Conquest: Rise of Kings (Early Medieval/Low Fantasy) IC

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

OOC Thread/Signups: viewtopic.php?f=31&t=370346

Conquest: Rise of Kings

Dmesian Imperium
Visedonium, Frozen Citadel
Court of Dius XVI

The sheer size of the elaborate, veined gray marble chamber gave the low, constant murmur of the crowd an eerie rumble, carrying it far throughout the expansive palace. Though the new Capital was scarcely resettled, the staff had done an excellent job of removing all but the most permanent of reminders pertaining to the previous owners, the Kazanowski family. Not but six months had passed since the seizure of the city by Lord Mordred Thorne, and already the young Emperor had his eyes set on another campaign come spring. Even now, surrounded by the usual nobles seeking favors or opportunity, he stared at a map of Derria with a greedy eye. He was a young man of 22, thin and weak of build looking ever ridiculous in his flamboyant Tigers pelt cape. Scepter in hand, he studied the lines, runes, and ancient cracks in the hide. It was a map that had been brought up from the War room of the Kazanowski Kings, at the behest of Lord Thorne, who seemingly was optimistic regarding the Emperor's plan for conquest. Time had already shown him to be a most ambitious man, and though he held the title Marquis most looked to him, certainly within Sturmingia, as a King, if not the true ruler of the Empire. It was Mordred Thorne who broached the silence, as usual, caring not for the Emperor's famed outbursts of wrath.

"Your Majesty, we have been awaiting an answer for the past half hour. Clearly you wish to ignore my advice to send envoys to our neighbors so our next step is to prepare our armies for the inevitable reaction that happens when you scare the living shit out of your neighbors. Not to mention insult a still very powerful rival with seizing their capitol-"

"I landed my ships here at the behest of you, cousin!" The Emperor snapped, shouting the murmuring crowd to silence. All eyes were on the two, though it was the crimson clad, armored Mordred who commanded the most anticipation. Taking hold of a leg dangling from the dark red fox pelt scarf around his shoulders, he simply rolled his eyes, allowing the young emperor to shout. "I took care of an enemy in exchange for the promise of more territory, and revenge against those bloody peasants in Dellitia!" He screamed, hurling his golden goblet into the face of a maiden before kicking over the map table as he rose to his feet. "Now plan me a fucking war! Is it that hard? Win me the damned war and do whatever you wish with whatever you find. You have my blessing and word with you." Turning as a handful of officials and Royal Guardsmen accompanied his cousin out, he motioned to the High Magister, Lord Hercule. "Now, bring me another goblet of wine and a Vorzovian Whore. I expect executions to go forward as planned!"


Lord Mordred Thorne exited the palace with a smile. One hand was resting upon his blade. Hanging upon his left hip, the hand and a half swords wire wrapped, white gold gilded hilt was mirrored by the Imperial seal of Dius XVI. The bloody fool had given his very word and edict to Thorne...but this was something Mordred would keep until a later time. Turning to the Knights assembled behind him, he smoothed out the maroon, velvet surcoat that hung over his hauberk, taking care not to snag his rings upon the fine gold stitching that displayed several tiny double eagles embroidered upon the surface.

"I ride for the Faustschlag, for now I want you to ride to all the civilized Kings and Lords of the lands. To any who pledge their armies to my command, I will award an equal portion in gold to the weight of skulls they bring me of our enemies!" He swiftly distributed a few scrolls of instructions, before turning to the courtyard, where a lone white, black maned Destrier awaited, clad in mail skirted quilted leather armor. "I wish to see three legions come Spring. Hail Dius!"

"Hail Dius!"

[Dalria]

Edge of Katarae

The winds howled like a thousand crying wolves and the only thing moving was the tall grass stemming from the water. Several figures creeped through the brush, like a shadow they made their way across the landscape. They readied themselves, stalking their prey in the distance, awaiting battle. Soon the silence was broken by a shrieking war cry, painted figures charged at the shadows in the brush. Quickly the men jumped to defensive position to take on the war-criers.

"Let the All-Maker protect us and the blood fertilize the skin of the Earth Mother!" Kain yelled as he unsheathed his sword. The various tribal warriors met the war-criers iron to iron. The swamp water turned red with their blood as the corpses began piling higher and higher. "Do not let them scare you! They are the unworthy, the cursed men of the swamp! These Trogs cannot meet our might" Kain continued to yell as he slashed away. Soon the war-criers were on retreat, Kain pushed forward. He brushed past his own men and dove head first into the fleeing enemy to be met by the leader of the war party.

The Trog leader was a giant, standing almost an inch higher than Kain "The Bear" himself and wielding a large hammer. He grunted in reassurance of single combat, Kain knew this very well and motioned for his men to leave them and continue to route their enemy. Their eyes met, only one would come out alive from his battle. The Trog charged Kain, swinging his hammer with all his might. Kain quickly ducked and rolled to the side and as he rose up lifted his shield for a second swing. The Trog adjusted and once again took another swing, hitting Kain's shield dead center. The shield shattered as Kain fell to the ground; several warriors stopped in amazement at this cosmic battle of two giants. The Trog raised his hammer, believing this would be the ending blow but as the slab of metal descended towards Kain, he rolled over his back and slashed at the Trog's heel. The Trog cried out in agony and dropped his hammer, swinging his arm which hit Kain in the face as he rose. Kain quickly stood his ground and stabbed his sword right into the Trog's chest.

"All-Father grant him an honorable afterlife... Earth Mother take this sacrifice to feed yourself" Kain whispered as the gargantuan body fell lifeless to the ground. The tribal warriors began cheering as Kain raised the bloody sword over his head, "glory to the All-Father! Glory to Clan Torolf and the confederacy!" he chanted as his men chanted back.

Several hours later

The hearty warriors marched back to their homelands victorious. Yet one could sense discontent in their hearts, these men might have been shield-brothers today but came from all walks-of-life. Each sported his tribal garb and each worshipped his own version of the All-Father and his many spirits. Kain proudly marched in front of his troops, holding the severed head of the Trog leader. A man on horseback approached the regiment of men, this man was Jano, Kain's loyal friend.

"Praise the All-Father you made it! I am sure you had a glorious feat which echoed in the Chambers of Heroes! How be your body, does one need herbal remedy to cure his ails?" Jano wisely questioned.

"Thank you Jano, but my body shall heal fine. What is the word of mouth?" Kain questioned.

Jano's faced changed from a smile to a frown, "well sire, your brother is causing a ruckus. He is preaching in the streets against this last skirmish with the Trogs. He was explaining that we shouldn't be wasting man-power battling with our own cousins when we need to be readying for the Great Spring Raid and many people are agreeing".

"Damn him! Chief Humrick of Clan Terris's family was butchered by those Trogs! As the High Chief I have an obligation to support Chief Humrick against all acts of aggression. The people of Myre are the rightful claimants of this land, we need to prove this to the Trogs and show our might" Kain angrily yelled.

"High Chief, I understand this and so does our All-Father so do not fret" Jano once again smiled.

The tribal men reached the glorious stronghold of Rostov, the capital of the confederacy and the seat of power where the tribal elders met to discuss national matters. Women and children awaited the warriors at the gates with smiles and cheer for the victorious warriors. Immediately Kain and Jano made their way to the Mead Hall, the Vanguard saluted them as the entered the huge wooden doors. Inside was a delightful sight, the many children of the nobility ran around in glee while the elders sat at the long table drinking mead and devouring boar.

"What a sight to be seen! My husband, once again victorious against another enemy" Katrina Torolf cried out, "come to me my love, come tell your stories!" she exclaimed as she opened her arms. Kain grabbed her tight, picking her up and twirling her around while also grabbing the nearest pitcher of mead and downing as much as he good.

"Papa, papa!" a little voice called out somewhere from the crowded room. A spitting image of Kain came running into his legs, followed by his beautiful daughter.

"Hello young ones, I have missed you!" Kain declared before he looked off towards the elders, "now you must leave, I have to call an urgent meeting" Kain looked deep into Katrina's eyes who knew that the meeting was of the utmost importance. "Children clear the room, Elders gather around!" he called out. Leaving with a kiss, Katrina shuttled the children out of the mead hall which left the elder's to discuss whatever Kain needed to speak of. "Now where is that drunken brother of mine?" Kain yelled out, not seeing Harold in clear sight.

"I am over here brother" Harold "One Arm" answer, pushing through the group of elders. "I know what this is about brother. You want to chastise me for voicing my opinion and I will not hear of it, neither will the elders. Our young men are sent to die because you want to squabble with unintelligent creatures of the past that dwell in inhospitable swamps? You want our ranks to fall right as the Great Raid should begin in several months? We shall not deal with this blasphemy, what should have been done is an emissary to be said to the Trogs to aid us in the raid, not worsen tensions!" many of the elders were astonished and talked with one another under their breath.

"Do you think I directly chose to attack the Trogs in their home turf? No! We were searching for Chief Humrick's daughter after his village was ransacked. As the High Chief it is my duty to protect those within the realm. Enough of this brother, I am tired of your false accusations!" Kain felt his face turn red as his anger with his brother grew.

"False accusations you say? Nothing I say is false! You want to become a tributary state to the Empire and give up on our faith to some god named...paragon this confederacy is a sham and needs a strong ruler" Harold raised his fist.

"Bite your tongue, traitor!" Jano screamed.

"Damn you, you dark shaman! Your soul is corrupted by eternal darkness, your words are meaningless" Harold snapped back.

"Enough!" Kain bellowed out, the room went quiet. "I, High Chief Torolf, demand respect and loyalty. I want only the best for my people, for our people. My father had a dream of a united realm, and I have maintained this dream. I will not let it be ruined by petty squabble Harold. As diverse as the people of Myre are, we are all brothers and the All-Maker watches over us. Our people and our faith will triumph! Whenever the pounding of our steeds can be heard, the north men cower in fear. I would not want to fight with anyone else than my own brethren! I am a strong leader, I put down the Trog rebellion, I saved our fathers work of a confederacy. Some of you think I am weak, but have I been defeated in battle? If I am so weak, who has the courage to challenge me?" the room remained quiet. "That is right, no one! I care for nothing else than my family, my realm, and my honor, you all know this. We will be ready when the Great Raid takes place, with active cooperation between the tribes, due to my ability to unite the people of Myre, there shall be more raiding parties than there has ever been. The people of Derria will tremble at the sight of us, our swords shall paint their walls red with blood and their heads shall stand on pikes to install fear into the cowering survivors. I promise that wealth will flow into our lands when we return and our men shall be victorious, the All-Maker will be proud of our youth and our elders respectively. Now, if you truly feel I am unfit to lead voice it or forever hold your peace" Kain gazed around, the elders and even his own brother kept quiet. "Now, ready yourselves! Tomorrow night we celebrate the festival of Journhold, the wind spirit who will be responsible for bringing the Spring season" Kain finished his speech and the men toasted at the mention of the celebration. The festival of Journhold preceded the Great Raid and was always one of the largest gatherings in the land of Myre, regardless of what sect you worshipped.

Kain took a step outside, he took a deep breath of the cold night air. Some days he felt dismayed at his ability to rule, he wasn't like his father who was a ruthless leader. Although a bloody-thirsty warrior, Kain was actually quite kind. Kain felt like he would not keep the realm intact, but continued to try his best. Kain always contemplated leaving the lands of Myre, although being his homeland, he feared for the safety of his family but than remembered he had an obligation to stay and lead. The seclusion of the night gave Kain just what he needed; a calm head. He was started by a quick, "hello, are you alright father" and there stood his daughter Isabelle.

"Hello my dearest, your father is fine. I just have some thinking to get through" Kain hugged his daughter. "You are the spitting image of your mother Isabelle" Kain smiled.

She scoffed, "I am nothing like her! I love my mother but I will not be a subservient housewife" Isabelle humorously stated.

"If only she actually knew how her mother was before" Kain thought to himself and let out a small chuckle.

"What is so funny father" Isabelle was frustrated at her father's silent laugh.

"Nothing my sweet child. I do have great news for you, poor news for me although" he paused, "Jano agreed to accompany you on your travels into the north. Some far away lands to meet with various kings, your first travel shall take you to the lands of the Payne Warden. Hopefully you partake in a safe trip. This will be the first time a tribe member of Myre will be representing the people of our lands as a whole, I have full faith in you my daughter. You shall leave in the cover of night and the festival with Jono, you must meet him by the stronghold stable" he cupped his daughters face, "please be safe... and do not mention this to anyone".

Isabelle smiled, although she was nervous, it was her dream to travel, "I love you father. I promise, I will be back before Spring like we spoke about and I will bring back my own tales! I must pack, I hope to see you before I am off" Isabelle scurried off, leaving her aging father, who went back to admiring the night.

[Taganian Unfied States]

Silerus-Payne Warden
A great man sitting on his white stallion rode up and down the field rows watching the workers. A large group of men were plowing the fields and others were moving freshly cut logs. He waved to the men and then saw a group of children tugging on a goat. He smiled and dismounted and walked over and watched as the goat pulled the children back, the man laughed, "Gentle. Offer him something to eat. He will come." The children looked up at the tall man and nodded and grabbed some carrots and the goat went off after them. The man leaned back and laughed again. A middle-aged man walked over, "My Lord, Sir," the large Lord turned and offered his hand, "Yes, Jackson?" the Lord looked at the man as the middle-aged man looked down from his gaze, "We have the trees cut for the new field. Where do you want the logs taken?" The Lord looked over at the farmers, "How is Stanfords wood supply?" the man looked over at the farmers, "Terrible condition, Sir. We been building barns for all the new live-stock." The Lord nodded, "Cut the branches into fire-wood, send the trunks to the timber yard. Scraps to the castle. Understand?" The man nodded and rushed off with the Lords orders.

[Thallein]

Thalia, the Peaks of Gallassos

"Hold your arm out straight, Ams," said the huge figure, his voice filtered through the barred helmet so that very little of its inflection remained. Amadeus took a breath and tensed himself, extending his sword arm a few inches further forwards. The two men held their positions for a few seconds before the shorter of the two lunged forward, the point of his sword clattering against the breastplate of his opponent.

"Good! Not so delicate, though. You're still holding that thing like a dinner knife."

Gallassos this time of year was a miserable place. The mould seemed to be more visible than the walls to which it clung, everything seemed perpetually damp, and the fog that rolled in from the sea early in September didn't disperse until next June, and hung over the moors like a pilgrim's hood. That's why Amadeus liked it so much.

The colours seemed that much more intense against the white, the sounds that much more beautiful when heard through a thick mist, the smells so much sweeter when mixed with the earthy scent of rain.

"I think that'll do for today, Delinard," said the smaller figure, removing his helmet and shaking his head, droplets of sweat flinging themselves from his brow and quickly dissipating in the wet soil. His blond hair had been made brown and his pale skin turned rosy by exertion. With a nod, the larger man removed his helmet, just as stoic and pristine as it had been when they first started their sparring. Amadeus allowed himself a wry smile as he sheathed his sword and mounted his horse. "You can go straight back to the keep if you like; I'm going to take the scenic route," he said as he adjusted the reins and pulled out a book from his saddle bag.

"If you're going that way, my Lord, I'd prefer to join you," said the larger man, the higher pitch of his voice and the softness of his features no longer obscured by his helmet.

Gowrie Castle, Thalia

Banastre Ruthven sat slumped on his chair, an impossible weight resting on his shoulders. Rain was thrown at the window by the wind, determined to batter down the ancient and decrepit walls of the castle. In the silence, a candle flickered.

"Costs," said the old man, not a flicker of movement behind his eyes.

"Thirty thousand florins."

"Profits."

"None."

Banastre looked through the window, his head heavy and eyes drooping.

"Visit the king. Get loan."

With those five words, Amadeus bowed fruitlessly to his father and steeled himself for the long trek to Providence.

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Present time, three weeks following court at Visedonium
Lord Mordred Thorne

Mordred sighed as the snow gently fell and blanketed the courtyard of the Faustshlag. Imposing it was, constructed of the same shiny, black volcanic stone as the mountainside it was built upon. High above, the Imperial Double Eagle flew upon the wine red field, looking down upon the large city below. Imperial ships lined the horizon, trade and commerce boomed. And all the while Sturmingia continued to rise in prominence from humble city state to regional power. The Lord himself turned from the frozen cherry trees to look back upon the Citadel, and so the duties that awaited within. Dius, and their cousin Admiral Gaspard Yguirre, had departed Visedonium two weeks prior to his own departure, and word was yet to arrive as to the status of the fleet, or the mission to secure local support to begin taking back pieces of the Eastern Empire. Regardless of the status in the East, Mordred was busying himself with managing the Empire, and so he had decided it best to stick to Diplomacy. With Visedonium under the watchful eye of Princess Philippa, Thorne trusted the Legions to Lord General Crowleigh, his cousin and former rival, and the Lord of Kuringia. While Crowleigh had orders to reinforce Visedonium, Mordred wished to muster his own forces and begin eliminating threats and expanding further South via path through Payne Warden.

Upon entering his offices, he moved past the War table, and to his desk. taking hold of a quill and blank parchment, he began to write a message, to be copied and distributed via rider to all the civilized realms of Derria.

Code: Select all

To All the Civilized Houses and Lands of Derria,

You are invited to attend a summit, to discuss the future, and mend the past. In addition to yourselves and an open mind, I implore you to send your best Knights to compete in a Tourney hosted in our finest arena.

With Peace and Good Fortune,

-Mordred d'Thorne, Lord of Sturmingia, Regent of the Imperium

[Eridanus 3]

Fort Soltaraan
Firmadjur Viklas Kirn

One of the thirty odd forts that lay upon the southern side of the Isle of Providence, the fort and village of Soltaraan were quite urban, compared to most cities of the time. While not the capital, the city was home to the Kingdom of Svitjod's 7th Legion, the most decorated of all. The seventh were often hailed as the saviours of the island, as they were responsible for the most glorious battles. In command, then and now, was Firmadjur Villas Kirn.

Peace did not suit him well, however. The old commander was aching for a fight, and making sure the Navy's reserve fleet was safe and sound was anything but combat. Still the cries of battle were being heard, with advice and taunting, as the Legion drilled for war. Which made today so important. For an island nation, being able to fight and secure ships in inclement weather is a life saving skill. True, the port was still open, but the smaller islands out at sea were easy to get to in even the worst weather. This was the reality facing him as he, looking out across the water, saw a ship bearing into port.

---

Solace
The king settled himself at his desk, the rain lightly patting away at his window. In the orange-lit room, he found peace. The coffers fared well, by all accounts. Items seized in the war had turned a tidy profit, and the construction projects he had launched were making good progress. The taxes were being well secured from the south, and the seer proclaimed nothing but good tidings. Truly, he had led his house back to glory, at the dawn of a new era.

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Imperial Armada "Vengeance"
Emperor Dius XVI & Admiral Yguirre

"Prepare the longboat, His Majesty wishes to go ashore!"

The gray skies and their descending mists seemed to become one as the massive flagship Imperator, with her dark polished decks, cleanly sliced through the waves. An hour ago, coastline had been spotted however the rolling fogs had soon obscured the view. Two ships had been lost to the rocks, and though the Admiral had urged the Emperor to sail South, he'd insisted they maintain course for Providence. The pale skinned, thin Emperor studied the fog with a distasteful eye, lids heavy from the opium and vodka he was so notorious for indulging in. Clad in his usual ridiculously flamboyant finery, he was a refreshing sight (and scent) compared to the haggard looking sailors and Marines around him. He'd switched out his usual fur cape for a more seaworthy quilted leather coat and dark red fox fur scarf. Upon his head he wore a fine wine red velvet chaperon, matching the velvet, white gold button sided trousers adorning his legs. In place of a doublet, the emperor was armored in an anatomical breastplate of boiled leather, his hand and a half sword fixed to his right hip by a royal blue, silver threaded sash.

Taking care to avoid soiling his mink lined leather gloves with filth, he tip toed his high heeled booted feet into the longboat, sitting down in the ridiculous oaken chair he'd insisted be nailed to the middle of the longboat. Ignoring the grumbling Marines that struggled to pile in around the massive chair, the boat was ordered lowered into the water before the marines started rowing, more boats following numbering 20. Would be a small landing party, but the Emperor was not taking chances-not until he was safely within a Citadel's walls. "You there, where are we?" Dius asked in a bored tone, downing a large swig of Vodka, before passing the bottle to the marine whom he'd asked.

"Thalia, your Majesty." The man replied, taking a Swig before offering it back to the Emperor, who refused, instead taking out a full fresh bottle. Shrugging, the man passed it to his comrades, who began to drink greedily.

"Good, we are to set up camp on the shore, then send out messengers to announce our arrival. I wish to speak with the Lord of Thalia, however send word to Yguirre to continue to Providence and Lord Sviterk." Dius answered, looking on at the approaching coastline. He was determined to find allies here, whether they be willing or otherwise-House Altieri needed to survive, and in order to do so needed to unite with lost relations.

[The Peoples East Africa]

Oxport
The town sounded like a mix of sailors tending to their ships, seagulls and starving children fighting over who gets the last scraps, and as any good town would have, whores looking for their next customer. My kind of town, thought Cedric as he was walking down to the coastline. The smell of salt was so strong that it stung the inside of his nose. Bloody annoying, but a healthy sign. Continuing on his search, the row buildings took his fancy. A multistoried oak building stood above all the rest. Torches burned bright at the entrance, and above hung a sign with ''ALE AND PLEASURE HERE'' etched in. Quickening his pace, an even more beautiful site appeared on the horizon. Tearing through the waves with its great wide hull, The Fury of the Seas sailed for the dock. He barely supressed a smile, that soon turned to a laugh as he filled with unearned pride. ''Now, that's a ship worthy of royalty!''

Running up the dock to meet the captain as his ship moored, Cedric stood straight and put on his most lordly look. The gold chains around his neck complemented both his sandy flock of hair, and the gold embroidery of his fleece jacket. He had packed silk shirts to wear, and while they were certainly of a higher standard, he didn't fancy visiting the Emperor with pneumonia. The scent of the man hit him first, a tangy odour that suggested his wife was a pile of seaweed. Stubble coated his face and seemed to even coat his teeth. An eyepatch on his left side completed his face, making him look like a pirate from the stories Tomfry used to tell. Tomfry was the king's jester, always around to provide a laugh to the king. Extending his hand in greeting, Cedric introduced himself.

''Good evening sir, I am Cedric of the House Tauron, official emissary to the Dmesian Emperor. My uncle the king hired you to transport me.'' The captain stood and stared, and looked ready to respond when he spat a glob of spit over the railings to his side. Turning back he gave his answer.

'''Kay pretty boy,'' he said bluntly. ''I'm Willem your captain. We sail in the hour.'' With that he barged past Cedric, who would have been soaked if not for the iron bars. Not talkative, and rude. ''I'm the son of the Hand of the King, I think I have a say in things around here. We sail now.'' Willem stopped where he was, and craned his head around. ''The tide aint right, we sail in an hour.'' Cedric turned to face the sea. It's as smooth as a new-born's arse! ''Looks fine to me, we sail now.'' Willem turned once more, far quicker this time, and marched until he stood a foot from Cedric's face. "I've sailed these seas since you were lazing in your daddy's perfumed balls, we sail in an hour, or you swim to the Emperor."

His nostrils flared and his sword hand started feeling mighty itchy, but then a beautiful sight came back into view. The whorehouse! Cedric shot the sailor a smile saying, ''We sail in an hour,'' and ran past him and across the pier and up the rocky road and in the door. Doing justice to the outside, the common room looked a masterpiece. Stools dotted the room, resting under large circular tables which sat many, 'customers'. At least half the women were at work there, scantily clad and well endowed. One in particular caught Cedric's eye, a redhead with a pug nose, straight brown teeth and bugeyes that were too close to be pretty. Her hair shone in the light of the crackling fire, making her look almost angelic, deformed, but angelic. He sauntered over, first to what seemed to be the owner, standing behind the bar. "Boil me some wine, add a few spices and a drop of honey. I'll be waiting by the redhead,'' he said as he finished his walk.

"Hello milady, might I say you look spectacular in the light," Cedric greeted. The redhead looked behind her for a moment, and then began to giggle. "Beg your pardons milord.'' Her voice matched her teeth, high-pitched and cracking. "You don't look a whoring kind." As she finished talking, a barmaid came up with his hot wine. Taking a long sip, the old Rutch Courage kicking in. "Well my dear, looks can be deceiving. I've an hour to go till my ship departs, I'm on a visit to the Emperor from the east you see." The redhead's face lit up at that, looking interesting. "Why from the looks of you we can do it least twice, maybe three times." Whether it was a joke or not, Cedric wasn't laughing. "Look here, I'm a prince of House Tauron, you'd be lucky to say you met royalty beneath the sheets."

The redhead pouted her lip and drooped her eyes. "I'm sorry milord, I just got all excited, I mean you're handsome and royalty," she flirted, before leaning up to plant a kiss on him. She knows how to bend a man's heart, and his purse. "So if you lived in a big castle, why'd you decide to go to some emperor fellow." It was this or lose my cock. "Why else, for my king! He asked it of me, and I would do anything for my kingdom."

"Ooh, you're such a good caring man milord. I always wanted to meet a nice lord like you," she said, inching into his lap. This is a feisty one, I shan't be bored this hour. "Well I'll be giving you what all the ladies at Ironwind talk about," he said with a wink. The whore in his lap frowned at that. "Sorry milord, one thing I insist is that I give first." Shifting uneasily, Cedric asked what she meant. Staying silent, 'she' nodded down to where the sun don't shine. Cedric saw, and Cedric ran. The house burst into laughter, unfortunately aimed at him. "Oi!" the barmaid shouted. "You 'ave to pay for that drink!"

Throwing his head back and finishing the wine, Cedric let the bottle it came in fall and crack as he ran to the ship. Asking a deckhand as to where his cabin was, he found it tucked up nicely at the back. A cozy room, if he laid out straight he'd be bumping against the walls. The bed was a slab of wood with some warm quilts. Much needed, the journey north was set to get cold. Picking up a lump of coal from a pile in the corner, Cedric built up a nice load on the brazier that sat in the opposing corner. Then drawing his sword and dagger, he struck one upon the other till a spark came out and ignited the pile. Ah, fire! This should keep me toasty for the trip there. Cedric breathed out, and thought about home. And what a trip it'll be.

[Dalria]

Kingdom of Myrrh
Isabella & Jano

They two left quick, while no one had been watching them. Assigned a journey that had never been partaken by a tribal besides in time of war. Jano was nervous, not for himself but for Isabella. He knew what awaited them out of the marshes, a place that didn't tolerate those who weren't deemed civilized and if it was known they belonged to the raider tribes of the South, they would be executed. Yet Jano remained vigilant, he wouldn't allow anything to happen to Isabelle, he believed that the All-Maker would protect them. Isabelle, while she walked along Jano in this foreign land, was much more excited than anything. The dirt road, the green grass, and the small hamlets lining the country side amazed her. She hadn't seen so much beauty in her life. The Earth Mother had molded this place, this beautiful land, Isabelle thought.

"Jano, why do we dwell in the marshland while there is so much room here in this beautiful pasture" Isabelle had such an inquisitive nature and would not let up on the questions.

Jano smirked, "these lands are not ours. Although beautiful this place, the All-Maker granted us our domain in the marshes for reasons I cannot explain. Some of our brethren have settled in the area, but face persecution by the local law. The men who inhabit this land are hostile to our people and to the All-Maker yet we are the same to them and their gods".

"Well if my father allows it, I hope to live in a hut around these green fields with the beautiful flowers" Isabelle examined the land. Jano was anxious, was her father right for allowing her to do this? She is so young and naïve, what if she didn't want to leave back home? Jano understood how rebellious she was, and saw the shine in her eyes as she glazed over the rolling hills. For several hours they continued walking, Isabelle kept up with the questions that Jano didn't have all the answers for.

"I have a contact coming up soon. I use to fight along with this man, he decided to settle down here and take up a life in these lands. I am sure he will be able to help us" Jano stated.

"He actually left Myre to live here!" Isabelle gasped, "and you still stay in contact with him?" she questioned.

"Yes, he was injured and we had to leave him to die. The next year on a smaller raid I had been leading with your father we had found that he was still alive. We are astonished, but I was so happy! He lives in a small hut with a wife and two children, still worshipping the All-Maker and all the spirits" Jano recalled. As they continued walking they stumbled upon the rotting body of a man. The man had apparently split his head on a rock, he carried a satchel on him. Jano put his hand out to stop Isabelle and then proceeded to examine the body. "His horse must have been spooked and bucked him off" Jano pointed at the horse tracks that led in the other direction. He picked the satchel up and emptied its contents. Several letters fell to the ground, the man was obviously a courier. One letter stood out, the envelope looked beautiful with blue edges and gold paper. As Jano went to pick it up, Isabelle grabbed it quickly.

"It is so pretty! What is this?" she exclaimed as she felt the paper.

"It is a letter, the men of this domain use them to them to communicate. Give it here girl" Jano said as he snagged the letter from her hands.

Jano began to study the letter, "can you read that?" Isabelle inquired.

"Give me some time" Jano responded. He was able to decrypt the title of the letter "To All undistinguishable Houses and Lands of Derria". Although he tried to read the rest, he could barely understand it. It had been years since he had to read any foreign languages, he use to be head emissary of the raiding parties when they would broker for tribute. "I believe my friend may be able to help us out, let us move quickly".

Hours later

Jano knocked loudly on the hut door, he was met by a quick blade to the neck, "who are you stranger" the man spoke but not of the old language. He eyed Isabelle behind Jano and then eyes met back with Jano.

Jano stared deeply in his eyes and began to speak, "Horan, tis me. Jano!".

The man froze and let the sword down, "it has been years my friend, why didn't you just say so. Come in, my wife and children traveled to the city to sell our crop at the market" Horan hugged Jano. The group walked in the hut, Horan sat the two and then took a seat himself. "So what brings you here Jano, and who is this women with you? Have you finally decided to settle down you old celibate man" Horan laughed.

"No, no, no! This is the High Chief's daughter, Isabelle 'The Fair' Torolf. We are on a mission to scout these lands before the raid and possibly establish diplomatic relations with some of the kings of this land. Isabelle has proven she is the best speaker in all of Myre and I know the land, so it was a no-brainer for us to be sent" Jano felt great talking with his old friend again. "I found this on a dead courier, I was wondering if you could tell me what it has to say" Jano then asked.

Horan motioned for him for the letter and began reading it, "where in all the lands did you attain this? This must have been carried by a royal envoy, it is a letter meant for the lordships of this land?" Horan looked amazed, yet fear struck him. If the guard found out he was harboring tribals who had royal stolen property, it would be the death of him.

"What does it say Horan, I've seen those letters before and I know their importance. I found it on a dead envoy, must have fell off his horse and cracked his head" Jano answered, "I promise we did not still it".

"Okay, it reads: You are invited to attend a summit, to discuss the future, and mend the past. In addition to yourselves and an open mind, I implore you to send your best Knights to compete in a Tourney hosted in our finest arena. With Peace and Good Fortune, Mordred d'Thorne, Lord of Sturmingia, Regent of the Imperium" he then handed the letter back to Jano, "you aren't thinking of going to this? That would be absurd!" Horan exclaimed.

"That is interesting, Horan this is a sign from the All-Maker! We have to attend this. I know you have not seen me for years but I am begging, can you get us there? I have heard about Sturmingia, but I remembered it as a place of near myth" Jano pleaded.

"Jano... I have not seen you in years. I am no longer a vassal of the High Chief or a tribal of Myre, I could care less about your task to be honest. Sturmingia is far, far from this place. Besides I have a family and you barely can speak their language and will stand out like a black swan, I do not want to see you get hurt" Horan answered.

Isabelle spoke up, "please Horan. I have heard nothing but good stories of you" Isabelle lied, "and I too, as the voice of my father, are pleading you for help. Just hear us out. The more we learn about these lands, the better things can go for Myre. This meeting sounds important and I would suspect all the important lordships will attend this".

Horan sighed, "I can get you on a carriage ride from the city to the ocean and lend you several gold pieces to reserve a seat on one of the ferries but from there you must find the rest of your way to Sturmingia. Let us move, I have a horse-cart outside. We shall take this to the city, but we must make haste" Horan remembered his past with Jano and would not let him down. The three went on their way to the a port city to take a clipper to the frozen lands of Sturmingia.

Holy Shrine of Skavior Glade
Kain and Katrina

The sight was beautiful, the grove was lit up by numerous firefly lanterns which hung by the branches of the elder trees. Tents and tables had been set up around the area and music from the bards filled the air. The Spring Festival was beginning, two days of festivities and debauchery that the people of Myre celebrated. The various clans and tribes brought their own foods and cultural items as well as gifts for the spirit of spring. Kain sat upon his throne which had been carved into one of the larger trees, Katrina sat by his side. The two were ready for the festival, but each equally worried about their daughter. Kain continued to greet the various chiefs and clan elders which presented him with tokens of their gratitude.

Kain eyed his brother who stood in a circle, laughing among his peers. He became more wary of his brothers intentions but would not let it get to him. Tonight was a night for liberation, the Great Raid was coming soon and it was a day to release all of your evil ills, pray to the All-Maker, Spring Spirit, and Earth Mother for protection, and remember the day when the Great Darkness was defeated and locked away. Kain was determined to make this festival unforgettable for the sake of the warriors who wouldn't make it back from the Great Raid. He wouldn't let petty politics stand in the way of his night, the All-Maker wouldn't stand for that!

[Thallein]

Imperial Armada "Vengeance"
Emperor Dius XVI & Admiral Yguirre

"Prepare the longboat, His Majesty wishes to go ashore!"

The gray skies and their descending mists seemed to become one as the massive flagship Imperator, with her dark polished decks, cleanly sliced through the waves. An hour ago, coastline had been spotted however the rolling fogs had soon obscured the view. Two ships had been lost to the rocks, and though the Admiral had urged the Emperor to sail South, he'd insisted they maintain course for Providence. The pale skinned, thin Emperor studied the fog with a distasteful eye, lids heavy from the opium and vodka he was so notorious for indulging in. Clad in his usual ridiculously flamboyant finery, he was a refreshing sight (and scent) compared to the haggard looking sailors and Marines around him. He'd switched out his usual fur cape for a more seaworthy quilted leather coat and dark red fox fur scarf. Upon his head he wore a fine wine red velvet chaperon, matching the velvet, white gold button sided trousers adorning his legs. In place of a doublet, the emperor was armored in an anatomical breastplate of boiled leather, his hand and a half sword fixed to his right hip by a royal blue, silver threaded sash.

Taking care to avoid soiling his mink lined leather gloves with filth, he tip toed his high heeled booted feet into the longboat, sitting down in the ridiculous oaken chair he'd insisted be nailed to the middle of the longboat. Ignoring the grumbling Marines that struggled to pile in around the massive chair, the boat was ordered lowered into the water before the marines started rowing, more boats following numbering 20. Would be a small landing party, but the Emperor was not taking chances-not until he was safely within a Citadel's walls. "You there, where are we?" Dius asked in a bored tone, downing a large swig of Vodka, before passing the bottle to the marine whom he'd asked.

"Thalia, your Majesty." The man replied, taking a Swig before offering it back to the Emperor, who refused, instead taking out a full fresh bottle. Shrugging, the man passed it to his comrades, who began to drink greedily.

"Good, we are to set up camp on the shore, then send out messengers to announce our arrival. I wish to speak with the Lord of Thalia, however send word to Yguirre to continue to Providence and Lord Sviterk." Dius answered, looking on at the approaching coastline. He was determined to find allies here, whether they be willing or otherwise-House Altieri needed to survive, and in order to do so needed to unite with lost relations.

Gowrie Castle, Thalia

"Your Grace, an emissary from His Majesty the Emperor." The voice spoke without an ounce of emotion, as though it was every day that the Emperor turned up on this small smattering of islands in the southern sea. Banastre Ruthven stirred, clenching a fist over the sceptre carved into the oaken arm of his chair.

"Where is Amadeus..?" he murmured, mouth hanging slightly open. "He deals with this sort of thing."

"You sent him away, Your Grace. He sailed for Providence not three hours ago. Shall I inform Lord William?"

Widow's Peak, Thalia

The ride to the coastline was a harsh and treacherous one, even on horseback. William could feel his armour rusting as the damp seeped into each crevice and gap, soaking through his gambeson and onto his skin. Reaching the craggy overlook onto the pebbled beach below, the young lord signalled to his ensign to raise the standard of House Ruthven, then began the descent below to greet the Emperor Dius. He knew only what the servants and envoys had told him - Emperor Dius was as much as a fairy tale to him as anything about the dragons of Gowrie or the Gallassos sand serpents, and spoken of with as little reverence by his father.

The sound of hooves on damp stone broke the ambience of crashing waves and screeching gulls, and soon enough a cadré of five men at arms appeared from the moor, the yellow and red banner adding a desperate glimmer of colour to the grey afternoon. The sun tried in vain to pierce the thick cloud cover and its light only came forth in small patches, not quite managing to shimmer on the armour of the Ruthven delegation; everything about them wore the damp, bedraggled, threadbare cloak of the Thalian climate; William's tabard was ripped at the bottom and the once-vibrant colours were just as grey as the rest of the island, while his sword's hilt was dull and its leather grip tattered. Nevertheless, he did a decent impression of a nobleman as he rode through the imperial sailors and marines and into the heart of the Emperor's camp. As his men formed a semi circle behind him and sheathed their swords, he dismounted and walked towards the shiniest man he could see. The emperor's boots, William reckoned, were probably worth more than everything he was wearing put together.

"Your Majesty," he said, removing his helmet and offering a bow. "The Earl of Thalia welcomes you to his humble island, and sends me with his compliments to invite you to Gowrie Castle at your pleasure." After his speech, William allowed himself to glance around at the Emperor's men, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lip.

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Payne Warden, West of Avantine
Ser Morgan De Wyntre

The road was empty and the day clear as Morgan casually examined the satchel of gold he'd just acquired in Avantine's arena. The white eyed, wine haired nobleman scoffed at the handsome winnings-it was but a peasants portion compared to what his uncle had squandered away to put his family in debt to the wrathful Emperor. Altieri gold had seen the De Wyntre's rise to greatness, and so their blood union with the Altieri's was not enough to save them from having their lands stripped and sold to cousin Mordred, who had been kind enough to allow him to retain possession of his ancient and decrepit manor...all the same, the once great Morgan was still the best, and most handsome, Knight in all of Derria. At least according to the Madame's of Derria's finest entertainment venues. Shrugging off the chainmail hood to rearrange one of three heirlooms he had retained from his family's vault, he moved from the ceremonial foxfur scarf to rest his hand upon his blade. His tabard was colored midnight blue, embolized with several tiny embroidered silver double eagles, which were also displayed upon his banner behind a large silver fox. Taking note of a fox darting into the brush, Morgan smiled, tucking his long braid back into his hood as he spurred his Warhorse into a gallop. He had but a week to reach Sturmingia, and so compete for glory and gold in the hall of his cousin Mordred.

His thoughts were once more interrupted as he spotted a cart upon the road ahead. Though the driver looked ordinary, the passengers seemed rather out of place, not that he himself was a native of Derria per say. Dressed in their exotic furs, he noted a stern looking, battle hardened man and a fair maiden. Perhaps they were headed to Sturmingia for the Summit, and if so most certainly representing some foreign Kingdom. Barbarians...he'd faced them in the arena, and every time a challenge it was. Deciding to announce his arrival, he raised an arm, and called out.

"Hail, peasantry!" Before riding up to meet them. Upon closer inspection, the maiden was indeed fair, though Morgan was hesitant to let his gaze linger for too long, as those of the men accompanying her were respectively fixed to the young Knight. "There is naught up that road but trouble for outsiders. The road is a dangerous one rife with Imperial Army, not to mention the villagers having seen nothing but bloodshed for the past few centuries." Chuckling to himself, he continued. "Have you important business in Sturmingia? Where hail you from? Myrrh? The Roughlands? It matters not I suppose, cousin Mordred did say Civilized, and two of you.." He smiled and winked at the maiden, then glanced at the Driver, "Look civilized enough."

Widow's Peak, Thalia
Dius XVI

The Emperor looked first to the banners as they appeared upon the hilltop, watching the riders approach with a disinterested expression upon his face. By now the sailors had set up tents and begun moving in supplies. Campfires were soon blazing, and warmed wine being poured to ensure the Emperor not succumb to ailment from the damp weather. Soon the grass was turned to mud by boots and horses, wood slats were laid down to form pathways, and a tent city emerged. Rising and exiting the pavilion to the damp, drizzling world outside the Emperor managed to mold his face into a somewhat blank and pleasant expression as he lazily raised a hand in greeting. The Emperors officers were similarly blank faced, split between the smug intoxicated noblemen and the battle hardened soulless Veterans. As the shanty Lord spoke, the Emperor listened...but more than anything, his mind was already working on ways he could manipulate his situation here.

"I am most pleased to be your guest." The Emperor purred, forcing his stony face into a wide grin that seemed to stretch his face in unnatural ways. Immediately returning it to a blank expression following a look of alarm from one of his Captains, the Emperor turned to his men. "I shall return tomorrow, see to it the men are well rested and fed, give them ale and wine, try to stay dry..." He drawled, turning on his heel as his White Horse was brought forth. Taking ten black clad Praetorians with him, he followed the young Lord. "Gowrie castle...it is...dry, yes?" He asked, an air of concern in his voice.

[Dalria]

Payne Warden, West of Avantine
Jano & Isabelle

For hours the group had been traveling to the sea, Horan had been guiding his horse while the two of Myre sat in the back quietly. Jano's faded in and out of consciousness as his eyes fell heavy but Isabelle had been wide awake, admiring the atmosphere. They had crossed over into the lands of Payne, nearing there destination.

"Why did you decide not to come back?" Isabelle questioned Horan about his past. Horan didn't answer, "do not worry old man, I don't bite" she chuckled.

"Look, I am doing this for the sake of Jano. I have no need to speak with the likes of you, this is a favor and I am not under any obligation to speak with you" Horan snapped back. He quickly apologized, "I did not mean to snap, I just haven't had any sleep lately" he peered over at Jano and noticed him snoring, "I have been on edge".

"I am here to talk, I understand we are foreigners to one another but are still siblings in the eyes of the All-Maker" Isabelle replied, smiling sweetly.

"My wife and children really aren't at the market. My wife and daughter passed away from illness about three months ago, my son is in the city we're heading too. After they passed away, I just couldn't take care of my son anymore. I feared for his infant life, so I took him to an orphanage so he could grow without fear of his heritage" Horan tried to fight back the tears.

"An orphanage, what exactly is that?" Isabelle questioned.

"Tis a place where bastard children without families live until they are old enough to function on their own" he explained.

"But..." Isabella started but was cut short by the man coming down the road. Isabelle quickly shook Jano awake and pointed to the man.

"You two, keep your mouths shut, you cannot speak a lick of this language. Jano, you haven't spoke it in years, so do not even try" Horan stated with a brusque tone. "Oi, I hail from Myrhh, a simple farmer. The two in the back are seasonal field hands who are helping my load seed from the port ahead. I have no intention of sparking a conversation with you sire, we are in much haste to acquire the grain at a nice deal" Horan tried to speak as abruptly as he could without raising suspicion. Isabelle eyed the man, he had paler skin than usual, he defiantly wasn't from the southern part of Derria. She examined him from head to toe, playing the thoughts through her head of just speaking with him even though she didn't speak his language.

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Payne Warden, West of Avantine
Ser Morgan De Wyntre

Morgan cocked an eyebrow-the two clearly did not look like field hands. All the same, he shrugged it off, instead scanning the two seemingly misplaced individuals in the cart, noting the presence of a blade, and crude axe, upon the mans person. "I see you have some bread, I am hungry yet had to hurry as I must reach Sturmingia and am a few days behind schedule. I have plenty of Gold to offer in exchange for but half a loaf and some water-" He paused, searching his bag. Taking his light blue, gold paper invitation from the saddle bag, he placed it in his teeth before withdrawing his leather coin purse, counting out a mixture of Dmesian Florins and Sturmingian Krowne's whilst whistling past the invitation in his teeth. "Name your price, good Ser!"

[Dalria]

Payne Warden, West of Avantine
Jano & Isabelle

Isabelle comprehended the basics of what was going on, it was obvious that the man was hungry and wanted to exchange some shiny objects for the bread. She quickly noticed the letter that was exactly the same as the one they had, impulsively she grabbed the bread and the flask of water and jumped out of the carriage, handing the man the objects. She smiled and ran her hand across his cheek. Horan was stunned, Jano immediately exited the carriage and grabbed Isabelle by the arm and landing a smack on her face.

"Isabelle I told you to keep quiet" he his thundering tone boomed, he realized he was speaking in their native language. Horan broke his immobilization by shock and got off the driver seat, stepping in between the man and the two tribals. "Look sire, keep it at no cost. Like I stated before, we must make haste as the seed must be selling out by now" he nervously stated.

Isabelle turned to Jano, "don't lay your hands on me again! Horan cannot accompany us across the seas and this man has the same letter as we do. He is going to the same place as us Jano. This could be mutually beneficial to have someone who seems very esteemed, take us as his guest. This man must have been formally invited, how do you expect us to have gotten in to the festival when we can't even speak the language" she scolded Jano back.

[Zoblus]

Starton Castle
Western Border
Kingdom of Myrrh
Illaphos Faenymion

"Any word yet from Mossglen? I tire of waiting," yawned Illaphos, his body leaned over a great oaken table. The room, the whole castle, was cold, even though spring was supposed to arrive soon with her warmth and sunshine. Though he was wearing a warm cotton coat embroidered with gold lace, the cold still managed to snake its way in, his body shivering in response. Dimly lit, scantily decorated, and poorly furnished, these weren't the arrangements he was used to and he made it obvious.

"They refuse to even allow our couriers within the city m'lord, but they did throw this over the walls," the man, Hariphos Vollah, said whilst walking to Illaphos. The man was dressed for battle, his scarlet gambeson cloaked in dark mail, his arming sword hanging lazily from his side while he held his helmet in his left hand. Mossglen had been ordered by King-Regent Illaphos to yield to him their garrison, for a revolt against his authority had sprung up in nearby Palperro and Illaphos was still short on manpower. He had by then amassed an army of 5,000 men, mostly levies though a small group of Myrrhenic Knights had joined his ranks, assured by his advisors that it'd be a sufficiently powerful enough to put down whatever paltry force the nobles of Palperro had assembled. But he had heard rumors that Mossglen grew tired of his rule and had plans to join Palperro in their revolt. If they were true (and they were most definitely true), the paltry force of 3000 Palperronan troops would have jumped to over 7000, a serious threat to his fragile authority.Worried by the prospect, Illaphos had his host transferred to Starton Castle, a few miles south of Mossglen. He wanted to test the city's loyalty to the crown and therefore demanded that the city's garrison be turned over to him. Five days have passed, Mossglen stubbornly refusing to answer his call, this being the answer which he dreaded. And now, his only option left was to personally walk up to the city's walls and demand that they be opened. If not, then they would simply burn.

Gently placing the cloth covered item on the table, Hariphos stepped back slowly, hands clasped behind his back, waiting for a response. Caught up thinking about how to best torture any nobles from Mossglen if they happened to be captured, Illaphos didn't immediately recognize that something had been placed on the table. When he did, he begrudgingly picked it up, tossing the cloth it was wrapped in carelessly away, exposing the object to the dim light of the room.

"Damn them all..." Illaphos whispered.

"M'lord," Hariphos uttered before being shushed with an uplifted hand from Illaphos.

Raising the object up towards a candle, it became obvious what it was. A gilded knife, hilt glistening with pearl and ivory, a declaration of war. Tossing it angrily off to the side, Illaphos looked down again at the map, a long sigh escaping his lips.

"Ready the men for battle, we assault Mossglen now!"

"Now?" Hariphos stepped forward, confusion in his voice and face. "I thought you wanted to speak personally at the wall, demand them one more time. M'lord, the men aren't going to be ready."

Illaphos raised his face slowly from the map, locking eyes with Hariphos before grunting out:

"Did I not make myself clear? Tell those bastards down there to pick up their arms and march towards Mossglen, or so help me, I'll have you executed, quartered, and your body parts sent to your children in a sack made of your skin!"

His hand slamming down on the table, Illaphos stated angrily at Hariphos, who was caught unawares by his sudden discharge of aggression. Taking a moment to regain his composure, Hariphos nodded quickly, turning towards the door and rushing out as calmly as possible. Standing straight after his departure, Illaphos turned away from the table and allowed himself to fall, defeated, onto a small chair. The old, leather bound chair, creaked noisily under his weight, sounding like at any moment, the ancient seat would snap. Sighing loudly, Illaphos buried his face in his hands, rubbing his face before moving up the massage his aching temples. He was beyond tired, beyond done at this point. This was the third city this month to revolt from his authority and the fourth he had to personally lead troops against. It was straining him and the kingdom to its limits, threatening their unity in times of great turbulence.

"This wouldn't have happened under Vyriros," a small voice in his head chimed," he would've been a magnificent king, one worthy of being called king."

The voice was not his own, and it angered him to no end. It continued, singing shrilly in his mind.

"Why should you deserve to be king, even only if it be temporary? Vyriros's son could have been crowned, younger men have ascended kingly thrones greater than ours before. But no, you insisted, you pleaded, you begged for it, like a screaming babe who hungers for the teat of his mother, even after he's had his fill."

"Quiet...." he groaned, rocking slightly in his chair.

But the voice insisted.

"You deserve what's happening to you. You're nothing but a filthy usurper.....no, lower than that. An usurper, a real man, would have the manhood to openly take what isn't his, to spill the blood of those who rightly deserve their power so he can selfishly keep it for himself. But you, you cowered behind convention, to cowardly, to pathetic to show your true intention, to show how little honor you have. A real man would have the manhood to challenge another man's claim to power, but you cowered at the thought of challenging a mere boy."

"Go away," he sobbed.

But the voice insisted.

"You're a delusional worm, a living pile of shite who thinks he can be anything but a living pile of shite. Kill yourself, that's the only thing that your kind can do that will benefit the world. Kill yourself. The window is so close, so very close, so very easy. And isn't that how you like things, easy? All it would take is for you to walk over, stick yourself out the window, and let yourself fall to the earth. An easy, cowardly way to die, perfect for you. Just do it. Do it. DO IT!"

"No!"

Illaphos rose immediately, body shaking, face and hands sweating. Instantly, he collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably and audibly. His body, his soul, was worn and slowly, he allowed himself to lay down on the cold stone floor.

"Why," he whispered," why...."

[Eridanus 3]

Malak Sviterk
Temple at Reinbart

"Lord Jul, bless us this day. Grant us today a most plentiful harvest, and thus we shall offer a great sacrifice to you. Most merciful Jul, who built the Earth with his blood, have pity on were mortal men. Then we would offer to you a blood sacrifice, wishing for your grace. Plead the cause of mankind to Paragnus All-Father, by whom the universe was borne." As the sacrificial blood off a calf flowed over her, Malak turned to the icon of the god for whom she was named. The gods would find favor in her this day!

[Taganian Unfied States]

Silerus-Payne Warden
Lord Payne sat in his chair looking at a wooden carving of realm two. He looked at the two other banners that inhabbited the realm besides his own. He smiled and ordered his scribe and prepared a message to the two other men who helped rule his realm. The letters were handed to the sons and sent to deliver them.

To: Lords and Earls of Realm 2
From: Lord Jordan Payne, Lord of Realm 2
The time for rule by foreigners and accepting the orders of others is long over. I call on you to come here, to Silerus, so we as Lords may deside the future and fate of our realm. Bring your families and men so we may feast and watch games of honor together. As the Lord of the Realm, I call the banners of the Realm. All loyal Lords should answer this call. Silerus gates are open to you. Come join us.
Lord Jordan Payne
Lord of the Realm
House Payne
Payne Warden

Bells rung through-out the castle and in the town below. 20 riders rode out from the castle, each wearing the dove painted on his chest with a silver crown on its head. Four banner-men holding the Payne standard went with the riders. Xander Payne, Heir to Payne Warden rode in the lead with his younger brother, Jace, beside him. The two split and rode for the two lands. Xander was riding to Starfall, Jace to the Grand Earl with a deal attached to his letter.

[Thallein]

Solace, Kingdom of Svitjod
Amadeus, Viscount Ruthven

The sea was quiet and tranquil. On the top deck, the Earl's men busied themselves with the leisurely tasks of calm seas while below, captive oarsmen felt their shoulders being jostled in their sockets as they desperately tried to propel the heaving hulk forwards towards Solace. Amadeus Ruthven stood on the quarterdeck, leaning nonchalantly against the railings with a book in hand; as the boat rocked, he mumbled poetry in ancient languages and hummed hymns of forgotten religions, enjoying the brief serenity and pleasure of a silent sea and a fair wind floating through his hair and gently caressing his head.

"We're coming into port now, my Lord."

"Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean. Man marks the earth with ruin — his control stops with the shore," Amadeus replied indolently, his eyes half-lidded as he pulled himself out of his literary trance and focussed his eyes upon the busy docklands of Solace, watching the people scatter this way and that, loading and offloading vast crates of goods, skipping between the great galleons from which all manner of banners and flags flew; every so often, the red and gold stripes of Ruthven could be seen on the smaller ships amongst the bizarre menagerie of ensigns, while men wearing familiar tabards and cloaks unpacked bottles of Thalian wine and crates of Thalian coal.

"The Honourable Viscount Ruthven, your Majesty."

Thus announced, Amadeus strode into the king's chamber, removed his cap, and offered his most sincere bow, the feathers of his hat lightly tickling the stone floor beneath. He looked small next to the burly men of Svitjod standing in their vast castles, and he felt even smaller as he affirmed his father's oath to his king.

"Your Majesty, I come with mandate from my lord the Earl of Thalia. He sends his compliments and bids me present your most excellent majesty this a promissory note."

He produced the document with a flourish, unravelling the earl's seal, and handed it to the King's chamberlain. 50,000 florins. Enough to keep the Ruthven estate functioning. Enough to keep the Ruthven family alive.

Amadeus took a surreptitious breath and prepared himself for the worst kind of duel he could imagine.

Castle Gowrie, Thalia
Lord William Ruthven

It was a solemn procession, that one that snaked up the craggy hillside and trudged towards Gowrie Castle. The intimidating spires of the Ruthven family seat were visible from almost everywhere on the island and yet the castle itself seemed always those few miles ahead, even when directly in front of it. Lord William headed the cortège, followed closely by the Emperor, whose impressive Praetorians rode imposingly five abreast behind him. The four Ruthven men-at-arms brought up the rear as though the main body of men was ashamed to be seen with them. William didn't speak on the journey, instead focussing on the road ahead. Any attempt the Emperor made to converse was answered with a non-committal - but respectful - response, until they reached the final leg of the journey, when the crumbling towers and holed rooftops of Gowrie Castle were at their closest. As the party rode through the archway from the town of Gowrie leading to the portcullis, William and his men rode ahead and dismounted, forming a makeshift guard of honour as the Emperor rode through the creaking, rotten gates into the courtyard.

It was just as bleak as the outside. A once-magnificent mosaic had been the centrepiece of the quad, depicting the Ruthven coat of arms and the glorious battles and wars in which the clan had fought. Today, the names that had once been proudly displayed alongside the Ruthven martyrs were long-eroded by the passage of time, and entirely forgotten. Five stablehands in varying levels of poverty came forward to help the men from their mounts before they were watered and shod, and yet more men and women were to be seen poking their heads through gaps in the walls of the armouries, stables, granaries, and stores. With a building crescendo of wailing and creaking from the portcullis, it finally came down with a mighty clang, which seemed as a bell to send the peasants back to their employments.

With that, the doors to the keep opened and a contingent of soldiers emerged carrying the Ruthven banners, announcing the arrival of their noble liege. Banastre Ruthven, a small, gnarled, shrivelled man with a moustache that might once have been proudly bristling but now seemed to apologetically line his top lip, slowly made his way down the steps. Even now, though, his presence was strong - William felt himself flinch as his father drew his sword and presented it in greeting to the Emperor - and it seemed as though the castle grew ten times bigger and more imposing as if frightened into grandeur by the Earl's gaze. "Your Majesty," he finally said, voice croaky and muffled as though spiders had spun webs in his throat. "We are honoured by your visit."

[Evenia]

Starfall
Lord Caius Starforge read the letter from across the waves. Lord of Thorne was calling the Lords. And yet the Doves were still sitting in there nest at Silerus no doubt. The Lord through aside the note into the fire and walked over to the old battlements of the ruined fortress of the Star. The white horse banner flew over the battlements above him. The Doves sat above his own though. Resting proudly. He snickered and went to the side again and looked down, "Ready my horse! And call the men!" The Master of Horse nodded and ran to fetch the men and the Earls horse. Starfall may be in ruins. But once this meeting of the Lords was over, then the Earl would horse would give the Dove its hoof.

To: Lord of Thorne
From: Earl of Starfall-Realm 2
As the Great Lord, Jordan Payne, Lord Protector of the Realm 2,has become to busy with affairs of governence. The High Earldom of Starforge wishes to come to the meeting of the Lords and serve as the realms advisor and voice for which matters the House Payne feels has the right and the need to hear the voice of the Empire. As the Paynes have sworn fealty to the Empire, the Starforges wishes to voice this love and respect for which our liege Lord has sworn he holds for the Empire.
High Earl Caius Starforge
High Earl of Starfall
Vassal of House Payne

[Stolen Idol]

The God City ofSurgotth
Tribal Lands Of The Rakki

Thousands from all the marshlands gathered at the lost city to celebrate the beginning of the Great Harvest. Where all follow the charge of the Great Chief as they pillage the wealthy Northland.
Warriors come to surgotth for boty ceremony and celebration. During the day they compete in games and trials against each other. In hopes of winning the favor of a god spirt to serve as their protector in battle.

Strold Kete, chief of Surgotth watched as members of the Forrek Clan's wrestled Gators. To the sound of dueling lutes by which he assumed were belonging to members of the northern fur trapping Clan's. All which showcasing their skills to the watching spirts.

Strold Kete could be seen above looking down upon the activity in the Grove. From his post upon a ruined tower covered in Moss and Vine. He wore a skirt of colored feathers, a chest plate of ocean shells, shoulder pads holstering two burning torches and a giant lizard skull above his head.

The sun was setting and the heavy beats of drums shook the ground.
Singling an end of the games for now. Night was for celebration and cermony.
The numbers had gathered in the glade, united hand by hand in a circle.

In the center the druids made a circle of their own and the shamans danced around with torches of sage. To wield off evil spirts and allure the loving ones.
The druids begand to humm, vibrating their vocal cords. The rest of the group joined in harmony. Their eyes on the marsh as the oracle daughters of the Earth Mother arose from her wet skin.

They were naked besides the mud that hugged on to their flesh. Their hips slithered as snakes as they arose. Moving towards the circle in triangle formation. Led by the Oracle patriarch recognizable by her dark blue skin and third eye centering her skull.

The humming transformed to chanted prayer of differing content. That together was unrecognizable as anything other than gibberish. The men of the circle lifted their linked arms to allow the women threw. Who pushed their way to the druids who reacted the same. Placing the women inside both circles as closest to the giant blazing pit and the drummers who sat upon its stones. Resting their feet within close proximity to the flame.

The Druids spit fire into the air as the oracles pulled torches from the fire. Spinning them around as they danced around the fire to the rhythm of the drums. Surgotth had made the descent from his perch by a rickety rope and plank ladder. Once landed he took the staff from his back and into his hands. Lifting it horizontally above his head in a pushing motion as he shouted in tongues.
Till he found himself in the center, the druids stripped him naked and the oracles lathered him in dyed earth. Oracle and Druid linked hands together as all watched their leader stab the staff into the ground before allowing the flames of the pit to swallow him completely.

Minutes pasted and all had lost sight of the chief in the waves of blue and orange. Then the spectators cheered as Strold image submerged clean and unscarred.
A bright orb in his hands. Which he gave to the grand Druid and it began to flow a bright green. It was exchanged again to the mother oracle who kissed it and placed it upon the staff. The glowing orb stood a couple inches above the staff suspending in the air.

All bowed as Strold took up the staff again raising it above his head. "Our parents bless us ever more! Plentyful shall be the grand harvest, now my fellow children let us play, dance and love. As the mother wishes, as we perpare to honor the father" he shouted.

Strold made his way out the crowd as chaos consumed it. Baskets of fish, frog legs and roasted pigs were passed around in feast. Skins of wine and root ale could be found a plenty. Already, the men and women embraced each other lovingly as they rolled around in the mud. Today, would ensure the tribe remained regardless the results of the grand raid.

[Kaledoria]

Leif Trönde of Varangia

Jarl Leif had received an invitation from the dread Mordred d'Thorne. A festival of martial games? Leif did not like the Empire, but his honor demanded, that he would be there and beat some weakling nobles up.

However, another message by his liege arrived and caused a change of plans. It sounded really confused, as if Lord Jordan was not sure, whether he was inviting his vassals to a political, a social or a military gathering, so Leif prepared for a bit of all. The summit in Sturmingia was not until another 2 weeks had passed, there was enough time to meet with Lord Payne first.

3 days later Leif arrived at Silerus with an honor guard of 50 Huscarls and 15 knights, that had brought along 30 retainers. With him were his brother Björn, who had just decided, that he should come along and his sister Heidrut, who currently was using any event to draw the attention of the noble-blooded bachelors of the realm. His brother Olaf had to stay behind, while he was ordered to be discrete about it, he was to make sure the Fyrd was able to be mobilized on quick call.
In Silerus, Leif saw that several other nobles had arrived before him, including his uncle, Count Öystein. The two men had a drink together, talking about family affairs and later the day met with their lord, Jordan of House Payne.

[The Peoples East Africa]

Ironwind, The Roughlands
Rowyn
Ah Ironwind, the mystical city that served as the seat of House Tauron since time immemorial. Built into the mountain itself, the nigh impenetrable fortress sat overlooking the waterfall that fed the Bann. Many foes had met their death from being thrown off, the traditional method of execution. Inside the mountain itself was where the inhabitants dwelt. Manmade caverns stretch for leagues inside, though not all were occupied. Some say that if you follow the right path, you can get all the way to the heart of the mountain. It was chilly up so high, but not many cared as the deeper you went in the city, the hotter it became. The stone ramparts were by far the most striking feature above ground. High into the sky it reached, dwarfing the surrounding houses and churches. The stone was so smooth it looked like a solid slab of rock, and from the walkway one could see the surrounding lands for a hundred miles, and even see the bordering lands of the barbarians to the east.

Right now in fact, the prince of the kingdom himself was walking up there. Rowyn Tauron was a well built man of twenty two. Dressed suitably for the cold weather, with dyed sheep wools and his boiled leather armour. Sword in sheath, the young prince was strolling up and down the walls, staring out. The world was such a simpler place as a child, he thought. And now there's raids into our land, an unhinged emperor come to conquer us all, and my father, a drunken buffoon, on the throne. Three great problems. It was always here that the prince came to think about things. Always a favourite place of his since childhood, when he and Cedric would come up here to play. They'd steal their father's swords and play at fighting, then Gwen would tell on them. Good king Barry would never beat his son, and even threatened his brother if he dared lift a finger. Then he came back from the Harrowing, and he was never the same again. Having done all the thinking he needed to, Rowyn turned for the stairs.

Later

He knocked on the birch door, followed by a thump to wake the surely sleeping king. When a grunt came from the other side, Rowyn pushed the door open, the hinges creaking as he entered. His father's quarters looked kingly enough, even if the man himself didn't. A velvet carpet in shades of scarlet and pink invited visitors in. Tapestries hung from every window and burning torch, on which great warriors fought. I can name every one of those warriors. As could half the realm. Every boy grew up learning the epic tales of history. The first Bull King, Magthar the Mighty, Barrius the Blessed, the heroes who inspired generations of boys to become soldiers, and kept doing it to this day. Whenever they were bored or upset over something as kids, Tomfry would always tell a story of the not so epic heroes to cheer them up.

"Duncan the Dilapidated," he used to shout, "he invaded the Shahs to the west, founded cities in his name! When the king came asking, all he could say was, 'Why, I had no idea this continent was inhabited.' Holding out in the greatest of his cities, Duncan led a mighty defence, but had naught the supplies nor manpower. Reduced to throwing oranges and old men via catapults, Duncan raised a white flag in surrender, but the Shah refused, hanged him in the town square, and used the might of his empire to divert a river over the city. And Duncan the Dilapidated was never heard from again."

Every time he told it he changed some part. One day Duncan would throw oranges, the next day peaches. While a river ruined his city on a Monday, by Wednesday it would have been a meteor strike. They even made a game out of it, though Rowyn couldn't quite remember the name. Duncan's Drawbridge was it? We must have spent a year playing that. As memories flooded back, Rowyn couldn't help but sigh. Now Cedric's gone away to his certain death and Gwen's married the man of her dreams. Father better cope when I leave. The king in question was slanted back in his chair, horn of ale in hand, with a tipsy smile on his face.

"Ah my boy, come, sit!" he greeted while motioning to a stool opposite where he sat. Glancing at it only briefly, Rowyn dug his hand into his pockets for what his visit was about; the letter from the emperor. Tossing it down in front of his father, Rowyn explained its contents to his drunken father. "The madman to the north, his lacky has sent this to all Great Houses in Derria. He wants all to attend a summit about the future, as well as inviting the greatest knights to a Tourney." The king gulped back a swig of ale, mulling over what to say. A gruff laughter broke the silence. "Wants us to kiss his ass no doubt. Cedric can take the role of ambassador for this, sure keeping him away longer is all the more better. Poor Laura the milkmaid still has the scars from last time."

Polishing off his horn of drink, Barry reached for his jug to pour some more. All that came out was a drip. "Fucking useless servants!'' he screamed, smashing the jug against the smooth stone wall sending shards across the room. "So this Thorne wants a tourney does he? Well, the Bull will show him! I still have the strength of my youth in me, some of it at least. I'll smash that emperor's head in with my steel mace!" Another of his outbursts, Rowyn thought while sighing. Leaping out of his seat, the king continued."I'll smash him in like I did to the so called King of the West!" Throwing his arms in the air, he mimed how he likely did the deed to the false king. However on the swing down, his weight brought him tumbling down.

"Gods be damned! Ah I'm a drunken young fool, I'm not fit for tourneys anymore." At least he has some sense. Pushing up against the ground with his meaty treetrunks, he got face to face with his son. "But that doesn't mean you won't be there! The Young Bull will strike, and show those prissy imperials we don't accept that down here!" Rowyn looked away from his father, and took a step back.

"That's why I'm here father. I'm not going to this tourney, I'm needed elsewhere." Here it comes, the bull's rage. But Barry just stood there blankly. His look was almost one of anger ready to burst forth, meaning Robyn had better explain fast. "The barbarians to the south, the ones who sleep with their own kin, bathe in the marshes, and use sharpened bone to fight, they're a problem. You remember their raids don't you? They pillaged our villages, raped our women, burned our water supply, and stole our gold!" Leaning against his desk, the king answered quickly.

"Aye I do remember! Those raiders have caused me more trouble than I can be fucked to give. If you're going to go off to kill the lot of those scum, then the tourney can go fuck itself." Rowyn couldn't help but smile at his father's privy mouth. "I've called the men of House Smelter and House Cobbleworth to bring with me. Two thousand men, but it should be enough to repair the border forts, and stall any invasion long enough for you to call the vassals."

"And will I enjoy calling them! Only shame is no Tauron will be at this tourney to show our might. One taste of our horns and that pampered emperor wouldn't dare touch us!" By now Rowyn had started to walk away, and was nearing the door when he turned. "Actually father, there will be a Tauron attending. I've sent Robyn on the road there."

"You did what!? The second in line for the throne, sent north on his own!?"

"I'm not stupid, father. Ser Cian Brassius is accompanying him." Old Ser Cian was a loyal knight with years of experience plain to see. He'd see Robyn safe to the tourney and back, or die trying. "Cian Copperhead?" He had gotten that nickname from an unfortunate incident as a child, not many discussed it. "That knight
better get back here with my son in full pieces or I'll make that man's head copper, permanently. And that's not half what I'll do to the boy if he disgraces our name. I expect victories from him!"

"I'm sure there'll be plently of victories to come, both north and south," Rowyn said back, as he left the room. Let's just hope I'm on the winning side.

[Der Kaiser Mikey III]

Payne Warden, West of Avantine
Jano & Isabelle

Payne Warden, West of Avantine
Ser Morgan D'Wyntre

Morgan accepted the provisions, and was surprised when the girl inquisitively touched his face. However when the large barbarian leaped from the wagon and assaulted the young lady, the Knight instinctively drew his blade, dropping his food upon the grass. Ignoring the driver, Morgan moved to see all of them in his line of sight, though he kept his blade centered on the large brute of a man.

"That was rather crass, and tis only right you face me in combat!" He challenged, striking a two handed high guard. He neglected to attack as the woman spoke, seemingly somewhat in control of the situation. From what he deduced, they represented Barbarian Lords and the brute was the guard. Clearly he would have been able to easily overpower her; the woman must have been sent as some form of ambassador, and the driver interpreter. Perhaps an expat.

"...Aefephzich..."

Morgan's posture relaxed at the word, he recognized it from a man whom he'd met on crusade, a barbarian converted to the faith of the Paragon. He lowered his blade, though did not sheath it.

"Aefephzig!" He chuckled, making eye contact with all of them. Using his right hand to seize his letter, he repeated with assertiveness but obvious good intent. "Aefephzich."

Castle Gowrie, Thalia
Emperor Dius XVI

Dius rode with his nose to the damp air the entire time, and by the time he arrived through the shoddy village to the dilapidated fortress, he was soaked to the bone. As the procession dismounted, and the screaming gates closed, the Emperor's permanent pursed-lipped death-stare softened as the Master of the castle emerged. Though ancient, he wore his equally ancient armor well and with a certain faded grace, much the same as the island itself.

"I am curious, cousin, as to whether or not you are aware of our relation, however I arrive to your..." He paused, his mouth open for a moment before he quickly continued, "...Humble abode, and am astonished to see how poorly the distance from our lines has treated Thalia and her noble Lords." Dius cracked his throat, then threw off his coat and hat. "I have recently had...issues...regarding the bloody Eastern Isles and those disgustingly dirty blooded peasants, along with the whoreson bastard who dares to claim himself my brother!" He paused, realizing he was raising his voice, and getting more and more animated. Retaining his composure, he smiled pleasantly before laughing, a big grin on his face. "Anyhow, I arrive, my lovely cousin Ruthven, with an entire fleet of seasoned warriors to reclaim my rightful territory. I come seeking friendship, and certainly to...reunite and sustain the.." He looked around, a look of scrutiny upon his face before shrugging, "Estate, of my distant yet cherished family." He looked to the Lord. "You are Vassal to Svitjod, yes? I require approval and support, access to a base and ideally military support to reclaim the Dellitian Isles." He chuckled. "The man who made such an introduction and appeal possible would certainly be rewarded greatly, we are family!" He flashed a toothy smile, then in a hushed and muffled tone he added. "I am a very wealthy man. Viceroy of Arrantis? Or possibly Valrais?" He chuckled. "Let us feast cousin, and speak over wine!"

[Eridanus 3]

Solace, Kingdom of Svitjod
Amadeus, Viscount Ruthven

The sea was quiet and tranquil. On the top deck, the Earl's men busied themselves with the leisurely tasks of calm seas while below, captive oarsmen felt their shoulders being jostled in their sockets as they desperately tried to propel the heaving hulk forwards towards Solace. Amadeus Ruthven stood on the quarterdeck, leaning nonchalantly against the railings with a book in hand; as the boat rocked, he mumbled poetry in ancient languages and hummed hymns of forgotten religions, enjoying the brief serenity and pleasure of a silent sea and a fair wind floating through his hair and gently caressing his head.

"We're coming into port now, my Lord."

"Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean. Man marks the earth with ruin — his control stops with the shore," Amadeus replied indolently, his eyes half-lidded as he pulled himself out of his literary trance and focussed his eyes upon the busy docklands of Solace, watching the people scatter this way and that, loading and offloading vast crates of goods, skipping between the great galleons from which all manner of banners and flags flew; every so often, the red and gold stripes of Ruthven could be seen on the smaller ships amongst the bizarre menagerie of ensigns, while men wearing familiar tabards and cloaks unpacked bottles of Thalian wine and crates of Thalian coal.

"The Honourable Viscount Ruthven, your Majesty."

Thus announced, Amadeus strode into the king's chamber, removed his cap, and offered his most sincere bow, the feathers of his hat lightly tickling the stone floor beneath. He looked small next to the burly men of Svitjod standing in their vast castles, and he felt even smaller as he affirmed his father's oath to his king.

"Your Majesty, I come with mandate from my lord the Earl of Thalia. He sends his compliments and bids me present your most excellent majesty this a promissory note."

He produced the document with a flourish, unravelling the earl's seal, and handed it to the King's chamberlain. 50,000 florins. Enough to keep the Ruthven estate functioning. Enough to keep the Ruthven family alive.

Amadeus took a surreptitious breath and prepared himself for the worst kind of duel he could imagine.

Solace

King Lucarn Sviterk stood behind his throne, observing the fog over the bay while looking out of the window behind him. The natural lighting was superior to flame, and carried less risk as well. A guard approached, and whispered the arrival of the viscount from Thalia. Intriguing news, that. He turned round, nodding dismissively, and took his seat, the not-so-subtlety purple trim of his pristine white robes fluttering at his feet.
Not more than a minute later was there a tremendous banging, as the herald pounded the stone floor with the hilt of his enormous ceremonial axe. The guards in the room beat their rectangular shields thrice in synchronisation, after which the door to the great hall opened, the herald proclaiming the visitor's arrival.
The visitor didn't look to be much, yet he handled the situation well...
However, he did raise a fair point. But business was for later. It had been a long while since the two had spoken, and the king thought it right to catch up first. Lucarn stepped down, arms wide, and said "Enough of that for now. I imagine it has been a long journey, and I had half a mind to dine with you while you remain. Business will wait. Rest assured, plans for payments in excess of the meagre sum you ask for have already been made." He motioned for the visitor to rise, and said "what say you? Shall you dine with me?"

[Thallein]

Gowrie Castle, Thalia
Banastre Ruthven, Earl of Thalia

The ancient facsimile of a man who stood so hesitantly at his castle doors held his posture for a moment, letting the tip of his sword touch the step beneath; for a moment, it seemed as though he was suspended in time, indistinguishable as he was from the stone statues that stood guard over the courtyard. Then, movement. He raised, with great deliberation and circumspection, his right hand, and curled it towards him, beckoning his visitors forth.

"...Yes," he croaked. "I remember your grandfather. He was an arrogant little shit as well," he continued, barely a muscle moving on his face. His eyes, milky grey and in possession of none of the sparkle that makes a man seem alive, stared fruitlessly forth into the fog, making eye contact only with distant birds. "Enter. My men will make you comfortable." With that, he turned and slowly began walking into the keep, followed by his court, and sat in his ancient wooden throne. Stewards, chamberlains, administrators, and guards all took their positions beside the aged earl and when all were present, a great oak table was brought forth by a number of soldiers. The surface of the table was just as depressing as the rest of the place. It bore scars, cracks, great chunks torn from the legs, slits where daggers had been thrust into the wood, and no matter how it was jostled the thing never seemed to sit properly on the stone floor. After the scuffing and scraping of chairs and goblets being put in place, candles were lit, the doors were closed, and the grey daylight that poured into the room from a great stained glass window at the far end of the hall seemed to be designed to illuminate the earl, who was given a certain holy, incandescent quality as he was silhouetted by the sun. "Sit. Bring wine and water."

"We are not a warlike people, majesty. Thalia has been in the possession of my fathers for over fifty generations and not once have foreign soldiers set foot on our island." William, standing at attention behind the throne, felt himself take a sharp breath. His father was in one of his moods again.

"But my fathers were drunken, whore-mongering, lazy, fat, good-for-nothings," he spat, the first flicker of emotion in months sparking over his face, curling his lips into a snarl. "I have no problem letting soldiers trample all over this damp rock they left me with." Banastre looked directly at his cousin for the first time, studying him in turn. He saw more than a little of his older son in the man; the same soft hands, the same delicate features, the same rosebud lips. It was not a pleasant resemblance - but Dius had something that Amadeus lacked, and it was a quality that Banastre prized more highly than any other: ambition. Ambition and the ruthlessness required to realise it. This alone was enough to let the old man overlook the more odious aspects of his cousin. "You may have your base and my soldiers. They will follow you to the end of the earth and you may leave them there to die if you wish - if you will consent to make their deaths worth my time, and you will reward me for their glory."

William closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. There was no such reaction from the soldiers in the keep. There they stood, stoic and unmoving. Their armour was rusted and their weapons were mostly their own, or stolen from pirates, but they had those qualities that give a soldier an edge over a warrior. Courage, discipline, and a bloody-minded ferocity and preparation for death that can only be learned by those men who have spent their lives in service to the Earl of Thalia. This, then, would either restore or destroy the Ruthvens. His father's twisted logic was visible through the caked-on layers of mental fog; they had nothing to lose.

"I shall send word to my son," he said, speaking the final word as though it tasted like corked wine on his tongue. "He is with the king as we speak. He will present you to him." With that, he slammed his fist on the arm of his chair and every servant in the room disappeared, preparing to bring forth a meal for their masters. It would be the first time for weeks.

Solace, Kingdom of Svitjod
Amadeus, Viscount Ruthven

"Your majesty is a most gracious and generous liege," said Amadeus, mustering up all the servile courage beaten into him as a boy. He rose as bidden, feeling a great weight slip off his shoulders. He admired his king. Never did he feel inadequate or unworthy in his presence; in his father's court, Amadeus felt a similar way, although it was more out of acknowledgement that he wasn't expected to be worth anything rather than the more friendly atmosphere here.

"It was not so tumultuous a voyage as I expected, sir. The sea was calm and the wind fair once we left the port at Thalia. Will your majesty consent to let me change and wash before we dine? The weather at home is not so forgiving to one's complexion and couture as it is here."