The OOC
Nestled into the side of Mount Azaron, on the mineral-rich island of Antir, is a place of great legend. A towering, quiet, pale grey stone castle watches over the mining town of Starkhaven, where people have forgotten the dangers of magic. Magic is everywhere, and it consumes all. It is the means by which the townspeople of Starkhaven mine their ore; Starkhaven healers use magic to do their work. Peace abounds on Antir, and trade thrives in the Starkhaven harbour. Everything is in order, as far as the townspeople know. The arrival of a strange man, now a prisoner in the Starkhaven prison, threatens to tear the very fabric of peace on Antir. Will this be the end of Starkhaven, and all of Antir?
Starkhaven Jail
A great pain roared through Nicolas Sorrel's body, waking him from his sleep. It hadn't been a natural sleep, which caused Nicolas to feel uneasy. He looked around the room he was sat in, noticing that there were brick walls on all four sides. In front of him, there was a wooden door with a tiny slit, by which one might look in on whomever was within. Nicolas attempted then to move, but he was hindered. He looked down at his wrists, noticing that he was shackled to the floor. A sudden worry flooded Nicolas, compounded by yet another great pain forcing Nicolas to buckle like a man struck in the stomach. He let out a cry as he looked down at his hand, which seemed to be the source of the pain. There, on his left palm, there was a strange mark. It was not shaped in any particular way, like a gash cut into Nicolas by some magical blade. The mark seemed to give off a light, however the light was black. It was truly unlike anything that Nicolas had ever seen. He attempted to touch the mark with his other hand, but he was unable to. Then, a searing pain, more severe than the others, ripped out of his hand and through his entire body, causing him to temporarily lose consciousness. Then, immediately after he reawakened, the door to his cell flew open in a violent way.
In front of Nicolas stood a guard with a very serious demeanour. The man was built largely, and appeared to be very powerful. The coat of arms blazoned on the chestplate of the guard's armour depicted a bucking horse atop a gold and orange shield. It was not a coat of arms that Nicolas was familiar with. The guard approached Nicolas aggressively, grabbing the prisoner by the neck and lifted him from the ground. Nicolas was still shackled to the floor by the wrists, which made the contortion very uncomfortable. The brutish guard then spoke, his accent thick with both stupidity and rurality.
"Prisoner, it's about bloody time you've woken up. We waited for hours, but our damned mage cast his spell a bit too strong. We'll start this out easy." The guard threw Nicolas to the floor roughly, preparing to kick the prisoner whilst down. Then, yet again, the door flew open. This time, an older woman walked in, also wearing a guard uniform. She grabbed her fellow guardsman by the shoulder, stopping him from harming Nicolas. The woman spoke,
"Forgive my friend, please. I am Guards-woman Elizabeth Ryall. We do not intend to harm you, we only want to know the source of that mark on your palm. Our mage said that some sort of black magic radiates from it, but it seems to harm you more than it helps you. Do you know how to got that strange marking?"
Nicolas was confused, both by the kindness shown by the second guard, and by the allegation that there was black magic within him. He had never been able to learn magecraft, so it was a shock to him. He spoke with a mainland accent,
"I cannot remember where I had this mark. It does me a great deal of pain, Guard Ryall. I remember boarding a ship from my homeland, bound for Northwode. Then, my memory is black. Now, I am in a prison, and I do not know what I have done."
The guards continued to interrogate Nicolas, although it seemed more than genuine that the young man did not know how he received the black mark on his palm, nor how he arrived to Antir.
Duchess Katherine Mareys
Caer Azaron
Like most days, Katherine was sad. She walked the very edge of the high wall of Caer Azaron, looking down on the town of Starkhaven. It looked very small from the heights, but she knew otherwise. Katherine was so young, but power was thrust into her hands after the death of her father, the Duke Gaspard Mareys. Despite being trained in the arts of persuasion and diplomacy, Katherine didn't know how to properly deal with the Mayor of Starkhaven, nor the rest of the folk. She wanted so badly to make a good impression on the people, that they might again look up to her family name, but she doubted that Starkhaven would ever respect her. She was a shy girl, with a terribly poor position. So she stood on the edge of the life she knew, and the lives she wanted to know, and sulked. Not far behind her, as always, were her maidens, who made sure that Katherine's needs were attended to. It was a high-class lifestyle, but Katherine felt it meant nothing without the admiration of the people.
It was a very warm day, despite winter nearing. The sun was out, and shining brightly. It made it difficult for Katherine to look out at Starkhaven without squinting her eyes. The sky was perfectly clear, and birds took the opportunity to hunt creatures of the ground. Katherine looked onto the central part of Starkhaven, where the jail was located. She figured that at the moment, the strange foreigner being held there was being questioned by the guards. She had asked the mayor to be kind to the prisoner, but she doubted that the mayor had listened. She wondered so intently what the prisoner was doing in Starkhaven. She wondered even more intently why the prisoner bore a magical mark. She sighed, thinking on these things, taking a seat on the wall. It would be so easy for an assassin to push Katherine over the wall, but she wasn't respected enough even to be assassinated. It was hard on her soul, being known as a worthless figurehead, unfit to rule anything worth ruling.