War Room

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: It had been a busy twenty-four hours in Deathstalker Castle, what with the announcement of the Emperor’s departure from the Realm for unspecified reasons, although the absence of Alessandrah was very telling, one could never be sure with the axe-brandishing Nephilim. Last time he’d absconded, Drenai had ventured into the Abyss in an explosive collision with the Arch Demon, Belial. In so doing meant he’d lost an eye and the gods had stripped the world of most of its magic, which seemed like an awful way of expressing their gratitude. Alas, the Pantheon(s) had a point to prove and humanity (and its sub-racial equivalents) had been the unfortunate scapegoats. Mankind being punished for its hubris over the centuries would have to struggle in a land where nothing came easy, as arcane power diminished throughout Larlandarl. >>

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Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Wrath pondered on the whole thing as he strode towards the War Room with the grizzled Bothan. The Prince-Regent clad in polished steel and a bear-cloak. “You know it occurred to me the other day Sir Thrace, that the Realm was damned if only to bring us all together. United in our hardship you might say. Like a global team-building exercise.” Chortled the bearded warrior who now carried the weight of the world on his broad shoulders. In truth, nobody could predict the motivations of Sophia or the other gods, but now that Wrath had been legitimised with the Imperial Sigil, he was effectively the Ruler of the Empire. Least until his father returned from his unexpected sojourn. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> He quietly hoped that he could guide the population he reigned over in a more hopeful direction, one that would not incur the ire of unseen forces who observed and dictated from their lofty seats in the clouds. “I’ve always liked you Sir Thrace,” recalling when they’d met some years ago when Wrath had introduced himself as the new General of the North. “My father said you had a tactician’s mind. Something I intend to make good use of.” Reaching the doors of the War Room, the sentinels stood guard affording both males regimented salutes. Venturing inside they were immediately greeted by a vast circular table, with maps and ivory figurines representing the Emperor’s Legions. Wrath’s Legions. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “I’m going to be making some changes around here. You will be afforded greater responsibility as my Military Advisor.” The warriors circumventing the table together. “I believe my wife-to-be will be joining us shortly.” Wrath added. Referencing the fair Isolde. ::

Eleuthera : It wasn’t pretty and Eleuthera knew it wasn’t going to be. The summoned wraiths were not effective for long and it’d been only moments before the spirit was consumed with its task once more. She hadn’t accounted for the thing to take off when it realized she was not a good host and she’d managed to avoid infection. When the thing targeted Casim and they sparred a bit, Ele kept her eyes on the blood spirit, her focus unwavering while the chant continued. Each word was familiar and too much for her tongue to bear at the same time. The power coursing through her naturally was heightened exponentially by the words spoken, her voice not growing louder but beginning to carry to the far reaches of the area that would be affected by the chant. When the thing bolted downstairs she did not falter or pause even as Casim called up to her about it. It felt like the next word would shatter her teeth, or her head split. The pain wasn’t overwhelming only because she’d unhindered herself from her

Eleuthera : bindings some months prior. Ele felt her heart pounding in her chest and adrenaline flowing through her system while the magic both worked in her favor and threatened to kill her the moment she made a mistake. It’d been reckless to cast without any protection circle but she had wanted to end this thing quickly - knowing once it identified both she and Casim as unfit hosts or donors to its power it would get as far away as quickly as possible. The Necromancer was aware only of the husband’s sobs in the corner and then, suddenly, there were several other things bleeding through the ether. The house beneath her, the surrounding area of the house was filled with the presence of the dead. Glimpses of monstrous, terrible things with too many limbs or not enough. Tentacles, mis-mashed creatures from the Abyss called forth by Ele’s words and her music. The words rang out over the yard and though it was but a murmur to the guards outside of the radius of her chant it’d still affect them.

Eleuthera : The sight of creatures and a hum in the background of her voice would give them visions that would haunt their nightmares if they were unaccustomed to magic. Unaware of the actions of the blood spirit with the guard, Ele only knew one moment she was pushing her way through the chant and in the next the thing was in front of her just as she finished the last three words. One for each moment it took for it to burst through the floorboards, reach out, and try once more to attack her. Eleuthera finished the chant and a moment passed while the blood spirit touched her shoulder, and then it collapsed, and finally it exploded in every direction. Ele winced in an automatic reaction from the stuff and then released a breath, her bones aching, feeling her body tremble from the power she’d just exuded. The ambient magic she’d pulled into the house was gone, and everything within a hundred feet would be dead, and souls condemned to torment. The Necromancer looked over to Casim and glanced

Eleuthera : around the room, lifting her hand to wipe at her uncovered eyes as they were the only flesh covered in the blood from the spirit. For a moment it seemed everything was fine though she felt the world readjusting to reality as it was before the words of power she’d spoken. Then the air left the room and she left her power hiccup and fail, her eyes widened and then her knees buckled and everything went sideways as she fell to the floor. Blackness claimed her while Ele felt the amulet around her throat warm while it began to work to heal her. The Necromancer would be unresponsive and would not wake should Casim call her name but he would be able to sense she yet lived. For now. -d

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : :: It was still something Thrace was settling back into, being an officer of the Empire. He had been coordinating war games with their various strategic and tactical leaders to keep their personnel sharp, though he had been advised to put it on hold with the Emperor's absence and the Prince-Regent taking charge. As the young Deathstalker spoke aloud his thoughts and plans, Thrace's eyes widened slightly, the old Bothan taking his pipe from his muzzle as he was not only >>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> given high praise, but also asked to become the Prince's Military Advisor. As a former Knight and Grandmaster, this was an area he was familiar with, though Thrace was used to remaining off in the background and keeping things well oiled here, he rather liked it, a sort of retirement. This was a whole other level of responsibility indeed, though he did not find it unwelcome. There were reasons for his being present, and this new opportunity came with more options to>>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> meet his foreseen end. Turning and bowing his head to the Prince-Regent, Thrace smiled, "you flatter me greatly my Prince, and it would be an honor and the utmost pleasure to serve you as a military advisor." Of course, this also did make him wonder who would take his place with the Army of the South, though he was certain that the young man had a plan for this. There was something coming, it was obvious, if Wrath Deathstalker was wanting his input, that he needed it>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> for a current campaign. As they entered the war room, Thrace's jade eyes shifted from the young Deathstalker to the table where all of the pieces had been carefully laid, assessing the situation and seeing now why he was being asked this. His strategic skills had come with years of practice, and even he always felt his blood rush whenever it was time to apply them. No two battles were ever the same. Looking at the Prince, he chuckled before he spoke softly, "this >>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> Empire has been perhaps the most pleasurable to serve over my long life. You know, I made my start here as a Sentinel, escorting your father. I have never found myself wanting for something more, here. Now," he said briskly, gesturing to the map laid out before them, "what have we here?" ::

Cαsιм·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Stumbling, struggling with the blood spirit, it occurred to Casim that if Eleuthera hadn't been with him, he would likely have rebuked the beast and claimed it as his own for study...perhaps next time he would.  For now though, as it surged against his touch, freezing and struggling to reach for Eleuthera as she finished her chant, Casim's booted feet slid dangerously close to the edge of the stairs only for the pressure being mounted on him to dissolve, to explode, covering him in blood, spraying the walls, the ceiling, the flayed body on the floor.  Shocked at the sudden dissipation of the spirit, the Lich looked to his companion and was about to make a jest when her eyes widened, the aether in the room effectively blackened and emptied of power as the surge ended and she began to fall.  "'Thera?"  Casim whispered as he stepped over the body and reached for her, guiding the woman to the floor, his arm around her neck and waist to keep her from tumbling, momentarily uncertain -c-

Cαsιм·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : -c- what was happening, but recalling having seen this happen to the Necromancer only once.  "Thera?"  He murmured her name over the fallen, veiled woman, smoothing a palm beneath her veils across her cheek, he felt for a pulse, finding it sluggish and weary...and suddenly there was no time.  No time for anything at all.  Acting on instinct, he lifted her against him, chilly arms beneath her shoulders and knees, and rushed down the stairs, calling ahead of him in vain.  "Medic!"  But there was no-one there to hear him...the guards had fled, and those that hadn't fled lay dead alongside the horses drawing his carriage.  For a moment, the Lich stood in the yard of the ruined farmhouse, gazing at the scene around him, suddenly enraged by happenstance before stalking toward the horses, instinct overriding civility as one of them abruptly trembled and shrieked in death, rising up in its bonds, bucking at them until the clasp snapped and it was free, answering his summons back into the -c-

Cαsιм·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : -c- world, yet terrified of its new master.  Lifting her into the horse's bare back, Casim climbed up behind her, cradling the unconscious Necromancer against his chest as he snatched up the broken reins, twisting them around his wrist and kicking the now undead horse into action, the beast rearing, screeching its terror as it broke into a hard run toward Immortalis, dragging a long leather strap of bells behind it to rattle on the cobblestone as the Lich beat its flank bloody to command it toward the palace.  "Not over this," he murmured to Eleuthera's unconscious form, "not now...not ever."  To onlookers, it was like a stroke of hell tearing through Immortalis's evening streets, the Lich, stone-faced and gaunt cradling a dark-swathed shape, his undead mount screaming all the while as he rode hard for the palace, and for weeks afterward rumors would persist of Prince Casim Deathstalker kidnapping some dark-robed woman from the city for his own devices.  -c-

Cαsιм·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : -c- The Heretic rode hard up the hill, calling ahead of him in a voice that would chill even the warmest bones, "CLEAR THE WAY TO THE INFIRMARY!"  Not even dismounting as he passed beneath the massive maw of the palace, running down an unfortunately slow courtier in the process, the Lich rode through the palace on horseback toward the infirmary, scattering groups of servants and scribes alike as he reached the mouth of the medical wing, slipping from the back of the undead beast and pulling the unfortunate Necromancer into his arms, stalking into the chamber to the shock of those being treated and those tending alike.  "The Archmage is in need of aid. Now." -d-

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : [ That morning had been a lively one for the florist. With Wrath's insatiable nature by night and the social responsibilities of the daytime hours, Isolde found that her life had quickly changed. Morning tea with Daveigha had become a highlight. Gleaning etiquette and social advice from the Fiend (soon to be her aunt) and learning of the expected duties of her future were all wildly fascinating. Bordering on overwhelming, but still new and therefore exciting. Daveigha informed her of the notable points a princess ought to know, who to speak to for what need and where to source assistance for a myriad of tasks. The history of the land, and what things she should do, and people or places to avoid. As the fire crackled in a hearth beside the women, Isolde scrawled notes with a nib. Dipping it occasionally into a well as she illuminated pages with her neat script, the Fallon girl worked diligently to commit these things to memory. After tea with the gravid Demonness, she escaped to -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : the greenhouses for a bit of quiet studying in the peaceful presence of the fauna found there. Flipping through stiff pages of parchment, the florist sat unperturbed while greenery perked up and flourished around her. In the evening she'd retired to the chambers of the royal wing to find a handful of maids waiting to dress her for the night hours. "It's quite alright..." she assured them kindly, "I know how to dress myself, and I'm perfectly suited for the rest of the night." Her protest was short lived as she recalled the Fiend's advice on Imperial dress codes-- clothing was to be changed from day wear to a more formal evening attire. The handmaidens tittered about her in a brief uproar and she acquiesced. Her hair was neatly laid, rolled and coiled back off of her neck and shoulders so that the length of unblemished ivory flesh was exposed tastefully. She was scented with amber oils that subtly warmed her presence with the aroma of neroli, lavender and geraniums. Her nails and -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : skin were tended to, which she resisted modestly. Still, these kinds of things were to be expected. After picking, prodding and poking at her, the maidens were chattering freely among themselves. Isolde joined in their conversation, pleased to have their company and deft hands to help mold her into the 'proper' presentation fitting her new status. "Will you marry here at the Castle, or at home m'lady?" one asked as she lifted Isolde's hand to inspect the dazzling Ring of Stars, eyes brimming with excitement over the prospect of an Imperial wedding. "Here, of course." Isolde replied surely. The maidens burst into a fit of excitement that Isolde couldn't help but join in with. "Shh, shh." she coaxed with the modest shake of her head. "Are you happy in Wrath's chambers?" another asked. Isolde spied the speculative grin on the girl's face and she flushed a soft shade of pink. "I'm glad I'm not alone. The nights are long and cold." Isolde replied carefully. The four of the girls burst-c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : into a tizzy once again. When she exited the chambers, the four handmaidens guided her toward the War Room, where they would leave her in her betrothed's care. She was to learn of the land and its defenses, something she was only briefly educated on by her father, Douglas Allard. He'd served in the Deathstalker ranks in his youth, but his stories had always been too barbaric for the girl to consider. Now she was to learn of them and meet with Generals and Advisors that would help she and Wrath if the time ever came. Their responsibility had increased greatly since the Emperor's abrupt absence had placed the mantle of responsibility on her soon-to-be husband. When they arrived, the girls had hushed their ramblings, careful to respectfully enter the somber chambers of War with their Princess. Her lithe frame glided between the four girls, dressed meticulously in a gown of layered black gossamer over a fitted filigreed sheath. It was a gradient from the pale ivory of her natural -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : skin tone down to the deep inky black at her hemline, over laid with black tulle in long, flattering sheets that emphasized her hips and the svelte lines of her chest. The back was open and the neckline was a bit more exposure than she was accustomed to-- but she felt absolutely exquisite. Long sleeves of matching embroidery kept her warm, while subtle gold accents glimmered in the firelight on the sheath, in her hair and at her neckline. A delicate heirloom necklace rest over her collarbones, perfectly suited for the aesthetic of the Ring of Stars than constantly glittered on her left hand. She watched the two men, Wrath and Thrace, from the doorway quietly. Drawing no breath, nor clearing her throat, she stood in repose as they conversed. Dispelling the maidens to their duties, she waited until the pair were unoccupied to bother them, not quite aware of whether or not the subject of their conversation was one of grave importance. ]

Eleuthera : 10/10 man rage post over there. ]]

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : ^]]

Cαsιм·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : *screams at the gods*))

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : The pale soothsayer lurked near the edge of the War Room, adrift among the currents of thought and motive of the courtiers in the Great Hall beyond, hearing them, and yet not hearing them at all, disregarding their little ambitious eddies and impulses as easily as she tuned out a crying child.  Her visions warned her of a change in leadership, of the Black Signal departing the palace and leaving his son in his stead, and for the first time in a great long while, the soothsayer felt fear.  Fear for the myriad futures changing in the edge of her vision, their glow retreating in favor of war, of decimation, of terror and horror at the hands of demons..The pale soothsayer lurked near the edge of the War Room, adrift among the currents of thought and motive of the courtiers in the Great Hall beyond, hearing them, and yet not hearing them at all, disregarding their little ambitious eddies and impulses as easily as she tuned out a crying child.  -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- What the fuck. Why did it double post?))

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : Nix that shit, I'm doing it again.))

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : The pale soothsayer lurked near the edge of the War Room, adrift among the currents of thought and motive of the courtiers in the Great Hall beyond, hearing them, and yet not hearing them at all, disregarding their little ambitious eddies and impulses as easily as she tuned out a crying child.  Her visions warned her of a change in leadership, of the Black Signal departing the palace and leaving his son in his stead, and for the first time in a great long while, the soothsayer felt fear.  Fear for the myriad futures changing in the edge of her vision, their glow retreating in favor of war, of decimation, of terror and horror at the hands of demons...and yet there did linger some small hope on the horizon, a tiny mote of proud, bright light warming around Wrath and his entourage. Perhaps, just perhaps, these visions of death and hell could be avoided...and though Sevasti could only predict the most likely of futures, she saw herself there, serving -c-

Gᴀʙʙɪє Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ has made Gᴀʙʙɪє Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ a Participant.

Gᴀʙʙɪє Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ is away.

Ѕуրτђіα·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ is away.

Adaline∙Hadley is away.

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- the son as she'd long served his father, working to predict that which sane minds could not foresee. Colorless and pale, the tall, nigh on skeletal elf drifted around the door of the War Room and into this closed, militant space as she often had in the past, just in time to overhear Wrath naming the Wounded Knight as his advisor, and the Bothan accepting with his usual brand of jaded humility. It felt right. It felt correct, and though she had no invitation, as Wrath and Thrace stood at the broad tableside, she drifted to it as well, pressing thin fingertips along its edge, gazing down over the figures and maps with a slightly tilted head. Isolde was there as well, and Sevasti smiled warmly at her, wishing she'd dressed more properly for the occasion, her white homespun gown boasting old bloodstains down the front and sleeves that the servants had long struggled to scrub out, alas, she would exist as she was in her most natural state, come what may. -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- Once there was a quiet moment, Sevasti spoke to Wrath, her voice as dark and caledonian as the mad prophetess she was. "I am meant to serve you, Prince-Regent," she said as more a statement than a request, "as I served your father." Carmine eyes lifted to regard the Behemoth for a moment before shifting to Thrace and Isolde, her expression somewhat glazed and slack, untroubled and untelling of her thoughts and visions, preferring to speak only when necessary, but wishing to bear witness to this first meeting of the Prince's war council. -d-

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Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: The Bothan seemed receptive to Wrath’s suggestion that he take up the responsibility of Imperial Advisor, though the Prince-Regent felt the need to clarify his intent. “If you enjoy working for the General of the South, I’m sure we can some to some arrangement. Alaunyel is an excellent leader and you’re never short of challenges, riding by her side. But occasionally I’ll require that stratagem you’re known for. Meaning weekly meetings where I’ll gauge your thoughts. It’s really about managing your workload.” Implying that Sir Thrace didn’t have to relinquish one position to accept the other as they weren’t mutually exclusive. There were many famous Imperials who carried multiple responsibilities in his father’s dominion. Take Viktor for example; not only was he the General of the West, but also the current Weapons Master and an Archduke. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> The warriors stood over the vast circular table, made of stone it conveyed Arthurian symbolism drawing on the idea that all gathered here in the War Room were considered equals. There was no authority in so much as there was collaborative effort. Wrath recognised that there were limits and gaps in his knowledge, therefore it was really about surrounding himself with the right people. “Call me crazy…” Began Wrath, which would surely prompt the Bothan he was using as a soundboard to raise a concerned brow. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “But it occurs to me that my father’s whole military objective centred on acquiring as much landmass and territory as possible. He would often suggest that the Empire was like a great primordial serpent, one that had grown so large that it would inevitably devour its own tail, lest it had fresh nations to consume. Unfortunately for Drenai, I’m less interested in raiding and pillaging as I am consolidating our defences. He warned me about an external demonic threat, though gave me no details regarding how or where they might strike at us.” Pausing when he noticed Isolde standing in the doorway, he bid her entry with a gesture of his great hand, that she might make her way around the stone Arthurian table, before continuing his speech. >>

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Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : Welcome home, lady <3]]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “However these invaders challenge our borders, we must be ready. That requires greater logistical efforts between our settlements and fortifications. Coordination is key to this. I want to put together a Rapid Response Unit, who will monitor and react to attacks from foreign powers in the swiftest possible time.” It was when the soothsayer entered -though not the one Wrath had been acquainted with recently- that Wrath ceased on the topic. “An unexpected visitor I see.” Bowing his head respectfully to the elegant Pale Elf. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “Isolde, I’d like to introduce you to Sevasti. She’s Casim’s sister.” Hesitant to refer to her as an Aunt but realising the term was a good approximation. Wrath gruffly bowed his head in Sevasti’s direction. “I welcome all the help I can get,” he admitted cheerfully. “Thank you for coming.” His gratitude appearing sincere. ::

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Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Thanks bby))

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : :: Noticing that the Princess had entered the room, upon her arrival, Thrace set his pipe upon the edge of the table and then bowed to her formally, "M'lady, how good to see you." Then, upon straightening, his jade gaze slid over to observe Sevasti, whom he greeted more personally, approaching her offering to take her hand, bowing, "Dame Crytikos, it has been far too long." Once, if allowed by her, straightened, he turned his attentions back to the table, relieved by the>>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> intentions not to pull him away from the Army of the South, to look around at the pieces once more before looking at Wrath directly, "M'lord, perhaps the best way to stave off that sort of threat is to start looking for it before it stages itself." Thrace had not been idle since his return and had been preparing for such in a different fashion. There were ways to disrupt without having to send an entire battalion down to do battle. "I have been toying with a concept>>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> that could serve purposes aligned with your thoughts. Some of the Southern tactical leadership have been helping me with this. Putting together several such units of Special Mission Operatives that could conduct reconnaissance, recovery, special quests, guerilla warfare, and even assassinations might be useful to this end. Being able to anticipate a threat as you have suggested means that we could use a smaller number of personnel to conduct missions without as much>>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>>notice, and also with the ability for us to deny responsibility if they are discovered." This was where Thrace showed his colder side, displaying the logical need for being able to wash their hands of a mission that went awry to save inter-realm relationships from crumbling and avoiding all out war in situations where it was not necessary. "If such units existed for each Army, then we would be able to use conventional scouts and intelligence to determine their >>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> employment and then deploy them as necessary. What think you, my Prince?" Picking his pipe back up, Thrace leaned a hip against the table to strike a match off the sole of his boot, tamping his tobacco with a finger before lighting it, placing the flame at the far end of the bowl before drawing on it to evenly light the sweet smelling aromatic leaf. ::

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : [The quiet murmur of the two men and a third-- Sevasti, who appeared from behind Wrath's leviathan figure as Isolde stepped into the room, were intermittent between the hollow, cold wind outside and another crackling hearth beyond the table they had gathered at. Snow flurries clung to the edges of the window, frost climbing the glass panes and chilling the space in the stonework that shielded them from the outside world. The looming stronghold was a fortress of strength, withstanding the blustery winds that beat on from overcast night sky. Inside of it, the lives of many were lived. Now Isolde was one of them. Her presence was warm and self-effacing in contrast to that of her betrothed, whose was both gladitorial and virile. The pair were well balanced, both finding peace in the other's presence. The florist listened as they spoke, curious lovat gaze moving from the fireplace to the stone table as sheaves of paper and figures were shuffled. Sevasti's greeting was quiet and warm,-c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : and Isolde's reply was the subtle dip of her chin accompanied with a welcoming smile of her own. Feeling a bit -over-dressed previous to her arrival, it was only now emphasized by the pale elf whose garments (sans blood) were more Isolde's pace and comfort. Wrath's attention averted to her briefly, at which point she took the opportunity to join their fold without interrupting. Thrace's greeting was one with genuine warmth, giving her pause as she smiled brightly despite the overwhelming sobriety of their conversation. "Good evening, Thrace." she replied as he bowed, having to remind herself that she'd have to get used to the formal introductions as he rose back up. As Wrath continued, she listened with devoted interest. It was true that his Tyant father had vastly different motives from her betrothed, as they'd discussed in private before sleeping the previous evening. As she walked toward the gathering council, she rounded the table with a paced gait. It was both graceful and -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : intentional, skirts pulled away from the spitting embers of the fire as she took her place at Wrath's side. She briefly considered the threats looming as they spoke of them, fear once again gripping her by the stomach. She knew that too much of her life had been spent in ignorance of these things. Now that they were presented as truth, she had new anxieties to consider. Her attention shifted once again to the withy elf, Sevasti, as she was introduced. "Ah," she breathed as recognition dawned on her. "Your aunt, then?" she confirmed with a passive glance upward at his features to distinguish his response. Thrace's greeting seeming familial as well, or at least comfortable, the florist briefly offered a gentle squeeze at the General's forearm as he continued and Thrace followed up in his advisory role. The thought of violence made the gentle Fallon waver in her place. She steadied herself with a single hand on the edge of the table as their conversation continued. She was -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : determined to not only learn, but become more resilient about such matters. Deeply thankful that she was on the perceived 'winning' side of the tactical plans, Isolde watched as the pair addressed the figures at the table and discussed alternative methods of warfare. The Bothan lit a pipe as he concluded, and the florist took a seat beside where Wrath stood, leaning on the table to hold her chin in one hand and watch him process his thoughts. ]

Cαsιм·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : She had been awarded no honorifics in the realm beyond Soothsayer, neither Aunt to Wrath or a landholder, Sevasti was an understated presence among these pillars of the Empire and she knew it, but her strengths were strange ones, madness affording her an ill-fitting place among them none the less.  When Wrath thanked her, the creature only bowed her head, accustomed to being in the background of this place, speaking only when it was required of her.  Thrace's greeting was warmer,  and she offered her hand to him as he reached for it, her ivory touch briefly squeezing his before slipping free as she listened to the gathering, to Thrace's suggestion of creating a special division of warriors, it sounded like a solid plan, one that could easily be implemented.  Isolde's presence in the room was a stoke of placid calm, and the soothsayer felt drawn to it in her strange way, watching the young woman, in wonder of her brightness of being. -c-

Cαsιм·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Fuck my life.))

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Sir_Thrace_Daighan : Casim's in drag everybody!))

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : She had been awarded no honorifics in the realm beyond Soothsayer, neither Aunt to Wrath or a landholder, Sevasti was an understated presence among these pillars of the Empire and she knew it, but her strengths were strange ones, madness affording her an ill-fitting place among them none the less.  When Wrath thanked her, the creature only bowed her head, accustomed to being in the background of this place, speaking only when it was required of her.  Thrace's greeting was warmer,  and she offered her hand to him as he reached for it, her ivory touch briefly squeezing his before slipping free as she listened to the gathering, to Thrace's suggestion of creating a special division of warriors, it sounded like a solid plan, one that could easily be implemented.  Isolde's presence in the room was a stoke of placid calm, and the soothsayer felt drawn to it in her strange way, watching the young woman, in wonder of her brightness of being. -c-

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : kinky. I'm into it. ]

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- Though, as Isolde suggested that she was Wrath's aunt, the soothsayer looked away, uncertain how the Behemoth would respond, expecting nothing.  "We are not well acquainted, though I am bound to protect him as though he were my blood."  The creature finally said in the silence that followed, filling that space albiet briefly.  Walking a wide circle around the table, the Soothsayer took pause along the South-Eastern edge of the map, her hand lifting, hovering over the wooden symbol of a small town along the furthest border, the reaching to carefully lay it on its side.  "Only ghosts dwell there now.  Ghosts and demons..." Sevasti murmured quietly, then walked to the furthest edge, carefully, respectfully tipping over another wooden symbol of civilization, a trading post leading to lands South-East of Larlandarl. "I cannot see the horde themselves, they are beneath a veil...a fog...but I can taste the human cost like pyre ashes on my tongue." -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- "These people," she gestured to the two fallen shapes, "are newly dead, their souls still linger amid devastation and Tanar'ri footsoldiers.  Refugees will be traveling the trade routes to escape, but they won't survive the Tenoch Desert.  None will reach Sovereign City, and it is too late to send them aid."  They would die.  All of them, with hope in their hearts and fear at their backs, they would die of thirst in the wasteland, and nothing could be done for them.  "You want to send dragon-riders, I know that," there was compassion in her for the Prince-Regent, feeling his sudden urge to lend aid where he could, "...but all they will find is bodies."  Withdrawing from the table, her vermilion stare still on the little baubles representing townships and garrisons spread across Larlandarl, the mad soothsayer briefly glanced up at the assembly and blinked slowly. "Your father has left you a mess." -d-

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Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : Welcome back, Dorian]]

ლ{ಠ益ಠლ} : ʘ‿ʘ Hai.))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : It was commonplace those current days to find the Fiend fixated on fire.  She'd withdrawn somewhat from court, hiding in her silence as shifting visions twisted in her thoughts.  It was her curse to obsessively decipher the ever-changing future, but there was still that singular visage of destruction that plagued her.  It was only quelled in the morning when unknown voices carried a rumor.  Drenai had gone--to where and how long, she could not discern.  Halcyon gaze widened; she felt the frigid rush of paranoia.  Gone.  What did that mean?  "Prince Wrath will be serving as regent, didn't you hear?"  Memory was a damnable thing; it constantly found its way seeping into the demon's reality--reminding her of past slights, reopening wounds.  Gone.  Without word or warning.  The whisperings of her father surged between her ears and the Fiend took a steadying breath.  A hand fell to the swell of her stomach and she was compelled to move.  One of the guards took a step forward when >

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Daveigha rose from her seat, but she brushed off his offer to help.  "Have one of the valets find out what my nephew's schedule is for the remainder of the day.  I'll want to see him," she ordered, exiting the great hall before she could hear anymore.  When those servants found the demon later, she was fixated on the courtyard.  Her attention was elsewhere.  It took a touch of Daveigha's shoulder to finally have her draw away and descend upon the war room.  The door was pushed open without a sound and the small creature stood within the threshold, taking pause when it was not her brother that she found standing, but his son.  Features contorted to sudden apathy, concealing that which fought to rise within her.  With emotions quelled, the demoness slid to find a seat and hear the last few exchanges between Wrath and those that served him.  Aureate gaze locked on Sevasti; could the soothsayer see the truth hidden beneath?  "A messss, indeed," came the hissed murmur (FIN)

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Oh poo. Minus that FIN.))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : from the Fiend. (FIN)

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : There we go.))

∆_Veshtine_∆ has joined the conversation.

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : Welcome, Veshtine]]

∆_Veshtine_∆ : Thank ya lass)

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Haven't seen that font in years! Welcome!))

∆_Veshtine_∆ : Thank ya Milady)

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Տᴀиᴀᴆᴀ : RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Տᴀиᴀᴆᴀ : RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Տᴀиᴀᴆᴀ : RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Տᴀиᴀᴆᴀ : RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Տᴀиᴀᴆᴀ : RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Տᴀиᴀᴆᴀ : RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Տᴀиᴀᴆᴀ : RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

Տᴀиᴀᴆᴀ : RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

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Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : weird flex but ok. ]

ლ{ಠ益ಠლ} : Aaaaaaand being gone won't stop me from banning him.))

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : l m f a o ]]

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : Jesus fuck, I think a Pterodactyl had an orgasm!))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : *cracks knuckles and signs onto another account* If y'all will excuse me.))

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : Yes ma'am))

∆_Veshtine_∆ : Beshadowed was the form that moved through the Black Wood making nary a sound, broad head lowered to taste the scent of its prey. No glimmer of silvered moonlight served to reveal the dark splendor of its hide, as broad paws did glide o'er the duff. Easily did its gaze pierce the shadows deep, to judge the distance to its mark, mighty haunches gathered afore it leaped, and a faint cry broke the stillness round. A final shake it gave its prey, snapping the spine at its >>

ლ{ಠ益ಠლ} : ლ{ಠ益ಠლ} sets mode: +b *!1abcff71b7bd08f8@*$* ))

LEGIT!CB237C6AF5B70E66@GateKeeperPassport has joined the conversation.

LEGIT : Is this the right one?))

LEGIT : Yep.))

LEGIT : K brb))

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ლ{ಠ益ಠლ} : There. Userhosts are fixed. I don't give a fuck what account they come back on. *polishes nine-iron*))

∆_Veshtine_∆ : weakest place, afore away it did drag the carcass of the goblin to the place where it disposed of such filth. It would let the lesser beasts and scavengers clean the bones, which it would use later to mark a warning to the rest of the band, that this land was forbidden to them. <<

∆_Veshtine_∆ Shakes head, and offers texas wedge instead...)

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : -Isolde's trees eat the carcass-]]

∆_Veshtine_∆ : Seems one can never escape the last remnants of the nine year olds…)

Rylzen : Damn, Face. I love the way you face. ]]

ლ{ಠ益ಠლ} : Just wait until I find his other accounts.))

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : Deathstalker is also set in the Charlie Brown universe?!))

Rylzen : Hell hath no fury like a Face annoyed. ]]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: Wrath stroked his bearded jaw as Thrace replied to his suggestion of a Rapid Response Unit. Although the Bothan referred to it by a different name, they were effectively in favour of the same thing. “I’m glad we’re on a similar wavelength Sir Thrace.” Agreeing with the wizened knight. “Their mobility is crucial. Able to travel light and reach their destinations quickly.” Making the presumption that whatever demonic threat lurked on the edge of the horizon would surely operate under the blanket of darkness. “They will light the way for our Imperial Legions to follow.” Added Wrath. “I would like for you to liaison with the other generals. While the authority of Prince-Regent is mine, I’m technically still in control of the North. However it falls to you to initiate this nation-wide project, spanning our various military divisions.” >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Appointing the Bothan his first task as Military Advisor. “Speak with my sister Jade, Viktor and Alauneyl and devise a way to triangulate hostile threats.” The steel-clad warrior glancing in Isolde’s direction every so often. Affording her a look of warmth, even adoration. Although their words towards the other had been brief since she’d entered the War Room, they already had the comfort of a deep connection. Which was to say that he and his betrothed were content enough in each other’s company, even if little was currently said. The immense frame of the Prince-Regent standing over the woman who’d stolen his heart. Wrath’s great shadow befalling the lithe beauty while she was seated. His mitts briefly resting on her thin shoulders. Noticing her hand absently resting on the stone table, The Ring of Stars absorbing the orange flicker of flames in its crystalline jewel. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Knowing that the family heirloom carried great meaning and significance. It represented power and dynasty. Something Isolde was now very much a part of. Meanwhile Wrath’s steel gaze took in the sight of Sevasti when his betrothed suggested that the Pale Elf was his Aunt. “You might say that, yes.” His expression well-intentioned, his tone polite. “As she says, we don’t know each other very well. Though I’m hoping to change that.” Mindful of Sevasti’s gift of prophecy. However his stare darkened when the soothsayer spoke of grim tidings, her words effectively damming the respective regions on the map. The blonde warrior gripping the edge of the table, his anger growing. Literally about to suggest the Dragon Riders before Sevasti cut him off. She knew he’d say that. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> However Wrath’s stubbornness was not so different to Drenai’s. For both men had rebellion in their blood. “…that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t try.” He said solemnly. “Prince-Regent or not. I am bound by the Iron Code to protect the weak.” His tone unwavering as he looked to Isolde and Thrace. “I need to leave.” Adamant that if dragons weren’t fast enough to reach the Tenoch Desert, maybe Sleipnir would be. Daveigha’s arrival in the Great Hall momentarily catching him off guard as she echoed Sevasti’s sentiment. “Then it’s up to me to clean it up.” Replied Wrath decisively. ::

∆_Veshtine_∆ : Sometime later the dark form approached a simple hovel, set amid a hedge of thorny shrub, whose dark evergreen leaves were made for such gloom as the dense canopy cast, even on the brightest of days, the light of the small fire revealing the blue black fur with its subtle pattern of spots.  With a shudder for form changed, becoming that of a man, dressed in wool and leather, whose hair and beard were shot through with gray, belying the score and one years he had lived. The >>

∆_Veshtine_∆ : gray was a mark laid upon him, after stumbling into a faerie grove. Twas a year and a day before he emerged from that sybaritic paradise, his mind intact, but he had been subtly changed by the experience.  He settled himself beside the fire and took down a wineskin that hung beside his door, that he drank deeply of, goblins left a foul taste in the mouth. With a shrug of his shoulders, he restored the skin to its peg, and settled himself to commune with the world around >>

∆_Veshtine_∆ : letting his being slip into the slow song of the winter forest, before he sent it questing further afield seeking news of the world beyond that which he had taken for his home. <<

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : ^War Room, not Great Hall. ]

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : sorry it's late for me. ]

∆_Veshtine_∆ : no worries)

∆_Veshtine_∆ : they'll fix it in post.)

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : :: Smiling at the greeting of the Princess, Thrace made a point to be warm, especially as new faces appeared in a setting old. The squeeze of Sevasti's hand had made Thrace look back up at her before he had turned to speak to the Prince, "as you will it, my Prince. I will send word to all of the generals at once." Listening as Sevasti answered the Prince's noble gesture, Thrace tamped down the tobacco and kept the pipe smouldering with slow thoughtful puffs, the vanilla>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> black cavendish percolating throughout the room and wreathing his features with a creamy bluish haze. Once Sevasti had said her peace and the Prince answered, Thrace shook his head, "my Prince, Dame Crytikos speaks wisely. For you to go yourself will send a message of desperation and loss of control. It is important for you to project stability by sending the best of your people, even if they will only find corpses. It is not an easy position you fill, and there >>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> are many subtleties that must be adhered to. You cannot save those people, but you can send a message that you are in command. For now, I advise you to remain here where you can provide direction and vision to your legions. Your father's vision, while seemingly simplistic, was true to an Empire, growth also promotes stability, and stagnation welcomes attack." Thrace did not necessarily favor the model of the Empire, but he understood the mission, and he dared not >>>

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> stray from it at this late date. Realizing that they had been joined by yet another, Thrace turned to see Daveigha Faust among them and suppressed a shudder, for the woman had always unnerved him greatly. Then he turned to the Princess as he watched her seated so calmly and gestured with his pipestem, "Princess, can I send for tea or some other refreshment whilst you sit among us?" ::

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : [The joy of the days leading up to their meeting was quickly tempered by the soothsayer's sobering news. As her thin digits toppled over figurines meant to represent entire cities of people, Isolde watched with horror. Her attention shifting between Sevasti and Wrath as she began to consider solutions herself. Wildly unqualified for such input, the florist knew that her place here was to learn, but she couldn't help but grasp at straws in an effort to add something that might help. Stormy hues focused on the fallen figurines, features soft with empathy as she considered the dozens, if not thousands, of lives that they represented. The biting wind outside the castle whirred on. Her shoulders had dipped a bit, reflecting the ache she felt on behalf of those lives lost. "A mess" Sevasti had concluded, to which a fifth voice interjected "A messss indeed." came the icy voice of the Fiend. Isolde's gaze lifted to the place where Daveigha had taken a seat. Both she and Sevasti prickled-c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : the florist's senses in the same way, though she couldn't distinguish -why-. A brief smile passed her features as she leaned forward to pick up one of the fallen figurines. Turning it over in her delicate digits, she considered the burden of these lives. Having never had to consider the responsibility for any life but her own, the thought was heavy. Her lashes were laden with water, though she managed to keep them from spilling over. Already she was learning emotional restraint, if only to practice some measure of strength on Wrath's behalf. He towered behind her, resting massive hands on her shoulders in brief, but meaningful tenderness. The General was deferring to his strategic tendencies, and while she couldn't begin to understand the impulses it drove in him, the florist knew that they were entirely natural given his discipline. He'd been about to stalk off, announcing it then with abrupt interjection. "Wrath, you will not." Isolde added to Thrace's wisdom, surprising even -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : herself. For a moment, she sat blinking in her seat as her voice hung in the air within the War Room alongside the hazy smoke of the Bothan's pipe. Of course, she felt the compulsion to go and help herself. But she quickly recognized that both she and Wrath needed to remain within the Castle walls-- as their duties were now to help guide the hands that would protect the lands. Straightening herself a bit from within the seat as she watched the back of her Leviathan Prince, she waited for him to turn. A small part of her was anxious. It wasn't her place to command the man, and truly the words had leapt right out of her mouth without permission. She turned the small figure over in her fingers and sucked in her bottom lip as he turned back toward them. "The Empire has one missing Deathstalker as it is." she continued, hoping the words landed with the grace she intended but refusing to soften her tone. "I consider this placement as the Emperor's will, regardless of his lack of tell. -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : There is a time to lead by force and a time to lead from the table..." she continued, lifting the figure to hold it out above its original position on the stone surface. "Protection is not always guaranteed by the sword. It is, at times, a work of the mind." She set the figurine on its side to lie where Sevasti had tumbled it over. Guilt making her voice waver at her last words as she did so. She understood his impulse, as she herself had considered it even moments before. She'd thought of sending Henrich and the other Ents-- her only true means of self defense and a connection to the outside world. Thrace's offer hung in the air, and now seemed as good a time as any to take a brief refreshment. "Tea would be lovely," she said, recalling the offer. Her thoughts were swimming, and a peaceful moment over a steaming cup of tea might settle them. Recognizing the soothsayer's directions implicitly indicated that there would be no solution for the things to come, the Fallon girl's -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : thoughts had immediately moved to the more pragmatic approach. She turned to the withy pale elf, lovat hues full of question. "So we fail. What next?" she asked, features settling in determination.]

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : As the doors opened, a stroke of heartbreak spread through the soothsayer, her carmine gaze lifting toward Daveigha where she stood at the threshold, watching as the Fiend came to settle in the darker reaches of the room, her heavy-lidded eyes on the Fiend's face, weighing what she felt against what she saw. Wrath reacted to the news, Sevasti turned a patient eye on her nephew, watching him where she stood a few feet from the table, Thrace and Isolde's sincere candor ringing true to her, reinforcing it with, "it could be a test. They do not know what we know here, that your Father has left this place, and they will not know for a while yet...and that is good. That is what we need right now. If you go into the wasteland, their advance scouts will witness it, and will sense that something has changed in the Capitol. It is a bad risk, my Prince." Walking to sit beside Daveigha, she reached, and if the Fiend allowed it, took her hand, interlacing their fingers. -c-

Vivienne has joined the conversation.

Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : welcome! ]

Vivienne : thank you))

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- Heightened emotions spilled through the room, she could taste the welling tears on Isolde, and was yet again struck at how innocent this woman was, foreseeing how she would struggle in years to come to balance life in the Capitol against her own ethos. A terrible thing to face, and Sevasti only hoped she would find solace in the work her future husband was bound into, the mantle on his shoulders so great that there would be times he could not bear it alone for all his trying. Suddenly the girl was looking at her, asking what would happen next, and Sevasti gave Daveigha's hand a reassuring little squeeze. "We have lost two small towns, and they wait to see how we respond, but they chose the Tenoch Wasteland as their point of ingress...and that has its own dangers, even for demons. It was a poor choice on their part, and one we can take advantage of. May I politely suggest sending relief in that direction and evacuating -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- the villages nearest the edge of the Waste, informing the nomads of the desert that it is time to head North...and then making our first stand there, after the Tanar'ri have had to suffer Tenoch for weeks to traverse it? With the wasteland at their backs, and our forces in their path, they will be weak, and those that flee into the desert can be hunted down at our leisure." -d-

∆_Veshtine_∆ : Death, fear, the taste of blood...these were a distant dry echo that moved through the green song of life. Eyes of cornflower blue opened to gaze into the dancing flames and glowing coals of the fire as his lips pursed. There had been another sensation there, but too faint to discern clearly with such techniques. Hands calloused by hard work pulled a satchel closer and threw back the flap, before they delved within, bringing forth herbs, roots, nuts and berries and a >>

∆_Veshtine_∆ : small mortar and pestle. He worked with a surety of purpose as mistletoe, oak gall, tanis root and elderberries were ground together and combined with a splash of water taken from a willow stump, and four drops of his own blood. His voice carried the chant, low and steady as he invoked the attentions of his goddess. He sought not power, or personal gain, only the wisdom she might grant to him, the wisdom to see the path that lay ahead. When the incantation was finished, >>

∆_Veshtine_∆ : he drained the mortar in a single draught, wincing slightly at the acrid taste as he closed his eyes, preparing himself for whatever visions might be invoked. <<

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: The Bothan talked sense, enough to make an impression on the bold Deathstalker male. Recalling that his father had seen something of worth in Sir Thrace, the Prince-Regent couldn’t find fault in his logic. However that in itself wouldn’t be enough to dissuade Wrath. His bold departure showing no sign of abating as his massive back ventured away from them. The wide hilt of Widow Maker could be seen protruding from the space beneath his bear-cloak and the nape of his neck. It was no Soul Bleeder, but the broadsword was wielded with righteous fury when it was drawn, and this time would surely be no different, he told himself. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Aiming to defy prophecy and somehow help those damned refugees spoken of by the soothsayer. However it was when Isolde spoke up that Wrath found his footsteps faltering. The broad width of his frame nearly filing up the door, coming to a reluctant halt. Isolde’s words resonating in his heart. Felt somewhere between his shadow and his soul. He hated to hear it but he knew she was right. Just like Sir Thrace had been. Closing his eyes briefly, the second-generation-nephilim exhaled before turning around to face the gathered individuals in the War Room. More specifically the stone Arthurian table itself. They were all equals here, he remembered. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Meaning Wrath would do well to listen. His impulsiveness subsiding, knowing that even his magic horse couldn’t have reached the Tenoch Desert any faster. “You’re right.” He conceded. Though Wrath opted to find humour in the situation. “Maybe you should be Prince Regent.” He remarked playfully to the florist. The tension subsiding. “A bad risk.” Repeated the Emperor’s eldest born. Realising this was one battle he couldn’t win. Knowing that his inaction by remaining here in the castle as Isolde, Thrace and Sevasti had implored him to to, would have no bearing on the deaths of the refugees. >>

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> “I feel like the Empire has failed them.” Sounding remorseful as he re-joined the table. ::

֎ᾀᾗǵέł֎ has joined the conversation.

ლ{ಠ益ಠლ} : Welcome!))

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : Welcome, Angel]]

֎ᾀᾗǵέł֎ : thanks )

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : ^to do, ]

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : :: "My Prince, the Empire has a duty to the living," Thrace reminded him. "While the circumstances are unfortunate, this is what happens in war. Your actions need to lead to the next step as you do not have time to undo or fix what has already taken place. It is not an easy path to set your feet upon, often slippery, but if you stray from it, the consequences will harm far more than just yourself. The Empire is in need of action against our aggressors, that is where >>>

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Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> our focus must lie." Putting his pipe back in his mouth, Thrace personally turned to pour a cup of tea for the Princess, bringing cup and saucer on a tray with a spoon and a small pot of honey and another of cream should she wish to sweeten and/or lighten it. Setting it before Isolde, he took the pipe from his mouth to offer her another formal bow before doing a sharp about face and heading back around the table where he had been standing before. "Both the Princess>>>

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Sir_Thrace_Daighan : >>> and Dame Crytikos offer good counsel, My Prince. My only other word on this is that we should begin reinforcing garrisons in the region to ensure that we do not lose anymore towns or settlements. For now, we must take a defensive posture and send out a message to see if they will communicate. Even if it only slows the pace, it gives us all time to regroup and to evacuate citizens if need be. It is easier to prevent loss of life than to save the afflicted." ::

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : The Fiend sat and listened.  Her eyes would not raise to view anyone, especially Wrath.  How could the demon look upon his face?  Inside, she felt vacant, betrayed, isolated.  Her mind took her to that place deep within Frostwind's dungeon, cowering in fear.  What were these voices?  Who was this man who became her overlord?  The years of Immitus' abuse were only unburdened by the voice of a boy that called into the darkness of that cell.  Between fingers, she'd stared.  And he asked her moniker; no one had ever asked her name.  Small was the mouth that formed her True Name, unaware that it was forbidden to be given.  Perhaps the son of Immitus sensed how precious a gift it was, for when she left that dungeon, she had become Daveigha and her secret was held safely between brother and sister.  The caress of Sevasti's hand against Daveigha's scalding palm brought attention to rise.  "The Empire has one missing Deathstalker as it is," came Isolde's sweet, wise words.  They'd all >

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : made excellent points, enough to keep the Prince from departing impulsively.  A quaking sigh was given; Sevasti could have probably felt the tremor in the limbs of the demon.  Golden eyes finally fixed on Wrath and she spoke quietly.  "I know how to defeat the demons..."  For she bored the very nature of their foes.  Beneath facade of mortal flesh was a primordial creature that had fallen from grace with brethren that now wreaked havoc on their homeland.  Shoulders straightened and she gave her sister's hand a resounding squeeze.  "Considering your father's absence, my debt owed will revert to you.  All my..."  A smirk suddenly appeared, though it was carried with a deep, unrelenting sorrow in that aureate glance.  "Talents are at your disposal."(FIN)

∆_Veshtine_∆ : Half lidded eyes showed only white, as he was assailed by a flashing march of images that revealed the horrors visited upon a dusty desert village. Blood seeped from beneath eyelids clamped tight to shut out the images, yet they rolled on, he had asked to see, for the path to be revealed to him, and now he could not look away. The images of death, shifted to reveal a temple, set deep in a grove, the way in, and what lay within. The castle, carved from the mountainside, >>

֎ᾀᾗǵέł֎ is away.

∆_Veshtine_∆ : a dragon's skull as its gate arch. The pace of the images slowed as he was shown a chamber, with a stone table at its center. He saw an acorn resting in his palm. The image rippled as he extended his hand to place the acorn beside the marking on the map that represented the Imperial seat an act that through his goddess would place an acorn upon the map within the war room, with only the subtlest whisper of a breeze, scented with pine and balsam to mark her passage. <<

Aᴀвᴇʟ·Dʀᴀɢoʀᴀн has joined the conversation.

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : O..O))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : O_O))

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : ...ooohhhh shit))

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Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : It's gettin' reeeeeeal in here]]

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : It's about to. My god.))

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : Sweet Trinket.))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : I love everything about this.))

Sir_Thrace_Daighan watches as tumbleweed rolls across the street...))

Jαƌϵ·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : -GETS THE FUCK OUTTA DODGE-)

Aᴀвᴇʟ·Dʀᴀɢoʀᴀн : The real concern here is that this account is still all premium-ed up... How long have I been paying for this?)

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : Yeah I'd wondered about that.))

∆_Veshtine_∆ : long enough for the font to fade to black...)

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Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : [ Isolde sat primly at the edge of her seat, aware of the scrutiny she might have been under for her interjection in the conversation. Though smoothly, Sevasti resumed her advice. She had anticipated the florist's thoughts, it seemed. With seamless transition, her thoughts were explored. Wrath's pause in the door at the sound of her voice left ruminating guilt in the back of Isolde's mind. He was far more rational and kind than she'd expected. She'd prayed that her words would find purchase in his thoughts and that they wouldn't be interpreted as selfish or weak. Worse still, they might have been seen as controlling. None of them were the primary focus of her words, but there was a lingering selfishness there that she couldn't deny. She didn't want him to leave her there, not when the world was in a tumult and she was grasping at finding her bearings as it was. She knew, deep down, that if he had chosen to go-- she'd have wanted to go with him. Her stomach roiled in rebellion, -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : thoughts of what might have greeted them playing a critical role in her resistance to the idea of trekking toward the gruesome landscape. Luckily, she wouldn't be forced into making her case, as the man turned to admit that the group's thinking was correct. Relief flooded her, softening the anxieties that held her muscles rigid in her seat as he returned to them, Widowmaker sheathed for another day. Lovat hues lingered on his hulking frame, not taking for granted the fact that it remained with them. Gaze softened as she met his, brows gentle over her features before her attention turned to the soothsayer whilst she detailed their options and made her suggestion. In order to focus entirely on the solving of their problem, the florist recognized for the first time that strategists often had to remove the element of life from the equation in order to properly assess their plans without emotion clouding their choices. She could feel that urge pressing her thoughts as she listened to -c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : Sevasti and nodded gently. The tea offered by the kind Advisor was taken graciously by the Fallon girl, who cradled its warmth with trembling hands. Lifting a spoon to stir in a bit of cream, the metal on porcelain rung under the speaking tones and murmurations of the group. Wrath's last words hung on her thoughts as he rejoined them, and the petite nelipot considered the combined input as she sipped at the delicate edge of her teacup. It was then that Daveigha concluded her silence. With piqued interest, Isolde sat the cup at its saucer and turned her attention to the Fiend. Not understanding the ties between each of the people in the room, save for those of some familial thread, the hesitation at Wrath's new mantle was lost on her. Daveigha's internal dialogue was a complete mystery to the withy florist, but she did notice the subtle clasp of hands Sevasti offered to the Demonness in support. There was far more underlying the scene than she realized, but it only underscored the-c

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : importance of learning her new family's histories. Listening patiently as Wrath's aunt addressed him, Isolde felt the gravity of that aurate gaze. Her saccharine smile was loaded with emotional tumult-- Isolde could see it. She knew the look for what it was, resonating deeply with its remorseful nature. Her eyes passed briefly to the table, where standing figurines sprawled and two lay toppled. "-We- haven't failed them." she offered in support of her beloved. The emphasis of her phrasing indicating that she felt the demons were to blame, though it may have implied Drenai's guilt as well. "But we will avenge them." she offered, finger tracing the outlines of her lower lip as she leaned over the table. Something distracted her momentarily. A whirring chill passed through the room, and left no evidence other than the appearance of a single acorn. It turned on the table like a small top before coming to a rest. Curiously, the florist reached out to retrieve the small seed. ]

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : left no evidence other than the scent of the forest and the appearance of a single acorn*]]

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : Like a chilly wash of awareness, the Soothsayer froze where she sat next to Daveigha, their hands interlaced. Suddenly the room was loud with noise, a vibration of voices and impulses, warnings and threats and untold fears, and mingling with it all, the taste of pomegranates spreading across her unprepared tongue. For a moment, Sevasti said nothing, content to appear as though the room were her sole focus, and yet that sudden awareness, that dischordant -chime- that was inescapable, like the epileptic scratch of teeth across her skull. Isolde was speaking over the noise, and the Soothsayer looked toward her, nodding in silence, agreeing with the Florist's assessment of matters as they stood, but unable to rid herself of the deep thrill and dread of the sensations spreading through her as she sat so close to the Fiend, holding her hand, her grip tightening by the most subtle measure. "Your response should be vastly disproportionate to the offense," -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- the ivory creature murmured softly, barely hearing herself over the din, sounding distracted, troubled somehow. "I hope you can forgive me, but I have to take my leave. Prince-Regent, Princess, Sir Thrace," then turning her head to regard the Fiend, the promise of fealty burning on her lips even still, "Lady. We'll speak soon." Rising, she let the Fiend's hand go and turned away toward the doors without waiting to be dismissed, reaching for her face, the backs of her fingers coming away bloodied, her nose blooming with crimson as the noise peaked again before ebbing into relief...she needed to be alone. She needed to be somewhere safe. Somewhere guarded. Suddenly she wished for her brother, feeling him nearby in the infirmary...the infirmary? What could possibly-? Eleuthera was wounded...it cut through her ribs like an unexpected knife, chilling her to the core...what had befallen them in the city below? -c-

Sεναsτı·Cryтιĸos : -c- Staunching her nose, the Soothsayer leaned on the wall for a moment before rounding the corner out of the War Room, taking a handful of her featureless, straight-lined gown in her bony fist and walking quickly back toward her chambers, uncertain what the terrible cacophony in her head meant just yet, but as more and more voices whispered in the edges of her awareness, it was beginning to come clear...Aabel had awakened...Aabel was here...and she never knew her husband's moods or mental state. She needed to prepare...to think...to plan. -d-

Εʀzαbεт·тнε·Sαтyʀ has joined the conversation.

∆_Veshtine_∆ : wb)

Εʀzαbεт·тнε·Sαтyʀ : Am I late to the party?))

∆_Veshtine_∆ : only fashionably)

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : It's always a party when Erza is here]]

Εʀzαbεт·тнε·Sαтyʀ : *busts out the mescal and the blow*))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : *Eyes widen with glee*))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : We've talked about this.))

∆_Veshtine_∆ brings the shrooms and herbage...)

Εʀzαbεт·тнε·Sαтyʀ : Drenai is gone. Does that mean I can do a line off of his study sink?))

Εʀzαbεт·тнε·Sαтyʀ : I've been dying to do that.))

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : As soon to be Princess, I give permission.]]

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : We can ask for forgiveness later.]]

ლ{ಠ益ಠლ} : Drenai (much later): 'Why does washing my face feel really, really good suddenly?" ))

Jαƌϵ·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Drenai say the word and I can make the princess look like an accident )

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : ....]]

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : *real quick calls Daveigha*]]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : I'll rip your face off and wear it like a mask in front of you.))

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : 🤓

Sir_Thrace_Daighan : Make the princess look like an accidental birth...? Or something else?))

Jαƌϵ·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Okay. )

Aᴀвᴇʟ·Dʀᴀɢoʀᴀн has left the conversation.

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Jade, I am playing!))

Jαƌϵ·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Me too Dav XD )

Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Play nice children. Rofl. ]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : You don't even go to this school anymore.))

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : You're not my dad!]]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Shoo.))

Ðᴙϵɴαı·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : I'm about to be. ]

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : ..well, not -technically-.]]

Jαƌϵ·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Besides that would be an interesting conversation. DAD DAD YOUR FUCKING SISTER STOLE MY FACE! )

Âññ䤣ŷňňĕ has joined the conversation.

Wαяyk·Vαskαяis : Drenai is daddy to many. ]

Isᴏʟᴅᴇ▪Fᴀʟʟᴏɴ : Welcome, Anna]]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : *chokes*))

Wαяyk·Vαskαяis : Axe Daddy. ]

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Welcome!))

Wαяyk·Vαskαяis : ^_^ ]

Âññ䤣ŷňňĕ : thanks )

Jαƌϵ·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : -coughs- )

Fᴀᴜsᴛ : Welp, Ima go get high.))

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∆_Veshtine_∆ : That seed, was wound about with traceries of power that was devoid of good or ill.  Like the life it flowed from, it simply was.  Warmth flowed from those energies, and a subtle serenity like that found at the center of a sacred grove.  There was no reaction as the princess' fingers made contact, beyond that subtle warmth, as if it had been held in the hand of another just moments before.  Meanwhile, the druid sat utterly still, his eyes gazing at the images that filled his >>

∆_Veshtine_∆ : mind's eye.  He felt as much as heard the voice, soft as the breeze moving through the needles of the larch that towered over his hovel.  -Come to me, your path begins at the center-  His eyes blinked once and in that moment, the acorn would crack and fall apart revealing a sprig of mistletoe wrapped about a silver ring.  This was the mark of his order, though such knowledge might no be common among those in the war room.  <<

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : :: The Prince-Regent knew that his impulsiveness could be his downfall but Wrath also understood that the citizens of the Realm needed to see their leaders act and do so decisively. While he’d reluctantly agreed to not rush off in vain only to be confronted by the macabre truth, it didn’t mean that Wrath would stand idle either. “I will heed your council, ladies and gentlemen. This meeting has been adjourned.” Declaring that Wrath had now had his full of this. They could deliberate all day, or they could do something about it. Which meant different things for them each. While he respected those here, the broad-shouldered warrior was deep in thought until he concluded that there were other methods at his disposal. Namely the portals overseen by the Crystal Queens. >>

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Aᴀвᴇʟ·Dʀᴀɢoʀᴀн has joined the conversation.

Cαsιм·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : Aabel.))

Ɯɍλτн·Ɗϵɑτђsταᴌᴋϵᴙ : >> Making small talk with the individuals concerned until the Emperor’s son had the opportunity to make as discrete an exist as a seven-foot warrior ever could, the leviathan in steel strode with purpose into the courtyard. Whistling as Sleipnir trotted across the cobblestone with excellent timing. Named after Odin’s legendary mount, some speculated if it was the actual horse itself. The gruff figure running his hand down the length of the stallion before affixing a saddle. “There’s a portal in the Blackwood. We’ll ride through the night. I need to see them.” Referring to the bodies. Confiding only in the white charger, such had been his angst that he’d been unable to prevent this tragedy. Lifting a hood over his grizzled features, the cowl covering his face. The lone Prince trotted out through the gates of the keep. ::