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Intermountain States
Minister
 
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Founded: Oct 12, 2014
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Intermountain States » Sun Apr 16, 2023 7:50 pm

Anselmian-Wyzkian Border
Stefen Rogalski and Jean Corvoisier, Rogalski and Associates


Climbing the cliff overseeing the mercenary camp, Stefen counted the people in the camp through his spyglass. There was around 23 combatants altogether. Tents were strewed out in the camp with makeshift fences and rails circling the camp. Armed men walked around the camp. He sees a man in important looking armor giving commands to other armed men, that must be the leader. He also noticed three cages at the furthest end of the camp filled with people, they look to be the "captures" from other raids.

According to that raider Jean's team caught, the camp belongs to the Jackal Group. The Jackal Group is just one of the many mercenary companies operating in Anselm. Compared to other mercenary companies such as Shadow Company or the infamous Black Band, the Jackal Group is a much smaller mercenary organization with their numbers operating in the double digit. That being said, they do get involved in underground activities such conducting raids across the Anselmian-Wyzkian border and capturing unfortunate individuals there. This was why local mayors and sheriffs across border settlements gave an open warrant to Rogalski and Associates to wipe out the Jackals at the border.

Stefen frowned as he peered through the spyglass. This campground is heavily guarded with all perimeters looking secured, sneaking would be next to impossible. A frontal assault would probably work, Stefen has six sharpshooters with him and Jean and Iwan are each commanding six armed men. Stefen's team could take out outside defenses, allowing Iwan and Jean's teams to enter in melee combat. Frontal assault it is then.




Jean and Gloria walked to the campgrounds of the Jackal Group with their cloaks concealing their armors. They were given the task to serve as decoys; traveling merchants interested in browsing the captures of the Jackal Group. The rest of the bounty hunters were divided into their groups; Stefen leading archers and crossbowmen to aim for Jackal missile units while Jean's bounty hunters would join with Iwan's team for a frontal assault. A camp guard stopped them from the entrance.

"Halt," the guard said with his left palm out. "What business do you have with the Jackals?"

"We are humble travelers passing through and we're wondering if we could browse some of your recent additions before they would be shipped to the trading markets," Gloria lied. The guard contemplated for a while then nodded.

"All right then, you may be taken to browse the fruits of our raids," the guard said. "However be warned that any aggression against the Jackal Group would net you a slow and painful death, especially with you, madam suffering longer." He pointed at Gloria who only glared back. A guard lead them to the slave pen, containing three people, a woman and two boys, in a large cage. A man guarding the pens stood up from his chair at the arrival of hooded figures.

"These two would like to browse our captures," the guard said before returning to the entrance.

Very well," The pen master said before turning to Jean and Gloria. "These captures had yet to be processed to earn the right of being called slaves but we can sell you one of the captures, just at a higher cost than if we have them processed and sold at the slave auction."

"Why are we limited to just one capture for a higher price, my good sir?" Jean asked. "Why couldn't I buy all three captures, make it a bundle?"

"We have to meet a quota for the market," the penmaster answered. "We're still waiting for two other raiding parties with their captures, it would not look good for us if we only have one slave to sell at the market.

"Speaking of," the penmaster continued, eyeing the two people with suspicion. "We sent three raiding parties two nights ago, only one party returned with the captures last night and the other two have yet to arrive, despite their experience in the border. Wyzkia doesn't have central military presence in the border and the levies under their lords in the border areas don't tend to patrol far out from their lands.

"Then we have two armored figures walking to our camp, interested in browsing the loots of the only party that made it back on time." A few of the mercenaries got closer to Jean and Gloria, interesting in what the penmaster is saying. "Perhaps you'd be kind to answer some of our questions?" the penmaster asked.

'Well, there goes the easy way out,' Gloria said. Both Jean and Gloria drew their weapons. In response, most of the Jackals in the camp surrounded Jean and Gloria with their weapons.




Stefen smiled as he looked through the spyglass. Jean and Gloria are getting a good number of these merc's attention. He turned and nodded to the other bounty hunters behind him, awaiting his command. While he doesn't doubt that Jean and Gloria could handle themselves against a large amount of mercenaries, Jean being the only mage within the firm and Gloria being a relic, the arrival of their comrades is always a good thing.

Three crossbowmen including Stefen lay at the top of the cliff, aiming at some of the perimeter guards while the three archers raised their bows at the entrance while still concealing themselves by the foliage. Bolts were launched from the crossbows and penetrated three guards. Taking cue, the archers let loose their arrows at the entrance guards. The archers from the sentry towers at the front of the camp fell to the raining arrows and bolts. Iwan drew his sword in front of the bounty hunters.

"Men, attack!" He yelled out as the bounty hunters drew their weapons and rushed rushed forward past the entrance, easily overpowering the remaining Jackal guards.




"Ambush!" a Jackal cried out. Jean and Gloria responded by striking at the Jackals closest to them, Gloria especially punched the penmaster in the throat. The clash of metals are heard all throughout the camp as the bounty hunters stormed the camp of the Jackal Group. Jean punched a Jackal with his gauntlet while slashed at another in the neck with his sword. One Jackal attempted to stab Jean with a spear but was met with a clang as his steel armor blocked the spear. Jean high kicked the merc square in the chest in retaliation.

In the midst of the chaos, Jean took a few steps back to scan for the man with the important looking armor. He sees him guarded by three spearmen and both he and Gloria rushed toward them. They took care of the guards easily and both lunged at the camp leader with their weapons. Surprisingly, the camp leader is a capable swordsman, being able to parry their attacks with relative ease. However, Jean was able to knock the sword out of the camp leader's hand and elbowed him in the face, causing the camp leader to fall to the ground. The leader struggled to get up but Jean pointed his sword at his face.

"Alright," Jean begins, "Where were you about to take those people? Answer the question and you may be spared and rotting in a prison cell somewhere." Unfortunately, the man started shaking uncontrollably with foam appearing from his mouth. A few seconds later, he lied motionless. Jean cursed under his breath.

"Looks like he has some poison pill to keep himself silent," Gloria said. "We can search the tents and see if there are any documents to seize."

"I didn't saw any fires, so perhaps we'll find something," Jean nodded.




The fighting was already over by the time Jean and Gloria returned from searching the tents. Any survival Jackals were wounded up by the bounty hunters while the people in the cages were let out; most opting to take a ride in the wagons back to their homes to the border settlements. Stefen's archers and Jean and Gloria did a good job whittling down the numbers for the rest of the bounty hunters and only three bounty hunters reported any injuries. Stefen had some of the wagons carted off to the border settlements with bounty hunters, prisoners, and freed people when Jean and Gloria arrived with some documents.

"Stefen, I like to request some time off for a period of time," Jean said. Stefen looked at his friend with some confusion.

"What do you mean?" he asked. Jean gave him a sheet of paper as an answer.

"Meet with a guide at Ennestein to reach Kaesar for slave market by this date listed below," Stefen read. "Are you looking to disrupt this slave market all the way in Anselm?"

"Yes but it is not just that," Jean replied. "The name Kaesar seems to have his own signature and I recognize that handwriting as the one used by my wife's killer. You know that I've been looking for that man for years all over the known world."

"I'm well aware of that, friend," Stefen said. "But it looks like this Kaesar has some underground connection, especially since it looks like he had a small mercenary company working with him. Are you sure you're going to handle this by yourself?"

"I have Gloria but this is my fight," Jean replied. "I know that your firm operates largely in Wyzkia and that this border operation was largely in cooperation with the sheriffs and lords of the settlements there. I'm not asking for more of your bounty hunters, I'm doing this by myself."

"It sounds like suicide, Jean," Stefen said. He took out a small piece of paper and handed it to Jean. "I have some friends in Anselm during my brief mercenary work there. A friend gave me an address to a mercenary company headquarter in Anselm. At the very least, meet with them before you take on Kaesar and his operation by yourself." Stefen took out a small pouch filled with coins and gave that to Jean.

"And your pay for this successful operation," he added. "Return to Pakrzyski first. Get yourself a hot meal, some supplies, and some rest before you cross the border. I'll let the other partners know of your whereabout."
I find my grammatical mistakes after I finish posting
"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed"
Lunatic Goofballs wrote:I'm a third party voter. Trust me when I say this: Not even a lifetime supply of tacos could convince me to vote for either Hillary or Trump. I suspect I'm not the only third party voter who feels that way. I cost Hillary nothing. I cost Trump nothing. If I didn't vote for third party, I would have written in 'Batman'.

If you try to blame me, I will laugh in your face. I'm glad she lost. I got half my wish. :)
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Elysian Kentarchy
Senator
 
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Founded: Nov 19, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Mon Apr 17, 2023 6:52 am

Illania de Velira

I let out a light sigh as the pain in my forehead goes away, in a sense it is as gentle Solomon's healing and so I unconsciously return the smile. "You have my thanks for that, I am lucky I got away with just that with fighting the Heir of Remigil." I listen to her words and nod. "Solomon will understand, if there is one faithful child of Achysia who does not want to fight but will if he has to, it would be Solomon. He only fights because, to be honest, we are making him fight." I mull over my next words before continuing. "I do not doubt that the Tyrant Prince would burn us to the ground if given the slightest excuse. I agree to us getting a bit of rest, gathering supplies, and then heading out. You might be as stubborn as my brother but I would like to get some rest after having to fight Remigil's Heir and getting tossed by your knights."

Before I can depart, someone new enters and approaches us. "Constable Éric de Villegaignon." I nod in greeting. "So how will you make this evening worse for us?" I ask lightly, gesturing to the throne room which has clearly seen battle very recently if the dried blood on me wasn't an indication.


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

Philosophy and Religion Major

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Kingdom of Irhk
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Posts: 6359
Founded: Aug 30, 2015
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Kingdom of Irhk » Mon Apr 17, 2023 3:29 pm

Elysian Kentarchy wrote:Illania de Velira

I let out a light sigh as the pain in my forehead goes away, in a sense it is as gentle Solomon's healing and so I unconsciously return the smile. "You have my thanks for that, I am lucky I got away with just that with fighting the Heir of Remigil." I listen to her words and nod. "Solomon will understand, if there is one faithful child of Achysia who does not want to fight but will if he has to, it would be Solomon. He only fights because, to be honest, we are making him fight." I mull over my next words before continuing. "I do not doubt that the Tyrant Prince would burn us to the ground if given the slightest excuse. I agree to us getting a bit of rest, gathering supplies, and then heading out. You might be as stubborn as my brother but I would like to get some rest after having to fight Remigil's Heir and getting tossed by your knights."

Before I can depart, someone new enters and approaches us. "Constable Éric de Villegaignon." I nod in greeting. "So how will you make this evening worse for us?" I ask lightly, gesturing to the throne room which has clearly seen battle very recently if the dried blood on me wasn't an indication.


Éric de Villegaignon

"Worse is... quite subjective. More interesting, perhaps?"

The rumours at the walls were true, then: the dried blood on the Achysian assassin, the signs of a struggle that re-decorated the throne room with dust and ash... whatever happened here was a decisive step. To attack Alexis while she was out on the field was one thing; to reach her, to attempt murder at her very cradle was another thing entirely. By what he heard - and he still needed to hear more - they'd ride to meet an Achisian leader, to dissuade him of his thoughts of war in face of such a danger.

"Well, usually I'd be more... refined with the way I structure my telling of an event, be it for my upbringing, be it for the time I spent on the Isles, but... To put it simply - and I'm obviously leaving details behind, ones I'll pick up once I'm properly rested - Alexis, your sister, the one named Estelle, is alive. By which means I do not know, but it may be the case of hatred powering her through such... minor inconveniences such as death.

The Traitor, quite the charming title, is coming for you, Alexis. You, literally and metaphorically: as her sister and as the representation of Duivene. Not just that, but she has access to the ability of summoning Hosts of the Shade to her aid, as I was attacked by them. So did a nearby village. She is... teamed up, as I couldn't ascertain the nature of her partnership with the Archbishop of Pride.

I do not know the nature of their plans, but their objective is clear: they're after you, Alexis. And they'll look towards getting allies around you. Yet Estelle harbors a deep hatred towards you, and I do not know how much of that can be translated into power. We all need to prepare ourselves."
Nothing to see here, move along.

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Elysian Kentarchy
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Founded: Nov 19, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Tue Apr 18, 2023 1:59 am

Kingdom of Irhk wrote:
Elysian Kentarchy wrote:Illania de Velira

I let out a light sigh as the pain in my forehead goes away, in a sense it is as gentle Solomon's healing and so I unconsciously return the smile. "You have my thanks for that, I am lucky I got away with just that with fighting the Heir of Remigil." I listen to her words and nod. "Solomon will understand, if there is one faithful child of Achysia who does not want to fight but will if he has to, it would be Solomon. He only fights because, to be honest, we are making him fight." I mull over my next words before continuing. "I do not doubt that the Tyrant Prince would burn us to the ground if given the slightest excuse. I agree to us getting a bit of rest, gathering supplies, and then heading out. You might be as stubborn as my brother but I would like to get some rest after having to fight Remigil's Heir and getting tossed by your knights."

Before I can depart, someone new enters and approaches us. "Constable Éric de Villegaignon." I nod in greeting. "So how will you make this evening worse for us?" I ask lightly, gesturing to the throne room which has clearly seen battle very recently if the dried blood on me wasn't an indication.


Éric de Villegaignon

"Worse is... quite subjective. More interesting, perhaps?"

The rumours at the walls were true, then: the dried blood on the Achysian assassin, the signs of a struggle that re-decorated the throne room with dust and ash... whatever happened here was a decisive step. To attack Alexis while she was out on the field was one thing; to reach her, to attempt murder at her very cradle was another thing entirely. By what he heard - and he still needed to hear more - they'd ride to meet an Achisian leader, to dissuade him of his thoughts of war in face of such a danger.

"Well, usually I'd be more... refined with the way I structure my telling of an event, be it for my upbringing, be it for the time I spent on the Isles, but... To put it simply - and I'm obviously leaving details behind, ones I'll pick up once I'm properly rested - Alexis, your sister, the one named Estelle, is alive. By which means I do not know, but it may be the case of hatred powering her through such... minor inconveniences such as death.

The Traitor, quite the charming title, is coming for you, Alexis. You, literally and metaphorically: as her sister and as the representation of Duivene. Not just that, but she has access to the ability of summoning Hosts of the Shade to her aid, as I was attacked by them. So did a nearby village. She is... teamed up, as I couldn't ascertain the nature of her partnership with the Archbishop of Pride.

I do not know the nature of their plans, but their objective is clear: they're after you, Alexis. And they'll look towards getting allies around you. Yet Estelle harbors a deep hatred towards you, and I do not know how much of that can be translated into power. We all need to prepare ourselves."


Illania de Velira

"The return of..." I mull over the name for a moment before continuing with the name many among the False Covenant gave to the Innocent Princess "the Lost Princess is already something known to the two of us. She did clash with your princess at the battlefield where I was captured after all. For now we will have to hope she doesn't join forces with the Heir of Remigil, also known as the traitor Lidia. Alexis of Duivene might be strong and my brother would sing her praises but I think she would have trouble fighting two of those you call Traitors at the same time." I leave out the fact that those two killing Alexis and running rampant would undoubtedly benefit Achysia in the short term as that should be obvious.

I wind up pinching my nose in annoyance at the mention of the Shade's Host, feeling an incoming headache and muttering. "The Shade's Host. Great, another problem we will have to deal with."
Last edited by Elysian Kentarchy on Tue Apr 18, 2023 2:00 am, edited 2 times in total.


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

Philosophy and Religion Major

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Tracian Empire
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 26885
Founded: Mar 01, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby Tracian Empire » Tue Apr 18, 2023 10:59 am

Image
Kingdom of Duivene
Ⴊჵ Ⴐⴄღნე ⴃⴄ Ⴃⴓⴈⴅⴄⴌⴄ
Lo Regne de Duivene


Virtute et valare luceo non uro
By virtue and valor I shine, but do not burn


Citadel of Chovers
Throne Room


"My sister... and the Shade's Hosts."

Alexis said nothing else for a few more moments, just grasping her lance until her knuckles turned white. "I saw her, the one who looks like my sister and calls herself Estelle. i fought her, and I've felt her rage and her hate. But to think... to think that my sister, or that someone or something looking and talking and fighting like her, would summon and fight alongside Shades... I can't believe it. I know that you must be telling the truth, but I can't accept that my sister would do something like that. We fought them together. The shades, and our uncle, the Uncrowned king. We both saw, so very well, the pain and suffering they brought to Duivene. So how could she? How could this, this person be my sister? But when I fought her, when I talked to her... I was so certain that it was her. I don't know... I really don't know..."

The princess closed her eyes, as if she was trying to hold back her tears. "And the Archbishop of Pride... does that mean that all of them are alive? That all the Seven Traitors are still alive? That can't be. I know that they are dead. I've seen them die." Alexis started shivering, almost as if she was afraid, but she then raised her lance and hit the floor beneath with its bottom. "It doesn't matter. If that is really Estelle, and that was really Lidia... maybe they do have a right to kill me. And if that is the case, and our entire fight ended with the slaughtering of innocents... then maybe I do deserve to die. But I can't die. Not yet. We have to stop this war. The continent, the Silver Realms, the people... they can't experience another war. Not again. Too many have died, and too many have suffered. We need to stop the war before it starts, to talk with the Achysians, to stop their attack. And then to try to find a middle ground, something that can keep the peace. I don't know whether this Lidia and this Estelle are real... but both of them have fought and bled during the war, all for the hope of peace. I won't let this fragile peace, their dream, our dream, be shattered. We shall go and meet the Achysians. Illania will lead us. And Constable... I trust you, and I've seen you fight. I want you to come with us."
I'm a Romanian, a vampire, an anime enthusiast and a roleplayer.
Hello there! I am Tracian Empire! You can call me Tracian, Thrace, Thracian, Thracr, Thracc or whatever you want. Really.

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Kingdom of Irhk
Negotiator
 
Posts: 6359
Founded: Aug 30, 2015
Left-Leaning College State

Postby Kingdom of Irhk » Tue Apr 18, 2023 6:37 pm

Tracian Empire wrote:(Image)
Kingdom of Duivene
Ⴊჵ Ⴐⴄღნე ⴃⴄ Ⴃⴓⴈⴅⴄⴌⴄ
Lo Regne de Duivene


Virtute et valare luceo non uro
By virtue and valor I shine, but do not burn


Citadel of Chovers
Throne Room


"My sister... and the Shade's Hosts."

Alexis said nothing else for a few more moments, just grasping her lance until her knuckles turned white. "I saw her, the one who looks like my sister and calls herself Estelle. i fought her, and I've felt her rage and her hate. But to think... to think that my sister, or that someone or something looking and talking and fighting like her, would summon and fight alongside Shades... I can't believe it. I know that you must be telling the truth, but I can't accept that my sister would do something like that. We fought them together. The shades, and our uncle, the Uncrowned king. We both saw, so very well, the pain and suffering they brought to Duivene. So how could she? How could this, this person be my sister? But when I fought her, when I talked to her... I was so certain that it was her. I don't know... I really don't know..."

The princess closed her eyes, as if she was trying to hold back her tears. "And the Archbishop of Pride... does that mean that all of them are alive? That all the Seven Traitors are still alive? That can't be. I know that they are dead. I've seen them die." Alexis started shivering, almost as if she was afraid, but she then raised her lance and hit the floor beneath with its bottom. "It doesn't matter. If that is really Estelle, and that was really Lidia... maybe they do have a right to kill me. And if that is the case, and our entire fight ended with the slaughtering of innocents... then maybe I do deserve to die. But I can't die. Not yet. We have to stop this war. The continent, the Silver Realms, the people... they can't experience another war. Not again. Too many have died, and too many have suffered. We need to stop the war before it starts, to talk with the Achysians, to stop their attack. And then to try to find a middle ground, something that can keep the peace. I don't know whether this Lidia and this Estelle are real... but both of them have fought and bled during the war, all for the hope of peace. I won't let this fragile peace, their dream, our dream, be shattered. We shall go and meet the Achysians. Illania will lead us. And Constable... I trust you, and I've seen you fight. I want you to come with us."


Éric de Villegaignon - Chovers, Throne Room

"Well... I'm the Constable after all. So I shall ride with both of you. But two are the things I need before the journey.

First, and pardon if I may sound excessively rude here, Princess: Your mind must be sharp as your blade if you aim to fight the Traitors or their forces. If your determination trembles at the very first question, then we already lost. Who are you, Alexis, Hero of the Duivenian, to lend to others the right to kill you after they went after the innocent? Are you really gullible to the point of believing that they earned such right because you made a decision and live, honourably, with the consequences of such actions?

Do not put yourself at the executioner's table before our march. Strengthen yourself, your resolve, the certainty of what you did and what you didn't, for no amount of self-pity and self-judgement will tip it to your favour. It is time for you to defend your actions with the same grit you defend your soldiers, Alexis. Or there'll be no middle ground to built over our corpses if we don't survive this mission.

And second..."

A deep breath interrupted the roughness of his message. Despite avoiding to show it - a trait acquired throughout the years - the physical and mental stress of the last weeks took its toll on the man who just so recently decided to return home. For a minute, he seemed to readjust his vision to his surroundings, focusing his sight once again on the Princess after wandering through the room's decoration and blood stains.

"Logically, I'll need some rest. I no longer possess the youthful vigor of you, Princess Alexis and Lady Illania, if that isn't obvious by my looks. Second... if I am to survive a duel with an Achyisian or a traitor... I'll need my weapon once again. The one made for me, if it still exists, which I believe it does, made for this specific purpose. And for that, I'll need to stop at Bellegarde, my home.

And from there... I march, I suppose. Once again, under a Duivenian banner."
Nothing to see here, move along.

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Tracian Empire
Postmaster of the Fleet
 
Posts: 26885
Founded: Mar 01, 2014
Father Knows Best State

Postby Tracian Empire » Thu Apr 20, 2023 2:56 am

Image
Kingdom of Duivene
Ⴊჵ Ⴐⴄღნე ⴃⴄ Ⴃⴓⴈⴅⴄⴌⴄ
Lo Regne de Duivene


Virtute et valare luceo non uro
By virtue and valor I shine, but do not burn


Citadel of Chovers
Throne Room


"You are right, Constable.", Alexis replied, a determined smile now on her face. "My duty to my realm and to my people comes first. We need to stop this war, and make sure that no more innocents will suffer. Whatever happens, whatever fate the Gods have for me and for my past mistakes, it will have to wait." Taking a deep breath, the princess now relaxed her grip on her lance, as she stood upright, no longer using her weapon to help her stand. "And worry not Constable, we all need some rest. I don't even know what the court mage will say about what I've done this night - I was meant to rest and not to use any magic. We need to meet with the Achysians as quickly as possible, but we still have time. We shall rest for tonight, and we will leave tomorrow. You can go and look for your weapon, and then rejoin us on the way there."

Two knights then approached to escort her back to her chambers. "May you all rest well. Good night."

And with that, the princess left, leaving the bloody and burned throne room behind.
I'm a Romanian, a vampire, an anime enthusiast and a roleplayer.
Hello there! I am Tracian Empire! You can call me Tracian, Thrace, Thracian, Thracr, Thracc or whatever you want. Really.

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Elysian Kentarchy
Senator
 
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Founded: Nov 19, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Fri Apr 21, 2023 11:01 pm

Illania de Velira

As she departs I say to her. "Try not to get yourself killed between now and our next meeting, Solomon would be disappointed." After they leave I turn to the constable. "If there is nothing else constable, I will take my leave. I need to clean the blood off me and get some sleep." I tell him with a nod before surrendering myself into the custody of a knight to be returned to where I am supposed to be confined.

After returning to the room they are keeping me in and being provided a basin of water and a cloth I clean the blood off me and ready myself for bed, quickly falling asleep.

Melodie, a couple hours later

I approach the door and say to the guards posted outside of it. "The Princess wishes for me to deliver a message." They nod and step aside so I can enter, there is no reason to question my words for I do serve the princess in everything I do. I close the door behind me and, after my eyes adjust to the darkness I see her laying on the bed, quietly breathing. I approach and take out my dagger.

"Wake up, witch." I growl at her, mounting her and pressing the dagger to her throat.

She snaps awake and her eyes go wide as she gets such a close look at my face and the blood drains from her face. “You… no… you died. I remember your death.” Her eyes dart wildly around, clearly trying to tell if this is a dream or reality.

I smirk as I lean in, keeping my knife pressed against her throat, oh it would be so easy to draw her blood, to kill her right here, right now, but no, too many witnesses, too much suspicion. I will have to wait, and while I wait I can drag this out for her, to make sure she understands why she deserves it. “Perhaps I have simply come back to haunt you. Ezekiel is dead and we both know Solomon will never judge you. Someone must judge you and if it is me then so be it.”

Illania de Velira

She cannot be here, she cannot be here. But she is here. She is here. How? She was killed. She was killed. However her last words calm down my mind and I can only sigh in resignation, accepting the fact that she seems to be alive. “...So be it, I agreed to pay the price when I ignored Celio’s warnings along with Solomon and Ney's.”

“Ah yes, Celio, if even someone whose crime was as great as his was telling you not to do something along with someone as pure as Solomon and as pragmatic as Nerine perhaps you should have listened, you were so willing to listen to him before that for some reason.”

At that my eyes regain their fire as I glare at her. “At least Celio was willing to die for Achysia, unlike you who faked your death.”

“And unlike you, given how you still live.” She replies coldly. "But we are not here to talk about someone who killed his mother. That is at least one sin you are not guilty of."

I open my mouth to answer that. "That was..."

"Do not try to make excuses for him Illania, it is unbecoming of a noblewoman of your pedigree. Besides, we are here to discuss you." I remain silent and she continues. “All you are, Illania, is someone who disgraces your heritage with every step you take. Witch. Murderer. Demon summoner. Necromancer. Monster."

"I..." I try to start but she cuts me off.

"I told you once that there will never be forgiveness for your crimes and now I will tell you this, I will find a way to have the Princess execute you, to tear down the facade you present and so she sees nothing but the thing that you are. Someone who deserves to die and only ruins everything for others. Ezekiel did not deserve to have you as a sister, Solomon certainly does not."

"You think I do not know that?" I ask her quietly.

"I will make sure you never forget it." She gets off me and goes to leave but stops and looks over her shoulder. “Oh. One last thing, not a word of what we talked about to the Princess, not like she would believe you anyway.” With a cruel smirk that I never thought she was capable of, the ghost from my past walks out the door, leaving me in darkness.

Sitting up with my knees pulled up to my chin, I remember.

As the fighting goes on, as horrors of steel and sorcery are unleashed on the battlefield, two mages watch in the distance. One clad in the black and red robes distinctive to the Ring of Death while the other dressed in simple armor but with a pendant indicating her membership in the Ring of Fire. Even from their position the two of them can clearly hear the screams of the dying, of the horrors of the magics being unleashed. Eventually the Achysian Host wins the day and begins its pursuit. As they do, the two of them walk onto the battlefield, the carrion birds already starting their feast. After staring at the site the mage not accustomed to death nearly vomits before getting a grip on herself.




“You are right, Celio. There is no glory or honor in this war. Only horror.” I tell him numbly as I watch blood slowly drip out of a nearby corpse, the smell of iron and burnt flesh filling my nostrils.

“I know Solomon and Nerine already talked to you about this. Please Illania, if you won’t listen to me then listen to them, you need to stay out of this war.”

I smile sadly. After facing these horrors how can I stay out of it? If my brother, if Ney, if everyone I care about is fighting, why shouldn’t I fight too? I have already lost Ezekiel. But maybe, just maybe… “I do not want to stay at home and watch everyone I care about, my friends and family, fight and die while I remain safe. Maybe, just maybe, if I fight too I will be able to protect them.”




To hear this from a woman older than Celio, such a childish and innocent view on joining the war, just stuns Celio and makes him realize one thing, this attempt to scare her off could not have failed more. He and the others have failed despite wanting to protect her.

And so, with an innocent smile on her face and hopes on her sleeve, Illania de Velira, the white lily of House de Velira that everyone who knew her would say was incapable of hurting a fly, will willingly walk into hell. To the horror of everyone who remotely cared about her.




I return to the present, conjure a small flame in my hand, and stare at it as I twirl it around in my fingers. Such innocent times. How easy it would be to immolate myself for everything I did since that day. But yet immolation would be a kindness I do not deserve, I deserve a far worse death, and Solomon made me promise not to attempt that again. Even if I have nothing left I will keep my oaths, as I always have. Much like in Bearer Velira’s time before he became a Bearer, before the Blind Priestess met His Undying Majesty, before we reclaimed our world from the madness of the Abhorrence, we are in the darkness and it is within darkness that who we are will be revealed. I will see if the Princess is truly worthy or if it is simply artifice.

And her answer will also be my own.
Last edited by Elysian Kentarchy on Sat Apr 22, 2023 3:09 am, edited 1 time in total.


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

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Remnants of Exilvania
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Iron Fist Consumerists

Postby Remnants of Exilvania » Sun Apr 23, 2023 8:03 am

Anselm
Southern Anselm
Wiedlispen-Elmstedt Road


There had been a time when the roads in southern Anselm had been safer. Well, 'safer'. As in you didn't need to worry about marauding slaves alongside the usual bandits, brigands, monsters and cultists you usually met on these roads. Though most of the latter usually at least understood to leave those bearing her emblem alone. Not so the slaves, many of which tended to have some kind of personal vendetta against merchants like herself.

Perhaps that was why Konnie's scars were so itchy today, the merchant once more pulling off her glove and bringing her hand up to scratch them a little. They were a particularly grim and permanent reminder of how her mother died, protecting her when they had been beset by pirates, which was why she had never made any attempts to have the scars healed or removed. Magic could have restored her face with ease long ago. Instead the remained, one scar crossing hr nose and cheek, the other from her forhead across her eye and over her cheek as well, the two scars crossing on that cheek. Back when she had first gotten, fresh, on that ship, her cheek had been an open mess one could see her teeth through, her nose broken or sliced through and her eye had hurt like hell. Her nose recovered. Her cheek healed shut. And her eye? Her vision had ended up impaired on it, a certain milkiness to the eyeball still within that socket, but she remained able of seeing and if she used a monocle, even clearly enough to read documents.

"Do you require your ointment, mylady?"

, her butler, Schröck Blech, inquired from the opposite bench of the coach, the giant of a man's hands already moving for the little travelling pack he had kept on hand rather than outside with the rest of their luggage. He had served the family faithfully for decades now and Konstanze had come to see the aging butler almost as a sort of uncle figure. And a substitue father ever since she had to distance herself from her real father. His care for her was...endearing at times but at the current moment she was too annoyed for it or any ointments, instead rubbing her scars a little more as she said:

"No, I do not. Just a bit of a bad feeling. But unless we run into an entire army of slaves, which we should not, we should be more than fine."

Looking out of the windows of their coach, they could see their entire entourage. One black coach bearing the crest of the Unsterbs on its flanks as well as a small flag on top, drawn by four horses. Both behind and in front rode six riders, each of them also bearing the livery of the Unsterbs and heavily armed, better even than most mercenaries in Anselm. Konstanze had few soldiers in her direct employ...but those she did she made sure to equip well and it showed in their well kept armour, clean clothes and sharp blades. The horss too were of excellent quality and showed no signs of fatigue, despite the lengthy journey.

Which made the figure riding at the very front of the entire formation all the more peculiar. A lone knight in full plate armour, fur covering parts of it. His set looked badly kept in comparison, the only notable thing about him his size and his completely obscured face. Perhaps once long ago one could have seen the crest of Achysia on his chestplate but nowadays...it had long been scratched off. This Black Knight led the entire procession, his horse seemingly particularly uncomfortable with its rider, occasionally trying to break out or the like yet every time it did the Knight forced it back on track.

"Yes, mylady, we should be completing this journey without any hindrances."
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Intermountain States
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Capitalist Paradise

Postby Intermountain States » Mon Apr 24, 2023 6:38 am

Heisenburg, Anselm
Jean Courvoisier, Rogalski and Associates


Jean took a look at the writing on the scroll and glanced at the property. Outside, he sees men and women training with staffs and swords with dull blades. He noticed a couple of archers and crossbowmen doing target practice in the near distance.

"Yup, this looks like the place," Jean thought to himself as he walked through the yard of the building. A few would stop training just to turn around and stare at the newcomer. Jean figured that in a mercenary outfit, it wouldn't look too out of place for a man covered in a suit of steel plate armor to walk in. One tall redheaded woman and a smaller young man (he thinks) with a long silver colored hair tied with a pony tail approached Jean.

Welcome to the main headquarter of Shadow Company, newcomer," the lady said in a rather gruff voice. "Are you a new recruit or a hopeful?" Jean took out the scroll Stefen gave him.

"I'd like for someone to give this scroll to Hans Schultz to let him know that his friend, Stefen Rogalski is cashing in an outstanding check," he answered. The redhead glanced at the young man(?) next to him. The silver head nodded.

"I'll see to it that Lord Schultz is notified of your presence, Mr.?" the young man (it's confirmed) asked, his voice was rather soothing and friendly compared to his redhead partner.

"Jean Courvoisier," the knight responded. "Sir Jean of the House of Courvoisier in the Kingdom of Duivene. Although, my family name doesn't mean much as I am but a wandering knight and a bounty hunter in Wyzkia."

"Alright then, Sir Jean," the young man said with a smile. "I am Albert Krueger and this lovely lady is Asche Becker. We both work directly under Lord Schultz, we are both officers within this mercenary outfit. Asche dear, please ensure that Sir Jean is well comfortable until I bring Lord Schultz to meet with him." Asche gave her partner a side eye for a second.

"Yes sir," she grumbled before turning to Jean. "Come now, I'll lead you to the visitor hall. Keep up," she added. Jean nodded and followed Asche. As he followed the redhead, he couldn't help but notice how tall the woman was; she was pretty tall. She was taller than most woman who looked to be her age and even most men as well. Give her a few more inches and she would reach Jean's height. She easily towered Krueger, who appears to be her equal or superior in rank.

The two entered inside the main building where they pass by other men walking around, who would stop and take a look at the newcomer. Eventually, Asche and Jean reached a small room and Asche pointed at some of the chairs.

"They a seat in one of the chairs, make yourself comfortable," she commanded. Jean obliged and sat on a chair. A few minutes of waiting, Albert and a stocky beared man (he seems to be Hans Shultz) walked in to the room. The stocky man took a look at Jean.

"So, I see you're the one sent to do Stefen's bidding," he began. "A Duivenian nobleman working as a messenger to a Wyzkian bounty hunter and a bastard?" after a tense few seconds, the man started laughing.

"Welcome to Shadow Company. a friend of Stefen is a friend of mine," he answered. "The man saved my life a few years ago against marauders during my trip to Wyzkia. I offered him a job with Shadow Company but he declined, saying that he is to return back to Wyzkia but would let me know about helping out a favor, be it from him or a messenger."

"So, what is the favor Stefen wanted that require the support from Shadow Company?" Shultz asked.

"Stefen is doing this for a friend, for me," Jean explained, going into how he was tracking down his wife's killer and how he believes that a bandit and a trafficker operating in Anselm under the name Kaesar has similar handwritings to his wife's killer. Shultz's smile faded.

"I see, that is a hard favor to ask of, tracking down your wife's killer," Shultz said. "But how can you be so sure based on the handwriting alone? It doesn't seem very likely for a farmhand to be literate, even in urban areas."

"When I woke up from his attack, I saw a paper stuck to my wall taunting me of his actions," Jean said. "I've been carrying that note ever since and the handwriting on that note matched the ones written on the document I have carried, setting the date and time for the meet up with Kaesar," Jean answered, taking out some sheet of paper. Schultz read through the papers and nodded.

"Well, the handwriting is pretty similar," he said. "But I know that Stefen is pretty clear about his pursuit of vigilante justice even the law cannot be used to help the victim. Why would he be asking for Shadow Company support instead? I know that he has the wealth to have many bounty hunters at his disposal."

"Stefen didn't want to risk sending armed men from Wyzkia over to Anselm to arrest or kill a man who trafficks people, not while his bounty hunters are still conducting patrols across the border settlements against bandits or tracking down some debt collectors," Jean answered. "While passing by some border towns in Anselm, I have noticed an bounty for a couple of highwaymen attacking merchant caravans and traveler. The description given onthat wanted poster seems near identitcal to the man I am tracking down. Does that seem rather coincidential? Perhaps but it is a chance I am willing to make."

"If the open bounty from a rich merchant doesn't convince you, maybe this will," Jean dropped a heavy bag onto the table in front of Asche, Hans, and Albert. Asche picked up the bag and peered inside, and gasped.

"Coins, boss," Asche said, digging deeply through the bag. "And a lot of those golden ones, too."

"Much of my life savings from my inheritence, from my time working with Stefen, are in this bag," Jean said, with some desperation in his voice. "At the very least, I am paying you guys for mercenary work." Schultz looked at the bag of coins and then back at Jean.

"This is a favor Stefen is making for you," Schultz said. "As a friend of Stefen, I am doing this out of own money. Keep your life savings, Jean, I do not want you to live in poverty for revenge."

"Of course, we'll be collecting Kaesar's head and bring that to the merchant so that the company can be rewarded handsomely," he added. "Asche and Albert, I want 54 men ready to be at Ennestein in less than 24 hours. "I'll have Sir Jean lead the operation as an honorary contractor of Shadow Company."
Last edited by Intermountain States on Tue May 16, 2023 7:57 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Tracian Empire
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Father Knows Best State

Postby Tracian Empire » Mon Apr 24, 2023 12:07 pm

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Kingdom of Duivene
Ⴊჵ Ⴐⴄღნე ⴃⴄ Ⴃⴓⴈⴅⴄⴌⴄ
Lo Regne de Duivene


Virtute et valare luceo non uro
By virtue and valor I shine, but do not burn


Somewhere in southern Duivene
A small camp


In the early hours of the morning, a small troop of riders had left the Citadel, just as it had been planned during the night. With the Constable on his own journey to retrieve his weapon, the retinue of Alexis only had four others - the Achysian witch, a maid, and two knights. And the latter three had only been included in the mission due to the perseverance of Charles, who, despite his new found trust in Illania, was understandably quite anxious about sending the princess on a potential death mission just with her. The two knights, Aimery and Vauquelin, had served under Alexis during the War, and were loyal enough not to question their liege's new found appreciation for an Achysian witch - an enemy that they would have rather just seen executed. And the maid, Mélodie, had proven her loyalty and her worth more than enough during the events of the past few days. Charles was confident enough to send her, both because of her skills, and because she seemed to be someone who could take care of the princess, particularly since Alexis still hadn't fully recovered from her mana exhaustion and needed constant reminders not to push herself too far.

A day of riding later, the group decided to camp for the night near a small forest, some distance further away from the road. Duivene was safer than realms like Morizia or Wyzkia, where bandits and mercenaries roamed almost freely, but even so, not enough time had passed since the Night of the Bloody Moons. Some precautions had to be taken.

After dinner, wiithout awaiting orders, the two knights announced that they would be the ones to take the first shift of standing guard. Mélodie went a little further away, taking care of the other duties that remained to be done in camp, and so that left Alexis and Illania alone, standing near the fire. Silence reigned for the first few minutes of their time there, until the princess finally said something.

"What are you thinking about?", she asked calmly, not taking her eyes off the fire. "I've noticed. You've been... looking at me a lot, during the trip, during the dinner. As if you were... examining me. Normally that would have made me react immediately - even if I know that we have a common interest now, and even if I know that you've saved my life, it's tough to escape the instincts that have been ingrained into me during the war. Being examined by an Achysian witch would certainly bring a shiver down the spine of even the bravest knight. But I didn't think... that it was in the way you would examine an enemy. So, what is it? "
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Elysian Kentarchy
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Founded: Nov 19, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Tue Apr 25, 2023 1:49 am

Solomon de Velira, Achysian-Xerenian battle

I duck under the swing of this ‘Rosaria’ and counter with my own sword. She is quick no doubt about that. While I am dodging her blow her mount decides to go for the opening

The Maiden raises her hands, mutters a chant, and fireballs come into being in her hands, despite being so young and blind she is still a powerful fire mage in her own right, all of the Maidens are. Before the two can fight however an undead wyvern crashes into the Xerenian’s one. I see the mages of the Ring of Death are busy working even now.

The Xerenian commander growls and, I assume, communicates something to her mount and I shout at the soldiers who are running to assist me, “don’t bother with me, protect the Maiden! She must stay alive at all costs! After you have gotten a safe distance do as I instructed!” The life of every Maiden is something more valuable than all our lives, for they cannot replenish their numbers.


The commander I am fighting definitely shows her talents with the sword, it is enough to make me honestly impressed. “You know, I’m impressed, both by your skill with the blade and what you have done this battle. You took your men, and launched yourself at our prepared positions. You had to notice we had Bearer Nerine with us too, right? Such a thing crosses from bravery into foolishness.”

“The Maiden of Steel will not make a difference. We will overwhelm and crush her.” She growls and I resume the banter, many binders find themselves undone when they get angry, the anger of their mounts feeding their own anger to their self destruction.

“Yes, I suppose that is the way of vermin like you Xerenians, scurrying around in packs and only having quantity as your sole quality.” Her face goes scarlet and when she opens her mouth to respond I raise a hand to stop her as I see the signal has been sent. We begin pacing in a circle around one another, “though would you do me a favor and look over me at your flanks."

“What are you talking about?” She asks but pales when she sees what is happening and I turn around, leaving my back open to her.


With the sound of a war horn a large force marches onto the battlefield and into the Xerenian lines. But… that wasn’t from where we are supposed to be charging and sure enough the forces that are supposed to be charging. A new force has arrived and even from here I can make out some details, they march in regimented formations and their discipline would rival that of we Achysians. Their armor is difficult to make out from here but what has them all in common are the cloaks they all wear, some, presumably those poorer off, wearing gray but others wearing silver. And it is at this moment I am glad I am wearing a mask so nobody can see my shock, our situation just got much, much, more complicated.

"I advise you to withdraw and try to save whatever troops you have left." I tell my opponent, turning around to face her, I hope she takes the offer, the new arrivals are an issue that I need to focus everything on if I am going to hope to maintain my force without quitting the field.

She shakes her head to remind herself of where she is and asks a simple question. “What is your name?”

“Solomon de Velira.”

She nods. “Until next time.” With those words a wyvern swoops in and grabs her. I sigh as she flies off, our brief duel told me that she has more self control than usual for her kind and that is worrying.

I approach the Maiden and ask her. “Are you okay Maiden?” She nods her head and I observe as the Xerenians fall back from our lines. I quickly send orders down the line to not launch a pursuit, we can’t afford to do so, not now.


Rosaria

Landing I growl my frustration at what happened before barking at my fellow Binders, “prepare to retreat back home. Abandon any wounded who are not Binders and those with lower ranking slave crests. We have done what we can to bloody the Achysian army. Breakout through the new arrivals. Force those of lower rank to suicide charge their lines if we have to.”


Solomon de Velira

"Lord Solomon, what is going on?" The Maiden asks from my side as my army watches on as the Xerenian army launch a successful breakout through the new arrivals. After what has been happening has been established my officers give orders to prepare for the next fight and to reform the battlelines while the healers do their best to recover everyone wounded, because we know the ones who have come are not our allies.

"The Silver Banners have come." At those words her hands tighten into fists and I observe as they raise the flag of truce.

Five minutes later

I am thankful I am wearing a mask since I can’t keep my surprise off my face when I see the man leading the banners and his face breaks out into a grin when he sees me and he tries to approach. “Solomon!”

"Begone from Lord Solomon's sight, heretic." The Maiden hisses at him.

He stops in place and the smile fades from his face. "For some reason it is fitting to see one of the Maidens at your side, Solomon."

I sigh, reaching up to my mask and taking it off, and ask. "Why are you here Tassos? Why did you join the Silver Banners?"

"Our world is sick, Solomon, it is a tainted and evil place. So I decided to join those who are going to do something about it and restore things to as they were. To reset this twisted world."

"By joining the Silver Banners? By violating the laws we established after the final battle and the death of Remigil? All you do is repeat the follies of the Age of Abhorrence! The follies our ancestors battled to banish from our world!"

"And those laws were a mistake. Overturning them will give humanity its rightful place as it was under the Throne and banish the Blight from our world."

"Are you even listening to yourself? By swearing yourself to the Silver Banners you have turned against not only the Emperor, someone you told me that you believed to truly be the Son of Solaris, but also Solaris Himself!"

"Gods who were against us in the war are gods I am uninterested in following. Solaris showed how unworthy he was when he did not even care enough to save his son." He says quietly before continuing in a louder voice. "The only thing deserving our worship is the Silver Throne itself."

I shake my head. Worship the Silver Throne? Even if it still existed it must have long been blighted beyond redemption. I open my mouth to respond but the Maiden cuts me off, her patience already broken, "let you and all those who share your views be anathema! Let you be anathema for rejecting our sacred laws! Let you be anathema for rejecting the Son of Solaris whose light and warmth you were raised in! You have damned yourselves in the eyes of His Undying Majesty!"

"Of course the Maidens who survive would be as blind as ever, clinging to a few embers and what little power they have left and not seeing the world around them. Not seeing how things have changed and what things should return to. Are you similarly blind Solomon?"

Once again I shake my head. "You are mad, Tassos."

"You say I am mad but surely as Bearer Velira's descendant you see the righteousness of our cause? As Velira battled before he joined the Emperor he shows that one does not need to bow before him to fight the Blight, to throw back the darkness of our world. Would he not join our cause if he walked among us? So why not do the same? With the additional strength of those of Velira's blood the battle to push back the Blight will be even easier and cause less deaths."

I almost snort. "Is that why you are here Tassos? To recruit me and serve as a figurehead? Is your credibility that poor?"

"It is excellent but why not seek to improve it? Your line would serve to rally many Achysians to our cause. Besides, I do not wish to fight you Solomon. Having you as an enemy is a dangerous thing."

"I am flattered by the offer." I answer with sarcasm dripping from my voice, "Allow me to give you my answer. If Bearer Velira was among us, all of you would be dead. Whoever he was or whatever he did, it is a fact that he dedicated himself to His Undying Majesty and battled under his guidance and the blessing of the Blind Priestess against the Blight and the Age of Abhorrence, he was commended by Emperor Remigil himself, he followed after the Emperor Who Strayed when he departed and dueled one of his best before returning carrying the greatest honor of his life. He would not join your insane cause and dishonor himself. So long as the Lord de Velira, the one who represents our line, is against you so am I."

Of course we both know my great-grandfather has refused all offers of cooperation from the Silver Banners, as he views them as far too dangerous and heretical, which says a lot given his limited collaboration with the Cults of Sin. So he turns to Ney. "What of you, Bearer Nerine? Do you share Solomon's views?"

Ney shrugs. "I don't care about causes, all I wish to do is fight, to shed blood without end."

One can see the sweat bead on his forehead at that statement, apparently he hadn't heard that Ney has gone mad. "Well if you joined us there would be much more war and death, because we have many, many, foes to fight and subjugate."

Ney tilts her head in thought before answering. "A nice offer and tell you what, you convince Solomon to join you and I will do so happily. If not, well, I do not want to be on the opposite side from him."

At that he gives a weak smile. “A tall order.”

"Of course, if Solomon gets killed I will be open to switching sides."

"Well good thing not even the False Heroes have managed to do that despite the Kinslayer Princess trying her best to make sure I never got back up." I reply in a very dry tone that covers my pain at referring to Alexis with that title, before I give Tassos my final warning. “Leave now, otherwise I will order my men to attack.”

"The Solomon I remember would not do that. Attack people who aided him in battle."

"You also never saw me in the field Tassos. But you are right, however Ezekiel would if they were heretics. Achysians, to arms! There are heretics in our midst!"

"Death to the heretics! Death to the heretics!" The soldiery behind me chants as they draw arms.

"His Undying Majesty blesses us with all the graces of the gods when the blood of heretics is shed! His will is what protects us from the Blight even now! And the heretics seek to strip that protection from us in their defiance of His laws!" The Maiden shouts, whipping up those on my side into a further frenzy. "The glorious flame held by His hands is the only light we need, now and for eternity!"

I decide once again to warn him, I will fight him if I have to but I would prefer avoiding the losses. “Withdraw now Tassos or you and yours will die.”

Tassos, considering the fact that he is facing me along with a Bearer of the Flame and an army that very much wants him dead, looks like he swallowed a lemon but he finally grunts. "Fine. Everyone, pull out!"

We observe as the banners withdraw in good order, as they march away I remark to the Maiden. "Tassos used to be a good kid. It is a shame to see this happen to him."

“If you say so, Lord Solomon.”

I turn to the officers under my command. “Tend to the wounded, burn the Achysian dead and…” I hesitate and reach up to my mother’s pendant, what would Ezekiel do? Would this really be a mercy? But we also need the manpower. “Give the Xerenian dead over to the Ring of Death, take any officers prisoner, salvage all the equipment we can, and…” I gulp before giving this order but with their slave crests it is an order I must give. “Execute any Xerenian survivors, if we have prisoners who surrendered do not give their corpses over to the Ring of Death but burn them, we can afford a couple mercies. After that we will continue our pull back to a more advantageous position.”

My orders are executed and we resume our withdraw, leaving behind one of our banners standing proudly.

The de Velira Estate

The servants set the long box down on the table in the windowless room and back away quickly. They do not dare to try to see if they can open it because Lord de Velira warned them that opening it without him present would be a disaster. The room is locked and barred and a mage places a seal on it, using a vial of Lord de Velira’s blood to help paint it, now only those of his lineage may break the seal and enter. Though they do not know the reasons for any of their master’s orders beyond simply what is in the box will be important for Achysia’s survival.
Last edited by Elysian Kentarchy on Tue Apr 25, 2023 1:50 am, edited 1 time in total.


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

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Elysian Kentarchy
Senator
 
Posts: 4710
Founded: Nov 19, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Tue Apr 25, 2023 4:47 am

Illania de Velira, upon departure from Chovers in a private room

"I will do my best to ensure she doesn't come to harm. However..." I tell Charles, smiling sadly in order to keep my rage under control. "If something happens to your princess the public can just say 'like mother like daughter', right?"

After our conversation and I go to leave I say over my shoulder to him, "seek me out when you have the time and I will see if I can offer you forgiveness on her behalf."




As she departs she looks all the more like her mother to anyone who knew her.





Illania de Velira, present day at camp

Despite her exhaustion relating to all her problems she maintains good posture. She seems honest and dedicated to her role, as trapped in it as we all are anyway, under more sane circumstances I imagine I would have invited her over for tea much like I did Auguste and I would have been able to assess her better. Of course her lineage is beyond reproach even if she is from a successor to the Empire of Thorns and she is a warrior and a mage. But given who she is that is not nearly enough because of the crimes that we can all see, at the end of the day, no matter how wonderful Auguste was, no matter the fact that our mother was willing to leave her children to protect her mother, the weight of the past still exists and must stand against all our decisions. Solomon, not only must you imitate Ezekiel, you must imitate Bearer Velira too?

"What are you thinking about?" I am jolted out of my private thoughts. "I've noticed. You've been... looking at me a lot, during the trip, during the dinner. As if you were... examining me. Normally that would have made me react immediately - even if I know that we have a common interest now, and even if I know that you've saved my life, it's tough to escape the instincts that have been ingrained into me during the war. Being examined by an Achysian witch would certainly bring a shiver down the spine of even the bravest knight. But I didn't think... that it was in the way you would examine an enemy. So, what is it?"

I brush some imaginary dirt my shoulder, glad to be in some new clothes I managed to get together. I suppose my staring was far too obvious, Silvia one time said I couldn't spy on people to save my life. "Yes, instincts are difficult for all of us to escape from, and yes, you would be correct that I am not looking at you as an enemy." Should I tell her my thoughts or keep them to myself? Ah what the hell, it might be fun to see what reactions I get out of this princess and I have a feeling I will be stuck with her for the foreseeable future, I am a handy hostage to keep great-grandfather from breaking any deals. "As for my thoughts? Simply put?" I ask, maintaining a poker face. "I don’t get what my brother sees in you."


Melodie

Since I was given this assignment I have been internally screaming. To go to back to Achysia, Solomon will recognize me, everyone will recognize me, and then it will all be over. No... no. I can still salvage this. Yes, I have to. For now, focus on serving the princess, there is a chance Solomon will not recognize me unless he gets close like Illania did. Yes, that is for the best, even if Solomon does recognize me he likely will not bring it up unless we are alone anyway.

I shake my head to dismiss the worried from my mind, tend to the princess, make this journey good for her, and pray for the best. Best oil the sword I was given for personal protection and then go to bed after my other tasks, I will have to take watch later. And if I get a watch with Illania...


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

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Postby Tracian Empire » Sun Apr 30, 2023 12:53 pm

Image
Kingdom of Duivene
Ⴊჵ Ⴐⴄღნე ⴃⴄ Ⴃⴓⴈⴅⴄⴌⴄ
Lo Regne de Duivene


Virtute et valare luceo non uro
By virtue and valor I shine, but do not burn


Somewhere in southern Duivene
A small camp


After Illania's words, Alexis looked down, blushing. She seemed to be deep in thought, looking away from the witch, and as the moments passed, a sad smile appeared on her face. "I don't get that either, to be honest. We are... or we were, enemies. Even now, with you, even if you've saved my life, I just can't look at you without thinking about Achysia. And I can't think about Achysia without remembering when me and my sister were taken away and split after, after the death of our mother. I can't think about Achysia without remembering the knights bringing the news that my brother was dead, and seeing his broken body when they brought him back. I can't... feel anything before being flooded by all the grief. It's been a long war, and a bloody war. And much like how I revile your Mage-Emperor for all the pain that he caused... you, your siblings, and all Achysia should also revile me. I've killed many of people, shed a lot of Achysian blood. And in some ways, I'm even worse than the Mage-Emperor. No matter the purpose, and no matter the goal that we had, I'm still a kinslayer. I've stained my lance with the blood of my sister, and with the blood of my friends. My people think I'm a hero, but this is not a crime that should be forgiven, nor is it a crime that should be overlooked."

Then again, silence, and then a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. It's not the kind of thing that should be discussed around the camp fire.", the princess apologized. "I couldn't help but think about my sister. I never was one to think about romance. I was always just focusing on my duties. It was my sister, who fell in love first... and I remembered talking, with her, and with Lidia." But then Alexis looked again at Illania, with her amethyst eyes. "It's difficult... to even think that Solomon is seeing something in me."
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Postby Tracian Empire » Tue May 02, 2023 5:29 am

?
Near the Achysian-Xerenan battle


A lone figure was standing, watching the end of the brutal battle from afar. Standing in between the trees as he was, no one from the armed struggle could see him. He was too far to see things in detail, but still close enough to see the wyverns and the withdrawal of the Xerenians, and the arrival of the new force, with banners of silver. His blonde hair was long, arranged in a long pony tail, and no emotion seemed to fill his golden eyes. His tunic was white, his chain mail was golden. No emblem and no blazon marked it, for the smell crest of the Flower of the Sixteen was covered by the scarf that was going around his neck. In his hand he was holding a long, golden spear, seemingly made all out of metal, with golden blades on both its ends.


“Who are you, and what are you doing here?”, a voice asked, and the boy turned around to see a group of three men, clad in gray and silver. With shields and blades in their hands, they had approached him as his attention had been focused on the battle. But the boy said nothing in return, simply tightening his grip on his golden lance.

“So you’re not saying anything? Very well. Men, kill him.”

As the order came, one of the soldiers took a step forward, and slashed at him with his sword. The boy took a step back just in time, and instead of his throat, his enemy’s blade hit the scarf around it, cutting it. The falling red fabric revealed his pale skin underneath, and the many jagged red and purple scars on it.

This almost seemed to anger the boy, but nothing changed in his expression, except maybe for a new shade of determination in his golden eyes. He thrust his spear forward, but before its tip would have even hit the enemy, the man was thrown back violently, the smell of burned metal and flesh and of ozone in the air, as the crackling sound of electrify and the roar of thunder filled the air.

This action fully put his enemies on alert, as the remaining two soldiers both charged at him at once, but the boy did not step back again. He spun his spear around and used its shaft to block their blades. Golden arcs of electricity started swirling against his weapon, and its blade pierced through the silver armor as if it was nothing. The remaining soldier, filled with anger, tried to strike again, but the boy moved his spear and the body that was still pierced by it and blocked his attack. The boy extended his left hand, and several lightning bolts were thrown, one hitting the soldier, the others randomly hitting the nearby trees.


Retrieving his spear, the boy spent but a moment looking at his fallen enemies, and then he turned around again, looking at the battle.
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Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Wed May 03, 2023 9:14 am

Lidia, in the skies of Southern Anselm

I still smile when I remember the throne room, such a pleasant reunion with Alexis. Hopefully she gets her act together so she becomes worthy of killing. And that Illania girl, de Veliras always put up a good fight and she is clearly from the Ring of Fire, maybe second rank? Perhaps first? Hard to gauge immediately but fighting her again will be a delight. Regardless, I have more work that needs to be done. More targets to find and to deal with. Oh Konstantyn, to think you would flee Wyzkia to come to here. Were you afraid of me coming back or did you want to run from who you are? Well, only one way to find out, Anselm might be big but I will find you, even if I have to ask or kill my way to you. I hear a faint sob in the voice of that mage and I grin. "If you wish for me to stop, then stop whispering in my ears and come and face me."




The caravan might have expected a lot of things but 'a griffon with what is presumably a paladin sitting side saddle on it' was probably not on the list. She flies low enough that the people at the front can see her and she simply says "Good evening."

She gives a smile that doesn't reach her eyes, in fact one could call it being predatory. Of course, with it being night, the state of her mount, that is an undead griffon, is harder to notice.
Last edited by Elysian Kentarchy on Wed May 03, 2023 9:26 am, edited 1 time in total.


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

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Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Wed May 03, 2023 9:53 am

Tracian Empire wrote:(Image)
Kingdom of Duivene
Ⴊჵ Ⴐⴄღნე ⴃⴄ Ⴃⴓⴈⴅⴄⴌⴄ
Lo Regne de Duivene


Virtute et valare luceo non uro
By virtue and valor I shine, but do not burn


Somewhere in southern Duivene
A small camp


After Illania's words, Alexis looked down, blushing. She seemed to be deep in thought, looking away from the witch, and as the moments passed, a sad smile appeared on her face. "I don't get that either, to be honest. We are... or we were, enemies. Even now, with you, even if you've saved my life, I just can't look at you without thinking about Achysia. And I can't think about Achysia without remembering when me and my sister were taken away and split after, after the death of our mother. I can't think about Achysia without remembering the knights bringing the news that my brother was dead, and seeing his broken body when they brought him back. I can't... feel anything before being flooded by all the grief. It's been a long war, and a bloody war. And much like how I revile your Mage-Emperor for all the pain that he caused... you, your siblings, and all Achysia should also revile me. I've killed many of people, shed a lot of Achysian blood. And in some ways, I'm even worse than the Mage-Emperor. No matter the purpose, and no matter the goal that we had, I'm still a kinslayer. I've stained my lance with the blood of my sister, and with the blood of my friends. My people think I'm a hero, but this is not a crime that should be forgiven, nor is it a crime that should be overlooked."

Then again, silence, and then a deep breath.

"I'm sorry. It's not the kind of thing that should be discussed around the camp fire.", the princess apologized. "I couldn't help but think about my sister. I never was one to think about romance. I was always just focusing on my duties. It was my sister, who fell in love first... and I remembered talking, with her, and with Lidia." But then Alexis looked again at Illania, with her amethyst eyes. "It's difficult... to even think that Solomon is seeing something in me."


Illania de Velira

Part of me wants to say that I am the same as her, that when I look at her all I can think about is my family being stolen from me one after another, of bloody battlefields and fighting for my life. Of seeing Ezekiel's body before me as my mother cried her eyes out.

But she is right, these are not the things for us to talk about over a fire when we are trying to forge peace. So, instead, I chuckle lightly and smile nostalgically. “I didn’t have much of a chance when it comes to the song and dance of courtship myself. Not because my favor would have been seen as bad but because I had two very protective brothers and a very protective pseudo-sister who could probably kill most people with her bare hands.” I chuckle in deep amusement remembering the time when Auguste was in Achysia that I invited him for tea and Ezekiel very pointedly invited himself along because he wasn’t even comfortable with leaving me alone with his friends, even a perfect gentleman like Auguste. I do not bring that memory up because, well, I know too much concerning his death and it is wrong for me to bring him up to his sister. “I did get very good at matchmaking though and made quite a few happy couples when it came to the young men and women at court. Even if I had to cajole their families, throw parties, or pay a lot of visits to random places. If I saw a good match I would do what I could to make it happen.” The smile fades from my face. “Well, until the war killed most of them anyway, and with it I laid all thoughts of courtship or romance aside.”

We do not say anything for a few minutes before I sigh. “Right, time for a history lesson, I will try to avoid telling you things you should already know or make this campfire story boring to you. House de Velira, well we are truly ancient and have many rituals and ceremonies unique to us. We can trace our unbroken lineage back to the Age of Abhorrence, specifically to Bearer Velira. Velira was one of the original Bearers of the Eternal Flame, so empowered by the Blind Priestess to do battle against the horrors of that age. The Blind Priestess was our equivalent of the Apostle Princess while the Bearers of the Eternal Flame are our equivalent of the Harbingers of the Thorns. The Blind Priestess was succeeded by the Maidens of the Eternal Flame while the Bearers became an office only bestowed in times of need, even then they are mere shadows compared to the originals. Tangent aside, Velira was, without the shadow of a doubt, a hero and a fantastic warrior, to the point Emperor Remigil himself commended him after one particular battle where the Bearers and Harbingers fought together. He swore an oath of service to our Emperor, an oath that has been followed by his descendants without fail and we have always stood at the ready to defend Achysia from all threats. If we had just that history, I would agree, Solomon would be insane to like you. No offense, but if I had to pick someone for Solomon, it would not be you.”

I look down at the fire, smile sadly at the flames, and continue. “However, the story of what our family calls Verlira’s greatest triumph and the greatest honor of his life is rarely in the history books, for to the authors it was probably such a minor thing compared to all of his feats of arms and heroism.” I lift a hand towards the fire, allow the sigil to appear before my hand with a whispered chant, and I take a small bit of the fire into my hands, it is an old trick for when I need to keep my hands occupied and was a simple exercise. “We both know history, know of the three Emperors, Emperor Remigil, our Emperor, and the Emperor Who Strayed, may his name forever be forgotten. The Emperor Who Stayed, may his name forever be forgotten, abandoned his sacred duties and went north, and all his followers accompanied him. His equivalent to the Apostle and Priestess, may her name forever be forgotten, and his equivalent to the Harbingers and Bearers followed after him… along with Velira.”

Deftly I manipulate the flame in my hands, letting it coil up my arm, incapable of burning me but still warming me with a gentle warmth. “Velira departed to the cold north, to what has since become known as Velkiya, not because of loyalty to the Emperor Who Strayed, may his name forever be forgotten, but because there was something he had to do. At the end of his journey he came across a woman, one of those who were from the equivalent of the Harbingers and Bearers. Not only that but she was indisputably one of the best of their group. Much like anyone else he encountered he begged her to see reason, to leave the Emperor Who Strayed, may his name forever be forgotten, and return south to our holy cause, but she refused and the two of them fought a terrible duel with Velira managing to defeat her." The coil reaches my neck and wraps around it before trailing down my other arm, not a single mark being left upon me. "On the ground, disarmed and beaten, the woman asked Velira “‘Why do you fight me so? What is your reason?’”

“Velira said in response.” I take a breath and repeat the words each of us knows by heart. “‘Because I love you and no other. And even if I must battle you for your love I will do so.’”

The flame reaches my hand and I twirl it around my fingers. “And so Bearer Velira completed his quest and confessed his love to the woman who had over the course of many battles, become the love of his life, Xenia. Lady Xenia, stunned by the words, eventually decided to follow Velira back south and the two of them were married with the blessing of the our Emperor and the Blind Priestess and from their union our family rose. In replication of them, our House’s customs include a duel as a form of ritualized marriage proposal. The most traditional way is to do what we call a full duel but another common way is simply to decide who is going to win before the duel and they tap the other with their weapon to indicate victory. Regardless of method, the next part of the proposal is that the one who ‘loses’ asks Xenia’s question and the ‘victor’ gives Velira’s answer. That exchange is almost sacred to some of us and are not words are not words we use lightly. As eccentric as it may sound, a de Velira asking Xenia’s question might as well be saying ‘I love you.’”




Of course what Illania doesn’t know is that Solomon, without realizing it when he was saying it, asked Xenia’s question to Alexis once when she indisputably beat him in a duel very late in the war.




I lower my hand closer to the fire and let the flame in my hand fall off into it. “When I look at him, I can still see the quiet boy who was content to sit and read books all day, always overshadowed by me and Ezekiel. He was and is stubborn and self-sacrificing to the point that he would shoulder everyone’s burdens without complaint if he could, that if he had to he would suppress everything about himself, but he is also gentle, considerate, and would quietly listen to all your problems. Solomon is talented when it comes to war but he doesn’t want to fight, to hurt or even kill people, his magic isn’t even capable of harming people, only healing and protecting them. He fights because we make him fight, and so he buries everything about himself under his sense of duty and forces himself to act in ways he wouldn’t have, to bury his true feelings. So you are asking me how someone like him could have feelings for you with everything you have done?” I meet her eyes. “Like Velira, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t let such things cloud his vision.”
Last edited by Elysian Kentarchy on Wed May 03, 2023 10:18 am, edited 1 time in total.


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

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Postby Remnants of Exilvania » Wed May 03, 2023 1:24 pm

Anselm
Southern Anselm
Wiedlispen-Elmstedt Road


The rider at the front, that Black Knight seemed to have picked up Lidia's approach relatively early, or at least she would have had the feeling of a pair of eyes upon her before she even chose to reveal herself to the convoy. Yet he had not acted up until she came low enough to greet them, suddenly tugging brutally on the reigns of his horse, the animal neighing in pain and shock as it rose and nearly fell over backwards. Yet the Knight had the situation under control and neither thing came to pass, though the riders behind him had considerably more trouble but also a little more space to get things under control.

The Knight appeared to be looking at her, though it was hard to tell, what with his helmet and the deep knight practically completely bathing his eyes in shadow. As a matter of fact, he himself was almost a shadow, illuminated solely by the torches of his companions. Without a moment's hesitation the massive knight drew a just as massive blade that looked like it could cleave through a man whole in his hands. Hell, he would probably cleave through her griffon if she let him. However, aside from the threatening gesture and the unseen glare he sent her, he did not respond.

Another rider came up beside him instead, sporting ridiculously well kept gear in comparison to the knight. The Unsterb crest was proudly displayed on his chest and he moved like a trained professional as he came and raised his torch to try and get a better look at her, stating:

"Good evening traveller."

He was cautious. Few people were riding griffons and those who did either had no business being here, exactly the wrong type of business or were of a particularly nasty variety as far as guards like him were concerned.

"What brings a griffon rider such as yourself to these lands? Understand the caution but the last time most of us saw any in these lands was during the war. Your kind hasn't left the best impression."
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Postby Tracian Empire » Mon May 15, 2023 11:08 am

Image
Kingdom of Duivene
Ⴊჵ Ⴐⴄღნე ⴃⴄ Ⴃⴓⴈⴅⴄⴌⴄ
Lo Regne de Duivene


Virtute et valare luceo non uro
By virtue and valor I shine, but do not burn


Somewhere in southern Duivene
A small camp


Alexis quietly listened to the story being told. It was almost comforting in a way. While she and her sister had been too little to travel a lot, Auguste always returned with stories from afar whenever he left to visit other courts. Stories about other realms, about their customs, about the people he met. Giving them dreams of traveling, of seeing other realms, of befriending other people from far away... but that was before the war. In many ways, just the notion of standing around a campfire and listening to the stories said by an Achysian was strange... even if... or maybe actually because it had happened once before. All she could do was to hope that it wouldn't end in the same way.

But then, as Illania continued her story, and she reached the part about Xenia's question... the princess almost gasped. She blushed noticeably, as a memory from long ago resurfaced in her mind, of a duel, late during the war, of a victory against Solomon, a harsh duel in the midst of battle. And then, of a question, that at the time, she couldn't answer. Solomon's question. Xenia's question.

Alexis stood there, silent, for a while, deep in thought. "I didn't know... what such a question might mean. When I heard it back then, during the war... I had assumed that he was just frustrated by his defeat. I never could have thought... that he could bear such feelings. Or maybe I didn't want to believe it.", she replied, still blushing. But once again, the smile on her face slowly disappeared. "I knew some of those things... about him. That he is gentle. That he doesn't want to fight, to hurt or to kill people. But all throughout the war, I tried to blind myself. To keep myself protected by trying to feel the hate that I had for Achysia and for Achysians. To feel like Ekaitz did. It was only after the war, after our victory turned to ash, after I lost my sister, that I started thinking about it. That I realized how foolish I had been. No matter of how much I had tried to believe in it, things weren't just divided in good and evil, in light and darkness. there were good people having to do horrible things, and horrible people doing good things on both sides. I know that. But it's especially because of that... my actions have no excuse. There can be no forgiveness for what I've did, and I've accepted that a long time ago."

The girl took a deep breath, her amethyst eyes focused solely on the fire in front of her. "Even if he doesn't care... I don't think I could ever not care. I know what I've done, and I know that I don't deserve such things. To be loved, to be happy. To have a life, a life that was stolen from my sister. But even so... once in a while, I can't help but... stop and think about it. Dream about it a little. I wonder...would I ever be able to give Solomon an answer? One way or another..."
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Ex-Nation

Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Fri May 19, 2023 9:53 am

Remnants of Exilvania wrote:Anselm
Southern Anselm
Wiedlispen-Elmstedt Road


The rider at the front, that Black Knight seemed to have picked up Lidia's approach relatively early, or at least she would have had the feeling of a pair of eyes upon her before she even chose to reveal herself to the convoy. Yet he had not acted up until she came low enough to greet them, suddenly tugging brutally on the reigns of his horse, the animal neighing in pain and shock as it rose and nearly fell over backwards. Yet the Knight had the situation under control and neither thing came to pass, though the riders behind him had considerably more trouble but also a little more space to get things under control.

The Knight appeared to be looking at her, though it was hard to tell, what with his helmet and the deep knight practically completely bathing his eyes in shadow. As a matter of fact, he himself was almost a shadow, illuminated solely by the torches of his companions. Without a moment's hesitation the massive knight drew a just as massive blade that looked like it could cleave through a man whole in his hands. Hell, he would probably cleave through her griffon if she let him. However, aside from the threatening gesture and the unseen glare he sent her, he did not respond.

Another rider came up beside him instead, sporting ridiculously well kept gear in comparison to the knight. The Unsterb crest was proudly displayed on his chest and he moved like a trained professional as he came and raised his torch to try and get a better look at her, stating:

"Good evening traveller."

He was cautious. Few people were riding griffons and those who did either had no business being here, exactly the wrong type of business or were of a particularly nasty variety as far as guards like him were concerned.

"What brings a griffon rider such as yourself to these lands? Understand the caution but the last time most of us saw any in these lands was during the war. Your kind hasn't left the best impression."


My kind, how cute. Lidia muses to herself before muttering something and leaping off her griffin and he flies higher up, best to not let them see poor Maximillian's undead state until their character, one way or another, is determined. Lidia falls in the air however her decent is far slower than would be expected and she lands lightly on her feet. Her armor is still distinctly that of the Wyzkian paladins, indeed she would look exactly as she did in the war as one of the Champions of Light and one of the greatest paladins of her time but for one very noticeable difference, in the torch light one can very easily see the symbols of that order and the honors that were carved into her armor have been desecrated.

Her face is one of faint amusement but her blue eyes are calculating, as if she was assessing them. "Oh, a few things brings me to your lands, I am busy searching for someone who I believe to be in Anselm but also looking for a challenge or two. Not much to be found in Duivene unfortunately after I made my social call there."


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

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Postby Remnants of Exilvania » Sun May 21, 2023 3:30 pm

Anselm
Southern Anselm
Wiedlispen-Elmstedt Road


The man who had spoken to her slowly put his hand on the handle of his blade, ready to draw as his eyes narrowed at Lidia. Her unnatural approach and her desecrated armour had not failed to make an impression on him it seemed. However, before he could do anything stupid, he had the reigns of another horse thrown at him, nearly losing the torch out of surprise and in an attempt to catch them. The Black Knight was dismounting, armour clanging as his entire weight landed on the road, the giant knight approaching Lidia to stand before her, the scratches of his armour being plentiful but not fully hiding what had once been Achysian symbols.

"I am not certain we can provide you with either of these things, particularly if Duivene has not yielded the results you sought."

, the man said carefully, seemingly trying to keep the peace but expecting Lidia to have come here fully intent on causing trouble of the fatal variety. The other guards accompanying the coach were also preparing to draw their weapons at a moment's notice, lining up to attack if Lidia were to make a wrong move. Things looked as though they could escalate at any moment.

"What is the cause for this delay?"

, a hoarse voice asked dryly from behind all the steeds and men, though none of them turned their heads, keeping their sights on Lidia which spoke of their skills.

"It appears that a young member of the Paladins has come to bar our way."

, the torch bearer replied through gritted teeth. Following that some of the horses behind him began neighing and prancing out to the side as someone made their way through between them, eventually coming out behind the Black Knight who had stared down Lidia throughout this entire encounter, curiously never having made a single sound. The man who appeared was tall and broad shouldered, though age seemed to have ravaged his frame a great deal, robbing him of much of his former strength. His head was bald and pale save for a bushy moustache. Despite his advanced age however he bore himself with pride and excellent stature, his blue eyes calmly sizing up Lidia before he raised a hand, causing the majority of the guards to immediately relax...all save for the Black Knight.

"Stand down men. This is not something you can deal with even if you tried."

, he commanded before bowing slightly before Lidia, stating:

"Welcome to the Oath League of Anselm, fair Lady. I assume it within your interest not to utter your name in the open so I apologise for not greeting you properly. Now, I believe I speak both for my Mistress and your expectations if I invite you to share our coach with us for the ride to Elmstedt?"
Ex-NE Panzerwaffe Hauptmann; War Merit Cross & Knights Cross of the Iron Cross
Ex Woodhouse Loyalist & Ex Inactive BLITZKRIEG Foreign Relations Minister
REST IN PEACE HERZOG FRIEDRICH VON WÜRTTEMBERG! † 9. May 2018
Furchtlos und Treu dem Hause Württemberg für alle Ewigkeit!

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Kingdom of Irhk
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Founded: Aug 30, 2015
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Postby Kingdom of Irhk » Tue May 23, 2023 5:15 pm

The Trip Back Home:

Part I – Take Me Home, Country Roads

The soft gallop through the Duivenian countryside, whose silence was broken by the sound of the unicorn’s soft pace: eventually the laugh and awe of the children at the fabled mount crossing their paths; would they remember such day, or would this memory be buried deep under their adulthood? Happy or not, such was the way of things sometimes: Éric himself couldn’t recall the stories and tales from the times he travelled through such roads.

Was he on the right path? The metaphorical question was also a geographical one; surely, a seasoned veteran such as himself could find his way around most places, but decades went by since he last took these roads. Why he took so long to return, even if he was already at Duivene? Fate wove a fancy line for the returning noble, who had such a limited time to return to a home he longed to return. Just like Chovers, the wild countryside became a scenery filled by human intervention as he progressed: first became the cabins that belonged to the hunters, hid deep in the woods, sometimes above the wary eyes of their preys, sometimes at the same level of the animals they sought. One could even meet such hunters along the way, carrying their defeated prey along the way; at their cart, laid deer and rabbits alike, and even unskinned they brought happiness to those who managed to successfully win their battle against the wilderness.

Battle. He questioned himself the use of the term: why'd always had to be a battle? After traveling so many years, he knew better than to fight the wilds; it was a dialogue, not a battle. Man pushed against wilderness, and the wilderness pushed it back, never making it far to the sturdy walls of the citadels, but finding its way through the songs of the minstrels and the bardic tales of animals. Maybe that’s what the walls were for in the first place: to keep everything undesirable out of its streets and halls, to write down the names of those – humans and things – only in lessons, tales and songs.

If that was the case, would the walls of his former home allow him in, or would they find a way to expose their will and forbid him from entering such a civilized space? Would they cast upon him eyes of judgement until he fled once again, or would they respect him for the brooch that displayed his status on the realm?

And of course, within those walls lived souls and their fires; and each of them had magic imbued to their tongues. Unbeknownst to them, their voices composed the tapestry of History; their tongues embedded it with tales that placed such knowledge as master of life, capable of passing on knowledge, virtues and warnings of those who came before or coexisted with them; Alexis was a Hero, for the people called her as one when she went by; Estelle was a Traitor, for her Betrayal was well-known and well-taught by parents to their children as they understood the value of loyalty.

Éric had, for obvious reasons, issues with such concepts: yet he saw beauty in such act. Words crystalizing themselves deep down the souls of those who heard it; Words coming from deep down the heart of those who heard them, yet they could never say when the first time was.

He digressed internally, for it was uncommon for him to be uncertain of his actions. To wield a blade against a raider or a Keeper was one thing; to return to something you abandoned under such circumstances was another thing entirely, with the fundamental difference being that you could identify when a raider or a Keeper would stop bothering you definitely.

After the hunters so far from the walls, came the villages and their fires; fires who warmed the men and forged their tools, fires that warmed their families and forged their bonds. Would such a bond even exist if he entered the centuries old halls of his family? Would their bloodline be noble as to understand his departure and his actions? Somehow, Éric kept seeing nobility in commoners who so eagerly shared their food and having so little, felt no rage at the broken tools who resulted from the adventure of their sons and daughters; logically, he wouldn’t assume that such nobility came from the lack of material means, for that would simply be an irresponsible flirt with a misery he barely lived in his life as a means to soothe his issues. But maybe such was the curse of the noble blood; to never fully experience such comprehension within their genealogy.

Names became titles, numbers and most importantly, evidence of the Virtues’ favour to that surname. To a certain extent, he experienced a little bit more of comprehension than most at his time, and he could only hope that once again he’d have such luck.

And as his journey went by, closer and closer to his home he got; the stag, prominent animal of his lineage, ever facing right, seemed to tell him through its secrets than the only way possible was forward; forward to facing the nearly insurmountable anxiety that grew in his heart. For a warrior could only fight properly if his sword was sharp as his mind and if his hand was steady as his heart, such as his father said; And while the first one could cut through the wind itself, it chose to dedicate its energy to the scenarios he’d go through.

Refusal. Acceptance. Anger. Turmoil. Death. Prestige. Disgrace.

One could never be certain of what he’d go through, and he only realized the uselessness of such imagination once his eyes set themselves on the flowery fields that rounded Bellegarde itself; filling the landscape with colours, the ignorant to how battle-weary were the Villegaignons, would take such nobles to be artists, pen in hand, ready to sway hearts and souls to their cause; and while they were also scholars, their dedication laid to the matters of steel. Undoubtedly, it took heart to do so, and sometimes he even questioned himself if it was harder to write a poem than it was to wield a blade, for he never saw a poem take another person’s life.

And for a moment, he felt the urge to sit down, among flowers, once again. And so he did.

For the first time in ages, no help from his home would come looking for him, as no one there knew he was arriving. He didn’t have to hide atop a tree, or look for a place he could “bury” himself; there would be no need for him to hold his laugh while watching others look for him among the fields; to watch out for his back for that one maid who always knew where he’d be. Such were the times when he was a child; such were the times when the weight of a blade and decisions were unknown to him.

Did he wish to cry? Yes. The years faded away the memories, as he could no longer recall the name of the one who always seemed to find him, only her face and playful tone, a dispute that existed only for the two of them. Or who carried him back to the castle when he fell from a pony the first time at these very fields. Did it happen there, near the cedar tree? Or a little bit closer to the walls? Did he got smeared with mud, or simply dirt?

They all went away, just like the birds did when winter approached itself; and although some people hated winter, Éric always loved it; his father rarely left to march during winter, and they could all stay at home; and although he could not remember the year his father marched away, he did remember how – in his young mind – he wished the snow would stop, for the moment the snow stopped, his father would return quicker, despite his mother’s extensive explanations on how things didn’t work out like that.

And in his teenage years the fields would change. He’d see couples sneaking away to discover each other's tastes, preferences, smells... or to discover how good it was to lazily gaze upon the sky, imagining how they’d marry. Would their children be closer to which one of them? Would flowery dresses be a trend when their daughters grow up, or would be Anselmian way of dressing themselves be the next big thing?

Through such fields Éric traversed with his very first sweetheart, he thought. Angeline was the daughter of Maximilien, owner of a mill; an upcoming merchant who longed for them to be something, yet neither of them seemed to rush it. He reminded himself of how her hair always looked pretty under the sun; how deeply black it was and how her eyes seemed like the stars on Heaven when she wore anything that favoured them; how she always knew when it was going to rain by watching the birds near the river; how she was wise beyond her age and helped her father with the accountability. What became of her?

Yet the thoughts couldn’t take much of his time, and even if they did, it would be of no use if he spent all day there while the world ended. Sometimes he envied the Sages of Kartara, who could spend the time they needed in such a deep state of meditation that even an Archbishop would face trouble trying to pull them back to reality.

Yet Audace’s noises caught his attention, and through the fields he ran again... To find a child.

Eyes gleaming as he saw the Constable’s mount in its glory, a hand filled with hesitation as he seemed to wish to touch the distant horn above the eyes of the chosen companion of the steed.

- I would take care near one of those I were you.

- K-Kind sir... I m-meant no offense, I just...

- It’s alright, kid. Audace won’t bite you off unless I tell him to do so, he’s a good boy.

- Audace...

- Yep, that’s his name. Picked it himself... tales tell that it came from the number of times it dropped his riders. ‘Oh, such audace...’

- Hehehe...

- But it chose me. We parted our ways, but he’s a strong boy. And you? Do you have a ride yourself?

- No... father says I need to be older for a pony. But I’m already 10!

- Not like you’re a kid anymore!

- Yes! And he’s the blacksmith, so he knows a looooooot about weapons and sells a looooot of them.

- Blacksmiths trade in towns, kid. What are you doing so far?

- I like to walk... it’s fun sometimes. I walk ‘till my legs get tired, then I go back.

- What’s your name, kid?

- Alain!

- Alain? Same name as my dad.

- I got mine because my father really liked the Duc.

- As in... Duc Alain?

- Yes! Do you also know him?

- In a sense. I worked here long ago, but things changed a fair bit. Tell you what, I’ll give you a ride back home and you tell me how are things around here, deal?

- Hmmmm... I don’t even know your name, sir!

- Oh, pardon me. Éric.

- Ooooooh... there was a man with this name long ago here. My father tells me he was nice. But he never talks about him that much. Says it makes him sad.

- Well... maybe your father will tell me why. Hop on, kid. Bet all the girls will fancy you after they see you riding back home on a unicorn, hm?

- YES! And my brother will be soooooooooooo jealous of me!

And together, they went. Protected by the banners of the Villegaignon, the white walls of Bellegarde could once again be seen, as the soldiers attentively watched his approach...


PART II – Under the Watchful Walls

The boy had the wish to talk – nay, it was a need – just as a nightingale needs to sing; during the minutes that separated them from the gates, Alain spoke extensively on what happened: he told about how the soldiers always seemed tense and tired, and that his jokes were no longer funny to them; how his pranks which never failed to take a smile out of the captain became strictly forbidden; how the kind lady who sold flowers lost her smile as the families bought more and more for those who did not return; how the clerics, often so kind, became concerned with his sense of humour and his unwillingness to go out on rainy days; and last, how his father could no longer take many days away from the forge.

Such was the experience of war from a kid’s perspective: Éric couldn’t help but wonder if the young Alain would go back to such day and demolish whatever survived of his innocence in his adulthood; that he would re-establish those memories with the truths he’d find out later in life. Would he find out that the jokes were no longer funny, for their minds saw enemies and devils in every corner? Would he discover that the pranks lost their appeal not due to his age, but how heavy was the burden upon the captain of those on the walls? Would he find out that lady lost her kindness for her flowers no longer decorated marriage halls or visits to newly born kids, only gravestones and memorials? Would he find out that the clerics lost their kindness, trading it for a zealousness that placated their hearts in the hope of abolishing a space once safe of possible sins?

Éric certainly hoped he didn’t; or at least, if he did, he hoped it came in a softer way. No kid should stare down a funeral procession, a mass grave or a landscape filled with bodies, necrophages, torn banners and crows singing their death-made tune along with the vultures, who feasted upon the rot that came from those who fell.

The stone-made stag atop the gates seemed to be a dream-breaker: an inevitable anchor that pulled the Constable back to the reality he was in. He was at his home; those walls witnessed his birth, his growth, his development and his exile; their art couldn’t tell if they missed him or wished he’d never return, so they could be disturbed only arrows and fireballs, and never tarnished by his insolence. And while his mind seemed to inquire what would these walls say if they had mouths, a very human one brought him back to the stone-made roads that lead him to Bellegarde.

- Halt! Who are you? And what are you doing with young Alain at your horseback?

- What’s your name, soldier?

- My name does not interest you! What interests you is that I have half a dozen crossbows aimed at you and your mount, and if you do not identify yourself, I have full clearance to give the order to fire at you!

- Very well... I’m Constable Éric Antoine Roch de Villegaignon, Captain of the Royal Guard designated to follow and protect her Highness, Princess Alexis de l’Azema. I’m here under her orders, which allows me to say that any interference with my business is interference with the Crown itself.

Silence.

Éric? Such name – in its entirety – brought a series of tales to the mind of the soldier who dutifully guarded the gate. Would it be? Pretenders came along the years, logically, for the life of a noble was a desired one for most individuals of questionable reputation, but the problem of impersonating someone was the fundamental paradox that you could never be the person itself: and Éric’s father was no fool. That, and to present oneself as a Constable required a gall that few men in the realm would have, specially atop a feisty creature such as a unicorn.

- Y-you... you can come in, Constable.

Slow, steady steps towards the city. An elegant exhibition of how Audace truly never feared man or weapon as leg after leg, the buildings unveiled itself before the returning rider. Did the houses became smaller, or the rider became bigger? Bigger than the fences, doors and rooftops, or bigger than the entire scenario that once held him tight in its grasp? The symbols of the Virtues and the Faith, scattered around the landscape, present in the windows, doors, doorways and clothes could no longer embarrass him to anything; neither they could convince him he was unworthy or undeserving of praise. He’d never unsheathe his sword without reason, and he never spilled blood only for the lust of it.

The city life seemed... different. Such was the curse of a battle-tested ally: to comprehend that the further you’d go being recognised as a formidable foe, harder it would be to rest your weapons and return to such a normal, everyday life: to see the smile of the young adult, hopefully desiring the lady at the stand would notice his intentions; the lonely strands of hair falling upon the forehead of the fair lady, who hoped the man she wished to know would notice and adjust them gently behind her ear; the ephemeral frugality of the couple who saved money for their wedding; the volatile nature of the kids who, nearly becoming teenagers, danced between the wishes of the first kiss and having a new pet.

Instead, what Éric saw was possibilities. Innocent lives at stake, for their very way of walking wouldn’t sustain a days long march, or a quick retreat; the grasp of the gardener was different from one of a soldier, for the soil offered little to no resistance; the alleyways could choke the enemy’s advances, but they could also mean the death of an entire army of allies; the rooftops, easily accessible, were a volatile advantage.

Yet the landscape of his childhood seemed immune to all of it. No Host could climb to the rooftops or rush to the alleys, for he already did it first. No Archbishop could launch himself to the walls and bring them down, for they survived generations of his blood. Far from space and time, Bellegarde was his not only by birth right, but also because he grasped it tight in memory. Beyond the blade of his sword rested a lieu de memoir that didn’t reflect reality: it spoke through its strands belonging to a tapestry to a man that couldn’t be anymore. The tapestry of the days he spent there, the sounds and smells told the story of someone before Éric became what he was, essentially: a homme de guerre, a man of war.

Logically, he wasn’t just that: he was a politician, a negotiator, a leader, an amateur philosopher and few called him a master artist at the trade of sword fighting; but such was his call. Even when he was refined, he knew he’d be amidst the heat of the battle eventually, and that he could only hope for his sword to be sharp, and his mind even sharper.

He reminded himself of the very first time he heard such phrase, which became a mantra of sorts as the years went by: from a Kartaran mouth, it came right before the realization that upon the sea, there were no gods or deities; just a man and his courage. A cynical statement, he recalled, but one that often described how the sailors felt. Were their victories proof of their might, or a statement that the gods watched over them?

No definitive answer could be given, the same way Éric could never answer definitively who crafted into his heart the feeling of the days before he acquired the skills and the knowledge that made him who he was. Such feeling could be seen in the gleam of Alain’s eyes; he’d been through that gate countless times, but only once atop a unicorn, eyes of amazement and curiosity aimed at him. What he did to be brought back like this? And could anyone, at all, become used to such a feeling?

And through the streets they went, Alain as their guide, to his father’s workshop. The sign outside was one of a sickle and a hammer, a sign that brought back the days were a smith could take the Sunday off and don’t mind that much to the pay when the service was ordered by a friendly farmer; for they needed their sickles and their hammers to harvest and build, for without those, bread would be a difficult item to come across.

As the kid hopped towards the door, an eerie silence made itself known: no thump of the hammer against a glowing blade could be heard, neither could he perceive that sound of the water cooling a blade down; only the chirping of the fireplace, in its familiar, domestic tune could be heard.

What became of his father? Éric saw its fair share of disgraces through his life, and he hoped this wouldn’t be one of them. Alain didn’t, yet not seeing his father – and not knowing where he was – provoked a strange feeling inside his heart. That’s how it was to mourn someone? He’d only see it from a distance, but never felt it: to sense someone’s loss was to eternally expect someone behind a door, knowing that they wouldn’t be there? Only to be met with silence, one that showed the world how it didn’t care?

A search for him would be useless: no letter was left behind, and half an hour or so wouldn’t be that much. Together, they sat and talked, now away from those who seemed to inquire what was the reason behind a Constable’s visit. It didn’t take long until the boy’s father arrived: eyes tired from the forge’s brightness, lungs from the work, the calloused hands resting inside the apron’s pocket.

- What... who... how... Who are you?

- Calm down, monsieur. Name’s Éric, your charismatic son was along the road and got somewhat carried away by the unicorn that’s outside, which you might’ve noticed. If you didn’t, I’m sure Audace will take no offense, since I was informed you are working quite hard these past weeks.

- Yes... Alain, my son, I did tell you many times you can’t go that far! What if this man was a bandit? Or someone that took you away from me? Or... or... you could face a beast and... and...

The air seemed to escape his lungs, as his hand reached for a nearby chair; rest imposed itself on the man, as he slowly sat down alongside the soldier and his son. And the same air that seemed to escape his lungs returned, giving the man the gift of language once again.

- I’m sorry, sir... It’s just... too much work, it seems. Sometimes I seem to forget that I’m a man, not a machine that runs on the fumes of the forge... I’m thankful for your help, Éric. Your blade... I couldn’t help but notice that it displays an excellent craftsmanship. Where does it come from?

- It hails from here, mister...?

- Oh! Jacques is the name, I’m sorry. But... here?

- Yes.

- I do not know one smith that could produce such thing, except, perhaps, inside the mansion’s walls...

- That’s where it came from.

- H-hold on... I-It can’t be... You’re Alain’s son?

- That seems to be the case, Jacques. But I’ve seen your work around here, you’re quite a talented artist yourself. Don’t shy yourself away from this fact.

- I was told you were a...

- Murderer? Infidel? Betrayer of the Faith? A dangerous man? I’m all those things, but I’m also a Constable. The world and its turns... but most of those are exaggerated, or biased. Most days I’m just an old man. Since you do seem to know your rumours... Do you know if the smith inside the walls of my former home still lives?

- Tales from the guild say that yes... But that he doesn’t work for your... Brother?

- That would be Georges.

- Yes... Your father is a good man, but your brother... Quite the hard personality. Not even the duc, but patrols around like one. Tales say that he wished for the Smith to do a weapon akin to yours in quality... but the Smith said no, and it was only due to your father’s intervention that it didn’t become a brawl.

- Thank you, Jacques. I’ll take my leave, as I’m sure that you missed your son. Please, do accept these coins for your hospitality and if you insist on refusing it, use it with something tasty for Alain, as I’m sure he must be tired. Adieu.


PART III – Bridge Over Troubled Blood

The Villegaignon Estate was certainly a work of art that displayed the family’s prestige and wealth; the ivory patina that covered its walls made it look like an unrivalled pearl among the city’s beauty, and from a distance it seemed like purity itself danced around its gardens; at the gates, guards always stood at attention, for even if rarely a Villegaignon needed help defending themselves, it was still their duty.

There was no need for a justification, as if anyone made it this close to the gates, they wished to talk with the head of the family, the Duc, or try to obtain some sort of favour, a blessing from the human hand of the ruler of these lands.

Yet the guards watched the visitor with curiosity, amazement and concern: Curiosity, for who could so naturally walk to these gates, alone, yet with such confidence? Amazement, for along with the confidence, the brooch showed that he walked halls with nobles aplenty, and still seemed to enjoy the current visit and lastly, concern, for only those worthy enough rode a unicorn, and even fewer had a blade such as his.

“I wish to speak with Duc Alain de Villegaignon. Tell him that his son, Éric, is here.”

The older soldiers – those who shared the same age as Éric - seemed to utter words and curses of disbelief. Would that young boy be such an old man who sported a moustache and didn’t care for the virtuous words written above the entrance to the gardens? Hesitantly, the metal gates opened, as Éric left his mount behind. His eyes seemed to adjust to the scenery, as if he tried to find what was different from his last time here.

Inside, he was sure the salon was kept the same: every little detail seemed to be in its perfect place, every pillow properly softened, every ray of light invading the room the predicted way. Yet...

He didn’t sit. This space was no longer his to use; no chair was his to sit, no pillow was his to feel its softness, no light was rightfully his. Caught in the storm between familiarity and the strangeness, Éric did nothing else but stay still in the same place, near the door, as he awaited his father to come down.

After all these years, was this place still his home? Or just the place he was born? The Constable himself hardly believed people belonged to a certain physical space; they certainly carried strong marks of the place they were born, due to logical reasons. Decades didn’t wash away the entirety of his high and noble Duivenian accent or his taste for wine, for only this soil and this weather could produce a wine with such a unique sweetness. Yet he grew larger than his accent and his taste for wine: He became a man enamoured with Kartaran fur coats and philosophy, with the bustling markets from Anselm and with the Calarian engineering art; the light of the oil extracted from the Isles heated his heart, not only his body, and since he came back most torches were nothing but shy fireflies that paled in comparison to such bright fires.

Of course, it reflected on the way he fought: to observe a foreign man fight is to learn an entirely new language, and just as some languages had words to describe feelings that only exist in the hearts of those that speak it, some style had movements that could only be read by those who understood it. And in his own way, Éric was a polyglot.

Lost amidst the thoughts of oils, fireflies, fighting styles and languages, in a sense of nostalgia that came from most places he visited, the steps that announced someone coming down could finally be heard. The years were, in their own way, gentle with his father: Duc Alain was old, nearing his 70 years of age, but could still walk without a cane, and even if his vision was clearly impaired, he could still walk without glasses. In a certain way, he kept his mannerisms through the years: he was at home, and at least a dozen soldiers were outside, but his sword could still be seen, sheathed, ready to hear his call; the hair was kept short, and although it wasn’t the mane it used to be, it was still long enough to require a regular cut, slicked back behind his ears. The wrinkled face hid the familiar complexion that Éric quickly recognised, as his father did the same movement in return: his son still kept his back straight when anxious or nervous, as the start of a proper fighting stance in case something went wrong; the hand still lazily rested on the pommel of the blade, as if it oh so innocently found its own way there; the eyes still had a sense of cunning behind it, yet the face the progressed through the years now displayed a moustache that covered part of his upper lip, yet somewhere behind the longer hair and beard, he could still see his son.

- You know, Éric... of all the ways I’ve ever thought that you’d return, this is certainly the one that escaped my mind. You, returning alive and close to her Majesty, Princess Alexis nonetheless, bearing the symbol of a Constable...

- You thought I was dead, didn’t you?

- Lying was never my strong suit. Yes.

- That way you wouldn’t need to hear or speak to me, I suppose...

- I wasn’t scared of that, despite the tales of your tongue and your fights traveling quite fast in this direction.

- Nice to know I do not disappoint in the fencing department.

A deep breath. Alain was old, and although the gentleness of the years gave him extra breath, he still needed a place to sit before such talks. No cleric could ever point him in the right direction when the topic of the doubt would be ‘what to do with your returning son?’, and no noble, soldier or not, would come to his aid. And in one of those curious coincidences within their family tree, he decided to do it the same way Éric often did.

He laughed.

He laughed out loud, for he did not know exactly what his son did: but there was still a son there. For Éric did not return a broken man, who hid in the darkness, afraid of the shadows and terrified at the sound of the clashing of a sword. That, of course, wasn’t a damnation of those who fell to their traumas, for each head is a book on its own, but he was scared. Scared that, along those years, Éric would return a husk of the prodigy he was; a memoir of lost potential, a single note in a story that could – and should – be an entire concert.

And Éric followed him.

For he did not know what became of his father: of course he could ask, but deep down, he was too afraid of doing so. Too afraid to hear that his father committed suicide, or fell on a bed and became ill, afflicted by matters of the heart that no doctor could solve, for only the return of a son that was no more could heal. The moment Éric was condemned, the son he cared for no longer existed, and he only hoped, in his own way, that his father didn’t weigh on this memory so much that it became an anchor to a time and space that no longer could exist.

- That you didn’t... that you didn’t. I do believe the sword you carry is mine though.

- Yes. Mine was... captured. And the commissioned one wasn’t ready at the time.

- Eh... I’m too old to be carrying such a sword anymore. Besides, seems to me you made quite a good use of it... I remember the tales from the Keepers at the border of the Isles.

- In my defense, some of those were with a rapier.

- How did you come across a rapier in Kartara?!

- Long story. One I may be able to tell if I ever come back from the battlefield.

- Éric... I already lost one son once.

- Glad to know I didn’t start a trend among the Villegaignon. How’s Georges?

- A zealot. An opponent that most would deem worthy, yes, but zeal must be doused carefully. I’m deeply concerned, as one day this war will end and if we come out victorious, what will be of him?

- The Faith will always have another cage for a hound, I suppose. Let us only hope he knows to eat from a bowl. Cathérine?

- Married to a noble. She was always the belle of the society at the time, not sure if you remember.

- I’ll make sure to visit her when I have the time to do so. Antoinette?

- Engaged. But her betrothed is out on the field, and she’s the youngest of you four. She mostly looked after Henrietta – your mother, that is – but we managed to find some willing to look after her.

- And how is mom?

- Sick. Tired. Partly because of you, that is, and partly due to the war that encroaches around Bellegarde. She knows we – I, sorry – won't stand another war, and until your... troublesome return, Georges was the heir, and he’s popular as running naked on winter during a storm. But she’s not here: we had to move her to Cathérine’s house, so she had a calmer, far more peaceful surrounding.

Once again, silence fell between the two men who had so much to say, but barely knew where to start. Alain seemed entranced by the charismatic character that his son became, and Éric seemed at peace seeing how his father managed his absence and the years.

- My son... tell me, why you came here? War knocks at our gates. Your visit is not one of courtesy only, that much is clear... but what do you need?

- I need to see Dabram, our smith. No longer I can fight with a weapon that isn’t mine, in a style that, despite my proficiency, isn’t mine. I know he’d never throw away a project, and I know that not even you could persuade him to do so. I need him to finish it.

- Very well... come. I’ll take you to him, and pray, if you still do it, that he still likes you. Took me and my blade to stop him from duelling against Georges and I do not know what those two would do in such an environment.

And down both men went: through the corridors that lead to the cellar, from the cellar to the underground, and from the underground, to the metal door that protected Dabram from the world, or the world from Dabram. The dwarven design on the lock was a dead giveaway of his race, and the metallic sound of the keys opening it up was the last thing the inhabitant of such chambers would like to hear, from the tales heard by Éric.

The chambers were wide and richly decorated: the dwarf was richly paid for the services he did to the Villegaignons, and became a friend of the House as time went by: his forge, unequal in most places, always warm, made him remind himself of the days at his homeland, and if it wasn’t for the elaborate system that pushed the smoke out of his room, he’d feel even more at home. Lazily, his eyes opened themselves, as the mumbling and grunting came to a full stop before he recognised his work, sheathed at Éric’s waist.

“Wait a min-THAT YOU?! THAT IS YOU, YOU BASTARD!”


PART IV – To Forge a Poem

“YOU SURVIVED! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH YOU ARE ALIVE! I JUST WON THE BIGGEST BET IN MY ENTIRE LIFE HAHAHAHAHA”

Dabram couldn’t contain himself: the loud laughter that seemed to tremble the very foundation of Éric’s centuries old home. Sure, the dwarf was happy to see his old friend overcome the very odds of his exile and return alive, in one piece, but the final push to such an outburst would be the ludicrous amount of money he’d get from the bets he made.

While many would be offended, Éric knew this was the biggest sign of friendship Dabram could show: he could forge you a sword, but that was his profession for a long time, and some would say it was natural to a dwarf; but to place money on you was almost his way of saying he liked – and trusted – you.

Jumping from the slightly elevated place at his workstation, he rushed his pace towards the two men, nearly fast enough to make the long, fishbone braid that styled his hair, which was black as coal, dangle a little behind his short steps.

- So you decided to grow some rat hair on this face of yours, eh?

- And I see you still braid your hair like a princess.

- Ey! Like a KING. This a tradition from my home.

- You’re still a bastard, Dabram.

- Eh eh eh, of course. And you’re still a bloody coward. How do you leave your friend this long without a company to drink? DID YOU KNOW HOW MANY RACES I COULD WIN IF YOU WERE THE JOCKEY? HUH? GODS I MISSED YOU.

Truth is, Dabram understood Éric - and vice-versa – more than most humans would. Both shared a love for the art of fencing, even if under different aspects: the first was a practitioner, a devout to understanding every aspect when it came to the fight itself. The other was a maestro, who arranged the instruments to play an orchestra of violence, hoping his work would meet the hands of a virtuoso.

The dwarf and the Constable sat, and for a minute time seemed to wait for both to catch up: did they marry? Did their rivals lost their teeth and their hair, and their strength fell out of their grasp? Dabram was still a master, and that never would be questioned, but there was more to talk to a smith than about his trade. And as time seemed to lose its patience, returning to its never-ending cycle, Éric had to be straight with his friend.

The request of a weapon true to his hand lit up the face of the dwarf, for it wasn’t just an opportunity to forge; it was also an opportunity to hear the story of those who would use it. Rushing around, Dabram made his alcove a little bit more organized so he could hear – briefly – the stories his friend brought him.

As they shared a drink, the forgemaster heard stories about the lands Éric visited and lived; how the Calarians seemed to lack balance, despite living inside their ships; how the waves crashed through decades and decades at a certain Kartaran shore, in an everlasting effort that revealed the bluestone beneath them; how the paratirités that lived there could stand at attention for days on end until they reached an epiphany of sorts, and how their blades were sharp as their tongues; how the warriors that inducted fear into the hearts of their enemies glowed amongst their peers, their satisfaction upon seeing a hesitant heart in front of them ( and how he managed to win a fight against one of those); how the protectors of tales and stories raised armies with their voices.

But he also spoke of tragedy: of those who died near the border; those lost to the sea and to their own fears; those that fell to the Keepers, and how he longed to feel the Duivenian air once again, even if the Kartaran one did wonders for his health. The Constable also spoke of himself: how the prisoners that filled the dungeons – as he once was - gave him an endless flow of opponents to train against; how, in some days, he seemed to live for his art, in an obsession that made him question himself if it wasn’t just depression enshrouded in the form of discipline.

Then they progressed to the form: it had to be a rapier akin to a sabre, yet it had to wield the same enchantments his current weapon did; of course, Dabram also worried himself with the aesthetics of the weapon, and the endless stroking of his beard was a giveaway that ideas flooded his head. He had to remind himself of how his friend fought, other than the obvious proficiency the Constable had.

In a moment of eureka, Dabram rushed to his materials; free from the toll imposed from stealing a weapon that wasn’t freely given to him, the Constable could once again rush to the battlefield, a place that gave him his fame and his title. Between the sound of hammers, Dabram started his art...

Upon the weapon, he proclaimed his enchantments:

“Come!

Come forth into this world, you who are born of fiery genesis;

You, who bravely stands before the flames, as your wielder resisted the waves;

Forth, and bear witness!

For the man you’ll serve needs your swiftness,

For his strike is true, and his hand even truer;

For his tongue is sharp, and your blade will be sharper;

For dumb reason you’ll never be used,

And you’ll watch only his rightful march;

I dub thee Weaver, for he refused to use the destiny the minor Fates sewn;

And his Fortune, he did not bemoan;

Shine, in mighty and fiery Virtue!”

Dabram had his own way of enchanting the weapons that sprung out of his mind into reality: it was through rhyme and rhythm that he proclaimed the fidelity of his weapons to their owners; how resilient they had to be and how they would enhance the powers of those who held them.

Weaver was a masterpiece: the slightly curved handle allowed a better grip of the blade, who seemed to hold Éric’s hand in a deadly duo; the guard, filled with an alloy that had the copperish colour of the stag that represented his family in the crest, one that matched the richly detailed pommel. The sweepings displayed a pattern like those found in the horns of the aforementioned animals, rifling included; the blade itself was thinner, yet it displayed resilience and swiftness, something that Dabram was quite proud of.

“Well, Éric, same thing goes. We’ll do what we do for the sword to fly back to your sorry hand and lock in the sheath before you go, but do be careful with this one. One of my finest daughters and I do want to see it well-painted in Chovers, if you live through this bloody war. Oh, and if you do, do tell the Princess about me!”

Éric was astonished, and such adjective was rarely used for a man that lived his life: the dwarf's craftsmanship was untarnished by the years, as the sword seemed a feather at his hand. Was it really this light, or the clearness of Éric’s consciousness what lifted the weight of the handle?

In any case, time was of the essence.


Part V – Forth and Fear no Darkness

It was time to return to the battlefield: the Princess needed him, and he had a Guard to command at the frontline. With his weapons of trust – the blade now freely given to him by his father, and the one now freely given to him by his friend – properly arranged at his unicorn, he faced the truth: it was time to deeply take in his surroundings, for death could be waiting for him at a place far away from here.

Once again, his father came: a gift in hand, with eyes lost in concern.

- Éric, my son. I do not know if you’ll return, and since your mom isn’t here... I did notice you didn’t lose your taste for cloaks. The one you use?

- Kartara. It’s made to be used this way, a little bit over the shoulder, no clasp to hold it. I use the brooch, though.

- This one... your mother wished to give it to you. She truly believed that it was you, at the very first rumours... she said that the dark red of our crest is a fine match with your complexion. The clasp at the front is also her making: says that a center one always favoured you...

- Father. Thank you, truly. But I’ll leave and you won’t tell me what you truly want to.

- … I am scared, my son. Uncertain, too. Should I go to war alongside my son? Should I stay and tend to those who need a steady hand, someone who can discern superstitious shadows from Superbia-filled demons? And... what should I do if you do not return?

- You’ll send a message to Patriarchos Achilleas in Kartara. He’s a friend I made in these decades, and he’ll know my will. And I’ll trust to you a way to reach him, in case I need his support in this war.

- A... a Kartaran? Here?

- Yes. And please, do trust him as you trust me. Rough as he is, his heart speaks the truth, as the man is nearly incapable of lying. His hammer strikes true as his words, and he’ll not falter in a time of need.

- As you wish.

Alain hugged his son: the physical recognition that his son was alive and well, and far as the pits of Sin may go, he’d not find the corpse of his descendent wallowing in any of them; that no palace of Pride held a throne to him; that in the audience of those who envied others, he’d be absent; that in the never ending battles of the arenas dedicated to Wrath, he’d not display his swordsmanship; that in the halls of endless Sloth, he’d been found working and in the halls of Greed, he’d be found contempt with his accomplishments and that his Lust would be one that drove him to be a family man.

For Éric was a man of virtue, but not a man of the Virtues.

And so, the Constable rode once again, through the roads of Duivene: was he on the right path? This he did not know, and somewhere in his heart he knew he did not need to know the answer so decisively, for the search was always a better process than finding it out itself.


Constable Éric de Villegaignon - Somewhere in Southern Duivene
A small campfire

The galloping sounds would alert the guards first, and even if Éric would be slightly different - the weapon at the waist different than the usual, and the new cloak made him look a little bit more like a noble and a little bit less like a mercenary - he'd still be recognisable. The effort was extenuating indeed, yet it proved successful, as he now marched with a clear head and a weapon ready for his mission.

"Hope I didn't make you wait too much, your Highness. I did expect a larger entourage, though... Well, makes up for a better story. How are both of you doing?"
Nothing to see here, move along.

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Elysian Kentarchy
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Posts: 4710
Founded: Nov 19, 2014
Ex-Nation

Postby Elysian Kentarchy » Sun May 28, 2023 5:32 am

Remnants of Exilvania wrote:Anselm
Southern Anselm
Wiedlispen-Elmstedt Road


The man who had spoken to her slowly put his hand on the handle of his blade, ready to draw as his eyes narrowed at Lidia. Her unnatural approach and her desecrated armour had not failed to make an impression on him it seemed. However, before he could do anything stupid, he had the reigns of another horse thrown at him, nearly losing the torch out of surprise and in an attempt to catch them. The Black Knight was dismounting, armour clanging as his entire weight landed on the road, the giant knight approaching Lidia to stand before her, the scratches of his armour being plentiful but not fully hiding what had once been Achysian symbols.

"I am not certain we can provide you with either of these things, particularly if Duivene has not yielded the results you sought."

, the man said carefully, seemingly trying to keep the peace but expecting Lidia to have come here fully intent on causing trouble of the fatal variety. The other guards accompanying the coach were also preparing to draw their weapons at a moment's notice, lining up to attack if Lidia were to make a wrong move. Things looked as though they could escalate at any moment.

"What is the cause for this delay?"

, a hoarse voice asked dryly from behind all the steeds and men, though none of them turned their heads, keeping their sights on Lidia which spoke of their skills.

"It appears that a young member of the Paladins has come to bar our way."

, the torch bearer replied through gritted teeth. Following that some of the horses behind him began neighing and prancing out to the side as someone made their way through between them, eventually coming out behind the Black Knight who had stared down Lidia throughout this entire encounter, curiously never having made a single sound. The man who appeared was tall and broad shouldered, though age seemed to have ravaged his frame a great deal, robbing him of much of his former strength. His head was bald and pale save for a bushy moustache. Despite his advanced age however he bore himself with pride and excellent stature, his blue eyes calmly sizing up Lidia before he raised a hand, causing the majority of the guards to immediately relax...all save for the Black Knight.

"Stand down men. This is not something you can deal with even if you tried."

, he commanded before bowing slightly before Lidia, stating:

"Welcome to the Oath League of Anselm, fair Lady. I assume it within your interest not to utter your name in the open so I apologise for not greeting you properly. Now, I believe I speak both for my Mistress and your expectations if I invite you to share our coach with us for the ride to Elmstedt?"


Lidia looks up at her mount, still flapping his wings at a safe distance and nods, causing him to fly even higher before turning her. She smiles but her blue eyes are that of a huntress who does not register those around her as a threat. "I would be pleased to accept your invitation, I have had to do a lot of traveling these past few days and have had little rest. I will even disarm." A farce of course, as one of the Champions of Light her magic is as formidable as her martial skills. With a polite threat that nothing had better happen to her lance, she hands off her lance and her sword to the guards before entering the carriage, placing her hands in her lap. "I cannot even recall the last time I rode in a carriage, I always preferred flying in the heavens, alone in my glory." Lidia thinks to herself, might as well enjoy the novelty and a comfortable one at that, as her eyes assess the woman in front of her.


Celivaia wrote:"Today is a great day. Recently, we completed a project that will greatly help the Salarian Union in it's fight, and while I cannot divulge information about this project, I am pleased to announce that this project was no small feat, and for his dedication, work, and pure, brilliant genius, we have a special award for this Salarian. We cannot divulge the name of this operative, but we have given him a special award, the "Star of the Union," and as an added bonus, we have decided to rename this, our home planet, after him. As of this moment, you are now standing on Solus'Kesh."

Philosophy and Religion Major

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Intermountain States
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Founded: Oct 12, 2014
Capitalist Paradise

Postby Intermountain States » Wed May 31, 2023 1:03 am

Ennestein, Anselm
Jean Courvoisier, Rogalski and Associates
Asche Becker, Shadow Company


Asche held her left arm out as a spotted brown falcon flew towards her. As it perched on her gauntlet, Asche closed her eyes for a few minutes, muttering some phrases under her breath. She opened her eyes, pulled out a small piece of flesh from her bags, and toss it at the falcon, which grabbed it and swallowed in a couple of bites. She turned to the other mercs crouching behind her.

"That guide is speaking the truth," she said. "Millie here saw a bunch of armed men and a lot of chained people in wagons making their way through this road. 78 armed men in total. It seems like the Jackals are in another job with Kaesar."

"Anyone matching the description of our target?" Schultz asked, the stocky man covered up in steel plate armor.

"Of the people arriving with their face exposed, none matching Kaesar," Asche answered. "I did saw one on horseback that fits the height and build of our target, only that he is fully covered from head to toe. This could be our target."

"How long do we have for preparation?"

"About 30 minutes," Asche answered. "I'll have Millie make another sweep to keep you guys updated." Schultz nodded.

"That is more than enough time," Schultz said before turning to the rest of the mercenaries. "Shadows, spread out and get undercover to prepare for our surprise attack. I trust you all have some range weapon to hit them with."

"Yes sir!" the mercenaries answered before they made themselves hidden behind the foliage, trees, and bushes near the roads, readying their weapons.

"I heard that Kaesar once crushed the head of a peasant that tried to stab him with a halberd with just nothing but his bare hands," Jean could overhear a merc muttering to his friend.

"Keep quiet and don't let that rumor get to your head," he heard the response back from the merc's companion.

Millie returned to Asche and she closed her eyes again before rushing towards Hans. "Kaesar's men are arriving," she notified the commander.

"Letting loose a crossbow bolt will signify the attack," Hans replied. "Hold until the signal is given!"

Jean and Gloria remained hidden behind the trees. Jean took out his scope and peered at the approaching enemies. The armed men were surrounding horse drawn carts and a bunch of people in chains, most walking without a care in the world. He looked closely at some of the armored men on horseback, hoping to see anyone whom would match the description of Kaesar and hopefully, his wife's killer. He pulled the visor from his helmet to cover his face as the Shadows prepared for the ambush.

Hans drew his sword out. "Loose!" he yelled out, prompting Shadows to rise up and launch arrows from their crossbows. Most of the bolts hit their mark, falling multiple armed men. The rest of the Jackals ducked down from the incoming arrows, men on horseback shouting commands at the Jackals to get into formation. The chained people ducked down behind the wagons, hoping that they wouldn't be caught in the crossfire.

"Concentrate at the mass of armed hostiles!" Jean commanded at his line of crossbowmen. More crossbow bolts were launched at hit at the mass of Jackals. One hit a horseman but due to his armor, the bolt bounced off. Eventually, the enemy mercenaries managed to reform and let loose their own crossbow bolts at the Shadows. Most of the Shadows took cover behind the trees or bushes but some were hit by the enemy arrows.

"The enemy is getting into formation, reload quickly!" Jean shouted as he reloaded his crossbow. He leaned behind a tree and let loose a bolt at a Jackal, hitting the enemy mercenary.

"Don't give the Jackals a break, push hard!" Jean could hear Hans commands. The two mercenary companies exchanged bolts and arrows for many minutes, with Shadow Company trying hard not to accidently hit anyone in the wagon. Asche rushed to Hans.

"The Jackals are using the wagons as human shields, we cannot use our arrows without the possibility of innocents getting hit," she warned.

"Then we'll have to switch to our swords," Hans replied. "Charge!" He yelled. While some of the Shadows (including Jean) stood back, providing missile support at the enemies far from the wagons, most of the Shadows jumped from cover towards the Jackals. Some of the Jackals would drop their bows to take out their own swords and spears to meet the approaching Shadows. Asche, with her great speed, was the first in the clash and jumped on one of the armored man on horseback, dropping him from the horse before punching his throat, leaving the armored man incapacitated. The rest of the Shadows, including Gloria, joined in the engagement. Gloria rushed at a Jackal aiming his crossbow at her and with her left hand, pushed the crossbow up before the Jackal could shoot and stab at the opening in the Jackal's armor.

The momentum was on the Shadow's side as the Jackals were losing men quickly. Jean noticed that Hans was holding out quite well, using his weight to jump on a Jackal and incapacitated out another enemy mercenary with a punch to the face. Albert clubbed out a couple of Jackals with his mace while Asche was practically dancing in how she took out multiple Jackals. Jean looked around the battlefield, hoping to catch glimpse of the fully armored man. There the fiend was, fighting off a Shadow with his mace. The blow from the mace hit the merc's head and the unlucky Shadow was knocked out.

"Aim your bows at the giant, fully armored fiend," Jean ordered at his crossbowmen. They obliged and launched arrow from their bows at the direction of the fully armored man. Unfortunately, any arrows that came into contact with the fiend bounced out harmlessly from the steel plate armor. However, the focused aim did seem to spook the fiend and the man would turn his horse around in an attempt to flee the battle, pushing aside a nearby Jackal who happened to get in the way.

"Aim for his horse!" Jean commanded and a volley of arrows launched, this time hitting their mark. The horse collapsed and the man would fly over the horse and land face first on the ground. "Cover me," Jean ordered and stepped out from his hiding spot, making a beeline to where the fiend landed in. There the fiend was, crawling on his stomach, his full plate armor making noises. The fiend was without his helmet, gagging from the impact and his face bloodied.

Jean almost couldn't believe it. The face was identical to the one he encountered years ago in his cottage, albeit a few years older. He found Kaesar, or the name he used when he first met Jean, Gilles, he found his wife's killer. His life's work lead to this. He walked closer to Kaesar and aimed his crossbow at him.

"I've found you now, Gilles," Jean said in his native Duivenian. Kaesar stopped gagging and gave Jean a good look, his bloodied face contorted into various emotion before screaming as a bolt hit his left eye. His wife's death was finally avenged and Kaesar brought to justice. Jean would soon return to the scene of the battle, carrying the lifeless body of Kaesar as the last remaining Jackals were either knocked out or kneeling on the ground, surrendering to Shadow Company mercs. Hans, Asche, Albert, and Gloria greeted Jean and noticed the lifeless body of Kaesar.

"I guess the deed has been done," Hans said as Jean nodded.
I find my grammatical mistakes after I finish posting
"A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed"
Lunatic Goofballs wrote:I'm a third party voter. Trust me when I say this: Not even a lifetime supply of tacos could convince me to vote for either Hillary or Trump. I suspect I'm not the only third party voter who feels that way. I cost Hillary nothing. I cost Trump nothing. If I didn't vote for third party, I would have written in 'Batman'.

If you try to blame me, I will laugh in your face. I'm glad she lost. I got half my wish. :)
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