Masks of Allegiance

Thwap. Thud.

“Cowards…” he half groaned, half spat. The crossbow bolt sticking out of his chest had met limited resistance as it dug its way through the padded armor beneath his tunic and into his flesh. It didn’t seem real. It didn’t feel real. His eyes scanned the wound as his fingers shakily felt their way along the ridges of his chest to the foreign peak. Why wasn’t there any blood? Did that mean he’d be okay? Maybe he’d get to see Beth’s eyes one more time. Smell her hair, caress her skin, feel her lips on his, just once more.

He coughed and spat. A clot of blood splattered against the cold flagstones, barely visible in the dim torchlight. So that’s where the blood was going, into his lungs. What a sad sight he must be. The strength in his body was fading quickly, and he sagged down on his knees even farther.

Turning his head towards the light to see if he could still feel the heat of the flame his eyes were drawn to the shadows on the wall. They danced with such merriment – no! Not dancing. Laughing, at him. Bastards. If only he didn’t have a damn hole in his chest.

There was a scampering noise to either side of him, bah; his senses were fleeing as fast as a Numethian novitiate from battle. The feeble slap of air that struck his face mocked him as his assassins sprinted past. Such grace and fleet of foot, they sounded like no more than a pack of rats scurrying along the Citadel’s floor. Rats. Scavengers, no! They had come with a purpose. A plague! Yes, a plague of rats.

It was becoming hard to keep his head upright. With what remaining will he could muster he swung his head to the left, resting it lazily against his shoulder. There! Beth! So beautiful and sweet. A halo of pale gold surrounded her enchanting face. As he blinked the illusion faded and he was left staring up at the moon, her soft glow pulsing stronger than his own heart.

For an instant he felt the cold touch of steel upon his throat, and the next…

The Royal Prince, Zakath Velaar

“I’d like to see how your men fared against them with swords instead of hiding behind their crossbows like a woman cowering from a mouse,” even as he emptied his fury upon his abductors it still left him feeling hollow and defeated. The man merely grinned wide, lifted his hand, and pointed the way forward with two fingers, and they once again began to move.

“Results, Your Majesty,” the comment came so off the cuff it was as if he had spoken absentmindedly.

“What?”

They rounded a corner and he could tell they were heading toward the western wall. “It doesn’t matter how the job is done, in the end the only thing that is important is that it gets done. Call us all the names you can think of, when the sun sets you will still be my captive, and that was the mission. So I have succeeded.” His bearing was so calm and brimming with confidence it only made Zakath more infuriated. “Results, Your Majesty. Results.”

And the smug bastard was right. That night the Prince of Esvyleth slept on a small, uncomfortable cot, on a ship called ‘The Smirking Devil’, sailing west towards the Cloudy Isles, wondering if he’d ever see his Kingdom again.

-o0o-

If you've never participated in one of my threads some standard rules apply. I have final say on story decisions, I won't tolerate in-fighting (it demotivates everyone), and I expect quality over quantity. These stories are much more fun when you get involved. and to that end I highly encourage the players to develop their own plot arcs and to prp as a way to advance the story.

This thread is an attempt to combine two different kinds of rping into one story. While everything will tie back together, for the beginning at least there will be two different scenes that we'll be transition back and forth from. The first will be your standard small group of heroes going on a quest, which in this case is to rescue Prince Zakath - which is also where we'll get our dose of hack n slash goodness.. The second will remain in the Kingdom of Esvyleth and will be more geared towards the politics and civil diplomacy.

Whenever you introduce a new major character, please post a small character sheet at the top or bottom of your post. Nothing big, just:

Name:
Age:
Sex:
Description:
Personality:

All that said, the next post will be an Appendices for this thread with notes about the world, characters, etc. I'm excited to get this started and hopefully I'll have a few takers.

^_^

APPENDICES

In advance, I shall say that I like creating worlds with more depth to them, and if you read on you'll see I've taken the liberty of outlining some basic information that I hope brings us closer together in our storytelling.

World Notes

Races
This world is 100% HUMAN. There are no other playable races available, however, with introduction of demons and angels would be entertained depending on what a player might have in mind. Please consult me before you do so. It's just a personal preference of mine that I enjoy coming up with cultures rather than races.

Magic
It does exist, but as I always do, I urge caution in using it. Too often it becomes the solution to all problems. Magic is rare, and thus, I'd ask to try to stay away from the all-powerful variety, and just be aware that the stronger the magic the rarer it is. There is no set system, so feel free to be creative as you want with where the magic comes from.

Esyleth
I've modeled the Kingdom off of Britain loosely in terms of the names and Peer system. If you're unfamiliar with it, wikipedia it. We'll only use Dukes, Earls, Barons, and Knights as ranks. Below you can see a list of some predetermined titles I've laid out, and the ? means you can come up with your own if you wish. I'd only as that no additional Dukes be created. As of right now I control 2 of the Dukes (Lanvaldear and Drakkengale) however you may take the others.

Some notes about titles. Use the following guide as parameters. Of note, when speaking to someone with a higher title you must refer to them by a formal title, or by adding a "Lord" in front of the casual address. Peers of the same rank will often call each other just by their casual name. Also, many common people will not have a surname, and instead will simply be known as Name of Place, e.g. William of Lancaster.

Title - Title Address - Formal Address - Casual Address

Duke - Duke of _____ - Your Grace - Name of Title (e.g. Lanvaldear)

Earl - Earl of _____ - My Lord - Name of Title

Baron - Baron (surname) - My Lord - Surname

Knight - Sir (first name) - Sir - First Name

Geography
Esvyleth is rough in the middle of this continent along the western coast. The Cloudy Isles are to the Southwest are known as a haven to pirates and other undesirables. South of Esvyleth are the nations of the Feldoran Relgion. Numethia is the name directly to the south and southeast that Esvyleth has long feuded with. Beyond that, you are free to create other nations on the same continent or those beyond.

Dramatis Personae

The Royal Prince, Zakath Velaar - Geco
The Duke of Lanvaldear, Orin Velaar - Geco
The Duke of Drakkengale, Rune Velaar - Geco
Baron, Roland Challery of Westhelm (Lord Challery) - Geco
Knight, Tristan Worell of Lorne (Sir Tristan) - Geco
Captain of the Iron Jaguars, Janus Magasec - Geco

The Peers of Esvyleth

Dukes
Lanvaldear
Andlewell (open)
Drakkengale
Edingrove (open)
Calontir (open)

Earls
Whiteshore (open)
Hightower (open)
Wyndamere (open)
Crescent Vale (open)
Steelgarden (open)
Battleford (open)
?

Barons
Lorne (open)
Brevan (open)
Westhelm
Coral (open)
Castleridge (open)
Covendale (open)
?

People, Places, Organizations, Etc.

Sorrenhal – the main palace of the Royal Family.

The Grand Citadel – home to the Blessed Sisters of Lhymaelya

Talengard – the great sea fortress on the western coast

Palengard – the great fortress on the northeastern border with Myacal.

Valengard – the great fortress on the southeastern border with Numethia.

K’landriel – a great scholar who taught 400 years ago of a disciplined code of ethics and virtues and that through striving to obtain self-control people can find true peace and happiness.

The K’landria – a book written by K’landriel’s followers that records the scholar’s wisdom and teachings in a set of anecdotal tales. Another version of the K’landria was created to be an adapted Warrior’s Code. It is entitled The Way of the Gallant Knight, more commonly referred to as The Way.

The Lhymaelyn Religion – the traditional religious order of Esvyleth and the northern lands. They believe in a Mother Goddess, Lhymaelya, as the supreme divinity in the world. They have long been in conflict with most of the southern lands who are followers of Feldor.

The Feldoran Religion – the tradition religious order of Numethia and the southern lands. They believe in a Father God, Feldor, as the supreme divinity in the world. They have long been in conflict with most of the northern lands who are followers of Lhymaelya.

The Holy War – has been an ongoing struggle between the northern and southern realms who worship Lhymaelya and Feldor respectively. Both religions believe that the two were once wed, and united in the creation of life. However, both faiths believe the other side betrayed the union causing the rift. Although very aligned ideologically, they continue to battle for the right of their divinity to be recognized as the true supreme god/goddess.

The Duke of Lanvaldear, Orin Velaar

The calm, crystalline waters of the Evenflow ushered the Duke into the pearl of Esvyleth – the Capitol city of Velusia. Eerily steady, the river ran harmoniously with all the poise of a Valencian destrier, a dystopian antagonist to the city ahead. On each side of the barge the rowers had eased their pace as they made their approach. Orin had wanted to take full measure the recent events were having as they drifted through the canals towards the Royal Palace.

A steady stream of black smoke was being exhaled into the myriad sky from Sorrenhal. This was the traditional ritual to herald the death of the King, a formal invitation to the people to mourn their loss. The silver bells atop the spire of the Grand Citadel chimed in a deep, resonating tone that befit the grim occasion.

Every citizen of Velusia seemed to have embraced the somber mood with all the joyful melancholy of the final scene in a Lhyndum tragedy. Their steps were laced with hesitancy, like they were being weighed down by an invisible burden, a sense of foreboding about what may yet come no doubt.

And yet their expressions did not betray any dismay or heightened threat. He knew better. Along the city walls the uncommonly high number of posted guards betrayed the true state of panic of those in government. No doubt the Chancellor’s measured response to guard against a repeat performance from a couple nights ago while keeping the citizenry content in their ignorance. Word had spread of the King’s death to the corners of the realm. A fable of a peaceful death in his sleep had been forged to ensure the stability of the Kingdom. If the people knew the truth, that the King had been murdered, who would feel safe in their meager beds when even the heavily guarded residence of their King had failed to protect him.

In reality, the true fatal blow to the security of Esvyleth had not been dealt with the King’s passing, but with the abduction of the Crown Prince. Heralds had been quick to announce that Prince Zakath had decided to grieve for a period of 14 days in honour of the memory of his late father. It was a clever ploy that would buy them some time, but if on the fifteenth day their new King did not appear before them, the people of Esvyleth would be faced with a large serving of despair – it would be a cold and barren world to find ones self in. That is, of course, if the land did not fall into civil war before that.

“Resume the original pace,” his command was taken up immediately.

“Yes Your Grace,” came the formal acknowledgement of his order. Orin continued to play out the scenarios in his mind. Most of his theories centered on his Uncle Rune using the opportunity – even if he hadn’t masterminded the whole thing – to make a grab for the throne. As his thoughts turned to the Duke of Drakkengale his thoughts eventually wandered to the memory of his father Alden. It seemed all too familiar, and he clenched his teeth in anger. Back when his father had died years ago he had been too young to do anything about it. Now it was his cousin who had fallen victim to danger’s eye, and he would not let another brutal tragedy befall his family.

-----

Name: The Duke of Lanvaldear, Orin Velaar
Age: 26
Sex: Male
Description: Orin is the type that stands tall and proud. At about 6'2" he is an imposing figure. He has shoulder length sandy hair and chestnut eyes.
Personality: Is mostly reserved, open, mature, honest and virtuous. An ideal nobleman who fights for justice and is charitable to those less fortunate. Very loyal to his family and friends.

(OOC: feel free to make opening posts on the political side for characters who will be staying within Esvyleth. For any characters who will join the quest, please be patient. We will be departing from a coastal city known as Coral shortly. If you wish to make an intro post you may, just try to be around Coral or Velusia.)

OOC:
I'll just post a "hero" character for now, though I may go ahead and make a nobleman as well

Name: Shari Tana
Age: 27
Sex: Female
Description: She stands at 5'10" with dark blonde hair, green eyes and a lithe, endurance-focused build. She generally wears durable wilderness leathers with a green hooded cloak and knapsack. Armaments include a short bow, waist-slung quiver of 20 arrows, an unstrung longbow attached to her pack and a decorative, but no less effective, rapier.
Personality: Shari is calm and meticulous. She rarely acts on impulse, instead relying on careful planning and reconnaissance.

-----------------------

Shari Tana

A warm ray of sunlight crested over the edge of a windowsill and fell across a small hotel room, landing on the face of a woman asleep in a bed opposite the window. A light groan escaped her throat as her eyelids twitched against the waking light. Sighing, the woman yawned and stretched her body as she rose from her slumber. Wiping her eyes, she pushed the coverings away and turned to face the window. She could hear the lapping of the canal waters against the stones holding it in. Rising from the bed, she walked up to the window, the sunlight reflecting against the silk undergarments she wore. Crossing her arms in front of her, she admired the beauty of the city below.

"My Lady," a voice on the other side of the room spoke. The woman jumped slightly, but relaxed after recognizing the caller. "It is time to go. Your caravan should be prepared already."

"Yes, very well Captain. Tell your men to wait outside while I dress."

"Please be swift, my Lady, urgency is paramount," the captain turned and left the room. His heavy boots were like thunder in the still quietness of the hotel. His apparel clanked and jingled as he moved, betraying the heavy metal armor beneath his cloak. Descending the steps into the lobbey, he saw that his squad was already formed and ready to move out.

"Tana," he called, gathering the attention of a woman, less regal than the noblewoman upstairs, but nonetheless worthy of any man's attention. She stood from her chair, adjusting the pack on her shoulders.

"Yes, Captain Harland?" she asked, approaching the menacing warrior.

"Come now, Shari, when will you start calling me Georé?"

"When you offer me more than a bloody rescue mission as a courting gift," she replied playfully angry.

Harland chucked, pulling a letter from his satchel. The envelope was sealed with the crest of a duke Shari knew all to well. Furrowing her eyebrows in curosity, she accepted the letter.

"What's this?" she asked as she broke the seal and began reading the letters on the neatly folded pages, "It's in the language of my tribe." Reading on, she devoted her full attention to the words she was reading. Finished, she flipped the paper up and focused her eyes on the captian. "Have you seen this?"

"It was sealed..." he replied, "I recieved it early this morning via messager, before you woke. What's in it?"

"An assignment. A solo mission."

"What?" Georé cocked his head in disbelief, "The Duke has never assigned solo mission before. Especially to a woman, no offence."

By this time, the two had gained the attention of the remaining squad, and they gathered around, posing various inquiries as to the nature of the mission. "All I can say is that I have to go to Coral and await further orders." Shari seperated the two pages and handed the second to the captain, "It says this is your dispatch."

Taking his own orders, Captain Harland read the shorter command and sighed. "It seems we all have new orders." Harland turned to address his men, "Alright listen up, new orders say to escort the Countess straight to Cavien. The Earl says her tour is expired with the recent... loss to our kingdom." The troops gave a solemn nod.

As if on cue, the Countess descended the steps with a content, albeit disappointed look on her face. The captain and everyone else in the room bowed thier heads to her as she approached. "Back to Cavien, then is it?"

"I'm afriad so, my Lady. Your husband, the Earl of Cavien, has even used the Duke's messager to carry this dispatch, along with some other orders that need not concern you."

"The Duke?" she gave the captain a look not unlike the one he recieved from Shari, but she conceded, "Very well. It was enjoyable for a time, at least."

The Countess made her way towards the carriages outside, the troops following her. Captain Harland sighed and gave his scout a pat on the shoulder, "We'll be driving blind without you, Shari, but orders are orders. Take care of yourself."

"You too, Harland. Hopefully, this won't be an extended mission. I'd like to continue our talk about the proper way to court a woman." Shari smirked and poked the captain in the chest.

"Alright, Tana," he laughed, and followed the Coutess' entourage, waving as he crosses into the daylight.

Shari held her smile until he was out of eyeshot, then dropped her face into her plam, letting out a heavy sigh. Looking over the letter again, a cold chill ran under her stomach, as a single line stood out among the others:

"...king was murdered. The prince has been kidnapped by the very same outlaws..."

Swallowing hard, Shari turned to the fire still burning in the hearth, and tossed the message in, as it instructed. Steeling herself, Shari walked out of the hotel and mounted her horse. Whipping the reins and kicking lightly, the horse neighing in suprise and taking off at a gallop down the stone paths of the city.

OOC: The Earl of Cavien will be my noble if I choose to persue it :)

OOC: Whoo-hoo! New thread I can Join!

I will be taking Baron of Castleridge as well as a Hero, if that's alright...


Name: Owin Heshbon, Baron of Castleridge
Age: 43
Sex: Male
Description:
Standing 6'1", Owin has black hair which is starting to disappear around the crown of the head. Grey, dull eyes show a weariness from decades of responsibility. Wears green and white robes, the colours of his crest and standard.
Personality: Once an easy-mannered man, the years of politics have made Owin suspicious of almost any around him. That said, if one can gain the Baron's trust, they may yet see signs of the kind, humorous man Owin once was.

Name: Azekiah Roganen (row-GAY-nin), Knight of Castleridge
Age: 25
Sex: Male
Description:
Standing 5'10", Azekiah has short, rust-red hair and dark, navy-blue eyes. Not very muscular, he relies on his small frame and speed to get in close to his enemies. Azekiah weilds both a shortsword sheathed at his side and a sling from which he fires nature's projectiles (rocks) at his foe.
Personality:
More cheerful then he has a right to be, Azekiah rarely takes anything serious. As a result, he tends to put himself and others into more danger then necessary.

Short little bio, but I wanted to reserve a spot. ;) Expect a IC post tomorrow evening after work.

(No time to post, I'll amend this with some IC-ness tomorrow, I hope


Name: Jacen Alexander, Earl of White Haven
Age: 19
Sex: Male
Description: Being of average height with shoulder length black hair and piercing green eyes. He has a handsome, though rugged, face and a fair build.
Personality: He is not your typical nobleman. Though he had a promising upbringing, and did not stray from a slightly less-than-noble course in life, he considered himself his 'own man'. Peerage and nobility seemed more of a hindrance to him, and he was more often than not seen out in the open and, as he liked to refer to it, 'living life'.

Name: Belladonna aka "Bella"
Age: 23
Sex: Female
Description: Deep auburn hair and striking jade eyes are usually the first thing that set her apart from the crowd. Being slightly diminutive at her 5'6 height, she tends to take people off guard once they know just what she is made of. Though on the short side, she is certainly capable and likes dressing in styles that would make a Corinthian dancer blush.
Personality: Full of life, Bella enjoys her fair share of bantering and wiling the men around her. Though she appears to be your usual reckless pirate, she hides a keen mind which helps keeps her flair in check.

/bios)

I will have a knight. Rather, a former knight - his knighthood withdrawn.

I'll have more time to post later.

Name: Ors Gwyndl ; Ors the Exact of Peary (Perry)
Age: 33
Sex: Male
Description: A man who looks like a shell of a man. Physically rugged and able, but mentally beaten. Dresses well arranged and always with a perfectly trimmed beard. Light brown wavy hair trickles down to the nape of his neck, but is well-groomed. He continues to wear his crest, though he has been removed of knighthood. Can always be seen with an abridged version of the original K'landria, having given up the knightly version since being removed.
Personality: As his Knightly Title used to say - "the Exact." For good or bad, he did exactly what he was told, or what had to be done. Some say he is heartless for it, but those who really know him well realize that it is more of an inner ethic and that overall he is, or rather was, very gregarious. He was an excellent knight up until his idea of exact was consistently different from his country.

He has since learned to check himself and his pride, but has a now resentful nature. Regardless, he discarded the knightly 'Way' for the original version to try and be a little less embittered by the whole act of being removed of knighthood. Though he doesn't like that he was removed, he doesn't just give up. Every year, twice a year, he sends a letter to the royal family begging his forgiveness and a restoration of his title. Five years later, no luck.

OOC: Wow! This took longer then it should have, but here we go!



Azekiah, Castleridge
Azekiah sat perched on a rock overlooking Castleridge Manor. Nestled in a valley in the shadows of Mount Diranhad and Mount Terinon, Castleridge was the smallest and most secluded barony in all of Esyleth. And Azekiah was the smallest knight in all of Castleridge. But although diminutive, both Castleridge and Azekiah had much to offer...

Azekiah's focus was turned away from inner musings by the sound of hoof on earth. Rising from his seat on the large rock, the small knight hopped down just in time to see another knight on horse back galloping up the hill. Spoting Azekiah, the other aimed his steed towards Azekiah and kicked his heels. As the animal came within feet from the standing knight, Azekiah rose and crossed his arms over his chest. "Back for another beating, eh? Didn't learn your lesson last time?"

The other knight didn't answer, but instead dismounted and drew his sword. Azekiah smirked in response as he hopped off the rock he was sitting on and reached for his own weapon. The two knights came together, their weapons connecting with a crack. The pair moved back and forward trading attacks and counter attacks. Ducking, Parrying, Thrusting, Dodging. The two knights moved around the rock, the horse, and back around the rock again. One would gain momentum only to fall back moments later. Once Azekiah took a glancing hit to the shoulder. Another time it was the other knight who was on the recieving end of a whack to the leg. Muscles burned as breathing grew deeper and more laboured. Sweat formed on arms and stung the eyes of the two combatants. For half-an-hour the two fought on, their moves becoming wilder and more erratic as they grew tired. Sooner or Later a mistake was going to be made.

The mistake was Azekiah's. Overextending on a thrust, Azekiah sacraficed his footing for an attempt at a finishing blow. Sidestepping the attack, the knight brought his own weapon down on Azekiah's sword and at the same time brought his other knee up into the leaning midsection of the shorter knight. Suddenly disarmed and on his back, Azekiah gazed up at the knight. "Touche..."

The victorious knight sheathed his sword and removed his helmet. "So Az, you ready to admit I'm better then you?"

Azekiah laughed as he slowly made his way to his feet. Rubbing his stomache, the shorter knight punched the taller in the shoulder. "Not yet Miran, but soon." hopping back on his rock, Azekiah studied his friend. "So young Miran," Azekiah mocked in a scholorly voice, "to what do I owe the honor of a visit from one so esteemed in the eyes of our dear Lord Owin?"

"Do not mock my father!" Laughed Miran, "And yes, I have been sent to you for a reason. Our 'Dear Lord' Owin has sent a message: Head to Coral. Apparently there has been some trouble within the royal family and so the powers that be have asked for help. Not sure of all the details, but I got this..." Back at the horse, Miran drew a letter from a bag hanging from the saddle and passed it to Azekiah. Breaking the seal, the knight skimmed the message quickly. Murdered...kidnapped...to Coral...

Azekiah flashed a rare frown. "And where do you fit in all this? Surely your father didn't just send his best knight on message duty..."

Miran smiled. "No. I'm to escort you to Coral. My Fath...I mean, Lord Owin wants us to head out immediately. I am to see you safely to Coral and return immediately after." Turning to the path he had come from, Miran gave a whistle. Within seconds, a servent appeared leading a second horse to where the two friends stood. "So. You ready to go? Or do I need to lay you out again?"

Azekiah nodded. "Let's go..."

The Duke of Edingrove, Ronnet Algrave

"Apples!"

"Your Grace."

"The King is dead."

The three voices blended together to make the perfect harmony of gibberish as they echoed between the bare walls of the marble apartment. The show had been going on since a little after the waking hour, when a bell had first started to ring in respect to the recent regent's passing. A respect that some nit had taken to expressing at an ungodly hour, in a section of the city where the majority of homes were constructed of marble and arched hallways. It was painfully obvious that whatever Sister sect that decided to infect this quarter of Velusia held grand delusions to their personal worth to the world. They should have taken their ques from the man they were praising. Irritated nobility was never a healthy thing.

"Apples!" There was that voice again. A childish soprano filled with cheerfulness and the unhealthy dose of stupidity that came with happiness at this hour of the morning. Still, it couldn't be ignored forever.

"Pear," Ronnet said to his daughter after he had knelt down to observe what she had taken to doing under the breakfast table. Nearly two feet of black rings swung his way as she turned to him with the typical grace of a four year-old. The light from the open windows just barely gave him a view of her, not that he needed one. Fresh out of bed, he was sure she was clean in her white ruffled sleeping gown. Judging by her pronouncements, he knew that her hands and face would be slick with the green fruit's juices, but her too large and spread apart eyes would be bright with pleasure. She wouldn't be wearing slippers for fear of interrupting him at whatever game she assumed he was playing whenever she wasn't around.

"Apples?" She said again, this time making it a question as she walked into his arms. "Pear," he repeated, waiting for her nod before he picked her up and let her stand on the edge of the table. It would be a good day for him, for them both, he was sure of it. It was rare that the thought of indulging her would strike him. Were he the type to keep track of such things, he would put it at nearly a full two moons since his hand hadn't twitched to lash out at her antics. Now that he gave her a full look, he would have to admit that she was becoming much more lucid these past few weeks; but of course so was her mother - and beating it out of her certainly was a failed prescription. Perhaps he should take special note to add more weight to that witch's purse?

"Your..Grace?" There was that other voice. Older. Worried. A good voice for someone he would have advising him, or at least, so the Duke of Edingrove lead himself to believe.

"I know Waltrip," he responded without turning from his lady. "The carriage was hard to miss, though I admit to being lax on what has come to woo me so early in the day." He didn't bother to keep the bite out of his voice. Two months on the road and a poor response to queries still had not freed him from suitors. Old men with youthful daughters and too much money. Disgraced merchants with slim ties to noble families, real or feigned, with youthful daughters. Old, experienced women who would not be vexed at the idea of becoming the fifth Duchess of Edingrove, with the prospect of their daughter becoming the sixth.

A disgusting, if not pleasurable, business.

Not that he was completely against the idea of another marriage. Unlike the questionable deaths of his first three wives, the fourth's failing health had been quite the seed for sympathy. Alayne. Blessed by Lhymaelya and skilled in the arts of magic concerning the prediction of futures. The duchy had yet to fully recover from her passing some five months later. Still, weighing the peace at home with his own personal peace of mind was a battle worthy of it's own chapter in The Way.

"What says our good Lady Ayanne? Does she want a new mother?" Ronnet had bounced his daughter into his arms while he spoke, giving her a twirl, then setting her on the floor. And waited. And waited.

"Pears!?" She was far to proud of herself for him to be angry. Instead, he settled for a kiss on the head.

"That's settled then. The witch won't be getting anything extra in her purse for this week." He gave Ayanne another quick kiss and shuffled her towards the door. "Now, the Lady will see to her Danes and wait for her maids to retrieve her. Understood?" She had squealed at the mention of her dogs, and was well down the hallway by the time he had finished. Quite, lucid when she was motivated.

"I will receive my guest in my informal wear I think." Ronnet gave his long-sleeved purple shirt a once over for stains and brushed at imaginary dirt on his loose black pants. "Most like she will appreciate the rigid widower relaxing in her presence. You agree."

"As you say, Your Grace."

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OOC: Any set idea on where dukes/earls rule? Or would that layout be left to our discretion(?).

Name: Duke of Edingrove, Ronnet Algrave
Age: 22
Sex: Male
Description: A small, gaunt man who could pass as beautiful were it not for the divine influence of angles, lighting and the large black neck-to-cheek splotch that covers the left side of his face. By no means a powerfully ugly creature, but the unique characteristics of his facial region lean towards negative reviews. Standing alone the black splotch blends well enough into his dark copper skin, but coupled with his puffy cheeks, baggy green eyes and five foot frame; he tends to be mistaken for an abused courtesan. Topped off with his chalky white neck-length hair, and he manages to look distinguished, for a well-beaten courtesan. That is, until the evening sweat sets in and he looks similar to the everyday pox-ridden commoner.

Obviously sensitive to his appearance, he is fond of layers and small expensive pieces of jewelry. Mostly robes and waist skirts in the colors featured prominently on his family crest: black, purple and orange.

Personality: Quietly ambitious for fear of failure. Formal, with attempts at eloquence which generally dissolve into bouts of fidgeting in uncommon upper class company. Despite his quirks, it is well known that he is uncannily crafty, having stepped over a great number of family to reach his goal of dukedom.

(weeee finally!)

The reflection in the mirror looked nothing like what it's owner perceived himself to last be. Perhaps that was not precisely true, but it might as well be. The splendid garments which both draped and accentuated his frame were not his usual chosen attire. Some exceptions had been made, at his most pressing requests, and he supposed that he should feel lucky his majordomo was so kind as to appease his master. The reflection's lips quirked again at the thought of gentle old Edward, proving once again that the reflection was his. With a brief sigh, he turned away to face the rest of his palatial room.

Jacen Kingston Rowan Alexander, Earl of White Haven, was young for the position he held. That was due solely to the death of his uncle, Sir Charles Daniel Alexander III, some three months prior. Far from used to being addressed as 'My Lord' or 'Earl White Haven' or anything of the like, Jacen thought it best if he cast it all off and be done with it. Had his father been alive still, Jacen himself would still be out in the orchards this very moment. But his widowed father had perished some ten years ago, leaving Jacen in the care of his uncle. The late Seventeenth Earl White Haven was a just and caring man, a man whom Jacen was proud to have called a second father. With all the passion a young man such as he had in his heart and soul, he wished for his family, whole once more, to be restored to him and lift this burden from his shoulders.

"Ready so soon, My Lord?" a voice called from the doorway. The young lord turned, seeing his faithful old friend Edward standing there, and grimaced slightly. The old family servant had always enjoyed teasing Jacen, and while from anyone else the mild comment might be irksome due to how his position so recently came about, from Edward it was softer and so very much kinder. Jacen was thankful for him in these trying times. He had no clue what would happen if he was not around.

"I do suppose I should be, Edward." he replied softly, a wan smile crossing his face. "'Tis not every day our King perishes." he added in a slightly more mournful tone. The passing of the King was sad, to be sure, and Jacen certainly grieved for the loss of perhaps their greatest King in living memory. There was to be a congregation of the kingdom's nobles at the castle and as much as Jacen would prefer to not attend, he knew better than to not show for this of all occasions.

"Ah, so true my boy." Edward said in his fatherly way. Jacen counted him among his fathers, fleshing the number out to three total, though at times he could be like a kind old grandfather. The majordomo was not that old, but there were faint wisps of grey emerging at his temples, and to say he was a young man would be pushing it a little. The young earl crossed the room towards him, summoning all the stately manner that he could. Edward gave him a once over before permitting him to leave the room, as was his usual. He pulled a long black hair from the shoulder of the jade vest which his young charge wore. "I do wish you would trim your hair a little."

The remark was not uncommon to hear directed at Jacen, whom brushed it off as always. A holdover from his all too recent youthful exploits, his hair was still worn long. He did, however, deign to find it at least a little proper to pull it back or braid it, as it was now. A smile lingered on his lips as he regarded the fatherly man before him. "I suppose it is a little long. Perhaps a trim would be a good idea."

"As you say, My Lord." Edward replied with a satisfied smile, bowing his head towards Jacen. "However that must wait. You have places to be." he added as he stepped aside, making a sweeping gesture to usher him out to begin the journey to the castle.

The Duke of Lanvaldear, Orin Velaar

Four days since the attack. Four days since they had lost their King and Crown Prince in one night, like the fatal swoop of a scythe beheading the grain. Four days of delays, political bureaucratic nonsense, and ineptitude. A fire crackled peacefully as he entered the room, the heat of the fire at least equal in measure to his fury.

“Why is the Chancellor insisting we wait?!?” he fumed, “The longer we wait the farther our rightful king slips from our grasp.”

A stately and tempered voice responded from out in the hallway, “There are protocols to follow Your Grace. You know this as well as I do,” an aging Earl crossed into the Duke’s private chambers, standing almost like a servant would.

“Protocols! There are no protocols for this Saric! Our King is dead, our Prince, my cousin, taken from under our noses, and we sit doing nothing to return him!”

“Come now Your Grace, this is unlike you. Do not be enslaved to your emotions at this moment. You are praised for your composure and cool-mindedness, you should not take such compliments lightly,” Orin stopped pacing to stare at Saric, the Earl of Hightower. Even now he was his mentor and teaching him. From the doorway he stood humbly, one handed folded over the other.

Moments passed, the dull crackling of the fire continued in the background. Finally Orin slumped his shoulders as if he’d been defeated, and found his way to a tray of iced tea that had been prepared for him. “I fear this is my Uncle’s doing Saric.”

Lifting the cup to his lips he felt refreshed by the cold drink as he gulped it down. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Saric take a step inside, just far enough to avoid the arc of the door as he closed it behind them. “Your Grace-”

“At least pay me the courtesy of dispensing with the formalities now.”

“Be careful what you speak out loud Orin. There is greater benefit to keeping such thoughts to oneself rather than releasing them into the wild.”

“Please, just give me your counsel as a fellow peer. Even you are embroiled in the politics of the state this time,” Orin replied between drinks.

After a long sigh the Earl spoke, “I won’t deny the suspicious nature of what happened. I don’t care how professional they were, to walk into Sorrenhal, kill a quarter of the guard on duty, murder the King, and kidnap the Prince all without raising the alarm, being seen, or being heard… it seems like the work of ghosts, not men. There are many explanations at this point though, and a lack of information,” Saric seemed to be weighing his words carefully.

“Perhaps you are right. Although I fear the worst, I shall reserve such swift judgement,” Saric nodded his approval at the young Duke’s words. “But, as you say, we need more information, and we cannot afford to wait for the Council of Peers to convene in another 2 days.”

“You have an idea Orin?”

“Whatever the Council decides I have already put things in motion. I have sent messages to a variety of our peers.”

“To what end?” Orin motioned for the older man to follow him towards a desk on the far side of the room. On top lay a small notebook which the Duke quickly opened and flipped to a small sketch of what looked like a map with some calculations and notes on it.

“If you had just abducted the Crown Prince of Esvyleth what would you do?” Saric squinted and peered closer at the map as Orin traced a path with his finger over the rough paper. “Head west, get to the coast. On open waters it would be easier to elude our forces. Sail south,” his finger moved as he talked, “To the Cloudy Isles. There it would be easy to disappear and carry out your plan. With four days on us they should be out at sea at the very least. We are falling far behind, and soon won’t be able to track their movements.”

“I hope you aren’t thinking of chasing after these men yourself,” a hint of fear could be heard in Saric’s voice.

Orin merely shot him a reassuring smile, “No my friend, I do not think that would be smart. However, I have asked a small group of Knights and Barons to undertake that task for me.”

“Can you trust these men?” It was a natural question. Orin merely pointed to the notes he had scribbled in the pages margins, a list of names of those he’d selected. An asterisk had been placed next to one, denoting who would be leading the venture. “I see. This is a sound plan Orin.”

“I’m glad you think so,” he smiled happily and tore the page from his notebook. Grabbing his goblet he casually tossed the page into the fire, then refilled his cup. “Come Saric. Let us go say hello to our friends who have entered the city since this morning.” Together the two men left the room. A pop burst from the fireplace just as the page melted into nothingness. The fire continued to crackle.

-----

OOC: that took way too long. My apologies, life just got way too busy and things started piling up. For the quest, make your way to Coral. Some of you already stated receiving letters or orders, so I've run with that. You should all report to the Silver Fox. You'll be meeting Lord Roland Challery, Leader of the expedition to save the Prince. For the other peers, make your way to Velusia. The Council of Peers will convene in another day and the politics will begin.

As a general note, the following roles are open if anyone is interested in playing them and adding their own flavour to the story: Chancellor of Esvyleth, Evil Bad Guy, Leader of the 2nd Expedition (to be organized by the Council)

It's starting ^_^

OOC: I'll take the second. It fits my plans better. Which, I have to admit, require a few more posts for me to intro my char.

OOC: Geco, you need to update the second post with the names of everyone that's joined so far :)

IC:

Shari Tana, Knight of Cavien

Coral wasn't far from where Shari had recieved her dispatch, but it would be at least a day's ride, which would mena she would have to stop to rest her horse at some point. That point came when the sun had just fallen below the horizon behind a small farming village straddling a river. Shari stabled her horse and bought a room for the night. The residents of the little namelss town seemed content, but somber. Word of the kings death had spread overnight, but it didnt seem that anyone knew the prince had actually been kidnapped. Whoever took him hadn't announced it, and however the noblitly came to know had yet to be leaked. It was only a matter of time, but Shari was glad there was still a general sense of stability among the people. With the war going on towards the south.

Shari was relatively new to all this. She wasn't born in Esvyleth. She came to this reigon via the seaport in Cavien. Her tribe lived among the Cloudy Isles for generations, but decided to leave once they realized the pirate threat was growing to a point where they could no longer coexist peacefully. Although tribal, they were far from primitive. They mastered shipwrighting early in thier history, and by the time Shari's group left, they had perfected it to an art. Shari herself was never very fond of sailing. Most of her childhood was spent on land, running through the woods and climbing trees. By the time she came to Cavien, she was known among her tribe as a survivalist and was introduced as a ranger to those they met.

It was this quality that attracted the attention of the Earl of Cavien, Bruss Stormal, to her. He offered her a position in his court as a representative of her people. Shari felt that she was unqualified and refused, instead giving the recommendation of her tribal leader. Stormal accepted her suggestion and offered Shari a knighthood instead. She accepted, seeing this as a way out of her tribe's coastal lifestyle. It wasn't long before her service landed her in the southern parts of the kingdom, leading ambush and reconnaissance missions.

Now that she thought of it, she understood why Stormal had put her name foreward to this Lord Roland Challery. Her ability to track was very good, but how did he expect her to follow a trail almost a fortnight old? She hoped Challery had something to give her as a lead.

The rest of the night Shari spent sleeping well. She didn't feel like she had anything to worry about, though she wasn't the kind of person to be naïevely optimistic.

The Duke of Edingrove, Ronnet Algrave

'The King is dead.'

It was a thought that had begun to strike Ronnet at the oddest of moments since news had reached him some days before. 'The King is dead!' Shock. Excitement. Even now he still had trouble getting a hold on how he truly felt about the whole matter. Was he afraid? Well, yes, there was some of that, it was an inevitable emotion given the situation. Granted, most of it came from his own ego.

He and his entourage had been in the city for less than a week when the King had succumbed to a mild case of death, and - unlike the common-folk, he took notice of the steadily climbing number of guards walking through the streets in the aftermath.

True, there were perhaps a number of reasons for the action, but it set his sense of paranoia to tingling all the same. 'They' had to be watching him, he was sure of it. Yes, he did frequent the more prominent areas of Velusia, where everyone walked with the cocksure swagger of men who knew that the men around them were paid well enough to make at least one steady poke at the chest region of a body. But still..

Well, he wouldn't lie to himself. The idea that they thought so highly of him tickled that same special place his grandfather had on his deathbed when he cried, "You!?". He? The lowly Duke of Edingrove, grasping so far? It was actually unfortunate that the King had died. Just having his named whispered among the group of potential assassins would have been worth the political repercussions.

He smiled at the missed opportunity for scandal. It would have been wonderful.

As far as Ronnet was concerned, the late monarch was a relic. Leftovers from his grandfather's day. He had met the man as appropriate his station, when the occasions called for it, but he never loved him. Ofcourse, he had heard stories. Who hadn't? But what did stories of the bygone years matter to Edingrove? Obviously someone else had felt something along the same lines, and had taken care to prove him right. It was unfortunate that he had a stronger stomach for living that he did for treason. A case of wine was waiting for this stranger. A cheap vintage, mind you, they had killed his King after all. Such practices shouldn't be motivated.

"I am glad that she pleases you, Your Grace." A lesser man's reaction to the nearby baritone would have been a called quailing, with Ronnet, it was a dignified flinch.

"Ah," he responded, giving his visitor a slight nod, "she does."

It was still early in the day, some three hours into his meeting with the same honored guest who sought an audience with him just after the waking hour. Sir something or the other. An aged knight in a red tapered robe who had taken up the business of olives. None of which the Duke cared about, but having been caught enjoying his fantasy world, it was only appropriate that he pretend.

"She is a fine girl," he leaned into the knight to whisper, while the girl in question worked her way through three hundred verses of some song about some thing. She was a beauty. Fair skin, blue eyes, black hair. A plain beauty. Her fair skin was marred by an unflattering number of freckles, those clear blue eyes tended to drift, and her hair's similarity to Ayanne's gave him a distinctively bubbly feeling in his stomach. And her dress?

A high-born lady could make herself appealing in the thickest burlap sack. This one hardly managed the same in low cut silk, satin and lace.

"Very beautiful, very." He held up his hand to stop the singing but still kept his voice low. It wouldn't do to have her hear him slight her. "But also very," he stretched the word, "young." There was a questioning tone to the statement, a trick he had learned to couple with a sympathetic look to draw out the answer he wanted - a nod in this case. Social grace wouldn't allow the man, Sir Whatshisname, to do otherwise.

"Oh, ah. Yu..Yes. Your Grace. I had not thought t-" The older man was flustered, shamed, though it was uncalled for in Ronnet's estimation.

Some men did love their virgins.

"In some years, perhaps," Ronnet interrupted. With another hand gesture, he called forward the daughter. Young and graceful, but still learning. Her nervousness was prominent in the way she walked, watching her feet and shifting her dress about her small frame in the six or so steps it took her to stand before them. Although, her lack of bosom might have done for most of that shifting. Not that those particular features mattered so much to him. Socially she was too far beneath him, and up close, her sharp features brought to mind a hint of Feldorian ancestry.

Be that as it may, twelve years of olives had done wonderful things for the rest of her. Her legs and backside to be more pointed.

"You will join me for an early lunch," he commanded, and she blushed. The freckles weren't quite so ugly when she did that, he noted. And twleve wasn't so young. And he was one of those men that loved his virgins between wives. "In private," he went on, speaking in her direction, but addressing her father. "Sir will be suitably accommodated for parting with such lovely company. It would better my mood for the day's business." The Duke smiled, the knight lauded, and the girl blushed down to her chest.

Perhaps Lhymaelya had blessed him. Meeting his peers might not be so trying an experience after all.

Baron of Westhelm, Lord Roland Challery

Only wisps from Lhymaelya’s gentle breath dotted the skyline, floating in the endless depths of pristine blue sky. Tracing the lines of cloud to the sun, Roland squinted his eyes as he found the fiery globe. From the coast, a distant cousin of the gales on the high seas poured into Coral with the terror of a baby kitten taking a nap.

He returned his eyes to the street in front of the Silver Fox, adjusting his belt so that it would align perfectly with the buttons on his tunic. It was a conspiracy to be sure, for there was no other reason why his wardrobe would always work to undermine him. On the surface everything seemed to be doing its job… on the surface…

The scenery didn’t mimic how the world should be at this moment. People were mourning, celebrations had been organized in virtually every city across the kingdom, the armed forces were at high alert, the peers were holding an emergency Council of the Realm, and yet through it all an eerie calm seemed to descend on Esvyleth. All around him things seemed more orderly than they should be, as if it was merely another step in a carefully constructed, diligently designed plan. It was unsettling.

“What’s going on in there?” the gentle lull of Tristan’s voice added to the dreamscape he had found himself in, but like any real dream it faded all to quickly back to reality.

He groaned in acknowledgement, “Just thinking about everything that’s happened. Things seem,” he struggled to find the word for a moment, “Amiss.” His face clearly inviting the younger knight to share his own opinion.

“Hmm,” he thought aloud as he leaned against the patio railing to the inn, “Well we did lose our King and Prince both in one night,” he commented playfully.

Roland let a loud single guffaw escape, “I meant beyond the obvious.”

Tristan lifted himself up straight slightly, scratching the light stubble now growing on his cheek. As soon as Roland had collected his man he had informed him that there were no longer be any shaving – regular swords-for-hire on the move wouldn’t bother, so neither would they. Tristan had one of those baby faces though, barely a trace of hair to be found, and where it was it grew in in splotches. Eventually he would relent to letting the man shave, but for now he was finding too much amusement in his feeble attempt to grow a proper beard.

“Maybe it’s best not to dwell on it then. Distract you from what needs to be done. Come on, I’ll get us some lunch while we wait for the others,” he gestured for the larger man to follow him back into the inn.

“You’re probably right,” Roland said distantly, taking one last look at the sky before heading back inside the Silver Fox for a bite to eat.

LATER THAT EVENING…

By the time the sun had set the day in Coral, the small cohort had gathered in the largest guest room the inn could provide. It was one of the only places with a good reputation surrounded by the much more infamous houses of ill-repute. Catering to the soldiers and sailors of Esvyleth, who were forbidden from staying in such places, had been a smart move for the inn as their clients typically paid more for their services, and were well satisfied by the third party services they found on the streets around the Silver Fox.

One at a time Roland had looked upon their faces and given them a chance to reflect upon his own which was worn with lines from aging and old scars, much like an old rock. Roland’s eyes were like looking into a pool of leaves in the fall, they just had a mesmerizing quality.

“Welcome everyone,” his delivery was slow and deliberate as he made his first address to the group. “I’m not sure just how much we all know, but that is something we will discuss tomorrow. For the moment, our first item is to make sure we are all clear why we are here, and just what we are undertaking.” Roland carefully removed a letter, on which the wax seal had been broken, from his inside pocket.

“My Lord, the Duke of Lanvaldear, has commissioned me with the task of rescuing our Crown Prince from his captors and, if possible, identifying all the culprits involved,” he shook the letter as he spoke, alluding that his words mirrored the Duke’s. He then held up his hand to prevent anyone from jumping in just yet. “And we will undertake this mission under our own volition, renouncing all ties to Esvyleth.”

Recognition set in of what a critical moment this was. With an enterprise of this magnitude hanging the balance, Lord Challery waited patiently for any to voice concern, or take their leave. Collectively their hearts beat like war drums in the distance, heightening the looming threat. However, today he was made proud as not one among them back down from the danger or sacrifice they were being called to make. A wide beaming smile spread throughout his body, even as he remained stolid.

“Very well. We’ll be departing tomorrow. I’ve commissioned a ship to take us to our destination, the Cloudy Isles. Just up the street is the Bottom Barrel, as seedy a place as I’ve ever seen,” there were a couple chuckles, “Which means some of you should feel right at home.” His final remark was greeted with a warm round of laughter that seemed to relieve the mounting tension in the room, and he lit the moment linger, not knowing how many more of these same moments they would have.

After the smiles began to fade, he moved on to conclude business, “Before you leave, please sign this,” he held up a piece of parchment he had left on the table beside him, “It is a letter that will be sent to the Council of Peers, informing them of our rogue actions, and our official renouncement of our titles and ties with Esvyleth. From this point forward we are a band of sell-swords, now employed by a local merchant to see his shipment of Toltoe Ale to the isles. I’ll be looking at possibly hiring on a few local mercs to lend us some legitimacy, so expect a few more to be with us in the morning.”

Finding the right words to conclude with had always been a struggle for him. Especially at a time like this, when they were giving up everything they had gained for themselves, and travelling into a vast unknown with no promise of success or even reward. The more he thought about it the more he became aware of the significance of the selflessness they were showing. “Thank you,” was all he could muster with a nod of appreciation.

OOC: Are we supposed to be the people Lord Challery talked to? or the few 'others' expected to join in the morning? Just want to know so I can post. I'll edit this and replace it with a post once I know...

I've come to the conclusion that in my current job I simply don't have the time to be a GM of a thread. I'm going to shelve this, and probably Endless Skies as well, and wait for July when my term ends and I get out of the non-profit world and back to a less demanding position ^_^

Hey Everyone,

Sorry but I'm going to have to shelve this one for now. I've come to the realization that I can't GM while in this non-profit job. Maybe in July, when I finish my term and go back to the regular world I can revisit this and even Endless. Until then I need to just be a player ^_^

C-c-c-combo!

np dude