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 Posted: Tue Jul 19, 2011 5:31 pm
The Fortress Castle of Kielael ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  High on a mountain of ice stands the Fortress Castle of Kielael, it's cold lines and icy towers crafting an ominous presence in the center of the Snow Land. Access to the castle is restricted as the people inside are in a state of war and the leader of the snow lands constantly working to better the military position of the Queen of Saieth.
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Posted: Sun Jul 24, 2011 11:43 pm
Kisrafel Raifira“ There is no poison more deadly...” +||+Varedablanc+||+Age:36+||+Height 6'0”+||+Weight: 140lbs+||+Eyes:Amethyst+||+Hair: Snow White+||+ Theme: White Witch+||+Battle Theme: Deathslinger ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  Kisrafel lounged back on her icy throne, enjoying the cold against her second skin. Currently she was nude, her second skin camouflaging itself to the milky white color of her skin, the only article of clothing on her body was a pair of knee high leather stiletto heels. One of her advisers was sweating his way through a report on the current import and export rates and the taxes being levied on imports. His voice cracked as Kisrafel uncrossed her legs and recrossed them right over left. She rested her left leg on the back of some man who angered her with some petition she'd all ready forgotten about, driving the spike of her heel into the man's back, ignoring his sudden grunt of pain. “ Be silent,” She said, cutting the man off, “ The economic state of Kielael does not interest me at this moment. I want to know what the spies have reported on that lead in Caehoul! Finding Rafale is top priority, someone give me a report or heads will roll and I am NOT picky about whose.” There was a long moment of silence and Kisrafel's amethyst eyes flashed in anger. She kicked the man at her feet down the the stairs at the foot of her throne and shot to her feet. Her second skin morphed and molded around her forming a body suit with a corset wrapping tightly around her torso. The stiletto heels of her boots clicked angrily as she sauntered her way down the steps. The two black armored swordmasters that had been standing at the sides of her throne snapped to attention and followed her down the steps. “ Well?!” She snarled, glaring down the people in her throne room. One man stepped forward, bowing profusely, not raising his eyes to meed his mistress. “ I'm sorry, Mistress, it seems that the spies you sent to Caehoul have not reported back. The Spymaster believes that they may have been captured and killed by rogue Shadowmasters.” Kisrafel bared her teeth in a silent hiss at the man and held out her right hand. The swordmaster to her right drew a Falchion from the sheath at his side and placed the hilt in his mistress's hand. Kisrafel wrapped her fingers around the hilt and raising the sword above the man's head. She brought it down with a vicious force and in a second the man's head was rolling away from his body, blood sprayed over Kisrafel and her swordmasters. She watched the man's body fall to the ground and licked her lips clean of blood before handing her sword back to the swordmaster. The swordmaster reverently cleaned the blade and sheathed the sword before standing at a relaxed attention, his hands clasped in front of him. Kisrafel closed her eyes and breathed, letting her shoulders relax. Her black lips curved up into a cruel smile and she opened her eyes. She motioned to a small woman in the corner and she nodded. An entourage of small woman raced forward and removed the body and the head from the throne room. Kisrafel stepped forward, purposely standing in a pool of blood left by the body. “ Tell the spymaster I want him to send his best men into Caehoul, that information is worth more than his best spies lives. If I do not have the information I seek within the week I will have his heart on a silver platter and I will eat it in front of his wife and children.” A messenger boy paled as he heard her statement, but prostrated himself reverently before racing from the throne room. She watched him leave the room and then turned on her heel, sauntering her way back to her throne and leaving a trail of bloody footprints behind her. As she reached the steps leading up to the throne, she paused. She heard the metal boots of her swordmasters clack to a halt behind her. Then she focused on the diamond throne, remembering how the throne had come into her possession. At one time Princess Kisrafel Raifira had only been a simple noblewoman, third in line for the Throne of Kielael. But Kisrafel was not the type of person to just accept the traditional rules of lineage, she would not wait for the prince to die and then take the chance that the men in line before her wouldn't be helpful and fall off the face of Saegareth. So she planned out and made her first kill. It wasn't the cleanest kill she had ever made, but it had done the job. She had crafted a poison that corroded the man's internal organs and slipped it into a goblet of drink at a formal dinner party. The man fell from the table minutes after the first sip, rolling in agony as his body ate himself from the inside out. No one suspected her, despite the fact that she left the room, chuckling coldly as the other men and women at the party futily tried to run to the man's aid. The second man she seduced. It was the first time she had every explicitly used her body to her advantage. She teased the man all night, tossing him coy smiles and pointed glances at some of the more unmentionable parts of his anatomy. At one point in the night she gave him a look that spoke volumes of what she wanted from him, then she gracefully disappeared into a passageway, pausing only to make sure the man was following her. Up a staircase she went, giggling as she raced ahead of him on light feet, leading him on a journey through the castle and up to her tower rooms. He finally caught up to her just outside her bedroom door. Kisrafel laughed and led him into her room, her second skin shifting and molding back to the shape of her body, becoming transparent and revealing her milk white flawless skin. A smirk twisted her black painted lips as the man's jaw dropped. She led him to her bed, pushing him down and crawling over him, a wicked heated look on her face. That was the last thing he saw before she turned her second skin into a set of claws and ripped his heart from his chest. She gave it a disgusted look and threw it out her tower window. She looked back to watch the man suffer one finally gurgling breath before his eyes glazed over in death. But Kisrafel's greatest coup de grâce was killing the Prince of Kielael. She caught his Shadowmaster entourage completely off guard by sauntering into the Prince's throne room stark naked except for a killer pair of stiletto heels. Her heels clicked sharply on the crystalline floor of the Fortress Castle's throne room as she walked purposefully towards the Prince's throne. The sway of her hips was exaggerated and a smirk crossed her lips as she watched the prince swallow nervously. “ Hello, my prince,” She purred as she straddled his lap, smirk growing wider as she felt his obvious hardness underneath her. She ground her hips down against his as she leaned forward to whisper darkly in his ear, “ Your reign has come to an end, Prince. It's my time to take the throne, to turn Kielael into what it was always meant to be, and most importantly to worship our Queen Eisheith properly.” The prince flinched at her words and his guard began making their slow way towards her, but their hesitation had cost them the life of their ruler. Kisrafel pulled her arm back, her second skin forming a wicked looking blade as she drove her arm forward into the prince's heart. At the same time her teeth dug into his throat, the second skin there forming vicious fangs allowing her to tear the prince's throat from his body. She yanked her arm from his chest, pulling his heart out as she did so. The Shadowmasters came to a shuddering halt before the throne, the air was poignant with tension, the guards knew they had failed, that their Prince was dead. Even if they hadn't, the heart and throat Kisrafel had thrown at their feet was proof enough. There was a shocked silence no one dared scream. Kisrafel stood before her court, hands on her naked hips, crimson blood and her heels the only clothing on her body. Her amethyst eyes were cold as she surveyed the members of her court. Suddenly and almost in unison they prostrated themselves before her declaring, “ Long live, Kisrafel, Long live the Princess of Kielael.” Present day Kisrafel threw her head back and laughed at the memory. The members of the court glanced nervously at one another, wondering if they should be worried about the mental state of their Princess, but none of them would ever dare say anything. Even dreaming of assassinating the Princess was next to impossible. And even if one could come up with a half decent plan, Kisrafel's swordmasters were the greatest in the land, getting past them would take an army. Kisrafel mounted her throne again and sat back with the natural grace of one born to rule. She waved her hand and the next member of her council stepped forward to report on the current state of affairs in Kielael. Kisrafel wasn't listening though, she was plotting how she would kidnap some of the teenage boys from one of the nearby peasant village and the methods she would use to train them for her own personal army. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “...Than underestimating me and my sword.”
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Garden of Wisteria Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Jul 30, 2011 8:37 pm
Creed Kolson
Gunslinger
¤~34 years old~¤-¤~ 7’ tall~¤-¤~245 lbs~¤-¤~Dark green eyes with flecks of gold~¤-¤~Dark brown hair~¤ 
“Funny. I’dve thought you were the man in the relationship but from the way you hit it’s pretty clear that you’re the b***h.”
An irritated growl was followed by a quick kick to the jaw and Creed’s head snapped back and darkness overtook his mind. It had been almost a week since he had been captured and they weren’t big on feeding their prisoners around here. Really he blamed that b*****d in Angeith. Creed had been in his usual spot, sitting in the bottom of the broken clock face in the burnt out old clock tower just off the main street. It had been raining in the dirty mountain town for the better part of a week. The rutted streets were sludge and rock, making travel hard for everyone. Twice that morning broken wagon wheels had led to major traffic jams in the mucky road.
Creed was a man of habit, always had been. Not that he couldn’t think on his feet and adapt, but if he could choose, and he wasn’t a man to let others choose for him, he worked best out of a routine. He would stay in Angeith for a week if he could go that long undetected, then he would take a few of the smaller roads out through the Gadmium Mountains and back into the Wastes. He would usually stop into Pengung for a few days and hit J’Nall if necessary before moving on to Merseyr. He had only been in Angeith for a day and a half. Nothing exciting was happening and only a few Shadowmasters had passed through.
But as he rested back against the stone curve, his one leg bent up on the sill and his hat tipped low over his face, he waited for the telltale sounds of heavy, slow footsteps from the street below. His posture was restful but his mind was a torrent of torment and rage, everything that had brought him to his current position in life. To this very clock tower. Then he heard it, coming down the street. Not one but several huge heavily armored bodies plodding down the streets of the dark trading town. Swinging up smoothly and drawing his rifle as surely as he did his breath, he took aim on the street below.
As always he scanned the Shadowmasters, searching each set of armor for the distinctive markings of his main target. As usual, it was not to be found. His aim followed the group down the street as they seemed to zero in on a target. They shouted out and a figure in black cloak and hood spun. The new figures position obscured him from view as did his dark wrapping but from a wisp of white hair, willowy frame and graceful movement, he was surely a Verde Blanc.
The group of Shadowmasters advanced on the smaller man, their five to his one. Creed growled. Normally he would have used his various vantage points to spy on the Shadowmasters until they turned down a dark alley or desolate side street where he would have dropped them in quick succession. Not that this would be the first time he had attacked in the open, but it would mean moving on earlier than planned.
Despite his focus and commitment to his end goal, Creed had occasionally killed for other reasons over the last six years of his life. Usually it was something like this, the strong and corrupt oppressing the weaker and more vulnerable. Creed continued staring down the barrel of his rifle at the scene. The Verdablanc man had tried to turn and blend into the crowd, but Shadowmasters were the rule in this area. The crowd turned and blocked his way, pushing him back towards the oncoming dark force that called out to him.
There was angry posturing; the Verdablanc man was backing away with his hands up. The Shadowmasters drew their swords. Creed let out an exasperated sigh as he watched the stranger recoil, his hood falling back to reveal the striking face of a young man. The most forward Shadowmaster advanced. Creed chambered a round and pulled the trigger, hitting the attacking Shadowmaster in the side of the head, knocking him sideways and to the ground. All heads spun and looked upward. They hadn’t figured out where he was but it wouldn’t take long.
Creed didn’t wait, another round in the chamber and then a shot right through the hole he had made in the Shadowmaster’s armor. The crowd in the street was stirring. Some shrieking and running away as the violence began and the Shadowmaster disintegrated to dust as he fell towards the ground. That sent the Shadowmasters into motion as their eyes found the old clock tower. And surprisingly the young Verdablanc leapt into action as well. The black cloak flipped back and he produced a long curved sword. Two Shadowmasters ran at him while the other two advanced to the clock tower. The small cloaked stranger fought with a slick speed and well-practiced technique. Creed suddenly wondered what he had gotten into.
Creed took out one of the Shadowmasters advancing on his hiding place but the other made it to the door before he could dispatch him. And that is when it all went to hell. The Verdablanc was doing surprisingly well. But his blows were weak and not damaging the Shadowmasters armor deep enough to make a hole to their bodies. The two of them cornered him and a heavy downward blow disarmed him. Creed growled. When he should have been watching his back he drew his pistols and started to rain down bullets on the two Shadowmasters below. Clearly the young man was not an innocent bystander, but from what he had seen, the Shadowmasters had started the fight and Creed was willing to put faith in the enemy of his enemy.
His attack drew the heat off of the white haired stranger long enough for him to snatch up his weapon and continue the fight and just before Creed had to drop and roll to avoid the swing of the Shadowmasters blade from behind him. Close quarters was not his specialty and Creed quickly put some distance between himself and the Shadowmaster. Hopping over rusted gears and running along scaffolding, Creed made his way higher in the mechanism and shot back over his shoulder at his assailant. Reaching a maintenance ledge he looked back to see the Shadowmaster in slow, lumbering pursuit. His shots had managed to damage the armor but the only available spot to shoot through was at the point of his shoulder. A pistol or rifle show wasn’t going to do the trick.
Jumping out, he grabbed onto the old bellpull, and using only his arms, climbed swiftly upward. The hammer swung only slightly in the old massive bell under his weight and steady pull. Just below the bell, Creed stopped climbing and started pumping his legs, swinging side to side before leaping from the musty old rope to a final piece of scaffolding that led to a rooftop terrace. The Shadowmaster was several levels down, shouting obscenities at him. Creed leaned over the railing, and waited.
“You’ve got nowhere to run, gunslinger!” The dark knight shouted.
“What would you know about running, lard a**?” Creed grumbled down at him.
This lead to more muttered curses and the Shadowmaster hurried along as best he could to catch up with his leaner opponent. Suddenly, unbeknownst to him, he was right where Creed wanted him. Coming around another set of stairs, he had to step out onto a piece of scaffolding that was about twenty feet below Creed and more towards the center of the tower. In a flash, Creed drew his shotgun and fired straight down through the exposed hole in his shoulder towards the center of his chest. With a gurgle and shriek, the big man went down to the side, taking out the rickety railing and falling down through the tower into the rusting clock mechanism below.
With a satisfied grunt Creed ran out onto the rooftop terrace to look down at the street below. The Verdablanc kid was good, but he was running low on steam and the big man was gaining the upper hand. However there was a sizable hole in the lower abdomen of the Shadowmasters armor and the big oaf was protecting it carefully in the fight. Creed drew his rifle and took aim. Pulling the trigger he hit the Shadowmaster on the top right of his helm, causing a sizable chunk to disintegrate but nothing to expose scalp.
But his objective was achieved. Both looked upward and the Shadowmaster cursed and the Verdablanc smiled. Taking advantage of the larger man’s distraction, the young man ran at him and jumped, hitting him high on the chest and tripping him up over some crates behind him. As they landed the smaller man tumbled away, leaving the dark knight to sprawl his back for a moment like a giant upturned beetle. A moment was all Creed needed to land three shots in the Shadowmaster’s exposed side. Not death blows, but definitely taking the steam out of him. The big man rolled on the ground and the Verdablanc kicked his helm off and delivered the coup de grace.
From the street below, the young man turned his face up with a smirk and gave Creed an appreciative nod and wave of his hand. Despite himself, Creed’s firm scowl turned into something slightly less severe and he raised his hand in greeting. How long had it been since he had worked with anyone else. Not that he expected this to yield a continuing partnership. But, for a moment, it had been nice to not feel quite so alone. They had a glimmer of cooperation and partnership.
Creed watched as the man smiled at him again before turning away and flipping his hood back up as he turned away. Creed was just about to turn and go back inside when the Verdablanc’s step faltered. His hand went to his throat. He took two shaking, failing steps and then fell down in the street, dead. Creed’s mind raced. He’d seen this before. Poison. That was NOT a Shadowmaster technique. Which meant…
A floorboard creaked behind him and Creed dropped and rolled to the side just as a dagger slashed forward. A black cloaked figure darted forward, his movements quick and lethal and far too close for Creed to be effective. Dual daggers slashed, one in each hand and Creed only barely was able to wheel back fast enough to avoid them. Creed looked over his shoulder for an instant before throwing himself back, through the dirty window as he drew his pistols and let off a few rounds as he sailed backward through the air.
In those moments of weightlessness he was struck that the black cape looked quite similar to the one the Verdablanc wore. He hit the scaffolding landing and rolled back, just barely grabbing ahold of the railing to keep from falling off just as a sleek saber jabbed at him from the left. Rolling quickly three times to the right, the saber hissing through the air, striking the place his body had just vacated, chasing him along the wrought iron wobbling structure.
Creed let himself drop off of the end of the scaffolding this time, grabbing the edge with his hand for an instant before letting go to ease his drop down to the level below as he dropped into a roll, turned and fired upward, catching the Swordmaster b*****d as he was dropping down, following Creed. The hammers rocketed forward and back as Creed emptied both pistols in all of the weak armor spots. The body dropped at Creed’s feet and he gathered himself to stride to the body and hit it over, not hesitating to draw a pistol from his vest and put a bullet between his eyes.
He kicked the corpse and grunted, another black cloak. Just like the other two. Why would they be after Creed when he just saved their comrade. And who killed the young Verdablanc in the street? But there was no time to ruminate on that as he heard a shuffle and the Assassin from above finally rejoined him. Creed had hit him with his wild fire through the window. He was clearly suffering from at least one good wound in his abdomen but not about to stop. The daggers slashed forward, more slowly and clumsily this time and Creed leapt back over the body of the Sword master as he fired the drawn pistol and brought out the other one from the opposite side of his vest. Wounded, the assassin still had his wiles and dashed up to run along the rickity railing to lunge at Creed, quickly closing the distance as Creed was backing up. In a split second decision, Creed dropped the pistols and drew the shotgun in a quick, smooth motion and fired directly at the Assassin’s face. The body dropped down on top of his fellow attacker and Creed took a deep breath of relief. His heels were balanced on the edge of an unrailed portion of walkway that dropped fifty feet to the clock mechanism.
Retrieving his guns, he had gone over the bodies carefully but there was no sign of where they were from. In retrospect, thing would have been more clear if he had left one alive but he had a feeling that these weren’t the sort of people to talk no matter how he tortured them. More troubling still, there were no poisons on either of them. Which meant that whoever killed the Verdablanc in the street was still out there. Creed had decided that given the body count in one afternoon, it was best to leave town.
But he had a tail. He knew it going through the mountains. There was something else in the air. He could feel eyes on him. Creed went four days without sleep. He was used to existing on the bare minimum, but he taxed himself to exhaustion. He could no longer rely on his senses. He still felt the paranoid prickle of a watcher but he was also beginning to hallucinate given how often he would drift out of consciousness while walking. He didn’t even make a fire. He merely found a secure out cropping of rock, just off of the main trail through the mountains. He hoped that his paranoid feeling was just that. Hopefully his tail had given into sleep before he did.
But no such luck. The b*****d got him while he was sleeping. Creed woke bound and gagged. A campsite had been constructed around him in the very same outcropping where he had laid down. Across the fire was the lump of a sleeping form on a scant bedroll. Creed silently worked at the ropes and knots but they were tied securely and his brain felt especially unfocused. It was probably an hour or two before he could think clearly enough to realize that he had been drugged. Apparently this was the missing killer.
It was hours before his captor woke and he was just beginning to be able to focus again. The bedroll shifted, the cover fell away and a slim, muscular leg slipped out. The long, lethal body of a female assassin appeared. She had removed her pants but a long loose shirt hung on her and she walked around the fire as comfortably towards her bound captive as if she was walking around her bedroom. Creed glared at her, struggling to stand or throw his body at her but as he tried to twist the ropes bit into his skin painfully.
To compound his discomfort, the dark haired b***h pulled the sleeve of her shirt up to reveal her hand holding a long wet needle. Creed struggled hard, despite the pain and she gave him little mind before jabbing him hard in the upper arm. She kept him drugged for the whole trip, and kept his wrists bound behind his back. She had taken his guns but had them in her pack, so at least they were close. Still Creed was in agony. At least the drugs kept him too dulled to fully experience the pain of being separated from his weapons.
It was hard to say how long it took. Hours, days, years, but Creed ambled on, his brain too fogged and dull to do anything but fumble forward. Finally they topped a hill and his eyes squinted against the sharp white glare of sun off of snow. Kielael. His brain vaguely registered where he was before she shoved him forward again. He realized that she was anxious. Little by little the fog receded and it was clear that she didn’t even want to pause again to drug him. She wanted him coherent enough to walk faster. Something was rushing her. When they approached the Fortress Castle, the guards at the gate moved aside as the Assassin behind him pulled back her hood. Clearly they were expected.
He weighed his options. Let her lead him in the castle, be trapped in certain death. Try to fight back now without his guns, still partially drugged and outnumbered between her and the few guards at the gate, certain death. Attempt to run away while partially drugged in a strange land and already past the gates of the fortress, certain death. Or bank on the slim chance that he would continue to be kept alive whenever they were done with him inside the castle. …Well since it was the only one that didn’t lead in certain death it seemed like he didn’t have much choice.
She had taken him directly to the dungeons where his ‘softening’ had begun. The two Swordmasters were heavily armored in black and ruthless. The drugs were almost completely out of his system and they were questioning him relentlessly. Most of their questions had to do with the most improbably subject though, Rafaele. However, since it seemed that was the only reason he was still alive, he decided that confessing his ignorance to the subject would not be the wisest course of action.
Which, coming back to the present moment as the Swordmaster’s kick sent him reeling back until his head cracked off of the floor and his legs sprawled out from under him. The second inquisitor grabbed him by the hair and was reeling back to punch him when the door swung open and the female Assassin that brought him to the castle entered. Creed glared at her with all of the rage that he could summon, but she didn’t even look at him. A few hushed words to the others and they stepped back off of him. Taking a cloth she wiped the blood and sweat from his face. But rather than comforting, it felt more like a blacksmith polishing a sword before putting it on display.
For the first time, she spoke to him, still without looking at him. Her voice was surprisingly soft and lilting. “When you address the queen you will be respect and forthcoming. These men were gentle with you, the queen will not be.”
Creed let that thought sink deep into his mind. He was being taken in front of the queen of Kielael. If at no other moment, now he finally decided that his choice to defend the Verdablanc on the street in Angeith had gotten him into more s**t then he might be able to dig himself out of. However, he was more and more alert, the pain having helped to strip the drugs from his system. He could sense his guns more strongly now and he knew that the Assassin had them on her person, somewhere under her loose robes.
The Assassin grabbed him by the binds on his wrists and he grimaced as he realized just how sore they were. She pushed him towards the door and he dug in his heels. “Wait.” His voice like boulders over gravel. “My hat.”
The woman paused and then smiled coldly before turning and picking up his hat from the floor of the dungeon and placing it atop his head, tipped low just like he usually wore it. “You’re right.” She smirked. “Best to go out fully dressed.”
Creed didn’t comment but he understood just what she was referring to by ‘going out’ and knew that it didn’t have anything to do with outside of the castle or making a good appearance to the queen. They made their way up the stairs and Creed’s now hidden eyes shifted and he noticed everyone that they passed scurrying and looking at him excitedly. This increased as they got closer to the throne room where a small group of well dressed men were huddled outside. As the Assassin approached, one of the men moved forward to stop her, clearly wanting to discuss some matter having to do with their appearance there but the woman didn’t halt in her step and as the portly fellow reached out a hand to stop her, she swiftly punched him in the throat. Creed chuckled at her actions despite the threat of death to him and she pushed him forward more roughly.
The crowd of men parted and the throne room doors opened for her. She pushed Creed forward and into the huge room where court was clearly in session. Creed kept his head low and scanned the crowd from under the brim of his hat but came to stop on the most beautiful Verdablanc that he had ever seen. Never had the white, graceful features been arranged so exquisitely on a person. Like walking sex she ruled the room by attitude and strikingly lethal confidence. Creed didn’t realize that he was staring until the Assassin kicked him in the back of the knees and shoved his shoulder down so that he was kneeling in front of the queen as she bowed low herself.
As soon as his eyes were off of her, Creed squeezed his eyes shut, trying to rid his mind of the sensual image. He felt sick to his stomach. How long had it been since he had looked at a woman like that? He didn’t want to follow that line of thought. No, she didn’t compare. Couldn’t compare. He kept his eyes on the ground not out of respect but simply because he couldn’t bare the sight of the woman again.
“My queen,” The Assassin began as she prostrated herself. Quickly rushing to explain. “Forgive me for seeking audience without announcement. But this was of the most urgent nature. I am Aria Biagio, an Assassin from the spy envoy sent on your behalf to Caehoul. The only surviving member. While there, we believe a member of our envoy went came upon vital information but then stopped checking in. We believe that he went rogue and was going to change allegiance. We were trailing him to discover who he might be working with to make sure this information was contained. We did discover and Aethral girl that he had taken as his consort and confidant and she confessed to knowing the full extent of his findings but was close mouthed as to disclosing them”
“Apparently Shadowmasters had been tipped off to our presence in the city and they came upon our rogue member. He was about to be attacked when this man,” she roughly shoved Creed’s shoulder forward, “assisted him. They were clearly working together. We disposed of our traitorous former colleague and were going to kill this man as well. We felt confident that the Aethral would break once she learned that her master was dead. When I returned to our hideout, I found that she had overpowered and killed her guard, apparently he taunted her that the price of her masters betrayl was death and she went in a rage. But the location was secure and she couldn’t escape. In her distress, she hung herself.”
“When my last two colleagues did not return, I backtracked to town to find them dead instead of this gunslinger. I tracked him into the mountains and captured him. I’m sure that he has the information that Terstan discovered. He has showed great resistance and has given the guard considerable difficulty. I’m sorry that I could not procure more information for you, majesty. Terstan’s betrayal and this man’s involvement thwarted our plans.”
Again she pushed his shoulder forward and Creed felt remarkably like the Om’shad blamed for the drunk man falling off of him. Given that he had no information, HAD killed a few of the queen’s spies, and was now the last being alive to shift the blame onto. He raised his head slightly to look at the queen, the firm set of her mouth, the dangerous glint in her eyes, and her voluptuous curves that he hated himself for noticing. He was totally ********>
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Posted: Mon Aug 01, 2011 1:26 pm
Kisrafel Raifira“ There is no poison more deadly...” +||+Varedablanc+||+Age:36+||+Height 6'0”+||+Weight: 140lbs+||+Eyes:Amethyst+||+Hair: Snow White+||+ Theme: White Witch+||+Battle Theme: Deathslinger ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Kisrafel frowned as the Assassin woman entered her throne room with some sort of dirty man thing in tow. She sneered, lips pulling back to reveal white teeth, she turned up her nose at the man thing as his smell hit her and reached out to one of her swordmasters, placing an arm on his black gauntlet. He responded by handing his Mistress a black cloth. Kisrafel didn’t reach up for the proffered cloth; instead she pressed her nose and mouth gently into her swordmaster’s gauntlet and let him hold the cloth against her face to block out the smell. The swordmaster shifted and knelt down beside her the air about him made him seem like one lovingly doting on a somewhat spoiled child. He placed one arm around her and allowed her to snuggle in close to him as he protected her from the smell with the black cloth. The Assassin woman shoved the man thing down to his knees and then knelt herself. Kisrafel narrowed her eyes in a disdainful look, wondering who in the thrice damned name of Rafale the woman thought she was, bringing that smelling thing into her court. She was tempted to send her swordmasters down to make both of them go away, but she didn’t want the smelly man’s blood on her floor. One perfectly arched eyebrow raised as the Assassin woman – Aria – explained what she was doing in Kisrafel’s court unannounced. The second eyebrow joined it as she reached the part about the Aethral then as her tale finished Kisrafel’s eyebrows fell and her eyes narrowed. She vaguely wondered how the dirty man thing was about to keep the information she needed from her guard then decided that they probably weren’t doing her jobs correctly and made a mental note to deal with them later – perhaps she would deliver them as a midnight snack for Her Majesty’s pet dragons. Kisrafel pushed her swordmaster’s arm away from her mouth and stood up, sometimes – she decided – in order to get something done properly you have to do it yourself. As she stood her second skin camouflaged itself against her body, leaving only her spiked heel boots on her person and a pair of black elbow length gloves on her hands. She sauntered languidly down the steps in front of her throne and her boots clicked sharply across the crystalline floor, followed by the sound of two of her swordmasters marching three steps behind her. The court was silent; it seemed like no one in the room even dared to breath. She stopped in front of the man, resting one hand on her hip as she studied him. Then she glanced over her shoulder at one of her swordmasters, she gave the Assassin a dismissive wave and the swordmaster motioned for another guard to have the Assassin escorted from the center of the court. “ You’ve done well, Assassin,” Kisrafel said. She’d all ready forgotten the woman’s name, “ I will take it from here.” Kisrafel crouched down, her legs together and one arm resting across her lap; she lifted the gunslinger’s chin and studied his face. A look of disgust flashed across her eyes, but her expression didn’t change. She watched him for a few long moments, squeezing his chin in a vice like grip whenever he tried to look away. Finally, the corners of her lips curled up in a cold smile. “ This can be easy, Gunslinger, tell me what the Traitor Spy found and I will let you go. I suggest you take my mercy, Gunslinger, for it is rare.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “...Than underestimating me and my sword.”
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Posted: Thu Aug 04, 2011 1:33 pm
He awoke. The greatest warlord of centuries past, Kartanus came back to awareness slowly, taking several hours to break himself free of the ice that had kept him immobile for several centuries. Once that was done, he checked everything on his person, making sure it was in perfect condition, and missing nothing. His obsessive eye for detail took several more hours, as he cleaned everything to perfect order.
He recalled the first building of a castle here, when he had left the world behind centuries before. Surely it would be finished, and inhabited? It didn't matter, the castle would be perfect to make a fresh start, and have a seat to rule from when he consolidated power once more.
He trudged through the snow until he came to the castle, finally smashing his way in through the main doors. A guard, one of the shadowmaster's, he saw, tried to stop him. He drew his massive blade, and charged the poor fool, undercutting his guard several times, then hitting him with the flat of the blade to daze him, before cleaving him in half with one blow.
It was only after this that he realized that there were others in the room. A few women, and a man of unfamiliar origin to him. He raised his blade in challenge.
"I am Kartanus Imagus, warlord and founder of the Red Blades. I have returned to this world at long last, and I demand an audience with your leader."
It was a bold move, for if they had indeed heard of him, and thought themselves rightious, they would most likely prefer to attack him.
Otherwise...they could be the perfect pawns...
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Posted: Thu Aug 04, 2011 1:48 pm
OOC: Reki....I think I'm confused. Why are you trying to take over Kielael? Why are you bursting into Kisrafel's throne room and demanding people bow down to Kartanus? I thought Kartanus was an ancient leader of the Bloodslingers. What possibly motivation could he have to take over Kielael. Existing in your city in the Wastes makes sense....but taking over Kielael, he'd have no motivation?
You can demand an audience with the Princess should she choose to grant it maybe an alliance can be formed but you're implying a hostile take over. And there is no way that one man could take out Kisrafel's entire army. She's been building it for years for her Queen.
It was my understanding that he would want an audience with the Princess.
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Posted: Thu Aug 04, 2011 3:34 pm
Kaleh
||+||Alchemist||+||Height: 5'10”||+||Weight: 154lbs||+||Age: 27||+||Hair: Brown||+||Eyes: Green||+||
Me? I'm but a humble alchemist of little concern. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  Kaleh strode over the latest hill to finally see the frozen city of Kolearth in all of its glory. ”Well then, let’s see what you have to tell me.“ muttered Kaleh towards the city. His destination close, Kaleh’s steps picked up and soon Kaleh stood in front of the Gates of Kolearth, a little distance away from the Gate’s guards. Kaleh then, making sure the guards were not looking at him or close enough to positively identify him, took out a small vial with a silverfish grey liquid held inside. This liquid was one of several potions Kaleh had invented for the purposes of maintaining his identity a secret. This potion in particular obscured the drinker’s features from others, making it harder for them to give a description to others; the guards would have an almost impossible time identifying Kaleh. For example: the first guard might describe Kaleh as someone somewhat taller and wider than the norm and with hair that was more brown than black, while the second guard might describe him as someone a little shorter and thinner than norm and with hair that was more black than brown. With a small smile of amusement Kaleh calmly walked through the gates and into the merchant district of Kolearth. Dozens of stalls and shops greeted his sight, as he saw deals being made and struck, people haggling over price, and merchants attempt to sell their wares. Playing the part of the traveler, Kaleh wandered through browsing and sometimes even buying merchandise. In this particular purchase he bought some minor yet obscure tomes that were hard to find in Sol Solis but relatively common in Saeith. This browsing was more of a smokescreen, as head of several merchant guilds Kaleh would not need to travel to Kolearth or any Saeith city to find these tome; yet he bough them so that anyone who might be following would be convinced that he was just a simple traveler. Leaving the last shop, Kaleh made his way to a large tavern called the “Traveler’s Abode” and quietly entered, sitting down at an empty seat. Soon enough, a serving girl made her way to him and with a voice betraying just how tired she was asked, “What would ye be having this fine evening sah?”Kaleh gave her a warm smile before saying, ”Oh I’m not too hungry, but I’m dreadfully cold having just made my way through Kielael’s snow fields. So I’ll just have some Blossom Tea, thank you.” Then almost as an afterthought he added ”Oh, miss? Make sure the roots are of a strong variety, I’m not inclined to drink something weak.”The girl hearing the second part froze for but a second before confirming his order and asking, “Will ye be drinking alone then sah?”Kaleh gave a sort of shrug “I’d planned to, but bring enough tea for two please.”Giving Kaleh a respectful nod, the girl quietly made her way to the back of the room. Relaxing into his seat Kaleh grinned. To anyone who might have overheard, Kaleh had simply ordered some very particular tea. However, Kaleh had done more than that, he had had a coded conversation with the girl asking to meet one of the members in charge of his information network here in Kolearth. He sat back and waited as the girl promptly returned with his order, serving him a cup she left the other one untouched as Kaleh sprinkled an odorless, colorless liquid from another vial. This one, checked for any poisons that may be added to the cup, changing colors depending on the type of poison used. Kaleh had learned that implementing simple precaution was invaluable when it did pay off. Confirming that tea was in fact not poisoned he sat back and relaxed as he enjoyed a cup. Just as he was serving himself a second one, a man walked up and sat down. Looking straight at Kaleh he asked, “Blossom Tea? The flower it’s made from is said to be exceptionally fragile.”Kaleh smirked, “Even the most fragile of flowers are beautiful, and its roots keep it alive.”The man grunted in approval as he grabbed the pot and served himself a cup, “So, did he send ya? What are ya here for?”Kaleh’s merely sipped his tea calmly as he responded, ”You sent me a report about Princess Kisrafel’s ‘envoys’ into Caehoul. I’ve come for a more in-depth report.”The man paled, realizing that the head of the organization was sitting right in front of him. Attempting to stay calm the man started talking in a hushed whisper, ”The Princess sent several of her best men into Caehoul. When I sent our first message we didn’t know much more, but now we have a lead. Kisrafel’s best agents had a traitor recently, some Vaderdablanc called Trestan, he was in Caehoul when he went rouge, sir. Trestan apparently found something and whatever it was made him quit. As to the information, we believe it might be the location of Rafale’s tomb.”Most men would have cursed, spat, or somehow been shocked by such a proclamation, but Kaleh simply leaned forward and asked, “Rafale’s tomb? How curious; what makes you say that?”The man gulped nervously and continued, ”Well, it is conjecture sir; the Princess is well known for going out of her way to fulfill the Queen’s wishes sir. Sort of like the Sifter Prince of Merseyr, except she’s more cautious about her own power. She uses it intelligently, not as a cudgel like the Prince. However, one of the servants in her castle came into town recently, and one of ours happened to overhear her talking about how Kisrafel commanded for her spymaster to send her best men, she didn’t care about the cost, either monetary or number of agents dead.”Kaleh leaned back pensive, ”So the out of character behavior is what makes you think whatever it is she’s looking for is of more significant value, perhaps even Rafale’s location.” The other man nodded in confirmation and opened his mouth to speak when Kaleh interrupted him, ”What about this Trestan, where is he now?”The man shook his head as he muttered, ”Dead sir, he was killed by Shadowsmasters who had been tipped as to his presence. We had done the tipping hoping to get him captured sir; instead they were too zealous in their pursuit.”Kaleh grimaced, ”How unfortunate, they didn’t have the frame of mind to capture him alive so as to be able to interrogate him? See what he knew? Once he’s dead, he can’t talk and whatever information he had died with him”Now the other man grinned, ”Maybe not sir, see Trestan is dead but apparently they caught a gunslinger that was helping out. The gunslinger was Creed Kolson, the one that keeps killing Shadowmasters. Before you ask, you’re in luck sir, they finally dragged his a** back to Kisrafel’s Castle not too long ago, maybe a few hours at most now.”Kaleh, got up quietly stating “There isn’t any time to waste, is there?” His business here concluded, Kaleh quickly left the tavern and headed straight for the Fortress Castle of Kielael. As he made his way to the castle, Kaleh was making small adjustments to his clothes so as to better represent the Black Thorn merchant guild, a prominent merchant company that acted solely in the Unholy Nation. He had, thankfully planned for the eventuality of visiting Castle Kielael and calling upon the Princess. To that end he had prepared an offering of unique worth to present to her so as to gain an audience. With a little luck, a few well-chosen words and the perceived knowledge that the Black Thorn Merchant Company was completely loyal to Saeith, Kaleh would have little difficulty finding out what he wanted to know. Arriving to the gates of the castle itself, Kaleh stopped and turned to one of the guards, ”Please inform Princess Kisrafel that Kaleh of the Black Thorn Merchant Company has arrived seeking an audience. If it helps expedite matters, I do bring a package for her highness.”---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Flower’s Shadow is a fragile network, but its roots are deep and its beauty will capture what it needs.
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Posted: Sun Aug 07, 2011 1:39 pm
¤~34 years old~¤-¤~ 7’ tall~¤-¤~245 lbs~¤-¤~Dark green eyes with flecks of gold~¤-¤~Dark brown hair~¤
The Ice Princess reminded him of the Meseyer Desert. Instantly drawn back years into the past to the first moment that his young eyes scanned the limitless distance where the wind shaped the land. The dunes rippled with the firm breezes and the sand would rise up to dance in the air as the heat would visibly ripple in the air. It had been more alien and more beautiful than he had ever known. And more deadly. They had been a young force of men, separated from their garrison after a surprise incursion. They were all young and just trying to make it out of enemy land and back to their base. The fastest way was to cross the Desert. And fastest was the best, right?
Most definitely not in this case. Poor planning, lack of leadership and total inexperience with their elements had cost them dearly. The only way the few managed to carry on and eventually come out the other side of the lethal landscape was to learn from the mistakes that claimed the lives of their friends and comrades. When they reached the edge of the harsh desert that faded into the slightly more inviting landscape of the forest wastes, Creed turned back to have one last look at the hell behind them.
Despite his knowledge of its expanse now littered with the ashes of his comrades, it looked every bit as beautiful and exotic as the first time that he had seen it. He hated it for that. Death disguised as beauty. So lethal but still so alluring. It didn’t seem fair that such a stark dangerous place could still inspire awe in him. But it did and he hated it all the more for that. But they had escaped.
Even still they were all suffering the effects and had they not reached a small outpost when they did the desert would have claimed them still. In fact one man expired days after their arrival. The effects of the sun, lack of water and sheer physical and psychological exhaustion were too much for his body. He had collapsed a few hours away from the outpost and Creed had carried him the rest of the way despite his own poor health.
The young man never did regain consciousness and Creed watched from the next bed as the doctors and nurses shook their heads with silent, solemn expressions. Call it fever from trauma, but in that moment that the medical staff moved away from the body of his older brother as it turned to ash and a swift breeze wiped through the propped door to make them dance in the air much like they had witnessed the sand dance with the wind and sun, he was sure that the spirit of the Desert was standing over the fallen soldier’s body, smiling mockingly at Creed. Escape had been an allusion. And if he could have given that spirit a face, it would look like the one that hung in front of his own now.
Princess Kisrafel had the same alien beauty to him. Where his skin was a deeply sun burnished tan, hers was white as the snow of her kingdom. Even the shape of her features spoke of danger and death but that made them no less beautiful and alluring. She flaunted her body because she was confident that no man could touch her without dying slowly. So she paraded him image, not as much to tempt but as a statement of her superiority and a dare for any to try to challenge her. Her eyes were full of emotion and sparkling with cunning, but it was all barely contained rage and haughty self-assurace. Her lips were so full that they begged to be kissed roughly, but their set was firm and unyielding.
And her body. How Creed tried not to look at her body as her second skin shift and revealed her to him. But she moved closer, seeming to enjoy his discomfort and forced him to look at her. Creed could have killed the b***h right then. Grabbed her by the throat and broke her ******** neck for defiling his mind with images more lustful and deviant than any he had ever entertained previously. The only problem was that his hands were still bound securely and she had a throne room full of loyal murderers that would only be too happy to dispatch with him.
Creed held her gaze now with steely anger. She had sent the assassin from the throne room and he felt the sharp twinge of pain followed by the growing ache as his guns were taken further and further away from him. It would not be too much longer and he would lose the ability to think clearly and within a few days he would be bedridden with pain and anguish until he finally wasted away and died in the ultimate suffering. He had always been a man that spat in the face of death. But that didn’t mean that he was ready to go if he could help it.
In an act of defiance, Creed purposefully avoided the Princess’s question and instead led his eyes drop lower and slide over each of her curves. He hated himself every minute and was quite sure that he was going to vomit but damned if he was about to let a woman get the better of him. He followed the generous swell of her breast, her pert nipples the woman dip of her waist to her curvaceous hips that begged to be grabbed from behind and even to her luscious thighs which were pressed together, hiding her sex from his view but more than enough of a treat in themselves. His eyes drug back up and he cocked an eyebrow and smirked at her in mild approval that he didn’t feel.
His heart mind was aching horribly at his betrayal and his body was teaming with need while his mind raced with an exit strategy. Creed had never been much for words, but it seemed that if he was going to get outside this room, that was his only option while his hands were bound and guns were gone. Through his small, cocky, cold smirk he drawled and shrugged his shoulders toward his bound hands, “Where I come from a woman doesn’t put her hands on a man ‘less she wants somethin’ he’s got. And I’m no good to give it to yeh like this.”
He let the innuendo hang for a moment as his smirk fell to a firm scowl. His face was rough with stubble and his dark eyes burned. “I need to be in J’Naal a week from now to get the information yeh want. The Verdablanc set up a meeting for me with an informant he uncovered. He thought his race would stick out in the market town, so he hired me to go for him. But he didn’t trust me. I don’t know the name or the look of the informant. He had my description and was supposed t’find me in J’Naal at the next full moon to give me the information to pass on to the Verdablanc. Though now it seems I’ve got a new employer, but the meeting is still set to go in the market. You ken still find out what he knows. I’ll be the one he’s lookin’ for, so the way I see it, yeh send me in, I’ll get what he knows and bring it back to you, same as I woulda with the other one. A job is a job. But I’ll be needin’ my hands and my guns back.”
Creed’s voice and face were solid and even, but his mind raged. So many battling conflicting emotions. Anger, Pain, Arousal, Betrayl, Bloodlust and sheer ‘********. He was no man that was another’s puppet, though his lie made him sound quite the opposite. There was of course no informant or set meeting as Creed had never actually met the Verdablanc and had no clue about anything to do with Rafale. He didn’t know why everyone bothered actually. The Gods themselves had taken Rafale, and as long as they didn’t want him found, no mere mortal was going to accomplish the task.
It had been a long time since Creed thought about the Gods and Creed had to suppress a grimace of discomfort. More than abandoning his faith, he had simply turned his back on it but still remained close. He was too stung by the blows dealt to him to want to accord any praise to them for anything in the world. No miracle occurrence or act of natural beauty would earn heavenly praise from his lips. After all, without his family, who cared about a ******** sunrise.
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Garden of Wisteria Vice Captain
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Posted: Sat Aug 13, 2011 1:11 pm
Kisrafel Raifira“ There is no poison more deadly...” +||+Varedablanc+||+Age:36+||+Height 6'0”+||+Weight: 140lbs+||+Eyes:Amethyst+||+Hair: Snow White+||+ Theme: White Witch+||+Battle Theme: Deathslinger ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ A sneer tugged at Kisrafel’s expression as the man thing kept trying to pull his face from her grip. The sneer turned to disgust at his innuendo and a low growl rose from her throat. She dug her nails into his cheeks, stopping short of drawing blood, warning him what would happen if he wasn’t careful with his words. She heard her swordmasters shift behind her and held up a hand to ward them off; the man thing was bound, after all, he wasn’t going to hurt her. Besides, even if he were to somehow free himself, she was in no way unarmed. Varedablancs came off as fragile creatures, but they were incredibly dangerous. The second skin that Kisrafel loved to flaunt was fully capable of transforming into a variety of lethal weapons. Kisrafel studied the man thing. His skin felt like leather under her skin and she didn’t like it. She wanted so much to flay his skin from his person and bathe his wounds in salt. She shook the image from her mind, now was not the time to torture and kill this man. If what he was saying was true, he would still prove very useful to her. However, she didn’t trust him, in fact there were very few people in the world she did trust. Trust was a weakness and she had not held onto the throne of Kielael for so long by displaying weakness. Perhaps the only creatures in the world she did trust were her swordmasters, but that was only because she bred them to know nothing but loyalty to her. She paused, taking a moment to sweep her gaze across her court. Her amethyst eyes locked onto the retreating figure of the Assassin who had brought the man thing in. “ Assassin!....Aria!” She called, remembering the woman’s name at the last second, “ Come here. Return this man’s guns to him. I have an important mission for the two of you.” ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “...Than underestimating me and my sword.”
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Posted: Sat Aug 27, 2011 8:52 pm
But Kisrafel had a goal, she served the Queen dutifully and with great determination. She demanded results and she either got them or eliminated those not capable to deliver on her demands. Aria felt proud that she had proved herself useful to such a strong and powerful leader. It had been a few months since she had been contracted to serve the High Court of Kielael and her contract was good for a few months longer. No one had wanted to take what amounted to a likely death sentence by serving under the demanding Princess. But Aria relished the challenge.
Sighing, she leaned back against the cool wall and closed her eyes. Since arriving back at the fortress and dropping the prisoner off in the dungeon, she had time to clean herself and make herself presentable but not to sleep. Once this business was finalized she planned on sleeping the next few days away. The Gunslinger had wore her out. She had to be careful to follow him diligently enough that she didn’t risk losing him but not within range of his damnedable guns.
Shifting, she felt their alien weight against her body where she had strapped them on under her robes. She hated them. In a way, she feared them. Very rarely in her life had she seen a Gunslinger in action but they were not to be discounted. Their weapons gave them power and range that a sword or arrow could not. The ease of firing and the devastation of a bullet were frightening. She had observed what little she could of the happenings in the clock tower as her comrades fell swiftly under the Gunslingers attack. After he had already killed three Shadowmasters and assisted Terstan in his fight as well.
She grimaced, Terstan. He had been beautiful. Kisrafel had been the first Varedablanc that Aria had ever seen and she was transfixed by her. So she had only been more intrigued when one of her comrades had been a Varedablanc. He was a willing partner in her seduction of him and she enjoyed it well enough. She had never felt anything for him, it had been a lifetime since she had felt for a man. But she had found that in the carnal act of lovemaking, ones weaknesses and strengths could be most readily seen and studied. The way he used his second skin was of particular interest to her and he was more than skilled with many uses for it. So she learned how fast he could manipulate it and how he preferred to use it.
It hadn’t bothered her when he took up with his little Aethrel b***h, she had long since bored with him before that. But her senses told her that something was wrong. Terstan had been the leader of their group and Aria took it upon herself to gather the others and assume control. She had been only to happy to be the one to kill Terstan for his betrayal. Smug b*****d. But that stupid little Aethrel killing herself had ruined their plans. So the Gunslinger was the only one standing and Aria was hoping against hope that he had the information that Kisrafel needed.
The doors cracked open and a guard stepped out into the antechamber. “Aria Biagio!” he called out clearly. Her eyebrow raised. She had been waiting to take the prisoner back to the dungeouns or simply dispose of him, but she hadn’t expected it to be so fast. Straightening up with all of the poise of a lady of the court and the sure step of a trained killer, she walked through the doors, the guard trailing behind her as she reentered the court. The Gunslinger was still alive so perhaps her Majesty simply had more questions from her.
As usual, the Princess’s orders were firm and to the point. “ Come here. Return this man’s guns to him. I have an important mission for the two of you.”
Aria tried to control her expression from the look of horror that she wanted to contort it into. This man was a prisoner, had worked with Terstan, and killed what had been left of their group. She didn’t trust him to be unchained, let alone armed. But Aria knew to obey her employer without question. Reaching up she pulled on a tie and the loose robes that she had been wearing fell open to reveal the fitted black trousers as thin as bloomers and tight corset. Her underclothes for court doubled as fighting apparel if needed in a pinch. A collection of throwing knives and twin daggers were strapped to her body over the corset along with a few bundles of silver needles and small vials of poisons on the black leather belt over her hips. Slung over each hip was a gun belt and the shotgun was strapped to her back. With an ease that she didn’t feel when handling the foreign weapons, she stripped them from her person and tossed them at the tall prisoner.
She didn’t know what the Princess had in mind, but she already decided that she hated the man, right down to and most especially the smug grin that he through her when he caught his guns from her angry toss. Fingering a dagger, a promise of a painful gutting to him, she kept her attention on the Princess, ready to hear how she was needed. No longer was she tired and languid. Her body was taunt and ready to follow orders as she wrapped the robe back around herself and dropped back in a low genuflect.
“Your word is my command, Majesty.”
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Garden of Wisteria Vice Captain
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