall as she changed back into a different dress shirt and underwear. Her hair was pushed back and damp from running in the water and smelled faintly like a mix of lavender and mint. She flopped in her bed as she chewed on the bread and cheese, staring at the ceiling. Baths and getting clean were always nice, and were much appreciated whenever one could be taken. While she didn’t mind taking on a man’s role, she didn’t necessarily want to stink like a man either. She shifted herself into an upright position as she reached over to her small satchel. She pulled out a small note book which consisted of small doodles and notes she would write down in her spare time. While she wanted to play her flute, it probably wasn’t best with everyone trying to sleep. She began to doodle as her mind wandered and she just thought about random things. Most of her doodles were of cute drawings or landscapes. When thinking of cute, she kind of thought of the eldest Eyre son. She shook her head fiercely to get the idea out of her head. ”While he maybe attractive… that is dangerous territory Evelyn………… then again, no one really looks at my doodles anyway, plus, it’s only a little thing…. I don’t even know the guy…." She gave out a small chuckle as she continued to just draw things that came to her mind, her eye lids beginning to feel heavy from sleep.

”

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Post: 97234835_145 created on Fri, 28 Aug 2015 06:22:46 +0000
Posted: Fri, 28 Aug 2015 06:22:46 +0000

░A░l░e░s░s░a░n░d░r░a░ ░Y░a░t░e░

The Beggar's Princess

The Phoenix shall rise from the ashes
But only if her country burns first

"Of course, Lord Beauson. I shall meet you in the entryway in an hour's time." She gave a last curtsy to Lady Beauson and Mortimer before they disappeared into their chambers. Her gaze slowly slid to Torveny as he walked away, and with only a few strides of her long legs, she took a place beside him. "It pains me brother that you would not even bid me farewell." She began, staying at his side, sensing the simmering heat beneath his stoic expression. Yet, she could not keep herself from fueling the fire. "Perhaps you should have paid better attention during our etiquette lessons. Sadly, it's socially unacceptable to incinerate your guests." She gave him a gentle pat on the back, and before he could react, she had turned down the next hall, and waved at him over her shoulder.

"Farewell, dear brother." She said, and disappeared behind a corner.

***

Alessandra had taken the hour to change into better walking shoes, a pair of thicker soled sandals, which made her just barely taller than she was without them. Even if she had been barefooted, she would have towered over Mortimer still, as well as many other men in Iskra. Her hair was piled up and off her neck to keep her cool during their excursion, though she still wore the white dress from earlier, as lacing a proper corset would have taken far too long and she had wanted to appear punctual.

"Shall I go see if Lord Beauson is coming?" Said a guard to her right, an older man by the name of Carver.
"No, he's hardly late, wait a bit more before you go disturbing him." She said and he gave a curt nod before staring on, leaving the princess to stand, her gaze sweeping over the courtyard's many entrances. "Though perhaps a kind reminder may be necessary soon."

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Post: 97234835_146 created on Sun, 30 Aug 2015 19:13:44 +0000
Posted: Sun, 30 Aug 2015 19:13:44 +0000

THE MAGICIAN
RAY

"Well gather 'round children, gather 'round," the old man said, his hand wrapping around a dusty old tome with the words "Tales of the Aether" written across it's spine. The cover of the book showed a valiant knight wielding a lance against a fire-breathing dragon with claws dug into the knight's armor. Atop the head of the knight was a silver crown studded with rubies and onyx. The children fell over each other trying to get around the old man. After a few slow, tumbling, moments, the children all sat down with their legs crossed and eyes glittering with hope and adoration. Perhaps it was the old man's appearance. He wore a colorful cloak, a large handlebar mustache, and a twinkle in his eye that was almost as young as the children themselves.

"Now, who here has heard the tale..." the old man began. "Of the King of Dragons?" One small boy raised his hand high into the air while the rest kept their arms down by the side. "Aha! Well, you all best listen closely to my words as I weave them 'round your head until they get caught!' -the old man snapped his fingers- "Like a beast catches its prey. This is the song, the tale, and the legend of the Knight of Elder, also known as the King of Dragons. Listen, crowd, I will tell you everything. I don't know much, though. His legend spans ages! Long than I'd ever been born, if you can believe that." A few giggles spread across the young crowd. A few adults had wandered up to the old man and sat back with small grins and their arms folded across their chests.

"Once, in a city, a kingdom once as large as the entire world, there was a knight. His name is lost now, but his legend remains. The kingdom was called Elder and it stretched from the east sea to the west, with walls as white as snow and towers as tall as the clouds! If you went across the land now, you may find little white stones on the ground, these were the stones of that great wall. Perhaps, if one of you becomes a king or a queen, you can rebuild the kingdom with those very stones. Ah, but that's not the story you've come to hear.

"In a tiny village there lived a young boy who was neither king nor knight, but a dusty carpenter with little in the ways of skill. He could swing a hammer though, aye, he'd been doing it for a long time now. The boy, whose name is forgotten, had been fixing a small house on the east end of the kingdom of Elder. Just a wooden hovel, no more and no less. But, as he had finished the roof, a dragon swept across the land! Brave knights, their armor gleaming and their swords as silver as the moon at night, rode across the land to hunt the dragon and they had finally cornered it. The knights fired arrows and bolts into the hide of the dragon, but its scaly hide did not bend nor crack under the pressure. The arrows bounced off harmlessly and the knights, seeing no other option, charged the dragon.

"Alas, those knights did not last long. With a great heave and a gigantic puff, the dragon breathed pure fire onto their armor. Dragon fire, you see, is hotter than the flames of the sun and is a thousand times more bright. As the knights were killed and reduced to charred remains, the boy watched. The dragon saw the boy and prepared to breath fire unto him, but before it could release the waves of death it thought better. The dragon approached the boy slowly. It said, in its growling voice, because dragons did speak in those days, "Boy, what is your name?"

"The boy replied with his name and the dragon laughed, understanding that the boy was nothing more than a mere carpenter and thatcher, and paid him no mind. The dragon retreated to a cave not far from where the boy stood and over the weeks would come out to kill the villages sheep. The kingdom of Elder sent a hundred soldiers, all knights, into the cave but, as with the first knights, they failed.

"The village slowly began to starve, work was harder to find because people were trying to save their money to buy more food, and the boy suffered along with the rest of his village. As he lay awake in his bed, the boy devised a plan to save his village. He took his hammer and three small nails with him, donned the heavy armor of the knights that had fallen before the cave, and sneaked inside of it while the dragon lay sleeping.

"The boy approached the dragon carefully, slowly, so slowly that his armor did not make a single creak or groan! They say it was the magic of the Gods or perhaps, pure luck. But, the boy approached the dragon with his hammer and nails. The dragon snored mightily, sounding like a hundred horses marching across a metal field. The boy reached the dragon's head and placed a single iron nail against the dragon's eyelid, which was as big as the boys entire head. The dragon felt the iron but did not stir, believing it only to be an irritation. Suddenly, the boy raised the hammer and struck the nail as hard as he could! Wham! Straight into the eye of the dragon. Pain rushed into the dragon's sleeping brain and before he could wake fully, the boy rammed the other nail into the dragon's other eye. Blinding it permanently. The dragon screeched, rose up and above the boy, and blew fire all across the cave! But the boy had rolled under the legs of the dragon and placed the third nail against it's heart. He struck it once, and the dragon wailed, twice and the dragon began to topple, a third time and the nail broke through the scales and into its heart. The dragon, mighty as it had been, fell and the boy escaped the tumbling mass of its body.

"The people of the village had woken up upon hearing the dragon screech and tentatively approached the cave. They found the boy, covered in blood, and the iron nails struck into its face and heart. The people, in their joy, rose the boy above their shoulders never minding the heavy weight of his armor. They paraded the boy all across the village, through the forests, and into the capital of the great city of Elder. There, the king met with the boy. The king had a silver crown made of moonstone and placed it upon the boys head and spoke his new title: "The King of Dragons." The King of Dragons searched across the land with his mighty hammer and a silver lance, killing dragons whenever they plagued a settlement; whether it be a humble village or a great city. The King of Dragons, they say, almost hunted them to extinction."

The crowd clapped, cheered, and laughed with the end of the tale, and the old man bowed his head low. The children begged for another story but the old man shook his head. He told them he must be off and into the great fields. Truth was, he simply didn't want to waste more time in the village than necessary. He looked across the great crowd of people with his blue eyes. "I'm afraid, an old man like me has nothing more than tales to spread. And, alas, my pockets are empty. If some of you may be so kind to assist me I would return every year on this same day to tell you all more stories. I swear on the grave of my great grandfather." The old man bowed again. Some of the men and women from the crowd gave their children the coins to give to the old man. One young girl, her hair braided down her back and a dirty dress handed him two golden pieces. "Ah! I knew not you were royalty." The old man said and fell to his knees. "I thank you, queen...?"
"Jenna!" She said happily, her face gleaming with excitement. "I am queen Jenna!"
"Ah yes! Of course. I thank thee, Queen Jenna, for such a generous gift. I will return to serve thee, every year, until my end. Now, if you would pardon me, I must be off."

He rose from the dirt and began his walk away from the village, waving goodbye to those people behind them. As he left their vision the old man quickly brought out the leather purse from behind his cloak and placed the golden coin beside the fifty others he'd acquired from his patrol around the outer territories. He stared far too long into the bag and, before he knew it, he was out of sight from the village.

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Post: 97234835_147 created on Mon, 31 Aug 2015 18:59:41 +0000
Posted: Mon, 31 Aug 2015 18:59:41 +0000

ＦℓσяєиɀXXXX ＤαvιdXXXX Ｌαтнαм

тнє second ℓαтнαм sσи⇇
▆▆xx▆▆▆▆▆▆▆xxx▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

David turned away from him, deciding it was best to gather the rocks for the fire pit first. She also claimed she would be able to keep an eye on mist while she did so. Florenz nodded in response, feeling a bit better. David was building a fire… and Florenz was gathering sticks. Spierr’s instructions were to gather long sticks about the thickness of his wrist. What would they use them for? Fire? Why did they have to be long? Either way, the Latham trudged into the forest with an axe in one hand and a slight pout on his face. This task reminded him a bit of what Vormund would always assign him to do whenever the Lathams went camping. He was always gathering firewood or having to spear fish. Even if Florenz did well, there was always something he could have done better.

And yet… Florenz was starting to feel a bit home sick from being away from his family for so long. Hell, the young Latham would even go as far as saying… seeing Vormund would be a pleasant surprise. He was just getting sick of being lost and he was getting sick of not knowing if this quest had a purpose. Yes, the Faceless King had given them a sign to spare David, but recently her visions were few and far between.

Florenz let his mind drift off a bit as he gathered the sticks, thinking of home and wondering how his family was holding up. Was Antoinette alive? How was his mother holding up? Did Garan and Etana already have their wedding? He had a lot of questions, but sadly, he had no way of getting ahold of Garan. Florenz could send his brother a letter, but Garan would not be able to return one. Florenz and David rarely stayed in the same spot for more than a few days and it was almost impossible to find them.

The Latham made a couple trips back and forth to camp, dropping off what he found, and creating a pile of the branches. Hopefully these were long enough; Florenz definitely searched the forest for the best ones he could. It was only when the forest floor became bare of the sticks, when he resorted to chopping. There was one branch in particular that looked to be just the right size, but it was going to take a bit of work to reach. After climbing up the tree and chopping off what he could, the branch fell down, and Florenz landed on his feet after it.

He picked up the branch, deciding this was the last one. Before he could turn to leave, however, there was a large noise behind him which instantly resulted in a heavy mass getting thrown into him. He got knocked to the ground and dropped the branch. Florenz’s heart nearly jumped out of his chest, when his mind registered what had happened. This was an attack! He turned over to see his attacker and reverse-crab walked away from them.

At first, Florenz thought the person that had fallen into him was a small girl, but after a moment, he saw her skin start to change color and patterns. His eyes widened and he flipped back over to scramble to his feet. This wasn’t just an attacker it was some kind of forest nymph attacker! He must have angered it when he chopped the tree!

'I won’t do it again! You can have it!” He spit out, running away from the little forest nymph as fast as his legs would take him. While Florenz wasn’t as strong as most men, he was certainly light on his feet and could easily run through the forest.

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Post: 97234835_148 created on Mon, 31 Aug 2015 19:30:41 +0000
Posted: Mon, 31 Aug 2015 19:30:41 +0000

MortimerXXXX ✘ XXXX Beauson

Heir to the Beausons⇇
▆▆xx▆▆▆▆▆▆▆xxx▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

“Princess Alessandra.”

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Post: 97234835_149 created on Mon, 31 Aug 2015 20:42:21 +0000
Posted: Mon, 31 Aug 2015 20:42:21 +0000

NORTHERN TIME SKIP: They are arriving at the meeting place after a week or two of travel.

EtanaXXXX 🐺XXXX Eyre

the eyre shifter⇇
▆▆xx▆▆▆▆▆▆▆xxx▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆

“Lady Etana, we have arrived.”

“Thank you, Gaheris.”

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Post: 97234835_150 created on Tue, 01 Sep 2015 02:12:35 +0000
Posted: Tue, 01 Sep 2015 02:12:35 +0000

= Guardian of the Mountains =

Vormund der Berge

Vormund rode in silence, his new suit of armor gleamed like a beacon. It pissed him off. He’d had to replace his old set, well replace wasn’t accurate, he’d had the entire thing scrapped, literally, with express orders that if there was anything that could be saved, to use it to make more swords, and barring that, a dagger. They’d need all the iron they could get. And yet, the old knight was more surly then usual even with the new armor and claymore strapped to his back. That armor had belonged to his father, and his father’s father before him. To have gone ahead and ruined it beyond repair well… it left a bad taste in his mouth to say the least. It was just another failure on top of the ever increasing mountain of failure. Ever since the Old Lord Latham had been murdered things had just gotten worse, with Antoinette summoning a hell beast and the whole ‘divine mission’ nonsense with Florenz, and now with the threat of war, Vormund for the first time in all his years was beginning to feel his age.

He’d failed the Lord Latham, he should have been at his side then perhaps none of this would have happened. He’d failed Antoinette too, believing his pride and thinking the mountains would give them safety, only to have a breach in security so big it had allowed the loosing of a monster hellish, that Vormund hadn’t been able to fight it. No, it had taken the combined blessings of the Lord Latham and Lady Eyre in order to kill that devil. If only he’d have paid more attention. Florenz was probably dead in a ditch somewhere, his throat cut. Vormund should have gone with the Dandy, hell he should have sent some armed men with them, and to hell with divine intervention, at last then his chances at survival would have been better. He would probably fail Garan as well given time, all the maps and tactical training wouldn’t do him any good should and arrow decide to find its way into the young lord’s heart. He should have retired weeks ago, there were many within the Latham guard that would be an ample and probably better then him.

These were the thoughts which kept the aging knight company as they made their way to the meeting place a week ahead of those Southern Dogs, at least they have enough time to scout out the terrain and prepare some type of defensive counter measure before the meeting. Vormund dismounted and began to give orders to his men, sounding just as harsh and unyielding as he normally did, and if his scowl was perhaps little deeper and there was a bit more gray in his hair so what? A scowl was Vormund’s face at rest, and as for the increase in gray hairs, well he WAS getting on in years, the difference was he had finally admitted it at least to himself.

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