Adventures of Caelereth

Archives => The Palace => Topic started by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 01, 2010, 07:36:17 PM



Title: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 01, 2010, 07:36:17 PM
The Embassy of Nermeran




A bastion representing northern interests in the capital, with political intrigue and conspiracies hiding in dark corners, and the shifting loyalties and feuding sides of the upper classes, the Embassy of Nermeran is not a simple place to work.

Not with old soldiers with old secrets, poisoned masks and brawling masquerades, drunks and spies, the mystery of the 31st man, and a murderer calling himself 'the Boatman' seeking the pain of his enemies. The shadows are coming out to play....







Prologue

Happy Jack...


Date: 24th Singing Bird.


Ah, New Santhala, city of kings, well technically, one king, but this tale does not really concern him anyway. This tale is the tale of Mister Oz Jackstrum, currently the happiest man in the capital. And yes, he had just been kicked out the Courtyard again for unruly behaviour towards other customers. But Oz was sure that Nahrvil would let him back in, in an hour or so maybe. Till then he just had to wait, be patient and stay out of trouble.

Oz got into trouble all the time, but he blamed this fact on the society he lived in. How could any man stay sober and orderly when taverns lined the streets of this sweet city? The nasty mixture of stingo and scumble slid happily down into his tummy to battle it out within his guts. It was this same deadly combination that then, moments later, appeared on the cobbles. But this didn’t put him off his happiness either.

No, this was a beautiful night; the moon was shining, glistening against the cobblestones; though these were rather marred by Mr Jackstrum’s own contribution to the romantic scene. Being sick,, sadly, has never been thought romantic. But this didn’t put Oz off, no, he was going to pull himself up and enjoy this night! He was going to live in the moment, be grateful for what he had, and do anything else that you have to do in order to be happy. Pick flowers, dance with women, have sex. That sort of thing.


“Right, Jackstrum,” The joy-incarnate chirruped drunkenly to himself, “Let’s try to keep it in next time, not good for your rep, not at all....Now where next?...The river! Nice place to take a piss if you pardon me language ladies and gentlemen...”

The rotund man waddled down towards the river, singing bits of songs stuck together,
“There’s none like Rover Nan!....I was just a lil’ boy...big carriage bed...”

“Some with bald heads...”

Jackstrum had reached the river, and was busily battling with his belt buckle...

"dwarf ale and whisk-way..."

Snap.

Oz’s head shot up, staring out into the hallow dark that surrounded him. Even in his muddled state he knew that he’d heard a sound.  The riverside docks were a rather dangerous place to be. Remembering this fact, suddenly Mr Jackstrum felt a lot more sober.  He did what any ordinary soul does in this situation, “Hello?...Hellooo!?”

Silence.

Oz huffed at his own silly imagination and got back to trying to unfasten his belt buckle, putting all paranoid notions of murderers and villains out his mind.

Thus, he didn't like it when the darkness behind him started to talk, “Hello, sorry I-“
“-Ahhh! Demon! Thief! Pirate! Blooming Rover  Nancy! What in the gods!” With surprising agility Jackstrum sprang round to see a well-dressed man sitting on a cargo box. “What the hell?!” Oz took a few steps back, getting dangerously closer to the edge of the dock. “Don’t kill me! I’ve got no bloody money me!  I’ve got nothing, leave me be if you have any mercy-“
“-As I said I was going to say.” The figure spoke firmly. “I’m sorry, for surprising you. I was sitting here in quiet study and self thought. Then you just walk up, smelling of rotten fruit, and, frankly, I didn’t want to have to witness you urinate.”

The man got up from his box and walked out the dark shadow he’d been hiding in, into the moonlight. Able to see his appearance, Jackstrum realised that he wasn’t a murderer or a mugger.

He looked friendly, neat and kind. The man wore a neat navy uniform, perhaps from the military or government. A handsome smile greeted him. He didn’t look too old, at the most in his late twenties. Vivid short red curls framed a pale face with sharp cheekbones and pale blue eyes. The palest blue Oz had ever seen, in the moonlight they almost shone. Yet it was as if Oz had seen them before....his brain was still fuzzy, his memory not currently accessible, yet he would was sure he’d seen eyes like those before.

Oz studied him, trying to rack his memory, as the man slowly went and sat down at the edge of the dock, his feet dangling over the side. The way he walked, the way he held himself, the stranger seemed so familiar. “Sorry to disturb you, I just like to come here to think sometimes. About the meaning of life, happiness, that sort of thing.”

Oz snorted to himself and haphazardly managed to plonk himself down next to his new friend. What happy drunken night wasn’t filled with the attempted discussion of serious things? In this happy mood, Oz felt he could answer any problem eloquently. “....Meaning of life?! Utter bullocks. What’s that got to do with living? You’re problem son, is that you’ve been doing too much thinking, not enough bloody living. Leave this ‘meaning of life’ shite to the gods. Living’ll honour them better.”

“....You know you are probably Santharia’s greatest philosopher.” The young man chuckled, “It’s very sad that you’re also its least known and least sober one.” This seemed to cause him to laugh hysterically. Maybe he too was drunk. Or mad. Or a bit of both. His laugh was also familiar to Oz, but he still couldn’t place it...something to do with the Heaths of Jervais, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember why.

The red haired man suddenly stopped laughing, and whispered, “A man is dead,”

"It's now been nearly two months, his name was Arnurd Fruwee, Ambassador of Vardynn. I work at one of the embassies, I was acquaintances with him. Do you know what his last words were? He said he’d come back as a cat. Imagine, of all the dramatic statements he could have spoken, those were his last words.”

“Well, at least its original, most famous people say something poncy and swarmy.”

“Do you believe he was happy when he died?”

 “Oh. Well...it depends. Speaking as an expert, Happiness, is a very complicated business. Money does not equal happi-”
“- but poverty doesn’t equal happiness either....-”
“-Oi! I’m talking. Now, take me for example, today I lost my job as equerry for mi’lord, something about letting the kids stroke the horses...” Jackstrum’s flabby face fell slightly as he remembered. “Now, you’d think that’d make me sad. But no!” He pointed a stubby finger determinedly into the air, as if angry at the gods themselves.  “You see! I’m not letting it get to me!”

The young man wasn’t listening to Oz’s drunken speech. Instead he appeared to be thinking to himself, his glassy pale eyes staring up at the moon.

 “I’ve killed people.”

Jackstrum froze, confused and slightly worried that perhaps he actually was sitting next to a crazy murderer. You can’t really reply to a statement like that.

The red haired man stayed silent for a while, then suddenly carried on his whispered confession, “I was a soldier once. I thought I could be heroic, I joined up, to fight the orcs up north, became a squire in the Order-”

Something in Oz’s mind clicked, “Armeros's teeth...you’re Herrick Quinn’s boy, aren’t you?”

Herrick’s son turned and gazed at Oz. He looked surprised, as if scared by Jackstrum’s revelation. “How do you know that?”


“I worked for your father before he died, looking after his horses on his estate in the Heaths of Jervais.” Grinning, he held out a sweaty hand. “My name’s Oz Jackstrum.”

The young man turned pale as he shook his hand, “I remember you...“

Oz grinned, hugging him wholeheartedly; the redhead flinched as he was forced to smell the rotten apple smell up close. “Can’t believe it, what a thing! For us to run into each other like this, bloody hell, must be Seyella’s doing! You look just like your dad, just like him! Same eyes! You act like him too, it’s almost spooky! You didn’t use to act like him! I’m sure you’ve changed your hair...How is everyone? Is Sandie still housekeeper? She had a soft spot for me...”

“I haven’t been back to my father’s estate in nine years.”

The old horse master frowned, “Nine years?!...Well what about the others, Horatio Lovett? He drove the carriage for your father... Guy Grissom? He used to help out in the stables...shovelling shit... those were the days...the estate was like a community, your Lord would look after you, not like this new nobles who don’t-”

Sploosh.

Oz hit the dark water hard.

The round man floundered in the deep water,  “Quinn! I can’t swim!”  He struggled as salty water ran down into his lungs, confused as to why the red haired man just watched him with watery eyes and a blank frozen expression on his face. With widening eyes, Jackstrum watched as a heavy cargo box followed down after him.

Guillemot Quinn straightened his uniform, keen steely eyes scanning the area for signs of life. Not even the shadows dared move. Certain that he was safe, he left, hoping that the splash marks on his clothes would dry on the walk home.

His wife would hopefully have gone to bed. He’d sleep in the spare room. Tomorrow he'd ask the gardener to pick some flowers; he'd send them as condolences to the Fruwee family.

The body would probably be found the next day, but they would just think it was another drunken man who accidently fell into the water.

Poor happy Oz Jackstrum just disappeared from the world.



Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 03, 2010, 02:50:24 PM
Chapter One

Invitations and Condolences

Date: 25th Singing Bird.


Morning broke and the city woke to a new day, same as the day before. The city guard pulled a body out the water. A local tradesman identified the man as Oz Jackstrum the horse master, he was just an ordinary man, who had lost his job, drank too much and fell in the river. The capital did not stop for the death of one man who was of little consequence to the world. No one wondered how a drunk could ever have pushed such a heavy cargo box down with them as they fell…..

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

In a small office of the Nermeran Embassy, Guillemot Quinn sat and stared at the blank scroll in front of him. He paused for a moment, dipped his quill in his ink pot and elegantly wrote a few sympathetic lines,

To my new colleague and friend,

Urg. Far too personal a writing style. He crossed it out and started again on a new page,

To his Lordship, Kembar Fruwee,

I send my sincerest condolences to you and your family on your loss. Your uncle was a worthy ally and a true friend. Too few possess just a small amount of his good sense, judgment, and dignity.

Yours sincerely,

In one careful motion he forged his boss’ signature.

Belenos Tristram
 
Ambassador Belenos Tristram was sadly the human equivalent of a battering ram, this was good for laying waste to orcs, but not so suitable for Tristram’s current position. Thus, Guillemot Quinn, the Nermeran embassy’s Castellan, was often required to become extra diplomatic on his employer’s behalf. The Ambassador had ordered the arrest of his last personal secretary, thus Guillemot was also filling in that role as well till an adequate candidate was found.

Most in his situation would long for more ambitious options, perhaps even dreaming of being ambassador themselves. Yet the current castellan wished to go no further. Being behind the throne seemed to hold much more opportunities for influence than one would think. It meant that he could write this letter to the new Vardynn Ambassador and express his own views of the deceased, instead of his employer’s opinion, which had been expressed with the words, “About bloody time!”

Quinn finished the letter and started flicking through a few trade negotiation reports. Most people found this kind of work boring, but Guil relished it. It took his mind off other things. He settled down to read a report on the Stormcloaks Guild, and, without looking up, spoke to the figure sneaking up behind him, “Hello Dorian.”

The man named Dorian grumbled, “Gods damn it, Guil how’d you know it was me…”

“You sneaked in through the window, letting in a draught. The room felt slightly colder….sorry but can you take off your shoes? The maids keep complaining about the amount of mud on the carpet….”

The skinny man snarled slightly, but proceeded to take off his cheap worn leather boots before sliding lazily down into the soft chair across from Quinn. “I talked to one of the healers themselves, he says that its unlikely that Old Fruwee’s death was murder. “

Dorian Noone was what the embassy termed a ‘diplomacy and information envoy’. The former criminal had been a terrible thief and an even worse assassin. However what Mr Noone did have was a talent for watching people, and this is what he did for a living. He followed nobles and guards, ambassadors and dignitaries, and he just watched, so unmoving that birds often roosted in his hair.

It’s said that there are always a few bad seeds in a pickle, and Dorian just waited for people to reveal the ‘bad seeds‘, which he then reported back to Quinn. The spy had known the castellan for several years, the two could even be considered friends. That’s if people like them have friends.

“How is Moriah?“

Quinn yawned, “I can report to you that my wife is perfectly healthy, sadly I haven’t spoken to her recently, I was…late coming home from work last night, so I slept in the spare bedroom-”

“-You and her still having trouble conceiving then?”

No reply came. Just a chilling silence. Dorian suddenly felt prickles on the back of his neck, his natural instincts kicking in, warning him he’d crossed a line. Dorian was someone who could tell by their expression when a man was suffering from troublesome bowel movements, or when a woman had her moon cycle. And yet, at this moment, he couldn’t read the look on his friend’s face. It felt unnerving, like a scholar who had suddenly become illiterate. Perhaps it was time to change the subject.

 “Anyways…..I was bored so I followed Corrigahn, he’s at it again, I don’t know where he finds the time, or the energy, he appears to spend more time horizontal than vertical, and I’ll tell you this; the woman getting pleased is never Mrs Corrigahn.” For extra emphasis, he waggled his eyebrows.

Quinn wrinkled his nose and carried on reading about the effect of piracy on trade in the Adanian Sea. “Dorian, I don’t pay you to gossip.”

The spy didn’t seem to notice and carried on, “And I don’t like this new bodyguard they have, Drea Corfuyne, she looks in dark corners when most people let them pass by. I’m going to have to be careful while hanging around her. Aeris, on the other hand, wouldn’t spot me if I was dancing on his nose naked. Too obsessed with reaching high places, not that he can reach any higher with those short stubby arms of his…”

The castellan’s cold blue eyes stopped reading and fixed themselves on Dorian. “Did you just say, Corfuyne?”

“Yup, that’s her name, Drea Corfuyne, she’s very enjoyable to watch, highlight of my day, though sadly they had the curtains drawn.” The dark haired man winked.

The castellan said nothing, letting Dorian’s lewd comments pass him by, as wheels turned in his mind, It can’t be, did he have a daughter?

The ratty haired spy got up and pulled on his boots again, “Well, I’ll see ya later, I’m popping by to the Courtyard, going to see Ruje.” The man grinned showing yellowish teeth. “Wanna come? You can’t stay cooped up in here all the time you know. Ain’t healthy. You got to get out and start living your life sometime.”

For a brief moment his friend’s face showed a slight change in expression, that a careful reader of faces might, after a lucky guess, conclude to be ‘sadness’. Guil shook his head, “Go, I’ve got a meeting with the ambassador….”

Dorian shrugged and legged it out the window, calling back gleefully, “Have fun!”




The castellan found the ambassador in his large office, unlike his own small room; it had a view of the river and was lined with the ambassador’s personal collection of military weaponry from his younger years.

“Good morning, m’lord, I’ve looked over the ne-” Quinn didn’t even have time to mention the damage of piracy on their trading partners, before the ambassador interrupted him.

“-So what you think of this new cursed Vardynn ambassador? Another Fruwee! His own nephew! You can tell that the boy obviously has got no talent himself, just gets the job due to his bloody uncle! Hah! And I thought the Thane of Vardynn had better taste…”

“The Armourlord's calling comes through the sword.”

Lord Tristram’s brow wrinkled in confusion, “Come again?”

“I’m reserving my opinion till the man proves his worth, or lack of worth for that matter, m’lord. Though…it should be noted that he would prove a useful ally, his family’s multiple connections with the Circle league are valuable alone. Very valuable indeed, it is said that he possesses several members of the Fallen’s Council as his allies.”

“He does, does he?” The ambassador’s eyes gleamed with the shine of a potential opportunity. “So, you think I should send him an invite?”

Every year Belenos held a party celebrating the day of his appointment to ambassadorship. The scroll invitations were written in kowyn gold ink and were tied with dark blue silk ribbons and feathers. Guillemot himself considered this a bit ‘vulgar’ but was wise to never voice this opinion in front of the man sitting in front of him.

Quinn paused, knowing that there was no good time to say what he was about to suggest. Lord Tristam was an angry man by nature; the man could compete with volcanoes when it came to pure fuming rage. The castellan chose his words carefully; the wrong ones would cause him to erupt.

 "M'lord...don't you think that perhaps....we should cancel the party, I know it’s only a week away, but under the circumstances it might be seen as a bit callous..."

Belenos huffed and signed the endless stack of letter and scolls even more viciously, his quill almost scrapping through the paper.

"Cancel? I don't see why not. It's my damn party! I haven't died, so we should carry on. This new damn ambassador of Vardynn can even be the guest of honour!"

"But will he come, m'lord? Seeing as his uncle just died..."

"Won't come? Won't come? So he’s too bloody good to come my party? A damn insult! He'd be breaking a friendship between Nermeran and Vardynn that has lasted centuries! Oh he better had come or I'll bloody-" Scrip. "Damn!" The ambassador cursed as his quill made a hole in a letter to the Duke of Nyermersys. "Quinn, get me a new quill! This one's too pointy!"

The castellan sighed and handed the ambassador a new quill from the sideboard, "I'll send out the invites then...perhaps Ambassador Fruwee's can be sent along with our letter of condolence?"

Unfortunately Belenos Tristam didn't have the right mind for sarcasm. "Yes, sounds about right, kill two birds with one stone!" Scrip. “Damnation! Quinn, get me another coor-ridden quill!”

“Yes, m’lord.” Replied the castellan, already making his way back to the pot of quills on the sideboard.

“And send an invitation to Lord Valdimarr of Ephirn as well, sure he’s practically got no land himself, but I hear he’s gaining influence in the Order. Didn’t you train together in the Order when you were young? You must know him well?”

“Yes, m’lord, I suppose I do.”

Guillemot looked out of the window, taking in the view of the river. It didn’t look so bleak and sinister during the day.
--------------------------------------------------------


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 05, 2010, 03:08:59 PM
Chapter 2

Maskerades and murder plots



Lord Belenos Tristram, ambassador of Nermeran, cordially invites you to celebrate with him at the Maskerade Ball, on 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans....

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



For most the year, the Nermeran Embassy Assembly rooms hibernated quietly, the furniture covered in sheets, the staircase blanketed in a thick layer of dust. Untouched and undisturbed it slumbered in the dark.

          
          Then suddenly the doors would be unlocked. The cleaners, the carpenters, the dusters, the maids, the stonemasons, the servants and the sweepers would all descend. The shutters would be opened, light pouring in through large open balcony windows, fresh air escaping into the musty space. Opulent silvery grey curtains would be removed from their hiding places in the attics and dusted off. Chandeliers would be polished till they shone, hung up with care, floating above the space below like second suns. The deep swirling marble blue floor would be revealed from under its protective cover, swept and polished till it gleamed, till light danced across it like reflections in the water.


          The Maskerade Ball was coming.


          The venue, the Assembly Rooms, awoke from its dusty days of non-use, and took flight like a butterfly. In its glory, the room was truly a wonder to behold. The pride of the embassy, with a swirling marble floor like an ocean, and a dark blue ceiling like a midnight sky, silver stairs painted across it, referring to the Erpheronian Kings and Queens of old, dotted across the ceiling to depict the constellations of the gods. The walls were swaved in golden and silver banners of the king and of the province of Nermeran. Mirrors hid between drapes of luxurious colourful fabrics, making the room seem even more epic in proportions. Curtains of delicate silks divided up the cards room, the dining room, and the dance hall with its majestic staircase of black polished marble, which dominated the room with its mountain-like presence. Small glass ornaments of sickles and suns, hung from the ceiling.


          Within a few days, the place was transformed from a lifeless shell into a living fantasy. A symbol of Nermeran’s power and culture. These were Erpheronians and they were going to damn well show off with everything they got. Lord Belenos Tristram wasn’t going to scrimp on anything.


          The embassy had been stockpiling the food and drink for several months. Merchants were sent out to the far reaches of the world. Golden rain crops were harvested, the finest bakers in Nermeran were sent for. A bounty was advertised for anyone who could bring back the fresh meat of a giant kraken. Smelly cheeses and fruits of the exotic were imported into the city in heavy carts. Hundreds of barrels of various alcohol and liquors, from Leithe to Mil'no Fire, were stored down in the cellars. Whales, boars, wargs, deer and blackhog were slaughtered. The chief spit roaster of the embassy fainted in the line of duty after working for too long. Chefs and cooks flitted through the kitchens, preparing to their guests, shouting out orders.


          Maids and servants scurried about the corridors, carrying linen and glasses, candles and cutlery. The housekeeper was at her wit’s end, whatever she did, something always was forgotten, something always went wrong. And then she would descend and give a talking to whoever’s fault it was that there wasn’t enough linen. Demanding to know the answer to why there was pig fat on the marble flooring or why the drapes had caught fire from one of the candles.


          Hopefully all her hard work and handiwork would go unseen, all the mistakes, blood, sweat, tears and screaming would undoubtedly remain hidden from the public. The hundreds of people, polishing glasses, dusting paintings, cleaning the entrance steps, baking bread, lining the white linen tables with food, they would go unseen, they would be unrecognised. Even the poor servant who was stuck following the ambassador’s dog around, making sure the creature didn’t scratch, bite, nibble, lick, pee or poop on anything valuable-which meant everything-, he too would remain unnamed and unacknowledged.


          Yet more people were required to serve and wait on the guests, dressed up in simple blue uniforms and white masks around their eyes. Even more extravagant were the costumes of the entertainers, with sparkling outfits and masks of various shapes bursting with feathers of various shimmering shades.  


          With the busy tense atmosphere inside the walls of the embassy, the performers were forced to practise in the embassy gardens. Jugglers could be seen walking about blindfolded as they flung knives into the air. Dancers stretched their limbs and warmed up amongst the rose gardens. Tailors ran about amongst flowers, adding finishing touches to the costumes.


          The master of revels had a panic attack when the contortionist went missing. An unobservant servant had come across her prop box with her secretly practising inside and had accidently carried her into a broom cupboard, locking the cupboard as he left, leaving the contortionist inside. To escape, the poor woman had had to climb through a tiny window onto the roof.



          The days counted down till there was only hours left.


          An acrobat covered in dark red feathers, twisted and dived above the staircase, practising their act, suspended by only a silk rope. In one corner an old fortune teller waited to beckon guests to sit with her. Musicians tuned their instruments.


          The day was reaching into the Guardorans, night was setting in, and a trail of torches was lit in two lines leading to the entrance.


          A queue of carriages soon lined the drive. Guests alighting, greeted by footmen who took their capes and cloaks, their horses and carriages were taken away to the tables by the grooms.


          Soon the embassy rooms were teeming with party-goers, dressed up in all their finery, the air thick with laughter and gossip, waiters gliding through the crowds carrying trays laden with glasses of wine and silver mugs of ale. Oohs and aahs could be heard, as they watched the acrobats spinning above them, the dancers twirling on their tiptoes and the fire breather blowing flames out his mouth like a dragon.


          The guests varied from rich young merchants to old moneyed noblemen. Erpheronians and Eyelians , Shendar and Seyelites, the crowd was a mixed cauldron of all manner of tribes and races, with elves, human and dwarfs scattered about the room. Young men betted and gambled in the Card Room, waited on by green feathered waitresses, while in the Dining Room, women in fashionable dresses and the most elegant of masks, gossiped as they nibbled on oya nuts and peppered hearthberries. In the Dance Hall, their names were announced as they descended down the dark black stone staircase, to be greeted by the ambassador himself, Lord Belenos Tristram.


           The man wore a large black mask with a long hooked nose and black feathers, grinning at his guests and shaking their hands with vigour. No matter what disagreement he had with them, no matter what feuds they held, this was a social occasion and therefore somehow politeness was called for. Tomorrow he would curse and yell at the gods to smite the bleeding traitors and weasels; tonight he would be friends with everyone.


           Ambassadors of various provinces, generals and captains of different orders, all descended down the stairs and exchanged pleasantries with the ambassador. A huge hush filled the hall as the Santhran himself arrived and everyone turned to look as the announcer called out the name of His Majesty, Santhran Tiandor of House Salazath. The noble king wore a simple mask, which on close inspection was made of mithril. Santhran Tiandor, and his exceedingly large entourage, descended the stairs to be greeted by the ambassador of Nermeran before he too let himself become part of the crowd, with some guests clambering for just a glimpse of him.


           Watching as the Santhran himself got lost in the crowd, Belenos Tristram grinned to himself, proud and puffed up at the amount of people that had come. Looking around he wondered why his bloody Castelan hadn’t turned up yet, and what time his guest of honour would grace them with his presence.


          Just at that moment, the announcer announced the arrival of Lord Kembar Fruwee, Ambassador of Vardynn.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Drea on February 06, 2010, 09:07:40 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

Drea was uncomfortable.  Her dress was too big, not in the fitting, but in the flowing, with a large skirt puffed out with whalebone hoops and at least half a dozen petticoat layers.  And it was too modest, covering her chest well above her cleavage, the sognastheen satin fabric draping off her shoulders with lace accents.  This was not her style.  She wanted to wear something a little more body hugging; something with a drop down bodice where she could show off her bosom, maybe a high cut slit on the skirt for her shapely legs.  But, Lady Tylannah had almost fainted when Drea first presented herself to the lady and immediately sent her personal seamstress to alter one of Tylannah's pre-pregnancy dresses to fit Drea.  To this, they added the indignity of wearing a small mask with the green feathers of the Gossiper bird.

In truth, she did not want to come here at all, but Aeris had insisted on it.  She was to watch over the lady, while Corrigahn protected Fruwee.  Oh, goody.  A night with a gaggle of gossipy hens.  If she had to attend this bloody thing, at least Aeris could have done was assign her to the ambassador himself.  But no.  He was still grumpy over not being invited, so he wanted to ruin her night as well.  The ass!  The short hobbity sized ass!

She stood on the grand staircase, two paces behind the ambassador and lady as they were announced to the crowd.  Kembar Fruwee was resplendent in a tunic of a bright white colour, with the Erpheronian coat of arms embroidered in red thread on the breast.  His small eye and nose covering mask was tied to his head with a bright red ribbon, and was a simple red ceramic mask with red feathers sprouting out from above each eye.  His wife wore a pretty injohue dress that showed off her protruding belly as if it were an accessory of the outfit itself.  Her large mask was far more lavish than her husbands, a white full faced mask of ivory that she held in place by a small ivory stick that it was attached to.  Long purple and blue feathers drape down from the mask, acquired from the Blue Glitra bird.

Fruwee greeted each person with humility and graciousness, careful to promise each noble a meeting sometime in the coming months, and flattery each of their wives, but finessing his way out of talking hard politics by telling each of them that he still had not settled into his role yet.  Each handshake was accompanied by a "Thank you, yes, my uncle was a great man" or a "Yes, my uncle spoke highly of you and I'm sure that we shall be able to continue that relationship".  It was an automated response to automated greetings.  One would have to search hard to find one honest sentiment in the entire room.

Tylannah Fruwee was experiencing the exact same thing.  "Oh, I'm due in a few short weeks" or "Thank you, my seamstress is a gem, and may I say that you look beautiful as well" were the words that flowed from her to each of the ladies that circled her, each trying to get to know her a bit better and be the first to claim her into their small circle of confidants.  Wives, especially in the theatre of politics, were sometimes the most important of information gatherers.

Drea noted that with Tylannah, that the ambassadors wife seemed almost genuine in her dealings with the others.  Was she that good an actress, or that naive?  Drea reached out and took a crystal glass off a tray that a butler carried as he passed her.  She smelled it, then took a tiny sip.  Expensive.   She wasn't even sure what kind of wine it was.  Beyond her usual budget limitations.

"You sure you should be drinking?  You're supposed to be protecting our Lady."

Drea nearly jumped as the voice whispered into her ear from close behind her.  Her hand went to her hip to grab at her ephord, but it was not there.  Recognizing the voice, she relaxed somewhat, but did not turn around.  "Shouldn't you be a little closer to the ambassador?"  She grunted in frustration.  "Besides, how am I supposed to protect her when I can't even wear my swords?  At least you got to wear yours."

Corrigahn shrugged.  "I've got him in my sights.  As for a weapon, yes, I can wear my sword because I've been to a dozen of Tristram's balls over the years.  You?  Nobody knows who you are yet, so no one trusts you.  Besides, I bet if I checked you close enough, I'd find a weapon in that dress somewhere."  He let his hand travel over her back, running down toward her bottom.

Drea turned around and took hold of his hand in a quick movement that twisted one of his fingers backwards at a painful angle.  Oh, she had a weapon in there alright.  Her dagger was strapped to the inside of her thigh, though it would take ten minutes to try and dig out from under all these damn petticoats.  "Why don't we both just stick to doing our jobs?"

"Ahh ahh ahh," Corrigahn grimaced while laughing.  Getting his finger back, he rubbed it to get the circulation flowing once more.  "Look, I want to see you, again.  You look incredible tonight.  How about after this shin dig ends, we meet up at my apartment?"

Drea smiled demurely and slowly traced her fingertip over the line of his jaw, admiring his good looks beneath his mask.  "Fine.  You go there and wait, and if I'm not there by Shadowleave, start without me."  She blew him a kiss and walked away, getting herself closer to the gaggle of ladies surrounding Tylannah.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Kalína Dalá'isyrás on February 06, 2010, 05:25:25 PM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Daybreak (6AM)

The had a few hours before its grand appearance when the elfess entered the main center of the city of New Santhala, one of the many cities she had visited in her tiring search for her son. Despite the numbers out searching for Ystein and the little boy, nothing had been discovered and it was beyond disheartening for Kalína to hear the lack of good news on a daily basis. Being so depressed was not doing her any good physically or spiritually, and only made her make panicked assumptions about the situation. So upon coming to New Santhala, she was searching for a distraction, even if only temporary until she undertook the search for the elusive Ystein.

A nor'sidian cloak with a deep cowl did well to help cover her insecurities of being in society. She was mostly at a loss when it came to interacting out of her comfort zone, especially since her Tharian left much to be desired as she mixed it with both Stýrash and the language of the Dragons. This mess did more harm than good when it came to asking for aid in cities she felt quite uncomfortable with. Her footsteps were light and shakey upon the ground as she walked, hands clutching her bags so tightly her knuckles were turning white, fearing someone would notice her uneasiness and take advantage of it.

Her walk through the city had given her the opportunity to admire the architecture and reminiscence about her time in the great Draconic Empires and grand Celebration Halls. What she wouldn't give to be back amongst the familiarity and not struggling to keep everything together in this realm. The loss in her first life was tragic, and it had done a significant amount of damage to her disposition, hence her decision to leave the painful memories in the world she no longer felt where she belonged. It wasn't until she had found the unexpected welcoming arms from the Dragons, did her world feel comfortably right once again.


Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Sunblaze (9AM)
Upon her nearly thorough exploration of the city, a few hours later, she had discovered the location of many of the embassies and who was in control of each one. It was also the word on the street about a massive celebration, a Maskarade Ball given by the Nermeran Embassy. The need for entertainers and those with the knowledge and willingness to help in providing the guests with a superb experience, were also noted in the numerous whispers as she walked. A distraction. I must find this Embassy. After a few unsuccessful attempts to ask for directions, mostly due to trouble she had in asking, she was able to make her way in the right direction. Being told she would know the place when she was close, as there would be a mass of people making their way to the Embassy in hopes of being able to entertain the high class guests.

As she had hoped, the wonderful people who had taken the time in struggling to understand her broken Tharian, led her to the correct place. Making her way through the mass of people, she tried to find someone who looked as if they were in charge of something in hopes of applying for a position at the ball, and perhaps a more permanent position while she searched the city. Thankfully, she found a short and quite stout little man, shouting out directions till he was red in the face, to a crowd who was paying him no mind. Her mind went over what she was going to say, and prayed he would understand her well enough.

"Pardon, you do know...applying where for...entertainer?" She winced noticeably at how horrible it sounded. She fear he may think of her as an sick outcast.

Steel blue eyes looked her up and down for a moment, evaluating the cloaked figure with a stern uncertainty, especially since the speech was quite broken.

"Do you have a name, lady?"

"Kalíina Mërénwèn...Sir. Travelled far, searching for son and work."

The man gave her a blank stare as he tried to piece together her words with a bit more inbetween. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before reopening his eyes and examining her once again.

"Can you sing? And do you play an instrument?"

She nodded and pulled out her harp from its bag, showing it to him with confidence. "I play."

The man grunted and motioned her inside the embassy, following in behind her. As she followed him inside, she pushed back the cowl which covered her face. Though she was nearly nine centuries old, you would not believe her to be a day above thirty-two, as she is both an elf and the Dragon's time suspension made her age at half the normal rate once she began her time with them. Hoping the man would guide her to the correct place for her to be, she was dismayed when he just pointed in a general direction, mumbled something, then left to go outside once again. Confused, and more importantly, lost, she began to meander about looking for the proper place for her to be. She put her harp back into its bag and pulled her shoulders back, trying to appear as if she knew what she was doing.then started walking in the general direction the stout little man had pointed, hoping to find another person to help give her more detailed directions.

Of course, in a place bustling with excitement over the coming ball, it was not difficult to find another body willing to provide helpful information on where her place would best be. After entreating several ladies and gentlemen for the directions, she found herself in a garden amongst a wide array of performers: acrobats, musicians, jugglers, comedians, and many more. So much going on, it was as if chaos had taken hold in a place which was supposed to thrive on order. Trying to be as careful as possible, she danced about various performers, avoiding flying knives, legs, and who knows what else. Holding her harp to her chest, she searched for a quiet and solitary place to practice a few tunes before this grand ball was planned to begin. She was unsure of what she would play or sing, but she had no doubt, something beautiful would come to mind as she had collected more than her fair share over the years.

After about twenty minutes of ducking, dodging, watching, dancing, she found a corner empty and beckoning to her. It was a grassy knoll with several rose bushes on two sides. Granted, it wasn't a true corner, but it provided enough seclusion to suit her needs. Nimble fingers gingerly unclasped her cloak and laid it on the grass, followed by her sitting on it for a bit of comfort. Her gown, billowed slightly as she spun to sit, the pale allia and silver trimming complementing her own features almost perfectly. Placing her harp bag in her lap, she lifted the leather flap and carefully removed the ancient instrument from its protective holding. The harp had been a gift from her father many many years ago, and the time it had spent with the Dragons, she swore it had come to possess a variety of enchantments - yet none of them she could adequately prove. Fingers ran along the strings, enjoying the feel of their taut strength and imagining the heavenly tunes it had played. Slowly, her fingertips plucked at each string, creating and animating music, exciting the senses with its sound. It felt good to have the connection once again, and the worries of her life faded as the music flowed stronger.








Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 09, 2010, 04:58:01 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Greyshade (8pm)

A Long Day’s Night…

The home of the Quinn’s wasn’t very fancy or even very noticeable. It sat amongst identical townhouses, mostly habituated by merchants and the like. Guillemot Quinn had chosen it due to how similar it was to Erpheronian architecture. To others, the small shuttered windows and dark stone walls made it feel bleak and fortress-like. To the castellan, it was home.

The man himself sat in his study in his best black waistcoat and shirt. Peering out one of the shutters he saw how dark it was getting. They were going to be late but the man knew how his wife always took this long in getting ready.

The redhead calmly paced to the door and called out into the corridor, “Dorcas? Are you here?”

There was a sound of busy clattering footsteps and a busty stout woman popped out from around a corner, carrying a kettle and an iron. “Yes Mi’lord?”

“Could you go see if my wife is ready, if she refuses to come down, send for me, I’ll talk to her.”

The housekeeper nodded and scuttled away. Guillemot returned to his desk and went back to examining the letter that had arrived only an hour ago by express courier.

Dear Quinn,

You were right to contact me regarding your concerns; I have inquired and the answer is still the same, Lord Ephron of House Corfuyne never did bear any kin, and whatever relatives he did have, they passed away a long time ago. Whoever this women is, she cannot be his relation. Glad to be of service to you,

Yours sincerely,   

Sir Walken Vaulkerek
Knight of the Fallen
The Order of the Cross


Suddenly there was a knock on the door, Dorcas entered with a look of disgust written on her rounded face. “Mi’lord, a Mister Dorian Noone is here to see you.”

Intrigued as to why the envoy would choose to come to his home and invade his privacy, the castellan bid the woman to send him in.

The housekeeper glared at the ragged skinny bloke as she quick marched him down the corridors to the study. No innocent person lets themselves in through the pantry window; especially when they leave dirty footprints all over your clean marble floor. In Dorcas’ world, that surely made him a criminal.

The woman bowed to her employer and let the scum into his study, then left to dust the second floor paintings, leaving the two friends alone in the dim candlelight.

The red haired one patiently waited for his friend to say something, the castellan was not one to start conversations. He preferred to listen.

The dark haired ragged one just stared at him, a suspicious look on his face, his head tilted to one side like a dog’s. After a couple moments of awkward silence, the envoy finally spoke.

Just two words.

“Oz Jackstrum.”

With a completely innocent face, Quinn looked up from the desk and smiled at his friend. “Hmm? Who is that?”
“Please, don’t lie and say you didn’t know him.”
“But, I don’t know of this man, Dorian.” Oh yes, the red-haired man gave a perfect performance of confusion.
“Oh but you do, believe me, I remember! You told me of him while we were stuck out in the Highlands, I remember, you said he worked for your father....He had a wife.”
The red haired diplomat appeared to be little affected by the fact that his victim had had kin. The man just stared out the window at the city. In a quiet and casual whisper, he finally calmly admitted to the act. “It was necessary.”

“Necessary?!” The ratty man snorted, it would have almost been funny if a dead body hadn’t been involved. “Falls and fells, Guil, how can you say that?”

“He knew about Guy. Who knows what he might have realized had he been sober.”

Ah, Guy. Dorian knew that someone it had connected to Guy, it always did. His friend might be a murderer, but at least there was always reason behind the blood on his hands. He might have lost his conscious, but he was still Quinn, the logical, cool-minded strange man he’d always known. Still Dorian couldn’t believe that he’d become this paranoid. With hands hiding his face, the spy sank down onto the nearest soft chair and sighed.

“So…cause he knew Guy, you killed him?” His hands clenched into fists. “That’s it?! Cause of that, you murdered him! Cause of your paranoia at being caught, you killed a man! Kedril Behrns is bloody well looking for the killer right now, you feffin son of a greyler!”
Quinn smiled to himself and carried on with his work. “I don’t think I have to worry about a lowly constable…“
Dorian stared in astonishment at his friend; however it was the next bit of his friend’s speech that frightened him most, “…Dorian, he was just a servant. Nothing more. It is not like as if he was important or any….” His cold blue eyes stared straight at Dorian. “I believe you couldn’t say the same.”
The spy’s features fell, “That was necessary, he’d have killed us all…”
His friend smiled understandingly, and at that moment, Dorian felt only pure hatred for the man, he hated him for reminding him of what he’d done.

Quinn knew all his secrets. It was the thirty-first man, whatever he did; it’d always lead back to the thirty-first man. The criminal couldn’t run away from it. Everyday it’d haunt him.

There was yet another cold silence. The dynamics of the friendship again realigned, Quinn brought up another subject that concerned him.

“Dorian, as much as you hate me right now, we have bigger trouble, Lord Jarl Valdimarr is coming to the ball, he’s probably there right now.”
The criminal head jolted up, “Oh blooming Rover Nancy!”
The castellan just smiled, “Do not worry, he won’t recognize me.” The murderer pulled out an old black mask from a desk drawer.

“Anyway, I have a particular person who is going to look after Valdimarr, he won’t get the chance to talk to anyone or even speak to me.”
Dorian’s eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. “What you mean ‘a particular person’?”
The blue eyed diplomat grinned a handsome smile. “Do you know, my friend, that Ferlin has a dead body hidden in one of the salt barrels in The Courtyard.”
The envoy’s mouth fell open like a gaping fish, the red haired man chuckled a rather unnerving chuckle,
“You haven’t been concentrating hard enough. You’ve let that pretty bodyguard, you’re so fond of, distract you. You haven’t been observing everything that’s been going on. Envoys kept commenting on how Ferlin’s been a bit jittery lately, I was curious, two days ago, I sent Turrell to find out more.”

The chief spy snarled, as if he’d smelt a bad smell. “You sent Turrell, that torturer?”

“He did a better job than you did. The threatening worked, the man broke down instantly. I then sent Turrell to offer a contract to the culprit. We won’t report them if they work for us. I just need you to go to The Courtyard and help poor Ferlin dispose of the evidence.”

The spy reeled; his friend was planning to have someone killed at the ball.

Suddenly Dorian found himself wondering how much he truly knew about Guil. Sure, he knew all his secrets and lies, but they did not make a man. The redhead had hid himself all his life. He’d kept so much back. Who knows how his queer mind ticked? Dorian looked at his friend. If the redhead had put that black mask on right now, the envoy would have recognized him more than this smiling cold bastard before him. His face, with the handsome cheekbones and pale slightly freckled skin, now that was Quinn’s true mask.

"You want me to smuggle a dead body out a public building? I don’t want my head on the block, Guil."

The redhaired man just replied with a look that said “Do you have a choice?“

The spy automatically started to make his way to his preferred exit and entrance to all buildings, the window. “Ok, I’m going, I’ll go help Ferlin.”

The envoy sighed, “Guil, your horse ain’t gonna outrun Lady Death forever. Life is going to catch up with ya sometime. I just hope I’m not there to see it.” He reached the window and clambered out into the slightly chilly spring air, adding one final comment, “Guy wouldn’t have thought him just a servant; Guy would have known that he was more than that.”

Dorian was shocked to see an actual emotional reaction from his red haired friend, probably due to the repeated mention of their fallen comrade.

“Well then, my friend,” The words were spoken with no attempt to hide the anger and spite that lay within them, “Then it is tragic that the man is dead, is it not?”

With that he slammed the shutters behind him, almost crushing the spy’s foot as he left, leaving Quinn again alone in the dark candle lit room. The castellan sighed to himself, "Keep your wits keen til next we meet my friend...."



Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on February 09, 2010, 06:59:13 AM
Date: 27th Singing Bird.

Ylaya walked along the sleepy road from the Courtyard to the Embassy she had been informed about, it was cold and the day was just beginning. She did not expect much or even be aloud in, but she would wait and try her chances. Her cloak shifted as her heavy hood protected her face from the views of nosey people walking down the street. Then she turned to the quickest route she could see to the Embassy in the distance down a back alley.

As she walked, heels clicking on the cobbled back alley her eyes picked up a shadow in the shade of the two walls that flanked the alley.

"Well hello there."
he said to her, knowing that he had just been spotted. He emerged from the shadows as she paused.

From under the cloak she looked at him, did not necessarily seem like much, what did he want?

"I heard a man was killed recently...you know anything about it...Courtyard...quite brutal I heard?" he said with a certain satisfaction in the sense of possessing knowledge she did not know he had.

How did he know about that? she thought as her hand went down to her blade hidden under her cloak.

She looked at him with interest, he could barely see her under the hood and cloak.

"Not much" she said trying to draw off his attention.

"Well...that is not exactly what I heard and what if I were to share this crime with a few people...tell them what I heard"
he said in a smug way.

Her eyes widened, she was shocked, but he was not going to. Quickly she ran at him with speed drawing her blade quickly to pin him against the wall and she took out her other blade holding it across his neck ready to slash his neck open if need be. He struggled but seemed not even be worried, what was he playing at?

"Well, what if I was to kill you then no one would ever know but me?"
she said very strongly.

"Yes, they would...because if I die my contacts would inform the guard for me and you would have no place to hide...or you could hear me out?" he said knowing he had her.

She removed her hood and showed him what she looked like. He was attracted to say the least and smiled. Her long elf ears extended feeling the cool wind.

"O…I see, so that's what he fell for then?"
he said smiling.

This comment amused Ylaya, enough to make him kick him right between the legs with her armoured knee sending him to his knees on the cobbled floor. He breathed heavily, that must have been painful...but it was meant to be.

"What do you want?" she said as she circled him looking round to make sure no one was watching.

He struggled to gain his breath but got up and managed to show a brave face.

"Soon, it is necessary to kill a man...he is called Lord Valdimarr, my client would like him taken care of, at the ball in 2 days time…quietly if possibly"
he whispered to her.

Her ears picked up the cowardice with which he spoke. She looked at him head to toe before providing an answer.

"What are the terms, I kill him and your client keeps my secret?" she said to him as she put her blades back and crossed her arms.

"Yes" he said and he continued "All my client requires is loyalty"

"Fine...but two questions...can I take him out by any means? And where can I contact you after? she said confidently

"Any means, but try not to get caught doing it and the embassy is where you will find my client" he said.

She drew her blade once more and pressed it against his neck, the point drawing a small amount of blood.

"Caught? You don't think a professional like me needs advice off a farm animal like you" she said smirking with a sense of superiority over him. She then put her hood up and walked back to the Courtyard. Turrel moved back to the shadows holding his neck with one hand and his crotch with the other, that had not gone as smoothly as anticipated, but at least he had obtained her employment.

2 days she thought, Time to make some preparations.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 09, 2010, 10:45:30 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

Maskerades and Murderplots...

The ball was going swimmingly as the Quinns arrived, at least half an hour late.

In the Assembly Rooms, friendships were made and lost, scandals were created, and gossip became a form of currency. The drinking, dancing and merry-making seemed to never end. Hundreds of san was being lost and won in the Cards Room, In the Dining Room, waiters weaved amongst the heaving sea of people, quickly replacing drinks and food, providing a neverending flourish for even the most gluttonous and greedy. The entertainers danced and performed in the main hall, using their music and revelry to enthuse the delighted crowds.

“Where the feffin hell have you been Quinn?” Was his employer’s welcome as the castellan met him at the bottom of the grand staircase. The castellan peered around at the crowds, relieved to see that Valdimarr was not yet amongst them. The large and rather drunk ambassador leaned over and whispered, “I’ve forgotten half these people’s names!”

Lord Tristram glared at his new rival, Lord Fruwee, as the young noble was surrounded by a large group of well wishers and supporters. "The cheek, the man comes to my party and takes all the attention...how chivalrous is that?!"

Guillemot sighed and turned to his wife. “I have to advise his Lordship for a moment, and then I promise I will try and enjoy this ball with you.” The woman gave him a wicked smiled in return, making the delicate features on her doll-like face become even more beautiful. “Will you promise to dance with me, Guillemot?”

Moriah Quinn could almost see her husband cringing beneath his black mask. “We will see....”

 “You’re no fun.... “ His wife pouted,“Perhaps I shall go talk to that handsome captain of Vardynn embassy’s personal guard? Now he sounds like fun, a regular Brandivere from what I’ve heard.”
 “You’ll do no such thing.” The castellan’s blue eyes glared at his spouse from beneath his dark mask. The castellan lowered his voice to a whisper, “Anyway, how do you know of Corrigahn’s dalliances?"

His spouse just winked and pretended to hide behind her purple mask with firebird feathers framing its face.

Women.

 Quinn sighed and took the chance to survey his wife’s appearance. Most women were said to be beautiful, but Moriah Quinn was truly regarded as an epic beauty. Dark green eyes shone from her pale oval face, a faint pinkish blush dusted across her cheeks. Since her leaving of Goutonch and her arrival into society, her grace and pose was constantly remarked upon as a paragon of gentility.

However the castellan knew the woman behind the elegant turns and fancy frocks, the woman who possessed a mind like steel. He was continuously amazed by his wife’s knowledge of current affairs and gossip. Quinn had to employ several envoys in order to keep an eye on things. Moriah just listened to the gossip while at luncheon with Lady Kaitrin of Lorehaven. Her way was quicker, less stressful and involved less paperwork.

The redhead made a mental note to tell Dorian to follow the handsome Vardynn captain even more closely.
 
“Ah, Fruwee!” Quinn heard Lord Tristram shout out the Vardynn ambassador’s name. He sighed and followed, wife in tow, as the ambassador made his way to his new rival and best friend; parting the large crowd that surrounded the Vardynn ambassador with his large round barrel-like torso.

The castellan watched, standing a few ped behind, as Tristram shook the young Lord’s hand vigorously; the redhead took the chance to scan the crowd for the mysterious fake Corfuyne. Sadly all the women were dressed the same; unfortunately none were decked out in full armour and weaponry, nothing to give away which one was the bodyguard. No matter, later he’d inquire with the new ambassador about any new staff he’d taken on, then he’d talk to this so-called Corfuyne. The castellan turned his attention back to his employer, who was making his usual boorish remarks with no effort at subtly.

“Lord Kembar Fruwee, welcome to my embassy, if you require anything, don’t hesitate to ask! My, my your wife is very far along isn’t she? Or has she just e-“ From years of previous experience and an almost seer-like sensing of trouble, Quinn quickly jumped in and saved his Lordship.
“-Tell me, Mi’lord, my ambassador was wondering how you felt about the slight increase in piracy in the past year, do you believe that there should be greater effort to rid the seas of obstacles to trade like Tendrim Jovloff and Arkan Delath? The Stoamcloaks are constantly calling for a more unified defence within our oceans.”

Luckily it appeared to work, and Lord Tristram took the opportunity to then jump in and show off the level of knowledge and ability that had made him ambassador in the first place. “Yes, I am currently planning to set up an alliance between provinces and our trade relations, which may ensure safer seas for the future.” The lord grinned at the fancy statement, very glad that he’d taken the time to read a bit of Quinn’s detailed report before the ball. “I trust that I have the support of both you and your Thane?” The lord waited hungrily for his young counterpart's reply.

“And, may I introduce my Personal Secretary and current Castellan of the Nermeran Embassy, Guillemot Quinn, and his lovely wife Moriah.”
The Castellan just about managed to produce a quick smile, “Mi’lord. Mi’lady.”

His wife performed a perfect curtsy accessorised with a dazzlingly charming smile. “Mi’lord. Mi’lady.”

Quinn watched and saw how her smile was painted on her face, his eyes followed down to where his wife’s eyes were looking. Lady Fruwee’s stomach was rounded and full from bearing a child within. The castellan saw how his wife stared longingly at something she could never possess. Hiding her own envy, she proceeded with her performance, “How much you must be looking forward to such an occasion, a child, how wonderful.” No one noticed the sadness written in her eyes, just the warm smile beneath them. “How you must wish that it would be as soon as possible.”

Lord Tristram left to talk to another important guest, promising to come back later to regale the new Fruwee with stories of his uncle. The Castellan turned back to the young ambassador and smiled politely, “Please forgive my master. This party causes him to be very busy; he must share his time equally between his guests...”
”...I have heard that you have taken on a new bodyguard, a Drea Corfuyne? I knew her relative, Lord Ephron. I would very much like to meet her.”


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Kalína Dalá'isyrás on February 09, 2010, 11:45:42 PM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 2nd Hour of Greyshade (7PM)

Having spent most of the day lost in her music, playing in a corner in the Embassy's courtyard, Kalína jumped at the sound of the stout little man shouting an announcement to all in the courtyard. She happened to be so startled, being ripped from her state of bliss, she nearly dropped the harp which had been on her lap. Aiya Lau!

"Alright! Now, we have a short amount of time until the guests will begin to arrive, so I expect you all to spend the rest of the time getting ready to look your best for all who are attending tonight. You each have a room to prepare in, so line up and get your assignments from myself immediately."

Ti na Corsica. Carefully, she placed her harp back into the leather protection it had been taken from. She ran her fingertips along the soft material, worn from years of use and weather exposure. The thought of her father taking the same harp from the bag, everytime she asked him to play, nearly brought tears to her eyes, but she managed to shake it off before she could cause an unnecessary scene. Rising to her feet, she fell into step with those moving to make a line for the loud little man. The line itself was a good length, and it wasn't going to move very quickly, as the performers were all over the world and the need for translators was key and absolutely necessary. After nearly half an hour, it was her turn to receive her room assignments. The little man was holding a long piece of parchment full of scribbles she couldn't understand.

"Name?"

"Kalína Mërénwèn."

"You shall be in room thirty-seven. Taylor, give her directions."

"Follow me, ma'am.

Hesitantly, she nodded to the little unnamed man and took after Taylor as he took her to her room. As they walked, she tried to decide on what she would wear to the Ball, and what they meant by a Maskarade. What kind of people attended a maskarade ball? It wasn't until she nearly to the assigned room, did she think to ask Taylor all the questions she had. Not wanting to take up much more of his time, she decided to keep it to one question, short and sweet.

"What is...a ma-skar-ade ball?" She was slightly disheartened when Taylor snickered at her question, and she turned to go into her room when he answered her question.

"It is a party where people where masks, to hide their identity." He responded, still smirking as she left her alone.

A tiala yadsen tupu'rae'sie. Basque'rae!

Upon entering the her room, the splendor and elegance in which it was decorated definitely rendered her speechless for a short amount of time. Not often does she find such magnificence in the realm of humans, especially in comparison to her previous experiences. The bed a solid black with tall posts and poles running horizontally, connecting them together. Curtains of a sheer, but rich purple hung loosely from the poles, giving a slight amount of privacy within the room itself. A chest of drawers was in a corner, with a vanity and mirror in another, both matching the bed in color and in size. The wash table stood at the far end of the room, provided with a large wide bowl and a spout from which the water was delivered. A small table and two chairs stood near the middle of the room, providing a more social space to the very personable and private setting. Finding some comfort in the fact she had a room to herself, giving her the alone time she would need after being amongst so many people, she found herself relaxing and more prepared to take on the night.

Laying her bags upon the bed, she made her way to the wash bowl, finding the bowl half-way full of fresh water. Eagerly, she dipped her small hands into the coolish water and then touched her face, relishing the coolness against her features. She then inspected the vanity, finding it empty with the exception of a few items for woman to primp themselves in preparation for whatever they may be doing. It was elegantly carved with intricate designs, many of which she did not recognize and thus assumed they were from this particular kingdom, in honor of their respect and allegiance. Willingly, she sat at the vanity and took the time to look at herself with scrutiny, finding herself looking much more exhausted than she had imagined. The brush, which had been provided on the vanity, found itself being run through her lengthy silver tresses, smoothing and bringing back its healthy sheen which had been lost in the midst of her travels. Fingertips gingerly ran through her locks, admiring the length and silkiness which many years of a different world had provided. Golden hues stared through the mirror back at themselves, becoming lost in the vastness of what they had seen in the near nine centuries of their existence.

After about ten minutes of sitting at the vanity, gazing at herself from a distance, she rose and made her way back to the bed to retrieve a few items from her bags. From her largest, she removed a gown, a rich blue to compliment her ancient features. It was one of her more preferred gowns for fancy occasions such as this, even if she was merely a performer and not an invited guest on different terms. When she slipped it on and fastened it, the gown hugged her slender form, giving her curves and a long figure. The hem lines were stitched with silver thread, matching the color of her hair. The sleeves were long and pointed, covering the back of her hands and the neckline hung just below her shoulders, giving her pale skin more of an appearance than it would normally have. The back of the gown had eyelets with a long length of string by which it was fastened and tightened to what was desired. The skirt touched the floor and had a slight train in the back, giving her the illusion of more height and air than most would expect. Her shoes were simple flats, matching in color and were simple. The toe reached to half-way up her foot and covered the side of her feet, leaving some skin revealed. She left her hair untouched with any ornaments or being pulled back from her face, allowing it to hang freely where it may. While smoothing out some wrinkles in her gown, a knock came from the door of her room.

"Miss Mërénwèn? Are you ready?" She recognized the voice, as it belonged to Taylor, the young man who had escorted her earlier.

"Yes, I...am."

"Come come, they shall be ready for you."


Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

After gathering up her harp, the elfess emerged from her room, prepared for the long night ahead. As she turned to close the door behind her, and lock it to keep her possessions safe, she noticed Taylor staring in amazement, much like that of a small child - as the expression on their faces mimicked exactly. She flashed him a small shy smile before motioning for him to take the lead. Taylor escorted Kalína down the dimly lit halls of the Embassy, giving her the chance to enjoy the mass of culture as she walked. Occasionally, she would stop and ask a question in her broken Tharian, and Taylor was more than a gentleman in answering as simply as he could so she would understand, even if the answer was a bit more complicated than she had expected.

After about fifteen minutes or so, as it was hard to keep track of time with all their pauses along the way, they reached the grand ballroom where the noise of all the guests speaking amongst themselves was almost a deafening roar. She glanced at Taylor uneasily before he guided her into the large well lit room. It was truly a sight to behold, and it reminded her greatly of the grandeur she had become accustomed to during her time with the creatures of old. The numerous chandeliers and tables decorated grandly for the occasion. Candles and cloths, waiters in stiff yet well groomed uniforms, and all the people dressed in their finest. Glancing down at her own attire, she suddenly felt out of place amidst all the finery, and she bowed her head to hide the color of embarrassment heating her cheeks.

"You look beautiful, Miss Mërénwèn. There is nothing to be ashamed of." The soft voice of encouragement had come from Taylor, who still stood by her side, and it had taken her slightly off guard even though it was comforting.

Thank...you, Tay-lor." She sent him a meek smile, one which he responded with a large excited grin.

"Come, I will show you where you will be performing. They should almost be ready for you." He placed an encouraging hand upon her shoulder before leading the way once again, through the massive crowd to a stage especially set up for those who would be entertaining the important guests.

As they made their way, Kalína mentally prepared herself for the occasion, even if she wasn't dressed as finely as everyone else, it didn't mean she couldn't act like it. She was the Dalá'isyrás after all, and it was time for her to stop acting so humble. Pulling her shoulders back and lifting her chin, she walked behind Taylor, gliding with each step she took. She could feel numerous eyes upon her as she walked, especially since her altered attitude and demeanor, as she made herself appear more important, her aura oozed it as well.

"Here we are. The chair up there is for you, if you should want or need it." He explained, motioning towards the stage for her to take her place. "Don't let them intimidate you, as you are here to enjoy yourself just as much as they.

She smiled, thankful for the kind and helpful words, but she wasn't fearful of the mass of people, just her stomach. Examining the chair, she felt it would probably be a good idea for her to use it, especially since her stomach was so uneasy about all the people, didn't need to make things any worse than they were already. When she glanced back to thank Taylor once again for all his help, he found he had disappeared into the masses and was gone. Aiya erthell, coisira ot blaise non tor lyegnn iet camalna.

With an ageless grace, Kalína took a seat in the chair provided, removing the harp from its satchel. She took a moment to enjoy the feel of the wooden frame and the cool metal strings beneath her fingertips. Their touch awakened the magic flowing within her, beckoning for release. Closing her eyes, she allowed it to course through her, strengthening and calming. Sitting erect, she placed the harp squarely in her lap and began to pluck at the strings, her eyes remaining shut. Focusing the energy at the music coming from the strings, the music filled the entire room, nearly drowning out the sound of the multitude of voices. The longer she played, the more the energy built up inside her and helped the echo of her song reach every ear. Her voice was soft and soothing, much to the same effect as like listening to a small brook trickling over the rocks and branches on its way to its destination. It wasn't loud, yet many were surprised they could hear here with an amazing clarity, as if they were standing right next to her
"Yaera vilath'sie nar quesl'nae doul lyae riena.
A fasiter waine et a dera en lati palrin'sie.
Ren nakuma ir daela na assa'iy yai'or.
Ve ron lunan tor palrin ot ren kaiv."

Her voice was soft and soothing, much to the same effect as like listening to a small brook trickling over the rocks and branches on its way to its destination. It wasn't loud, yet many were surprised they could hear here with an amazing clarity, as if they were standing right next to her.The last note lingered for a moment before it faded from the ears, but in the mind it found a home.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on February 10, 2010, 06:14:04 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

The mood was lively at the ball and Ylaya approached with her disguise. She was not tense, she knew what had to be done, but was very watchful. Her eyes shifted from one side of the event to the other as food was piled on and souls sold for currency. Guards seemed to be everywhere, but then again, she was really only just focusing on them and searching for her target. If all was going to go smoothly her precision had to be perfect and her escape errorless if success was to be achieved.

Yet it appeared her quarry had not arrived yet and Ylaya took a seat on the side of the dance floor. Under her black mask she watched, feeling that the dress she wore was some what uncomfortable, but she could deal with it for a short time. Her long ears seemed to fit the shape of the mask so well that few even noticed them and there by noticing her origin or race. As for the rest of her feature, her dark hair streamed down the back of her dress and she crossed her legs. This had better not take all night she thought as she ran one of her gloved hands through her hair twisting it round one of her fingers, partly out of boredom.

This action apart from keeping her mind from drifting into total boredom strangely attracted the eyes of another masked individual. This man behind her seemed rather drunk and had also had a great time dancing away the night. Now he looked upon the lonely girl sitting in a chair by herself as the perfect new dance partner to keep things ever changing and lively. His eyes lit up, she had a good form.

Slowly moving from behind he tapped her on the shoulder to her surprise. Who was this? She looked around keeping the mask over her face, eyes still partly in shock, she had actually thought her cover had been blown...but this was even worse.

"Can I offer you a dance my young lady"
he said with a certain charm and charisma…not that such qualities Ylaya respected or sought worthy to even try on her.

Ylaya looked at him with a lack of enthusiasm for his offer. Yet another rich merchant, perhaps more mobile than the last but she had ultimately had enough of these fools. They lacked an understanding of people and let alone brains. He was obviously rich judging from his garment, but she had gotten already all the money she needed...plus she had work to do.

“Well, I don’t think…” she began before…suddenly without anytime to react she was pulled up by him by hands around her waste and his hands joined with hers as he swept her over to the dance floor. How could he do such a thing against her will? She was shocked and even looked around embarrassed as he took her spinning round with him. In comparison to the other ladies her garment seemed a bit less than incredible, but no one seemed to care, especially not him.

From the dance floor Ylaya had little or no control of the situation but as he moved around she watched and gave him the thrill he desired, but soon, she would need to cut him loose...


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Salkazrian on February 10, 2010, 07:55:58 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

   The crying child was close, now, Salkazrian could hear its wailing coming from the next hut.  Carefully, she moved towards the door, her sword still drawn, and her breath still ragged.  She didn’t want to frighten the child, but there might be an enemy nearby.

   Entering the dim room, Salkazrian quickly scanned it for trouble, but it was more than apparent that the raiders had already gone.  Several bodies lay on the dirt floor, hacked down and left to rot.

   The sole survivor was a young boy, bent over the battered corpse of a woman, probably his late mother.  Salkazrian sheathed her sword, crouched down, and slowly edged closer to the distraught child.  With soothing sounds she approached him, trying not to make him panic and run.  He didn’t seem to notice her at all; his head was still bent close to the dead woman’s body.  With painstaking tenderness, Salkazrian reached out a hand to stroke his hair.  There wasn’t even a flinch as she made contact.  Then, the boy turned his head to face this new intruder of his family’s home, and Salkazrian gasped in horror.

   Huh!!!

   Suddenly, the room was gone, but the boy’s face wasn’t.  His empty eye sockets stared morbidly at Salkazrian as she adjusted to her new environment.  Then, with a curse, she lay back onto the unusually soft bed that Clarissa Solosis had provided for her.

   It was always a mistake to lie down on a bed like this after a big dinner.  Salkazrian often had vivid dreams when she slept in the afternoon, and today had proved no different.  It was dark outside, already, and she knew that she must have slumbered longer than intended.  Still, if her body clock was right, and it usually was, then she still had enough time to get ready for her night’s duty.

   After washing her face, and having a quick stretch, the Seyelite officer felt much better.  The ghosts from her past had vanished, replaced by the responsibilities of her present.  Clarissa was an old friend; an intelligent lady, who had made her fortune through having a shrewd sense of business.  A masquerade party was just her kind of scene, especially when some of the most important and powerful people of the known world were to be there.  Salkazrian smiled briefly as she remembered that Clarissa had told her that even the King would be present!  Yes, tonight was going to be a special occasion, and Salkazrian was glad to have the opportunity to attend.  Of course, since she’d been hired as a bodyguard, Clarissa’s safety was her most important consideration.  Still, it was a fairly easy duty; business people could be mean, but they didn’t usually kill each other.  Well, not at such high profile events, anyway.

   Looking in the ornate, full length mirror, Salkazrian adjusted the small badge at the front of her skirt.  Since she was on duty, she had dressed in her usual uniform; leather skirt, boots, red breast binding, sword belt, and a red tunic over the top.  With a nod of satisfaction, she looked back over her temporary room to make sure that all was in order.

   “Ah!  How could I forget?”  She thought to herself when she saw the blood red mask that Clarissa had given her.  It was a fairly simple, yet elegant design, and Salkazrian was glad to see that a length of twine had been added so that she wouldn’t have to hold it up all night.  Even still, she’d need help putting it on, and so she left the bedroom, in search of Clarissa.

   “Ah!  Salk!  There you are!  I trust you rested well?”

   Clarissa was dressed in a fine green dress.  The way it gracefully followed the curves of her body, and the slight shimmer it gave off, suggested that it was pure spilk.

   “Yes, Clarissa; very well, thank you.”  Salkazrian didn’t like to tell others of her nightmares.  “But you look gorgeous!”  She added, running an admiring eye over her friend’s luxurious dress.

   “Oh, really?  Thank you!  I had it made especially for tonight.  Tell me, what do you think of the mask?”

   Clarissa held a light green mask to her face.  It was more elaborate than Salkazrian’s, and suited her flamboyant style.

   “I’m sure you’ll turn plenty of heads tonight,” Salkazrian said with a smile.  “Would you mind helping me with this?”

   “Oh, but of course!”  Clarissa said cheerfully as she fitted Salkazrian’s mask for her.

   “Now, we really should be going, they’ll have started already.”

   Clarissa led the way out of her house, and towards a waiting carriage.  Walking down the driveway, side by side, the two women seemed from two different worlds; Clarissa was a good fore shorter than her friend, and of a much more delicate build.

   “Even though I hired you to be my bodyguard,” Clarissa began as they entered the carriage.  “To tell the truth, I don’t really have much need of one.  So don’t get too serious; have some fun!  I’m really happy to just have your company; I haven’t seen you in ages!  And I thought that this would make a nice change for you.”

   “Aye, I thought as much,” Salkazrian said with a nod.  “I can’t imagine that anybody would want to hurt you.  But still, I’m officially here as your bodyguard, and I take my duty seriously.”

   “Oh!  I didn’t mean it like that.”

   Salkazrian smiled, and placed a reassuring hand onto her friend’s, noticing how soft her skin was in comparison to her own.

   “I know you didn’t, Clarry.  But there’s bound to be a lot of senior officers there tonight.  I don’t want to give off the wrong impression, so I’ll be sticking to the cha’ah!”

   Clarissa smiled mischievously.

   “Oh, okay, Salk,” she said with a wink.  “But I’ve heard that before!”

   Clarissa started to giggle, and Salkazrian couldn’t help but laugh.  She had indeed made that vow many times before, and almost always broken it.

   “It looks to me as though you’ve already had a few!”

   “Oh, well, just a couple, Salk.  But it’s a party!  I needed to get into the mood!”

   “I thought you were going for the business opportunities.”

   “Oh, yes, there is that, too!”

   Clarissa leant in closer to Salkazrian, and lowered her voice to a mock whisper.

   “Not to mention the men!”

   Salkazrian smiled; she’d never known her friend to have a relationship last longer than a few moons.

   “And who is it this time?”  she asked.

   “What do you mean by this time?  Well, okay, I do know what you mean!  Actually, there are a few I’ve got my eye on; not least of all, a certain Lord; by the name of Jarl Valdimarr!  Oh, I’m sure you’ve heard of him, he’s a fine looking man…”

   Salkazrian sat back, listening as her friend began to list the pros and cons of various potential mates.  It made her feel glad to be married to a good man already.  The challenges and intrigue of courting were far behind her.  And as Clarissa chattered on about family backgrounds, wealth, power, and charming ways, Salkazrian’s thoughts drifted back to her home, wondering what her husband would be doing.  He’d have put the girls to bed by now, and was more than likely playing cards with some of his friends.  “That’s what Clarry really needs,” she thought to herself, “a good man, who looks after the children, cooks well, and takes care of her home.”  But she knew that her typically Serphelorian ideals would be lost on a woman like Clarissa Solosis.  She was attracted by power, so it was no surprise that she’d mentioned a Lord.

   Eventually, the carriage slowed down, and came to a halt.  Looking out of the window, Salkazrian could see the Nermeran embassy, already buzzing with colourful figures.  “Well, here we go,” she thought to herself as she disembarked.  “I wonder what Seyella has in store for us tonight?”


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on February 12, 2010, 05:52:10 AM
Ylaya pranced and danced on the floor with him, only to keep him busy as she looked around. He was definitely starting to become a pain as under her happy smile and politeness a fire was getting out of hand. As one of his hands began to move onto her waist Ylaya tried desperately to put out the fire inside of her, he was too much to bear.

"You are a very talented dancer"
he said in a way that made her feel inferior as the music played louder and louder.

This comment just seemed to fan the flames as she tried so hard not to just pull the pin and use the concealed blades on him...how it was so tempting...but she could not.

The truth was that his talk was cheap and she knew that all he really wanted was to pull off her tight dress and enjoy her company. She so desperately wanted to ditch him but the music kept playing, she had to use his own creep talk against him...it was the only way she was going to get some control of move him off the dance floor.

"Oh, why thank you..." she said as she wrapped her gloved hands around his lower waist and moved him to the edge of the dance floor.

"...but I think you are even more talented" she said as she bit her lower lip and used her hands to push him slowly off the dance floor. She did not mind giving verbal concessions to men, as long as they gave her the reigns.

They were now backing onto the carpet and he was feeling hotter by the second, he wanted to take her away. His hand slowly moved lower until he touched her nice rounded bum...this attraction had gone too far ultimately and faces were turning in their direction...too much attention has already been gathered. It was time to use that attention against him.

Seeing one of the waiters a few seconds earlier carrying a tray full of drink she had picked one up and immediately poured it over his head the second he made inappropriate contact.

He jumped back, his eyes closing and opening as the red wine stained his white costume and ran down his hair. She leaned back onto a table and one of her gloved hands came up to cover her mouth, she was giggling at his misfortune, even though she had caused it. He took off his mask and due to his drunkenness raised his voice slightly.

"What do you think are playing at woman?" he said confident she was in the wrong. Some people looked over to see what all the fuss was about

She then stopped giggling and approached him to say "I'm not playing at anything my good sir..." she said with satisfaction in her comment.

"...but then again it was not me who made inappropriate advances was it sir" she continued. People and especially some of the older ladies looked at him in disgust. She had taught him a lesson he would never forget...that is unless he kept on drinking...but the lesson was that she was not there to be advanced upon...especially by a gross individual like him...in the end she made the advances.

He looked around partly embarrassed as she let off a smile that ripped through him and she walked away. He was left with a waiter trying to mop up the mess she had deliberately poured on him. Now in ditching the drunk in all his stained splendour she could get on with the task at hand, her blades were ready...where was the target?


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Drea on February 12, 2010, 08:21:01 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 2nd Hour of Guardorans (10PM)

Fruwee listened to Tristram, and prepared himself to take offence, when the buffoon was saved by the younger castellan bringing up issues of piracy in the Vardynn waters.  "I think that if we are to continue to prosper, that the shipping lanes must be safe for trade.  True, the Stormcloaks are the largest guild, but there are others that have expressed the same concerns.  This Delath fellow is still mostly in the south, so I think the Truban Ambassador is best to talk to on that.  Jovloff, however, I would like to see hanged for his trouble.  Perhaps we can see what we can come up with as far as combining our resources and tracking him down and bringing him to justice."

Fruwee could not help but look at the castellan's wife.  He was struck by her beauty, and was thankful that the mask he wore would cover any look that he might cast at her.  From what he could see, she was perfect.  He could not help but compare her flawless skin to the harelip of his wife.  He did not mean to, but it could not be helped.  He loved his wife, but for all that he tried, he was not in love with her.  She came from a great family, and her connections and his made the match one of perfect synchronicity.  It was a boon to both houses.  And she was a great wife, supporting him in everything he did.  Even providing him with a son very soon.

Fruwee listened as Moriah talked to Tylannah of the child within, and nodded as Tristram excused himself.  The castellan, Quinn, apologized for the ambassador, which Fruwee accepted with the appropriate aplomb.  "Of course.  So many hands to shake."  He then listened to Quinn question him about his staff.  This was strange.  Lord Ephron?  He hadn't any clue who Lord Ephron was.  "Yes, I'll introduce you to her."  He looked about until he saw the woman standing a few feet away, carefully watching Tylannah.  He waved at her, and catching her eye, she approached.

"Miss Drea Corfuyne, may I introduce you to Castellan Guillemot Quinn."

Drea, not entirely sure why this introduction was being made, extended her hand, which Quinn took and lightly kissed the back of it.  "I'm honoured to make your acquaintance, m'lord."

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Tiring of the gossipping tongues of the wives, Tylannah made her way back to her husband.  If she knew him well enough, he would be growing tired of the hollow effusions himself.  He would need a small break, and so she had politely excused herself from the circle of women.  It was what made her and Fruwee so perfect together; they instinctively knew what each other wanted.  

He was surrounded by many other men, obviously the centre of attention due to his newfound appointment.  If he were to somehow lose that position, none of these same men would even give him the time of day.  It held true for any one of them.  They were only popular when they were important.  Did any of them actually have true friends?  Or even know what one was?

"Excuse me, gentlemen.  Can I steal my husband for a few moments?  I'll return him to you a bit later.  It seems his son is missing him."  She patted her extended belly.  Grabbing Fruwee by the arm, she lead him away from the crowd.

"Just in time," he whispered, leaning in close to her and kissing her earlobe.  "Does the baby stir?"

Tylannah giggled.  "He does now.  He can hear your voice."  She took his hand and placed it on her belly, where a moment later a small bump-bump could be felt.

"Strong.  He will be a great leader one day."  He stopped his walk and looked up, following the lead of many other people.  An acrobat was hanging from two long silk lengths of rope, while dressed in elaborate red feathers.  "Didn't we see him before?  I'm not sure...".

"Salsair.  We saw him at the Salsair Festival three years ago, yes.  He really is amazing.  You should get his name afterwards and have him perform at one of our parties."

Fruwee sighed. "Must we put on parties?"

Tylanna giggled.  "Of course?   How can we figure out who your greatest rivals are if we don't give them a chance to show themselves?  So far, all we know is that Ambassador Tristram is one."

Fruwee chuckled.  "You saw that?"

"Of course.  But he is not the one to worry about.  That redheaded man of his would be the one I would worry about, my love."

Yes, his wife was his equal in nearly every sense.  The redhead was the one to watch.  And the redhead's wife as well.  Though, for very different reasons.  

"Oh!  Do you hear that?"  Tylannah suddenly pulled her husband along.  She halted herself before a porcelain skinned elfess who was playing a harp and singing in a voice so beautiful, Tylannah felt tears welling up in her eyes, though she did not understand the words.  

Fruwee listened, but did not hear the beauty in the sounds as deeply as his wife.  Other thoughts occupied him.  "Corfuyne.  Has she said anything to you that seemed strange, or out of place?"

Only partially paying attention to her husband, Tylannah shook her head.  "No, why?"  She continued to listen to the elfess and watched the nimble fingers expertly pluck the strings of the harp.

"Nothing.  Just thinking."  Was she a spy?  He knew there would be some in the embassy.  Which reminded him, he would need to talk to that stump of a man Aeris and find out where their spies were placed.  He had no doubt the little man would have a network of them.

The elfess had finished her song and Tylannah clapped, though a bit awkwardly while trying to keep holding her mask in place.  "My, that was wonderful.  What is your name?  I don't recognize the language."

Fruwee sighed.  He had heard that tone of voice in his wife many times before.  By morning, they would have a harp player on the embassy staff.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Foraste Lydan on February 13, 2010, 07:28:30 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Guardorans (9PM)

Foraste finished buttoning his jacket. He felt vulnerable in the compendium uniform, he had worn it so little it still had the creases from when it was presented to him.  The dwarf had been very specific, a maskerade ball, fancy outfits and masks. He was in the city looking for work at the Vardynn embassy. He left Thad in the tavern room with instructions not to steal anything. The Ximaxian rat only scurried into the darkness, likely trying to find a way out of the second rate tavern. The embassy was located in the better end of the city, a ways from his second rate apartment. He arrived halfway through Tenebrume and walked up to the door attendant.

"Invitation please", stated the attendant. I'm going to kill that dwarf when I find him, Foraste thought darkly, he didn't mention an invitation. Thinking quickly Foraste procured his compendium license and pointed at the embossed book on his uniform.

"I was sent here by the compendium to chronicle the event, everything is explained in that letter."

The attendant glanced at the paper and grunted,"very well, you can go in." Thank Armeros he couldn't read, Foraste thought as he walked inside. He looked at the massive crowd, putting on his plain gray mask, time to mingle.

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd hour of Guardorans (11pm)

Foraste manged to extricate himself from what seemed like the hundredth minor lord trying to acquire a place in the history books and finally found himself near Ambassador Fruwee. He seemed to have just escaped from the gaggle himself. He was admiring an elven musician with his wife. Foraste walked over and waited to see what they thought of the elf's enchanting music.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 14, 2010, 09:30:43 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 2nd Hour of Guardorans (10PM)

The ambassador appeared not to mind sending for the bodyguard, a woman who, Quinn noticed, made her way through the crowd with a natural confidence, which the posing gossipy women around her lacked.
"Miss Drea Corfuyne, may I introduce you to Castellan Guillemot Quinn."

The young woman extended her hand, which Quinn kissed lightly. "I'm honoured to make your acquaintance, m'lord."

As the young Fruwees left to mingle. The castellan glanced over at his wife, who, taking the hint, just rolled her eyes and left as well, joining the gaggle of ambassadors’ wives, still watching from afar, curious as to why her husband wanted to converse secretly with this beautiful woman.

Alone, Quinn could finally confront the faker,
“Miss Corfuyne, I felt obligated to introduce myself to a relative of Lord Ephron. I was sad to hear of his death. You are his relative aren’t you? I haven’t made a mistake?”

The castellan waited for clarification with a charming smile, then carried on his explanation.
“I met him several years ago at the Knight’s parliament. Believe me, he won’t have mentioned me…but I was surprised to hear about you.” The castellan lowered his head and whispered coldly. “Considering the man died with no living relations.”



Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)


The night wore and Moriah Quinn paced the hall elegantly, greeting friends and curtsying to dignitaries. As always, the dignified event was slowly descending into a circus show. Drinks were thrown at those with wandering hands, lovers scurried off to dark corners to reaffirm their undying love. Here, ambition, scandal and intrigue reigned.

Strolling quickly past a bunch of clowns in garish green, and ducking underneath swaves of drapery, the castellan’s wife found herself in a rather peaceful spot where a sole elven harpist played and a few people gathered to listen, seeking sanctuary from the hubbub of the rest of the ball.

Missus Quinn spotted Lord Tristram, slowly edging towards the compendiumist that was here tonight. He shouldn’t have worn the uniform, it acts as a beacon for climbers…The young woman watched amused as she heard the ambassador start up a conversation with the poor writer. “So you’re here to put my party into the archives!” Moriah grimaced on behalf of the young man who, like the rest of them, probably longed to just listen to the beautiful music. Not, in her opinion, to be bothered by vilerats like Belenos.

Scanning the room, the young lady spied one of her many ‘best’ friends, waving at her. Lady Kaitrin of Lorehaven, a true romantic, biggest mouth around and unable to keep a secret, including her own. “Moriah, how lovely to see you.”
“Kaitrin.” They kissed eachothers’ cheeks in a polite way, without showing any actual affection towards each other.

“Has darling Clarissa arrived yet?”

Moriah smiled, everyone was called darling by Kaitrin, from her friends to her enemies, who, very often, were the one and the same. “I do not know, my dear. But I’m sure she’ll arrive fashionably late once her tailor is done.” Both women took the chance to study the others’ costume. Kaitrin had chosen a lavish deep violet gown, with a swirling patterned bodice, heartshaped neckline and sleeves that splayed out from her shoulders like purple fountains.
While Moriah’s dress of lightest cerubell was of a much humbler design with just a simple square neckline.

“My husband tells me that Lord Valdimarr is here.”

“Why, everywhere I wander at this ball, do hear that name? What is so wondrous about this man that the whole room whispers his name like he is a myth or a will‘o’whisp?”

“Apparently he has the Santhran’s ear.”

“Every noble from here to Cape Strata claims that. You are a fool if you believe such a thing.”

“Well, everyone respects him, there are whispers of him becoming a general, maybe even one of the grandmasters….and he’s very handsome….” Her friend’s voice dwindled off.

Moriah scoffed, “Again foolish belief, all young nobles men are stated to be ‘very handsome’, yet I have not seen one yet that proves to be such.“

Kaitrin shrugged, and spotted the most popular topic for gossip at the moment, the Fruwees, nearby. “The new ambassador is quite handsome too.”

The castellan's wife followed her friend's gaze over to the pretty couple. “He also has a wife. Take care to you remember such details, otherwise your honour might take a bruising...”

The young Lady of Lorehaven sulked, “I’m just noting it Moriah…”

They watched, nosily, as the Vardynn ambassador kissed the side of his wife’s face.

Moriah remembered how it feels to be truly loved like that. Now the young woman was left holding onto a bridge, wishing her own husband would kiss her the way Fruwee kissed his wife.

It was a night like this that she’d met Guillemot. The place had been packed with nobles and soldiers, young men trying to court her with fancy words and charming smiles. And there he had been. Back then he’d been an ‘information and diplomacy envoy’, whatever that meant. The castellan’s daughter used to spot him and his skinny companion, Dorian, as they went to report to her father. The young Moriah had watched as he'd stood at the sidelines, spying on the world as it made a fool of itself. The only one who hadn’t chased her, so she’d chased him and caught him.

But that had been three years ago. Once, she’d been the pride of Goutonch, remarked as the most refined and graceful graduate of the school, Moriah Ourelleas, daughter of Sir Tomas Ourelleas. Now her world felt like it had been hollowed out, all that was left was a bleak empty space.

The young woman stared at her counterpart sharing an intimate moment with her husband.

“Moriah?”
The young lady turned to see her own husband holding out his hand, “I apologize for the wait; I believe I owe you a dance.” Leaving her young friend to gossip others, the wife smiled serenely at her husband as he led her to the dance floor.

As his own wife fell into discussion with the harp player, Moriah peeped over her husband’s shoulder to cast a long lingering glance at the tall young ambassador. The young noble was probably a better dancer than her husband and his rigid steps; suddenly the young woman found herself wondering what it would be like to dance with him.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Drea on February 15, 2010, 01:59:03 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 2nd Hour of Guardorans (10PM)

At the mention of Ephron's name, Drea's gaze went downward as this Quinn expressed his condolences.  Years later, it still hurt to think of him being dead.  "No, you haven't made a mistake.  He was my... father."

Suddenly, Drea's blood drew cold.  "Considering the man died with no living relations.”  She lifted her eyes to see him staring hard at her, judging her reaction.  Dammit!  She gave him one, too.  Now what?  But, he revealed himself as well.  A slight twitch of his mouth; not a smile or even a smirk, simply a twitch.  However, she recognized it as smugness.  He had something on his mind.  Well, the truth was probably the best course of action here.

"You are correct, m'lord.  Lord Ephron was not my real father, but my mentor.  I was his squire.  I took his name in order to honour his memory."

Quinn pursed his lips, a twinkle in his eye.  "And I don't imagine you want to confide your real name to me?"

Drea bit her bottom lip before shaking her head.  "No, m'lord, I don't believe I would.  I can't see it doing either of us any good."

"Perhaps not.  But secrets can be a dangerous thing around here."

She hated being on the defensive.  "That is true, m'lord.  I hope that you have no such secrets.  But then, knowledge can become a great weapon against such dangers.  One never knows where errant rumours will lead one, if they were to but look."  She smiled flatteringly at him.  She was sure she saw a brief moment of hesitation in him before he spoke.  She had bluffed, but it seemed to confirm that he had his own secrets.  What are you hiding, Master Quinn?

"M'lady, you forget that saying about cats and their curiosity."

"No, m'lord, I am well aware of the dangers of too much inquisitiveness."

He nodded briefly.  "Then I see we understand each other."

She extended her hand.  "Perfectly, m'lord."  He brushed his lips over her hand, then excused himself.  Drea watched him walk away.  How much did he know?  What was it he was hiding?  She shivered.  Now here was an enemy to be wary of.



Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

While his wife chatted to the elfess harp player, Fruwee glanced about the room, uninterested in the idle chat of two women.  He spotted the buffoon, Tristram, who had cornered some poor fool and was discussing archiving the party.  The man had a great desire to be important in other's eyes.  It would make manipulation of him much easier, if there ever was a need to.

His gaze then fell onto the middle of the ballroom, where couples were dancing.  He spotted the redheaded castellan and his pretty wife.  He watched them for a moment before turning back to his wife and placing a hand on her arm.  "Would you dance with me?"

Tylannah smiled lovingly at her husband.  Always the dashing noble.  She placed her hand on her belly.  "I cannot, my love.  I'm far too unwieldy to match your gracefulness out on the floor."  She looked at the dance floor just as the song ended and another tune began to play.  "Oh, look, there is the Castellan and his wife.  Dance with her, gods know she deserves a more adroit partner than her husband.  He dances like a drunken dwarf.  And don't you dare tell him I said so!"  She giggled as she raised a hand and waved at the couple.  "Excuse me.  Moriah!"

"No, stop.  It's okay, I don't need to dance."

She squeezed his hand.  "Nonsense!  Besides, here they come," she whispered to him.  When the couple reached them, she curtsied.  "Moriah, could my husband dance with you?  He really is a good dancer, and I am not up to it."  She indicated her protruding belly.  "Providing that you do not mind, m'lord?"  She turned her gaze to the redheaded castellan.

"You, m'lord, can tell me how you discovered this amazing harp player."  She indicated the elfess.  "I must be honest; I'm trying to steal her away from you."



Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Salkazrian on February 16, 2010, 04:13:08 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

   “Oh!” Clarissa exclaimed.  “There’s Kaitrin!  I must say ‘hello’.  She always knows what’s going on.  But don’t tell her anything you want to keep a secret, she’s a terrible gossiper!”

   It seemed to Salkazrian that all of the women here were terrible gossipers.  Still, it was a great way to find out information.  From chatting to various lords, ladies and high-flying merchants, she’d discovered all manner of things; some of it useful, and some of it not.  Apparently, there was a shortage of cats at the Vardynn Embassy, and a horse master had fallen to a drunken death.  That particular piece of news had reminded Salkazrian how dangerous drinking too much could be.  So far, she’d managed to keep her promise to stick to the cha’ah.  In fact, the cha’ah here was exquisite, and she was bursting with energy.

   “And who’s this?”

   “Oh, this is Salkazrian, an old friend of mine.”

   “How delightful to meet you!”  Lady Kaitrin embraced Salkazrian, and kissed her lightly on the cheeks.  “A Seyelite; how lovely; I’ve got nothing but the highest of respect for your order.  It’s so nice to see us women telling the men what to do.  I’d join myself, but I don’t think the uniform would suit me.”

   “But you do look wonderful!”  Clarissa said as she admired Lady Kaitrin’s purple gown.

   “Oh, thank you, Clarissa.  I knew you’d like it.”

   Salkazrian shifted her focus of attention as the two women started discussing the latest fashions; she really wasn’t interested in such things.  Instead, she noticed how the other party-goers were getting more intoxicated.  It was a funny thing; if she had been drunk, also, then it would all have seemed quite normal, but since she was stone cold sober, she couldn’t help but notice how ridiculous it all seemed.  It was possibly even a little sad.

   “So tell me,” Clarissa had moved the conversation on from clothes, “have you met the new Vardynn ambassador yet?  I’ve heard a great deal about him.”

   Salkazrian brought her attention back to hear what Lady Kaitrin had to say.  She was almost certain that something interesting would emerge.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 16, 2010, 08:13:39 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Daywane (5pm).



In one of many workshops in New Santhala, a crafter finished his work. His new creation was placed delicately on the wooden counter.

Once it had been the skin of a Rimmilich, then skinned gruesomely from its owner, it had been soaked and tanned to become a humble piece of leather. In the craftsmen’s careful hands, it’d had been cut and beaten, shaped and sculpted, painted and decorated, till it flourished into a work of art.

Santiego Borgis thought back to only a day ago, when he’d first taken the commission.

“But it looks like one of Gorgar Urbina’s.” Borgis had mused, staring at the detailed drawings on the scroll. ”A master doesn’t copy.” He had offered to make the man one of his own designs.

There was a loud clinked on the table, the sound of coins. “It must be made from this exact design, and the inside must be painted with this…” The client placed a small jar onto the table, of what looked like yellow powder paint.

The artisan frowned, “That doesn’t match the-“

“Mix it with other pigments. And don’t touch it with your hands.”

Borgis shrugged, “Fine. When you want it finished for?”

“Tomorrow, by starrise.”

The trader shook his head, “Can’t be done. Too much decoration, too little time, you think gilding-”

Another clink. Yet more coins appeared. “Money can make miracles happen, Mr Borgis…” The shady customer left the man to ponder his words.

A day passed. After hours of sweat, and little night’s sleep, Santiego had created a miracle. It looked just like the design; though the inside coat of paint was a touch too yellow. It sadly still looked like an Urbina. A Borgis design would never have used that amount of gilded embossment, which the artisan had always deemed as too showy a technique.

The ripples of highlighted gold lines crisscrossed the surface, curving spirals fanned out at the sides like waves in a peridot sea, like a green setting sun.

Indeed the mask maker had to admit, the mask was probably one of his finest yet, and he couldn’t help but be proud of his little miracle.





Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Kalína Dalá'isyrás on February 19, 2010, 04:14:35 AM
Having barely finished resting her hands off her harp, she was approached and addressed by a finely dressed couple and the woman being fairly well along. It was hard to see the lady's face, as it was hidden behind a beautiful mask, but Kalina could tell the woman was well beyond pretty from the glow she emitted. It hadn't been long since the elfess had emitted the same glow, but the child which had brought her so much joy had been taken from her, something she thoroughly wished would not happen to this lovely couple.

"My, that was wonderful.  What is your name?  I don't recognize the language."

Kalina smiled gently, "It...is a...old lan-guage. Not said...by many. My name... Dalá'isyrás Kalína Mërénwèn, but Kalína - they call me." She bowed her head to hide her slight embarrassment at the situation, and the fact she was stammering in front of an official's wife. "I'm sorry....my Tharian...not very well."

She quickly placed her harp back in its bag in hopes to hide her embarrassment further, as she had not expected to be approached and spoken to by such people.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on February 19, 2010, 07:52:04 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)



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





Relieved at the break, Quinn gladly let his wife dance with the ambassador, someone who probably understood the art much more than he. Talking of music wasn’t his strong suit either, but the castellan did agree that Tylannah was correct; the harpist was of high quality. In fact, he felt strangely disappointed when the elven woman stopped playing, though perhaps the musician was shy and not used to the high praise and attention as those like Tylannah could bestow. “I’ll tell Bilius, our master of revels, of your high praise, m’lady. Though you will have to argue with him over musician thievery, I’m afraid I’m not the one to trouble with such things, I have no answers for you. However I would venture that the lady herself is perhaps the first to ask. I believe all the performers here are under only a temporary agreement.” He turned towards the fair haired harpist herself, "My dear, I am honoured to hear such music, now sadly if you both would excuse me, I have matters to attend to." The man bowed and took his leave of them, leaving the ambassador’s wife to further tempt entertainers and musicians away to the Vardynn embassy.




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





The young castellan’s wife watched as her husband just agreed with Tylannah, and suddenly she was dancing with the man, only a moment ago she’d being spying on. A blush crossed her cheeks. Moriah tried to hide her embarrassed face underneath her mask and concentrate on her dancing. It seemed her new partner was her equal on the dance floor. It appeared that Ambassador Fruwee could indeed dance. His lead was guiding but gentle, his musicality superb, his steps seamless. Moriah could have just closed her eyes, and danced like this forever, the music banishing away dark cloudy skies and dreary empty days.

Yet something felt off. While all the other partners exchanged conversation and happy smiles, Fruwee did no such thing. The lord just stared out in front of him, concentrating on the dance, totally mute. The young woman’s doll-like face frowned beneath its mask. This was a man who’d held intelligent discussion with her husband, made cutting smart remarks of Lord Tristram and who’d charmed half the people in the ballroom. The noble didn’t lack social skills, why be silent? Surely even the most dedicated of dancers would always try to relax and enjoy the dance. Yet every time she tried to initiate conversation, the man would say two words and be done. She’d tried to be flirtatious, she’d tried to be witty, she’d tried being sarcastic. Nothing worked. She was down to just small talk. “So where is Aeris? Is he busy, m‘lord? Normally he’s here. Though I have to say I don’t miss his presence....he always had a strange smell...”

The ambassador smiled, “Yes, Buttins has commented on it.” Six words. It was the longest sentence he’d spoken to her.

Arg! What was wrong? Surely the ambassador couldn’t hate her company after only a few moments of knowing her? He couldn’t think that his wife would be annoyed of him dancing with her; it had been Tylannah who’d stuck them together. What was it?

His silence was now grating on her every nerve. Moriah could feel a headache coming on, and asked the ambassador if they could go outside for a moment, “A few moments of fresh air on the balcony and I’ll be fine. Then we can dance some more.”

The ambassador thought for a while, then nodded. “If you need rest, we shall come back in time for the next dance.” He followed her out one of the large windowed doors onto the balcony, just quietly watching and waiting as the petite woman closed her eyes and breathed in the cold air around her. The delicate woman lifted herself up to sit casually on the balcony ledge, ignoring the drop behind her, her legs swinging underneath her like a child. Smiling serenely, green eyes looked up to catch the man looking at her, her head tilted to one side and she frowned beneath her purple mask, “What is it? Why do you stare?”




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





The jester, Edoreth, felt embarrassed, watching as the gentility passed them by sniggering slightly, sweating profusely in his green costume, his pale blue and white painted face slowly melting, colourful makeup drawing lines down his tubby jowls and cheeks. In the streets, his group could make old crippled men start to roll around crying with laughter on the ground. But here was not the street, here they were out of place, a joke, an awkwardly played out act of silly accidents and falling over, that just fell flat in front of the crowds of stone faced nobility.  

The large man grew sick of their blank stares and sneering frowns, pulling up his green pantaloons, he stomped off. His fellow clowns called after him, quietly cursing at him to come damn well come back. But Mister Beattie had had enough; the crowd weren’t that interested in them anyway. What was the point? Let them dock his pay, at least he’d have his dignity...though his wife’s voice appeared in his mind, “Dignity won’t buy food for the bairns!”

The jester wriggled through the labyrinth of drapery and found himself a spot on one of the balcony, out of sight, with the open air to cool his sweat-covered costume. Wiggling a fat hand around in the hidden inside pocket of his sparkly waistcoat, he was overjoyed to discover his pipe and a small supply of pipeweed. He’d told Veera that he’d given up, they really didn’t have enough money to fund his habit, but he was desperate and this felt like a bloody good time for a puff of Old Red Smokey.

He lit his pipe with a handy nearby candelabra and leaned against the lavish window frame, breathing the old welcoming smell of the earth, brandy and old cheese. Damn good propa smells...none of them fancy stuff filling rich folk’s pipe. Hmm...haven’t smoked this much since the highlands...

Watching as the tendrils escaped from the balcony into the dark cloudy night, Edoreth’s mind was drawn back to those dark years serving for the Griffins. At least back then, he’d been part of something, sure, he’d been so starving that he’d been skeletal in appearance. He’d served fools and been through what felt like the underworld. But at least he’d been part of something important. Now he was just a clown. Damn nobles...look at me...still stuck serving bloody fools...strange I ran into Dorian....

The old soldier peered out of his concealed hiding place, and glanced around, wondering if perhaps Redhead was around. Poor git, never got over that dead brother of his....

Then, he spotted a face amongst the snobs and bottom-lickers, a familiar face but one that didn’t belong to Redhead. His memories weren’t sharp anymore, but Edoreth was a knife when it came to remembering the old brigade days. The soldier’s ratty face had acquired a mask and a waiter’s uniform, but the fat jester still recognised the rat man for who he was. Oi, oi, what’s he doing here? Bastard should still be tied to a damn rock...

Old Beattie’s legs strained as he stood up on his tiptoes, trying to track his old friend, the waiter, as he drifted smoothly through the crowds. The jester watched as the waiter did nothing but innocently hand out drinks. Edoreth was going to forget about him and go back to smoking Old Red, when the rat waiter did something strange.

It was a simple act in itself. The man just picked up a mask that had been left on a table, and replace it with another identical one. It wasn’t that sinister an act. But it was a peculiar one. The waiter’s small eyes scanned the crowd, checking if anyone had spotted him. The fat jester tried to duck down, but his reaction was too late and the waiter caught a glimpse of the green tights as he hid behind silver curtains. Edoreth’s knees quivered, Gods damn it, he’s seen me!  





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





Taking each of her new darling friends arm in arm, Kaitrin guided them towards the dance floor. A sly smile crossed her fair face and she leaned her head down to whisper as if the lady was conspiring dark plots and blackmail, not just repeating the latest profane gossip to reach the ears of the noblewoman.

“Well I knew his uncle a little, if he is half the man that Arnurd was, well then he’ll be one to watch. But I have only seen him from afar,” The Lady of Lorehaven flapped a hand elegantly towards the floor filled with couples dancing, “Look there he is dancing with Moriah, my, they dance well together.”

Her head turned, like a small child, she dreamily commented on the world around her, saying anything that came to mind. “Oh and there’s his wife, Tylanna, talking with Moriah’s husband. Though I have no idea what they could be talking of, the man’s a bore, knows nothing of the world except work and politics, treaties and compromises. At least, my Pargis can talk of the latest Faugars and new Scriabins, though his views on the matter are somewhat unrefined...”

The young Lady of Lorehaven paused mid-step and her pretty face contorted from the excursion of thinking, realising that her tongue had slipped. “Oh dear, I spoke too ill, you won’t repeat my words to Moriah will you? I don’t truly believe such things.”

The young noblewoman looked pleadingly upon the two women with her pale almond eyes staring innocently at them under long curled eyelashes. But before she continued her case further, the lady was distracted again by another sight, making her completely forget her mistake, her current guilt vanishing as quickly as it appeared. Ignoring her heartbeat, Kaitrin spoke in her most casual tone, “Oh here comes Lord Valdimarr, but why does the man hurry so?”

Indeed there could be seen a blond haired mane sliding effortlessly towards them through the thick crowd. Luckily the man stopped his quick pace before he crashed into Clarissa’s bodice, though perhaps, secretly neither of them would have minded such an occurrence. A smile lit up his face. “Ah, Kaitrin, I hope I do not disturb you.” With that, the man jumped down and hid behind the three women’s figures.

The young Lady of Lorehaven frowned, confused as why the man was crouching behind them. “What are you doing Lord Valdimarr?!”

“Hiding, my dear Kaitrin, now please kindly not use my family name, Jarl will do.”
The noble chanced a smile at the red attired warrior woman and her pretty friend in the green dress, “Lord Craske and Lord Seyelt have been hounding me all night, I’ve had to keep in the shadows. They seek an argument with me, somehow, they believe that I’ve offended them, I can’t think why, I just talked of land and politics.”

He smiled a wry smile at the women, and glanced again at the beautiful blond in the green dress. “So I’ve made my way to the dance floor in hopes of getting rid of them by dancing with someone completely enchanting.”

Kaitrin watched as the man stared at Clarissa, no doubt completely enthralled by the woman. Reluctantly she introduced the two other women, “Jarl, this is Clarissa Solosis and Salkazrian.”

The young noble turned towards the red masked individual. Ah, the armour, the badge, it all added up to indicate that the woman was a seyelite, which probably meant that flirtation and charm was not work with her. “Ah, I suppose you must be here to guard your friend against unwanted advances! I am honoured to meet you; I admire your Order greatly. Now, surely you wouldn’t mind me whisking your employer away for just a dance or two? I will promise that no harm comes to her.”

The man then smiled, grabbing his mask from a nearby table, he pulled Clarissa excitedly after him onto the dance floor. The green clothed and blond haired couple became another part of the crowd, dancing in the sway of the music.

Kaitrin sighed, watching as Clarissa was swept away to dance with Jarl. As much as she loved Pargis, his being thirty years hereolder meant that the man never danced. Cards and brandy were more his thing. Often the two could go for days without any sort of interaction, but they did try to talk to each other at breakfast. It was a lovely life, but one still lacking in dancing.

The young noble woman decided to try to make conversation with the peculiarly dressed Seyelite, though sadly her choices of conversation topics were rather limited. “I suppose Seyelite don’t marry? I mean you must be far too busy soldering, fighting and that sort of thing, to be able to settle down and raise a family....”

 As Kaitrin talked, two angry looking noble in well polished armour, stormed into the ballroom, one stout and one broad, one fair and one dark, but both sporting well trimmed and combed beards. Spotting Jarl, they began to push people out the way. A few shouts and angry exclamations could be heard as they barged their way towards the dancing noble. The man himself noticed not a thing, completely enthralled with the lovely woman he danced with.

Only when his partner was carelessly pushed aside and a fist came flying towards him, did he realise. But by then it was too late, Jarl went flying to the floor, almost trodden on by panicking and angry nobility, the young blond man staggered to his feet, wiping the blood from his face, “You’ll spill blood in the king’s presence, at a ball, Seyelt? Over a little disagreement...” Whump. Another punch, this time in the stomach, the slender man fell again to the floor.

Seyelt and Craske closed in on the bent over figure, but before they could do anything, two brave nobles tackled them to ground. “To me!” Called out Craske, and with that chaos broke out as half the men in the hall appeared to come to their aid, while the other half came to Jarl’s.

What before had been a peaceful social event, now became a scuffle. Musicians and entertainers dived out the way of drunken brawlers. Waiters cowered behind tables, with several old-timers muttering “Every damn year!” and “Always the bloody same!”

Professional bodyguards leapt in to protect their nobles and the king’s guard charged in to try to break it up.

The castellan of the Nermeran embassy let out a sigh of frustration. The former envoy started to search for his wife and Ambassador Fruwee, carefully dodging and sliding through the sea of rowdy nobility.

Lady Kaitrin of Lorehaven could been seen standing on top of a table out harm’s way, calling out in a very lady-like manner, “Pargis, don’t hurt yourself! Hit him with the chair!”

Grinning at the carnage, Ambassador Tristram just turned towards the compendiumist next to him, “Some party, ay!”


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Drea on February 20, 2010, 02:57:34 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Drea was unsettled.  Talking with Quinn had unnerved her.  Her secret identity wasn't so bad in of itself, she really couldn't care less if people knew that Drea Corfuyne was not her real name, but the damage they might do to her family if they knew who Andrea Miner was left her feeling sick.

"Are you alright?"

Drea jumped, swivelling her head to see Corrigahn standing close to her.  Just great, last thing I need is him here to gloat.  "I'm fine."  She started to walk away, but felt him gently grab her arm.  If she didn't know better, she might actually believe that he was trying to be nice.

"Are you sure?  You can talk to me, you know."

Drea hesitated, then shook her head.  "No, there's nothing to talk about.  Where is the Ambassador and the Lady?  They had me shaking hands for them, and I wasn't able to keep an eye on them."

Corrigahn stared hard at her for a moment, knowing that she wasn't opening up to him, but not knowing why.  He then tilted his head in the direction of the dance floor.  "They are close.  The ambassador is with the Lady Quinn.  Lady Tylannah is over near the harp player."

Drea glanced to the dance floor where Fruwee and Moriah were now ending their dance.  They were headed toward the open balcony, and Corrigahn moved to follow.  She was relieved that the Captain of the Guard would no longer be questioning her.  Him being genuinely concerned bothered her.  She moved toward the Lady, her dress rustling as she walked.



Temporary agreement?  Oh, that was a great bit of news.  Imagine, this talented harp player being in the sole employ of the Varynn Embassy!  Why, they would be the envy of all the other delegations.  Tylannah curtsied when the castellan politely excused himself and turned back to the elfess.  She laughed, her merriment sounding as delicate as the tinkling of the crystal fluted wine glasses that rang with each toast made.  "Kalina, I think that is all I could call you.  Such a beautiful name, but one that is impossible to pronounce."  She inclined her head a bit.  "I think your Tharian is wonderful.  It has an exotic quality to it that I wish I possessed.  It makes you so much more..." she searched for the right word, "mysterious.  Yes."

Tylannah reached out and gently touched the elfess' arm.  "Tell me, Kalina.  Master Quinn informs me that you are here only on a temporary agreement.  I assume for the ball only?  Perhaps you might consider something more permanent?  My husband, the ambassador, and I are new here in New Santhala.  We have only just moved into the embassy, and have not yet been able to put my own touch upon the household staff.  One thing I am aware of, however, is that we do not have any performers.  I am quite the lover of music, and with not knowing very many people here, having music to fill the rooms would be most satisfactory."

She smiled her most charming smile though the mask concealed the harelipped grin, which was quite fetching despite the deformity.  "I would like you to give thought to coming to the Vardynn embassy and working in our household.  We would provide you with your own living quarters and a generous allowance.  In return, you could do small household duties, and when needed, provide entertainment for myself, my husband, and any guests we might have.  How does that sound, Kalina?  Please, say yes."



Holding the Lady Moriah in his arms, Fruwee felt things he rarely felt with such intensity.  She was graceful; she was beautiful; she smelled intoxicating.  As they danced, he moved her around with ease, her skill at dancing rivaled his own.  Even Tylannah, before her pregnancy, was not this graceful.  It felt so nice.  Too nice.  In order to not get lost in her presence, he concentrated on the others in the crowd, trying to put her out of his mind.

The dance ended, and Fruwee followed her outside to the balcony, so that she could get some cool air.  They were alone out here, and that put Fruwee a bit more at ease.  No prying eyes.  No wagging tongues.

“What is it? Why do you stare?”

He hesitated, then spoke freely.  "Forgive me, Lady Moriah.  I have, my entire life, believed that the women of Vardynn to be the most beautiful in the world.  Tonight, being among all these women from the far corners of the realm, I had convinced myself that I was correct in my assumption.  And then I was introduced to you.  I must admit, that I hope that you were born in Voldar or an estate near there, so my selfish ideals are not destroyed."

Moriah laughed gailey.  Of course she had heard men remark on her beauty many times, though a few more times from her husband would be welcome to her ears.  "Oh, my, Ambassador.  My, how you do flatter."  She smiled coyly.  "I am sorry, but I must admit to you that I was born in Astran.  My family controls much of the lumber milling in that area."

Fruwee let himself relax a bit.  "Then we have something in common.  The Fruwee fortune was made in the lumber trade generations ago."  He cleared his throat.  "Perhaps we might discuss business, sometime.  I could send my man to visit you and set up a meet at some future date."

"I am not involved in the business, m'lord.  My father had two sons that he has decided to share the business with.  It seems my worth was in my value as a potential wife and mother."  At this, she seemed to grow a bit more somber.  Then, she shrugged it off.  "But, please, send your man.  We can still set up a meet where we can discuss other subjects."  

Fruwee gave a crisp bow.  "Then I shall send my man soon, m'lady.  Would it be best if this were kept private between us?  Or would that be too forward of me?"

"For now, I think it best be kept between us."  She flashed a demure smile.  "And you were too forward long before that."

Fruwee was about to reply when he smelled pipeweed smoke.  It was then that he noticed a large garishly garmented man standing in the doorway.  The man was not paying attention to them, but was intently staring into the ballroom.  How much, if anything had that man overheard?  In truth, there was nothing overtly wrong with the conversation.  Still, it was best that as few people as possible know that he and the lady were engaged in personal conversation.

"Mayhap it be best if we rejoined the others?  Too long alone out here will busy the tongues of too many people, if I guess correctly."  He offered his arm to her, and they strolled back into the ballroom.  Curiously, Fruwee noted that the garish man appeared to be trying to hide behind the silver drapes.  Strange.



Corrigahn knew his place.  He was a bodyguard, not a chaperon.  Following the ambassador to the balcony, he set up a position where he could see out onto the balcony, while still inside the ballroom.  His job meant protection, not being privy to every conversation or move the ambassador made.  Obviously, the new delegate had taken a liking to Lady Moriah and wished a few moments alone.  Who would not?  Had Corrigahn thought the lady might cast a leering or lustful glance his way, he might attempt a private moment with her himself.  But, there were some prizes that only the most pedigreed of gentlemen could attain.  Though, searching his memory, he could not remember ever hearing any rumours about the Nermeran castellan's wife before.

One of the jesters took a position in the doorway, breaking out a pipe and smoking quietly.  Corrigahn regarded him for a moment before looking away.  He found Drea and watched her as she shadowed Lady Tylannah.  What had gotten into her?  Something the castellan had said?  What could that be?  In the time that Drea had been hired on to the embassy staff, this was the first time they had been invited to attend a function here.  It was unlikely she would have met him before now.  It was strange.

Suddenly shouts and noise grabbed Corrigahn's attention.  Something was happening.  A fight, and it looked as though more were gathering.  He grabbed at his sword and pulled it out and stepped toward the ambassador.  He wasn't completely sure what was happening, but he knew where his duty lay.  He reached out an arm and pressed his hand on the ambassador's chest.  "Hold on, m'lord.  Something is happening."  He glanced over to Drea, whose face was red aas shge struggled with her dress and petticoats.  Quickly, he switched hands with his sword, then reached down to the scabbard, where a hidden sheath held a handless throwing knife.

"Drea!"  As he called out her name, he tossed the blade toward her.  His was impressed with how calmly she dropped her skirt and grabbed the blade.  She was adept with weapons, but not with fancy gowns.

He then looked toward the Santhran, whose own personal guards had circled around him and were ushering him toward a rear door.

Somebody had disturbed the ball, and there'd be a steep price to pay for that.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on February 22, 2010, 03:55:07 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Suddenly something was happening. Finally...confusion had somehow gripped the ball but what was it all about? It did not matter as long as it could be used. Ylaya's sharp eyes moved this way and that before they zeroed in on the disturbance but the mass of people running about blocked her vision. Her ears now took over and twitched picking up a few words as she slowly made her way over to the brawling mass of individuals stepping over some upon which drunkenness had taken it's toll for this night. Humanity, how vulgar she thought.

Her head moved around as her eyes looked on seemingly dull until she saw the one she had been ready to take out in the corner of her eye. Listening very sharply her ears also picked up his name thrown between guards and nobles as they surrounded him and asked him about his condition. Now was the obvious time to strike whilst confusion was still at large...it could be the only chance she might get...she had to take it.

Slowly she went down low moving quickly avoiding the people dashing this way and that until she found herself crouched on a table. Her knee was awkwardly placed on someone’s head and this someone had definitely had too much to drink, but she did not care even as his face was plunged into his pudding. For now she could see the situation a lot better and that her target was on the move towards an exit. She had to act now!

Quickly as she could contained in her tight dress and with as much avoidance of potential people who could block her she moved to take cover behind a table that was in the general direction of the Lord and his ill prepared guardians. The large oak table was tall and it hid her from view as food began to get thrown around and tables pushed over...and she remained calm in the face of the conflict around her...after all her future was at stake. She knelt there ready to dispatch of her quarry.

With careful precision she slowly removed the two thin sharp blades from each glove and hid them under the shadow of her elongated arms. Her dark long gloves hid the blades very well as she knelt there and no one seemed to notice her...many seemed to think she had merely dropped something, well she would, but not yet. Yet one thing was bugging her, the tightness of the dress she wore, it restricted her knees from bending and she had simply had enough. Taking one blade quickly she sliced the centre of the dress so it had a slit and gave her more flexibility.

The blades she had were not the best for open combat, they were not her usual ones and they would only manage six or seven actions at the most before they shattered…she would have to use them with conservation in mind…and quickly. She also kept in mind that beneath her now ruined dress and stockings strapped onto her there was no armour…this increased her speed but she had lost an element of defence…any blows would be fatal…she had to avoid prolonged combat at all costs.  

As voices became louder and more razed her eyes and ears remained on full alert as she could hear them approach. She gathered herself together, blades ready...any second and they would pass directly infront of her. The first blade would aim for the Lord's neck, slicing across it and spilling blood, the second would be thrown immediately after at his head if it was possible. The guards could hopefully be kicked aside.

Then as quickly as she thought and planned it out she dived out from behind the table and made her first slice with her blade...but something had gone horribly wrong. A waiter carrying a dish full of empty glasses had walked infront of the Lord and his guards and she had mistook him for the Lord. The sound of shattering glass filled the ball under the yelling and brawling taking place not far away. Her eyes widened as the dish he carried slipped from his hands and a sliced white cloth floated down to the ground. The waiter's face seemed shocked at what he saw...and he had a right to be. To anyone else in that immediate vicinity she seemed like a demon with her black horned mask and dark gloves and partially visible thick black stockings…someone you did not want to mess with.

However, she had made a mistake and now she had to compensate for it quickly or run…but running was not an option yet. With her leg she kicked the waiter backwards into a small crowd and he felt the wind had been kicked out of him as her heel penetrated his stomach. Then before one of the guards could raze his sword to combat her she dealt the guard a blow to his head and slammed him with her elbow. His neck sprung backwards as he finally managed to raze his blade and he brought it down on her. Reacting with haste she blocked his downwards swipe with her thin blades crossed over and locked together. His swords scraped on her two blades as he tried to overpower her, but it didn't work and he brought his blade up. However his armour made him slow and she crouched down and took his legs out with a swipe of her leg bringing him to the ground with a loud thud.

She smiled and her eyes fixed on her target as she walked over his twitching body on the floor. A perfect chance to deliver a crippling message but she simply did not have time to do so.

For another contestant now approached, pushing the Lord aside and he was even better armoured with an axe and some plate.  

“You dare to strike a guard, state your intention or prepare or…” he stated under his helmet as she approached him…he just did not have time to finish his ultimatum for she was not messing about.  

He swung but he was clunky like the other and his brawling was wasted on her. She simply moved her head to the side and came from below delivering a thrust with her blade that hit the unpadded area underneath his right arm disabling that arm completely. A kick from her knee then sent him to his knees as she removed the blade embedded in his arm pit and it was stained with blood. She had to use her blades now on the Lord or they were not going to be in one piece to do so. She was running out of swipes, stabs and thrusts…but now her target was infront of her and the way was temporarily clear.

Now with a final kick she sent the Lord to the ground before he could pick up the axe his comrade had dropped…he had now been dropped for the second time. In the corner of her eyes she saw others coming to his aid, she had seconds…one blade was quickly moved behind her back as the other was prepared to be thrown directly at him, this one was razed. She aimed for his head...this would hopefully finish him or she would need to use the other to make a final thrust and then...she could make her escape quietly through the window.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Kalína Dalá'isyrás on February 23, 2010, 02:04:23 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

"Kalina, I think that is all I could call you.  Such a beautiful name, but one that is impossible to pronounce."  She inclined her head a bit.  "I think your Tharian is wonderful.  It has an exotic quality to it that I wish I possessed.  It makes you so much more..." she searched for the right word, "mysterious.  Yes."

Quite unable to hide the relief which washed over her mind and body, Kalína's cheeks and eyes visibly cooled with the sound of the Lady's words and sincere tone of voice. It was a comfort to know she had not insulted the Lady with her broken Tharian, yet her personal embarrassment, from her lack of knowledge in speaking, remained despite the assurances. She ran her slender fingers along the seams of the bag, enjoying the feel of its craftsmanship beneath her calloused fingertips. At a loss of what to say to the Lady, not like she would say it correctly though anyways. The woman laid a hand softly on Kalína's arm before continuing, not really waiting for a fumbled response from the elfess.

"Tell me, Kalina.  Master Quinn informs me that you are here only on a temporary agreement.  I assume for the ball only?  Perhaps you might consider something more permanent?  My husband, the ambassador, and I are new here in New Santhala.  We have only just moved into the embassy, and have not yet been able to put my own touch upon the household staff.  One thing I am aware of, however, is that we do not have any performers.  I am quite the lover of music, and with not knowing very many people here, having music to fill the rooms would be most satisfactory."

"I would like you to give thought to coming to the Vardynn embassy and working in our household.  We would provide you with your own living quarters and a generous allowance.  In return, you could do small household duties, and when needed, provide entertainment for myself, my husband, and any guests we might have.  How does that sound, Kalina?  Please, say yes."

A kiorna et tor eskal... Her fingers stilled as she took a moment to attempt to process the Lady's words, going over and over them in her mind. The offer was quite unreal and unexpected, as she had barely introduced herself before the extension. The colour slowly began to return to her features as she pondered on how to respond to such an offer. Thoughts spun as she tried to make sense of what was happening. The position would allow her the opportunity to feel at home in a place once again, while also giving her the advantage of being able to search for Ystein in her own time, hopefully he had found his way to New Santhala and her son was but a few days of searching away. The idea of being able to hold her son again was almost too much for her to bear and tears tried to emerge from the golden hues, but she quickly blinked them back as to not create a scene. How to respond to such generosity, as her Tharian struggled, she wasn't sure how to verbalize an acceptance.

"Ve-ry...much, " she nodded her head almost vigorously in an attempt to hopefully be understood from the three words uttered from her lips. "...y-es." Excitement coursed through her, causing her heart to flutter with anticipation and wonder of what the future may hold.

Noticing a lady, seemingly uncomfortable in her current attire, plodding her way over to the Ambassador's wife. Kalína wasn't sure who the lady was, but the look in her eyes told her - she was here on business and her enjoyment of the affairs at hand was minimal. Her reverie, however, was drastically cut short and so was any further discussion with the Lady in terms of what she could expect on a daily basis. A commotion had begun and had caused many to run about in confusion as to what was going on. "Drea!" The woman coming towards the Lady calmly dropped her skirts and ran into the fray, a look of frightening determination in her eyes. Before anyone could protest, Kalína rose to her feet and set her harp on the chair, hoping to see if she could see anything amongst the numerous bodies and heads roaming around the room. Making a split second decision, Kalína ushered towards the Lady to join her on the stage, buthere was little Kalína could do to actually protect her. There was a safety in numbers and the elfess could appear dangerous to fend off those who wished to approach if need be. Extending her hand towards the Ambassador's wife, the woman clasped it and Kalína helped her onto the stage to get out of the way of the masses. Once the Lady was safe off the ground, Kalína turned her attention back to the commotion, trying to think of how to bring things down a notch in chaos.

"Taelnori Fathiniol!"* She closed her eyes and slowly lifted her left hand into the air as she shouted, bringing the entire room to an almost dead silence at the sound of her voice, almost as if they were under a spell of dumbness.

The power in her voice was much more pronounced than when she had been singing as a deathly calm settled over the night's guests. Her golden hues glowed slightly with the power coursing through her, pulsating with ancient and raw power. It was the hope her interruption would bring at least a pause to the happenings and allow people to see clearly what they are wanting to do, to think about what they should be doing and hopefully make the right decision for everyone, even those not directly involved. She then lowered her arm slowly, lessening the effects of the calming sensations, but not removing them completely. Turning to the Lady, she then tried to encourage them to find safety.

"Sa-fe-ty?"



*Quiet Children!*


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Salkazrian on February 23, 2010, 02:39:44 AM
   Yes, Salkazrian could see why Clarissa had warned her not to reveal anything too personal in front of Lady Kaitrin.  She was one of those women who spoke before they thought; a very dangerous habit to have.  Still, she seemed nice enough, and Salkazrian reasoned that she probably had little else to do with her time other than gossip.

   Lord Valdimar was a true lady’s man.  The way he carried himself, the way he spoke, his charming smile, yes, Salkazrian had seen it all a hundred times before.  It was no wonder that Clarissa had mentioned him as a potential new mate.

   It didn’t take long for the lord to whisk Clarissa away onto the dance floor, and Salkazrian couldn’t help but feel that they made a good match as she watched them move together.

   For a moment, there was an awkward silence, but then Lady Kaitrin started to speak.  It was a fairly routine piece of small talk, that Salkazrian had answered countless times before.  It always seemed to surprise people that she was married.  Perhaps it was because outside Serphelorian culture, men would never consider taking a soldier as a wife.

   Fortunately, though, the usual conversation which followed such queries didn’t take place.  Instead, two men entered the picture.  They were obviously spoiling for a fight.  Their body language and single minded determination to reach somebody were unmistakeable signs that something interesting was about to happen.

   Salkazrian excused herself from Kaitrin, and started to make her way over to Clarissa and Jarl.  She couldn’t help but assume that these aggravated newcomers were Lord Craske and Lord Seyelt; Jarl’s pursuers.

   The dancing couple were still a slight distance away, and Salkazrian could see that the two men were definitely heading towards them.  She felt her heart rate pick up slightly, and she unconsciously flexed her hand.

   Then, when she was almost there, one of the two men rudely pushed Clarissa aside, and punched Jarl.  Ignoring the floored lord, Salkazrian steadied her friend, and asked if she was alright.

   “Oh, Salk!  Help him!  It’s two on one!”

   Salkazrian looked over at the two men accosting Lord Valdimar.  She was sure that she’d be able to handle them, but before she had a chance to, the brawl escalated.  Some of the men in the room were coming to help Jarl, but a great many were siding with Craske and Seyelt.  It was going to get very messy, very quickly.  Drunken fights were never pretty, and Clarissa’s safety was still the number one priority.

   “Come on, this way.”  Salkazrian started to guide Clarissa away from the trouble.

   “No!  Don’t leave!  He might get hurt!”

   Salkazrian continued to lead her friend away, telling her that Lord Valdimar was big enough to look after himself.

   Just then, a drunken woman came looming out of the melee, and took a swing at Clarissa.  Salkazrian was on top of it, though, and caught the wild punch easily.  She then slid her grip over the woman’s wrist, and put her into a painful lock.

   “Ow!” the woman screamed.  “Get off me!”

   Salkazrian ignored the request.

   “Are you gonna be’ave!” she yelled in reply.

   The woman just squealed, and started to pull at Salkazrian’s grip with her free hand.

   Increasing the pressure on the wrist a little, Salkazrian asked the same question.

   “I said, are you gonna be’ave!”

   “Get your dog off me!” the woman screamed at Clarissa.

   “Wrong answer,” Salkazrian thought to herself, as she ratcheted up the pain levels even more.

   “Last chance,” she said, leaning in to the woman’s ear.  “Either be’ave yerself, or go ‘ome with a broken thumb!”

   “Alright, alright,” the woman whimpered, “I’ll behave.  Just let me go!”

   Instantly, Salkazrian released the lock, causing the woman to stagger backwards, clutching her thumb.  Seeing that she was no longer a threat, Salkazrian returned her attention to escorting Clarissa to safety.

   The whole dance floor had exploded by now, and it was hard to see a clear escape route.  Still, there was one way that seemed to be suitable.  And who was that?  Salkazrian noticed that Jarl’s bodyguards were leading him the same way.  Deciding that it’d be best to try and catch up with them, Salkazrian started to move Clarissa in their direction.

   Not far off, the sound of shattering glass caught the seyelite’s attention.  She instinctively flashed a glance in its direction, and caught the sight of a tall woman in a black mask.  She was about the same height as Salkazrian herself, and she had two knives drawn.  Instantly, Salkazrian’s level of threat awareness jumped into the red, and she drew her sword.

   “Keep very close to me,” she said to Clarissa, as she kept on moving, watching the new threat.

   This woman was completely out of place here.  There was something decidedly not right about her.  She kicked a waiter harshly, and made an advance towards Jarl’s bodyguards.  Salkazrian picked up her pace, aiming to position herself behind this sinister lady.

   A guard was down now, but the woman didn’t waste her time with him.  She obviously had a different agenda in mind.  Another guard blocked her path, and in no time at all, he was down, stabbed under the arm.  It was a classic move for a trained knife fighter going against an armoured foe, and Salkazrian knew from it that this woman was a professional killer.

   Still, she’d managed to position herself behind the woman, and had apparently avoided detection.

  “Wait here,” she whispered urgently to Clarissa, as she began her approach.

   Lord Valdimar was on the floor, and his potential assassin was readying for the death blow, one knife raised, ready to be thrown at the helpless man, the other behind her back.

   Salakazrian had no intention of letting her quarry know that she was there.  But she had no intention of killing her, either.  Instead, she aimed to ‘defang the snake’; a poetic term she used for disarming an adversary.

   With this in mind, Salkazrian swung her sword up, in preparation for the downward blow, which would hopefully slice the assassin’s raised arm just below her shoulder.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on February 23, 2010, 04:25:21 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

It was now the time to strike, her eyes picked the perfect spot...right in the head...it was all set...but...what? That voice…she could feel the presence of another elf. Then sounds of disturbance filled her ears...she knew it had all gone too smoothly. In the space whislt the voice rang out Ylaya had time to concentrate her thoughts...something else was amiss.

For suddenly Ylaya's senses again sprang into action and her ears picked up the subtle movements behind her and her long ears twitched in recognition of the whispering that had taken place a moment earlier. Such a move was not unexpected and Ylaya kept calm in the face of the presence she felt behind her. Interesting that someone would attack her from behind...well whoever it was they obviously did not know they faced a Coór'hém Elf...very foolish...

...with her blade raised she had only one option and that was to drop the blade and face the new threat from behind. The voice seemed to dim; now she had to face them. Originally ready to strike like a missile the knife in her hand was dropped through her fingers and caught as she turned to face the sword looming over her from the rear. One blade she held infront of her ready to address the oncoming assault, the other she held in reserve ready to strike a single blow.

She seemed to be tense as she faced her new opponent for the knives were not meant for this kind of prolonged combat. If she were to take down this aggressor she would have to do it now or retreat. Only one thrust she thought as she prepared for the sword to come down. She would leap backwards and deflect it with any luck...but her priority had to be the Lord…she had to complete her mission.

To her this new attacker seemed more skilled than the previous brawlers, this she could tell by her stance…but for now the blow would fall…the next seconds would be the decider of this contest, she did not have time for.  


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Drea on February 24, 2010, 12:02:33 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Drea listened to Tylannah and the elf with waning interest.  Whether or not they hired a musician was of no concern to her.  Just another face in the corridors.  She spotted Corrigahn standing near the balcony doors, as Fruwee and the Nermeran castallen's wife reentered the room.

She heard a disturbance across the room and swivelled her head in the direction of it.  Through the crowd it was impossible to see what was going on exactly, but she could tell that it was violent.  She needed her dagger and began to rummage through her skirt and petticoats in order to get at it.  Dammit!  This was the last time she would dress like this.  Either she would get to dress in her own clothes, or she would wear men's clothes.

She heard her name barked out, and she lifted her head toward Corrigahn, who was tossing something at her.  As it slowly turned over in the air, she could see it was a throwing knife.  Deftly, Drea reached out and snatched it from the air.  It was a good utilitarian weapon; well balanced and honed.  It did not have a proper handle, however, only an elongated tang to grip.  If she had to fight with this, she would be at a distinct disadvantage.  So, instead, Drea used the knife to cut a hole through her skirt and the layers of petticoats.  She then pulled forth the leather handled dagger from beneath.  It immediately felt better in her hand.  Not as good as her twin ephords, but it would do for now.

There was movement behind her, and Drea turned to look at her charge, the Lady Tylannah.  The elf had moved toward the lady.  Was she a secret assassin?  Drea tensed and flipped the throwing knife over in her hand, ready to send it into the heart of the elf.  Something in the elf's manner stayed hand, however.  It did not look like an actual attack.  In fact, it looked as though the elf were trying to help the lady by pulled her up onto the raised dais that was the elf's stage.

Drea moved forward and nimbly, or would have been nimbly without this stupid dress, jumped up onto the stage.  She approached Tylannah and the elf, but suddenly halted in her tracks, as the elf raised her arm and spoke in a voice that seemed to boom outward from her.  Instinctively, her hands went up toward her ears.  For a brief moment, the room was silent except for the fight that was ongoing.

A mage?

Drea stepped between the lady and the elf.  "I'll keep the lady safe."  It was not a request, but a statement of fact.  Drea then felt a gentle touch on her shoulder brought on by Tylannah's hand.

"It is alright, Drea.  Kalina means no harm."



Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Salkazrian on February 26, 2010, 08:47:22 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

   A strong, commanding voice echoed around the room, and for some reason, Salkazrian felt a wave of calm wash over her.  It was an unusual sensation, and suddenly, the terrific din that had filled the hall became conspicuous by its absence.  It was almost as though she had turned deaf within a blink.

   “In warfare, you should remain cautious.”

   The soft voice of Jilorkath Xylibinxau, one of Salkazrian’s mentors, came clearly into the warrior woman’s thoughts.

   “Go into action only when you see that it will be advantageous; if you see no advantage, then stop.”

   Time seemed to pass in slow motion as the assassin let her knife fall through her fingers.

   “The rule is,”

   Catching her knife, the assassin turned on the spot to face Salkazrian.

   “Be as immovable as a mountain.”*

   Salkazrian smiled slightly, and brought her sword down to a guard position, the point only a palmspan away from her foe.  Jilorkath was right; now that the assassin had turned her attention away from Jarl, what advantage could be gained by engaging her?  Lord Valdimar was her target, and he was still alive, busy scrambling to his feet.

   Even though Salkazrian had never been trained in the arts of the narists, she knew enough to understand that their chief weapons were surprise and concealment; this assassin had just lost both.  She had nowhere to go.  She was in a room filled with guards.  And she’d brought knives to a swordfight.

   Instead of pushing her attack forwards, Salkazrian merely took advantage of the silence, and shouted for guards.  Lord Valdimar was quick to join her.

   “Assassin; guards, to me!”

   Salkazrian watched her foe carefully; the feeling of calm was gone, replaced with an all too familiar tension.  Her sword was poised menacingly, pointing at her opponent’s heart.

   Would she try and fight her way free?  Was she suicidal enough?  Or would she make a run for it, trying to hide in the crowd?  Salkazrian was certain that she wouldn’t give herself up, and so it pretty much came down to that; fight or flight.

*   From Extraordinary Strategies of a Hundred Battles by Liu Ji.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on February 27, 2010, 05:28:57 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Ylaya saw the fat pitiful guards rally to the one who had attempted to attack her from behind. Her dark eyes carefully watched and shifted from side to side as more foes massed against her, she could slowly tell she was being slowly moved back into a corner...this was clearly to her disadvantage. She could not win this…it was not possible.

For some reason she had also lost sight of her quarry, but he was too defended to reach now anyway. What was the best next move to make? she thought as she razed her blades encase one of them decided to be bold...but then again they did not have to...where as soon she would simply be too overpowered by all of them to even strike back. She tried not to show her insecurity...but it was too difficult and she did look slightly nervous.

Accessing the situation and casting away thoughts of her quarry and the implications of failing in her mission she looked at the window leading to the garden. It was not far from the edge of the guard encirclement...if she could punch a whole through there she could make a get away through the garden and across the roofs the exact way she had come in. It was the only way and she knew it.

With speed she charged the edge of the guard encirclement and threw one of her blades at a guard making him loose sight...the blade did not penetrate...but the impact on his helmet dulled his vision and he swung around without balance. She readied her next blade to finish him but then…

…suddenly, the guard fell through the window she aimed to break through herself, it was lucky and at least now cuts were avoidable. For the second time tonight the sounds of smashing glass filled the room and the groans of an overpaid fat guard. Pitiful she thought as his arms moved slightly and she continued to move to the window.

As another guard tried to move in and help the fallen one she now reached her escape route and she used her blade to block the swing he dropped on her. However, her knife shattered and she felt the pain in her hand of the impact. The swing had been heavy and his brutal attack sent her to the ground clenching her hand. She fell to her knees...she was soo close to the window...she could not let her escape route be jeopardized now…but how to get past this last obstacle.

He hung over her like someone who thought they were superior…but what had he achieved? Seeing her other blade on the floor, the one she had thrown a few seconds ago she slowly moved her hand over to it and looked at his unprotected undercarriage.  

He held his blade over her but failed to bring it close enough so she could not make a strike against him before he could

“You are under arrest woman, but I will not strike a lady again…but move and you give me no choice” he said trying to come from a moral high ground. He failed to impress her and her eyes looked at him in an innocent way trying to make him lower his senses.

In this world women can do just as much damage as men and this chivalrousness, what a fool she thought.

With no remorse she delivered a quick thrust and stuck her blade through the lower part of his leg and up into his waist. In response to this assault from below he yelled in pain and failed to deliver the second swing of his blade. She then stood up ready for more...but now she had to run. Removing the knife before he fell to the ground she crawled over the other guard who hung almost lifeless on the window frame. The other guards in the room looked at her in disbelief and with reasoned concern seeing the number of there fellow comrades immobilised infront of their eyes. Her physical appearance even made some of them a little less disciplined than usual and that was even without her revealing her face. They were bigger and stronger, but ultimately too slow for her.    

Ylaya simply smiled at the injured victims she had put down on the floor, but she had no time to stop and gloat…she had to escape. Jumping from inside the window onto a wall she then back flipped below into the rows of hedges that made up the garden. When she hit the grass she held her blade behind her back and ran into the darkness of the gardens. She did not look back and could not see whether she was being followed…at least she still retained one weapon if someone did attempt to pursue.  

Thoughts of failures jumped into her mind and she wondered what her employer’s response would be to failure, even though it was really no fault of her own. Would it be possible to give him something else if he did not see the night from her perspective…that all depended on how much of a man he really was…she would have to wait and see. As these thoughts filled her mind her mask fell from her face onto the ground, it had slipped off due to the scuffles…but she would have to leave it.

As she kept on running it could be seen that all that remained of her presence was the black mask and a shattered blade now expelled over the floor near the window…the assassin had fled.    


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Salkazrian on February 28, 2010, 04:10:49 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

   Salkazrian watched her opponent carefully, noticing the long, elven ears, and dark hair.  She almost spat on the floor when she realised that she was facing a dark elf.  The Diorye’oleal always seemed to be involved in trouble, and Salkazrian had spilt plenty of their blood whilst defending the land of her ancestors in the north.  A rush of anger came over her, and it was hard to remain in control and not launch a devastating attack.  Still, plenty of guards had arrived now, and the masked assassin was quickly getting trapped.  Salkazrian knew that now was the time to try and calm things down, to try and dissolve some of the tension.  If she attacked now, the elf would fight ferociously for her life, like a cornered rat.

   Yes, now was the time to start a dialogue, offering the assassin a way out that wouldn’t end in her immediate death.  Unfortunately, Seyela had other plans in store.  A piercing scream came from behind her, and Salkazrian knew that it was Clarissa.

   “Oh!  Salk!  Stop her!”

   There was an urgency in Clarissa’s voice that couldn’t be ignored; her protection was, after all, Salkazrian’s number one priority.  And besides, the other guards would be able to handle a single dark elf.

   Salkazrian edged backwards, letting a hefty man take her place in the circle.  Then, she turned her attention to Clarissa, who was being attacked by another woman.  It was a messy affair, with lots of hair pulling and vicious scratching.  A sword would do more harm than good here, so Salkazrian sheathed her blade, and ran over to the two battling women.

   “Oy!  Get off ‘er!” Salkazrian yelled as she wrapped her arm around the neck of Clarissa’s assailant.  A muffled cry came in response.  Even though Salkazrian only had one arm, she was still able to apply pressure to the choke that she had applied, by gripping her own breast binding and squeezing.  Then, feeling that the hold was strong enough, she dragged the woman backwards.

   Clarissa was obviously shaken, and her face was covered in blood.  Things seemed to be under control, though, so Salkazrian shot a quick glance over to the guards, to see if they had arrested the assassin yet.  Unfortunately, it seemed as though the dark elf was putting up a spirited fight.  Salkazrian cursed under her breath.

   Just then, a large, red-faced man came lurching forwards from out of the gathered onlookers.

   “Take your hands off my wife!” he shouted, heading straight for Salkazrian.  The man was really upset, and he was carrying a heavy-looking walking stick.

   “There we go,” Salkazrian thought to herself, as she felt the woman she was holding fall unconscious.  The agitated husband cried out as he watched his wife fall to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

   “What have you done to her?” he yelled, raising his stick into a threatening position.

   Salkazrian shot another look over to the guards, and was horrified to see that the fight was still ongoing.  Fools!  Why hadn’t they got control of the situation yet?

   “Sir, your wife is perfectly alright, I assure you.”

   Before Salkazrian could say anymore, the man’s stick came flying towards her in a forehand strike.  Instinctively, Salkazrian launched forwards, angling her body slightly and shooting her hand out to check the progress of her latest assailant’s blow.  The move worked, and the strike was stopped before it had chance to gain any real momentum.  Then, as fast as lightning, Salkazrian slid her hand down, and onto the base of the walking stick.  She then twisted it violently away from the man’s thumb, peeling it out of his grip.  She now had the stick, and she used the butt of it to deliver a vicious backhand blow to the side of the man’s unprotected chin.  Almost in slow motion, he collapsed to the floor, joining his wife in unconsciousness.

   Wasting no time, Salkazrian dropped the stick, and drew her sword again.  A quick look confirmed that Clarissa was okay, she was sitting on a table, her face pale from shock, but she was alright.

   “I’ll be with you in a blink!”  Salkazrian shouted as she ran past, back to the group of guards.

   “Where is she?  Where’s the assassin?”

   One of the guards pointed to a smashed window nearby.

   “She jumped through that.”

   Salkazrian ran over to the window, and looked out.  It was difficult for her to see much, but it was clear that the dark elf had managed to survive the fall.  Another curse escaped Salkazrian’s lips.  She’d give chase herself, but she had another priority tonight.

   “Did anyone follow her?” she asked another guard.  He shook his head, and looked at Salkazrian as though she were mad.

   “Well we need to give chase, she can’t be far.  She must have a place to escape to, somewhere that she’s got her things.  And a dark elf shouldn’t be too hard to find!  She’s the first of her kind I’ve seen in a long time.  Raise the alarm!”

   A few of the guards voiced their agreement, and a number of men set off in pursuit.

   “I must thank you, ma’am.”  Salkazrian turned, and saw Lord Valdimar standing in front of her.  Clarissa was standing beside him.  “You have almost certainly saved my life!”

   “Don’t thank me,” Salkazrian replied, “I only did what had to be done.”

   “No, Salk,” Clarissa said, “You really did save his life!  If it hadn’t been…”

   Salkazrian cut her off with a wave of her hand and a noisy refusal.  “Save the praise, Clarry; the assassin is still on the loose.”

   Clarissa’s face fell a little as she realised that it was true.

   “Tell me, Lord Valdimar, are there any who would want you dead?”

   The lord smiled wryly.  “Too many, I’m afraid.”

   Salkazrian snorted slightly.  “Seems as though you’re Mr and Mrs Popular tonight,” she said jokingly.  “Come on, let’s get out of here, I’m afraid your friend has just come round.”  Salkazrian pointed to the woman who had attacked Clarissa earlier.  She was on her knees, and rubbing her neck.

   “Yes, let’s,” Clarissa replied.

   “I wonder if I could join you,” Lord Valdimar said.  “I must confess, I’m still a little shaken, and I don’t relish the idea of running into that assassin again.  Well, not by myself, anyway, and I have a terrible feeling that she may still be on the premises, waiting for another chance.”

   Salkazrian nodded her approval.  “I have no objection.  But I fear that the party is over; for us, at least.”

   “What do you mean,” Clarissa asked, a little disheartened.

   “I’ll need to find the city’s guardhouse and alert the constables.  The attempted murder of a lord is a pretty serious offence, and I have information that’ll help them find the suspect.”

   Jarl nodded his agreement.   “She’s right, Clarissa.  I’m afraid it looks as though the party is over.”

   Clarissa sighed, and nodded as well.   “Yes, I suppose you’re right, Salk.”

   “Now come on, we’ve got no time to lose.  Lord Valdimar, do you know where the nearest guardhouse is?”

   “As a matter of fact, I do.  We can take my carriage, it isn’t far.”

   “No,” Salkazrian shook her head vigorously.  “We’ll take Clarissa’s, it’ll be safer.”

   “Oh, of course!  I’m sorry, I’m still not thinking straight.  But come, to the stables.”

   Jarl began to lead the way out of the hall, with the two women following behind.  As they walked, Clarissa winked at Salkazrian, and beckoned her closer.  Then, in a whisper, she said, “I know it sounds funny, but maybe some good has come out of all this.  I mean, at least I’ve got him in my carriage!  Who knows where he’ll end up sleeping tonight!”

   Salkazrian smiled at her friend’s determination.  “You might want to clean your face first,” she whispered back.  “It’s still covered in dry blood!  And you’ve got an awful cut.”

   “Oh, no!”  Clarissa raised a delicate hand to her face, and winced as she felt the scratch marks on her face.  “Look, there’s a bathroom there.  Jarl!”  She called to the lord, who stopped and turned to face the two women.  “I need to wash my face, would you mind waiting?”

   “Of course not.  Though, in truth, I fear I have little choice.  It is your carriage we’re taking, after all!”

   Clarissa laughed effeminately at the lord’s words, and Salkazrian unintentionally rolled her eyes.  Fortunately, neither of her partners had noticed; they were too busy looking at each other.

   “Ahem!”  Salkazrian cleared her throat, and nodded towards the bathroom.  “Let’s not waste any time.  And you’ll have to join us too, Lord Valdimar.  I don’t want to let either of you out of my sight at the moment.”

   “Very well,” the lord replied. “Come, to the bathroom!”


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Kalína Dalá'isyrás on March 03, 2010, 04:24:18 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

The moment of calm and silence quickly passed, almost too fast. Most fights resumed after the moment had ended, and Kalína felt as though she had failed those who had spent centuries in teaching her their abilities and perspectives. Yet, much had to be done and many needed protection from the chaos. People were either staring in horror a the events happening before them or scrambling for the door to be free and safe from whatever was plaguing the few. Golden hues surveyed the situation with a solemn disposition, wondering what they best course of action would be to get her new employer to a save location and not having the bodyguard worried about her safety.

"It is alright, Drea.  Kalina means no harm."

Kalína shook her head in agreement, not wishing to make the situation worse than it truly was already. People were injured and others were fleeing, leaving those bleeding alone without help.

"No...har-m.?"

A guard yelled out in pain, and Kalína's head spun in the direction from whence it came, trying to find its source location. Hoping it was not the Ambassador whose cry had been heard, for everyone's sake and the Lady's. Gazing about the room, he eyes rested on a guard bleeding profusely from several wounds and an elfess, running for the door with blood dripping from her knives. Fury built up in the elfess as she watched her kin flee from the scene. Determined to make something right tonight, she lifted her right hand and followed the elfess with it at a distance. Then, she began to chant quietly, calling upon the power of the ancients once again.

*"Finwae laglah, daelr nais falurk
Ad lor yae ral'sie, lavaere dolurk
Tilam ren traell, tilam ren balewi
Tene ralto ren lunadar, ron kaiver ralewi."

The potency of the incantations was stronger than that of her previous attempt, as the correct steps were followed, and not forgotten. She kept her eyes peeled on the elfess who had tried to run, but she wasn't getting away this time, if she had in the past. Without removing her concentration, she repeated herself from before to the Lady's bodyguard.

"Sa-fe-ty!" This time, with more conviction and urgency.



*"Innocent blood, has been spilt
By one who runs, without guilt.
Halt their step, halt their feet
For soon their fate, they shall meet."


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on March 03, 2010, 07:05:50 PM
The air outside was cold, the garden seemingly empty and darkness filled the vast open spaces that existed through corridors flanked by high hedges. As Ylaya moved swiftly through the maze that existed before her she now dared to look behind her and for the moment it seemed none had given chase. Carrying on she picked up the pace. When she had almost reached the shed where her stuff had been stored she suddenly felt a strange sensation with her legs...they somehow seemed to buckle...what was this?

Her feet seemed to ache with pain, where just a moment ago they had been fine and now...something had...or someone had done her a wrong. Her long ears slowly picked up the faintest of sounds in the background as she stood still trying to remain on her feet, someone was chanting back at the ball...the elf again perhaps. Ylaya's face portrayed that of someone helpless as she clung to a hedge to keep herself stable. She did not have time for this…

The shed was ultimately not far away and if she had to crawl to it so be it, but she was going to have to try, to give up now and risk capture would yield nothing but death. Besides, that chanting elf was not going to get the better of her for a second time.

As she tried to move her right foot forward she felt the pain again and then moving the left she quickly lost her stability and fell to the grassy ground. She tried to retain her thoughts as irritation made her progression slow. She sighed; she was going to have to crawl over to the shed.

Using her arms she pulled herself along the grass, but luckily the darkness shaded her from any eyes watching as she moved across the wet lawn. She felt rather embarrassed even though the guards were no way near in view as she was forced to move like a worm in the dirt to secure her own safety. As she reached the wooden shed that was hidden under the branch of a large willow she turned the handle of the door and pushed it open with difficulty. Her determination was not going to falter now, even if she had failed to complete her mission.

Rather slowly she crawled inside and shut the door behind her to make as little sound as possible.

What had just happened? she thought breathing heavily with exhaustion having to haul herself half the distance with her bare hands.

Whatever the elf knew or could do, she was powerful thought Ylaya as she looked at the wet clothes she wore.

This was going to take a bit longer than she had originally planned.

With frustration she took one of her two fresh original jagged blades in the corner and sliced the wet dress down the middle for it would take too long to peel it off being all wet and soggy. After it had been sliced in half she ripped it off and scrunched it into a ball. She then removed the long gloves she wore and tossed them into a corner as well. Without the assistance of her legs this was all taking longer and having to reach over after crawling and fighting was taking its toil.

Next Ylaya replaced her dress with her belt in the corner and long skirt that ran down the middle of her legs. She shook off her black stockings that still clung to her legs and thankfully they had not absorbed the water off the lawn as much. She then tightened the straps that held her stockings up on her belt in an effort to reduce the effects of whatever charm had been placed on her. Pain would hopefully overcome pain and allow her to continue, walking at least.

With some reduction in pain she stood up and attached the armour onto her legs she had been lacking in the assassination attempt. She then put on her original short gloves and the grip they had could be felt straight away as Ylaya placed her jagged blades on the sides of her belt where metal panels in the shape of skulls flanked her waist.

Now she was ready to get out of here...but as she was about to open the door she again fell to the planked floor of the shed. For torches lit up the garden outside as guards moved around searching for her. She looked as they moved searching the hedges, hopefully the shed would not draw attention to itself, but if it did...she looked around the shed...perhaps she could get through the window at the back. It was small, but it might be her only option. 

Seeing they still moved outside she grabbed all the wet clothes she had stripped off...her disguise for the ball and she stuffed it all into a whole in one of the planks into a darkened hole underneath. Hopefully no one would be curious enough to look down there and if they did...well...they still would not have her and that was the main thing. As she performed this hiding of her disguise she also grabbed the last thing in the shed, he long black cloak and hood which would hopefully give her more of a chance when she got outside of the shed and began sneaking away…

...but then where? she pondered.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Foraste Lydan on March 08, 2010, 03:50:54 AM
"So, you're here to put my party into the archives!" Lord Tristram certainly had a flair for publicity. Foraste and the ambassador chatted about the embassy and all of the expenses that had been put into the party. The lord had just started onto his personal life when a scuffle broke out in an adjacent group.

The ambassador broke off his monologue and stared at the lord being beaten by two armored men. The ambassador backed away from the scrap and looked around for any of his staff. Tristram's attendant guards emerged and encircled him.

Foraste tried to stop himself form laughing as he passed supposed nobility wrestling on the floor, clothes coated in wine and food. They're like children fighting over the last butterball,Foraste thought as he sidestepped one of the brawlers rolling on the floor and managed to make it to one of the calmer parts of the dance floor. Foraste found himself next to the Nemeran ambassador still. The lord did not bother hiding his mirth at the situation. "Some party, ay!"

Foraste responded with a smile, "Now I'll have something to write about!" The fight looked like it was dieing down when a chorus of screams sounded throughout the hall. The battered lord who had been the center of the brawl was being attacked by a black clad party goer. This was no random fight, the assailant had missed her quarry and was moving quickly for an exit, twin blades in hand.

Suddenly an immense quiet settled over the hall. Somehow the mass panic of the guests, fleeing in terror, was entirely soundless. Magic. The elven musician that Lady Fruwee had been watching evidently was more than she seemed. The black clad female disabled a few guards and leapt out of the window and into the garden. The hall was emptying, all of the guests were fleeing, leaving the injured behind.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on March 08, 2010, 07:00:12 AM
The flicker of torches began to appear outside of the shed as Ylaya waited for the right time to bolt it over to the wall and then the rooves. It seemed as if the stars had descended and began to light up small areas of the garden, bugs and moths gathering around there aura. The soldiers were obviously in a rush to find her and they missed out a number of potential hiding spots under hedges and even a large tree. To Ylaya's comfort they missed out the shed that was cloaked so perfectly under the willow. Just like letting the fish through the net  she thought as she hid behind the door.

As Ylaya watched the torches and flames getting fewer and fewer as guards moved to check other areas her right hand grabbed hold of the handle of the door. Her face showed some pain for her legs still felt in a bad way; hopefully the charm would wear off eventually, whatever it was...

Now as the last light disappeared Ylaya opened the door and slipped away under the willow and over the flowerbeds she has to cross before she encountered the wall. In the darkness it was a bit tricky to see where she was standing, but at least the ground was hard and not soft. Her blades remained ready, hidden, but ready. As she came in sight of the wall she saw one obstacle, her eyes watched him carefully. Another guard, but this time she had her better blades and darkness on her side.

As the guard stood there inspecting the wall and looking around he called back to the others some distance away.

"Oi, I will be there in a minute reet, just...just let me take care of one thing first" he said as he placed his sword down on the side of the wall. He also put down a lantern, curiously the only thing that might save him. Slowly he unzipped his pants and let his contents run down the wall and onto the flower bed under the wall.

Ylaya watched, she could easily finish him now from the back and end it, but that would be too easy, she had to leave one last sign, something that would strike fear into anyone who would dare try to follow her. Poor him she thought as she moved slowly over to him under the darkness. She enjoyed the fact she could not be seen for hiding the sound of her heels over the grass was easy.

"Ha, I'm sick of taking orders" he said to himself cheerfully and he zipped back up the hole in the middle of his pants. He shook his head as someone spoke from the darkness...as if a trumpet had sounded the call to arms.

"Hello there"
said Ylaya standing behind him watching him pick up his sword, rather stricken with shock.

"Who?...who are you?" he said holding his sword ready and set against her as he picked up his light. However the wind or something had blown it out.

"No one, just a simple servant"
she said speaking convincingly, trying to gain his trust with the simple speech she had available knowing that he could not see or identify her.

"What are you doing out here, hey...don't you know we got an assassin on the loose" he spoke firmly, rather happy he had not encountered the assassin.  

"Oh yes..."
she said coming a bit closer to him, but still not close enough for him to see her.

"...but I just wanted to ask, why do you take orders?" she said moving her head to the side, him seeing a shadow moving.

"What? Because I'm a servant of our lord..." he said in a confused way.

"Yes but what if you died following these orders?" she said with a soft voice trying to sound concerned as she came slightly closer.

"Then I would die with honour..." he said as he saw her hand come up and point to the wall behind. She put her hand over her mouth; he thought something must have been wrong. His sentence was therefore cut short and he only half-finished it as he looked around razing his blade to the wall.

Then, seeing nothing and looking with his head side to side he felt a sharp burst of pain a blade dug into his shoulder and a hand went round his mouth to stop him yelling out in pain. He dropped his sword as blood sprayed onto the wall.

"Well I'm afraid I would know nothing of what you speak but what I do know is that you should never spend your life following some fool's orders." she said into his ear as he struggled. She then removed the jagged blade that she had wedged into his shoulder.

She then released her grip and he fell to the floor, blood spreading over the grass in all directions from his injury. As he lay there her hands came and picking him up very roughly they pushed him against the side of the wall so he lay there sitting, back on the wall. His face was that of a battered man, pain that had gone beyond pain.

"Now, your going to leave a message for me." she said with a certain playful attitude in her words as she brought her knee up and kicked him viciously in the gut. Another quick whack to the head with the hilt of her dagger and the man saw stars in front of his eyes. His eyes portrayed horror and slurred whispered speech came from his mouth before he then slumped to the floor.

"However I’m afraid the pleasure will be all mine and oh...the honour, you will have to do without it I’m afraid" she said smirking as her blade delicately cut into his cheek. It was a nasty cut, but it would leave a mark no one would ever forget. His unconscious body now lay there, ready to be discovered by whoever would lay their eyes on it first, an unlucky job to say the least.

She smirked at the way she had left him, not the nicest way, but the most shocking, she was better at the latter. Then with one last look she cleaned her blade, the one stained with his blood on it. The grass was now just a little bloodier.

Then with no further a do she climbed the wall above he lay and from there jumped onto the rooves that would take her back to the alleys of the city and back to the tavern, that is if someone did not stop her first.  


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Drea on March 08, 2010, 08:03:26 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Drea listened to the elf.  She nodded.  "Yes, safety."  It was obvious Lady Tylannah was enamoured with the harp player and singer.  So she turned herr head to face the ambassador's wife.  "The party is over.  We need to get you out of here."

Tylannah appeared to object, but was interrupted by a man's voice.  "Agreed.  Time to get you back home."

Drea sun her head to the voice, that of Corrigahn, who was leading both the ambassador and Lady Moriah to the dais where the elf had been playing only a few moments before.  Drea felt relieved that the Captain of the Guard agreed with her.  "Let's make our way to the door.  Everyone stay close to me."

"Wait a moment."  Fruwee waited for both bodyguards to look at him before continuing.  "We'll follow the captain here out of the party.  Miss Corfuyne, I'd like you to see that Lady Moriah is taken safely back to her husband."

Dammit!  Drea did not look forward to seeing the Nermeran Castellan again, but she couldn't very well object to an order by the ambassador.  She couldn't even suggest Corrigahn take the lady, as he had the better weapon, while she was stuck with only a dagger.  "Very well."  She handed back the throwing knife to Corrigahn and stepped closer to Lady Moriah.  "Lady, if you please?"  She extended her arm, inviting the Lady to move forward.

The two women moved through the solemn crowd, all of whom seemed to be in shock from the scene that had played out before them.  Drea kept her eyes peeled for the Castellan, but was tapped on the arm by the lady.  She looked in the direction the lady was pointing, and saw the redheaded castellan.  Her stomach did a somersault.  

Drea led the lady forward, her eyes watching the crowd carefully for more signs of violence, but there were none.  It seemed that everything was soon to calm down, though she still felt it was best that Ambassador Fruwee and his wife were to leave.  It seemed as though Santhran Tiandor had not returned, nor did she expect him to.  His guards would have squirrelled him out of the embassy very quickly and back to the safety of the palace.

She stopped in front of the castellan.  "M'lord, I have escorted your lovely wife back to you.  I know that you must have been sorely worried about her safety, with the unfortunate violence that broke out here tonight."



Corrigahn watched Drea take Lady Moriah through the crowd, and resheathed his throwing knife.  "Lady Tylannah, we should go."

Tylannah nodded and turned to Kalina.  "Thank you, Kalina, for watching out for me.  Please, come over soon.  We can discuss your future here."  She leaned in to give the elf a quick hug.

"Lady, please, we must go."  Corrigahn felt ill at ease here.  He wanted the safety of the Vardynn Embassy walls.

"Tylannah, please," Fruwee echoed.  "Bring her with us if you must."

"Not a good idea, Ambassador.  I haven't had a chance to make sure she's safe."  

"Nonsense, Captain.  She tried to protect me."  Tylannah gently took the elf's hands.  "Would you like to come with us?  It will be safer at our embassy tonight, until they can catch that evil woman."

Corrigahn could only sigh.  He didn't like this.  Who knows who this elf could be.  Still, he could only voice his objections, and it was up to the ambassador to heed them.  Since it was obvious they would not, he would just have to be a bit more vigilant.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on March 13, 2010, 12:44:04 PM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)



Veera Beattie shivered slightly, hearing the light pitter patter of rain as it began to pour down tiles and slip through the gutters. Pulling a old shawl around her shoulders, she wandered to the window and closed the shutters tightly. Her husband was still out making a living in the most of silliest ways possible. He’d be home late, probably taking as long as possible to get home, stopping by every tavern on the way. Probably stopping to puff at that coor-riddin ruddy pipe of his...There was a light patter of footsteps, Veera cringed. One of the kid’s was awake. It’d be Ilsa, the girl had too much energy, too much for her mother to be able to calm her and chatise her like all the other children who fell to sleep as soon as their soft curled heads hit their threadbare mats.
“What you doing awake, Ilsa?“

The bright eyed seven year old puffed out her cheeks and daintily spun round on one foot. “Can’t sleep. Read me a story.“ The mother sighed, why did children always demand things? They never say ’please‘ or ’thank you‘  just words like ’want!‘ and ‘no!‘ all the blooming time. When Veera had been young, her mother would have slapped her across the rear and told her to go back to bed. The woman crossed her arms. “One story.“

Oh gods, she was getting soft.

The woman went and picked up her own favourite book as a child, Bywater’s Words by the Water. It wasn‘t really a children’s book at all, but Veera had discovered long ago, that most her children weren’t interested in kid’s stories anyway. They wanted to feel scared and disgusted, to shout and to scream, to cover their little faces with their hands and to hide under blankets, as their mother read to them gleefully, enjoying the vivid stories as much as her children.

Bywater always fulfilled thess wishes better than anyone. And so Veera grinned happily, with her child on her lap, hugging her tightly as she began to read, “The darkest hour had passed but the first rays of the Injèrá had yet to fall upon the still waters of the river.....”





“I believe there is a bathroom down here…”The frivolous duke smiled happily as he led the two women down the corridor, running a hand through his flaxen hair and taking the opportunity to glance behind him and survey the Lady Clarissa’s beautiful figure. A mischievous grin crossing his handsome face as certain wicked thoughts sprung to mind. Perhaps being almost killed twice had been worth it. Miss Solosis was certainly worth it.…Ah, love was indeed a very easy thing for fall in to, especially for Jarl.

“Here we are, ladies, the bathroom!” The man held the door out for his female companions, coughing slightly. The room itself was a rather dull inelegant space, obviously more used by servants and staff than guests, with some dusty mirrors lining the walls and a basin of old murky water sitting beside a chipped jug. The only light was a small candle stub that whoever had last been here had forgotten to blow out.  In a corner lay a small wooden closet which probably contained a chamber pot. By the smell, Jarl assumed that this hadn’t been changed in quite a while.

“Hmm, not what I’m used to, but we shall have to make do!” Lord Valdimarr winked at them, leaning against the doorframe, his ornate jacket and waistcoat ruined by red stains from the blood of one of the guards. The blond cast a quick glance at himself in one of the mirrors, he looked good, though this mask was itching like crazy. “My friends, I want to thank you again for saving me, twice in fact!”

“I apologise for Craske and Seyelt, ever since I ‘disagreed’ with them at the Knight’s Parliament, they’ve been baying for my blood, some men only care of honour. And the loss of such a thing can drive them to acts of violence, as though killing me would restore their reputation…They were always cowards, I merely proved them to be such. I’d be wary of such people who are afraid of the world knowing their faults; they do dark things and make themselves believe it is for a good cause…”

The normally happy man fell silent for a while, a cough emitting discreetly from his mouth. The truth was that he was knackered, bruised and battered; his left arm still felt funny, he felt so tired like curling up in a corner and just sleeping. But bravado meant that he was determined not to show such weakness in front of his new friends, certainly not in front of Clarissa. Best not let old thoughts ruin his mood. He suddenly perked up again. “I’ll tell you a secret, my friends, I’m trouble. Best stay away from such a wicked creature as I!” There was another wink, accompanied by a wicked smile of uncertain sincerity.

A rattling noise came from the closet, then a small ‘sploosh’. It appeared that they were not alone!

 Embarrassed by his earlier show of weakness and determined to prove his gallantry, the lord strode over and flung the door open, “Ahh-ha!”

“AHHH!” The closet wailed.

“Ahh!” Jarl gave a cry of his own as he dived out the way of a flying unholy smelling chamber pot, throwing any intentions of valour out the window.

A flabby clown clambered out the closet, one of his green stockings soaked in miserable gungy muck. “He’s here, he’s here!” The man grabbed hold of Valdimarr’s jacket. The noble flinched, not used to commoners being in such close proximity to him. This particular specimen smelt of cheap pipe weed. Looking over to exchange an implicit look of amusement with Clarissa, he answered back, “Who, good sir, forces you to hide in a women’s water closet like a jumping leverat?”

“Old boatman! He saw me! I’m a dead man, the shoals won’t save me-” The jester paused, studying the noble more closely, “Hey, hang on, I know you…”
Jarl chuckled, “You do?”

The chubby man’s expression suddenly changed from one of fear to one of anger. “YOU!?” With his hands still clinging to the lord’s jacket, he began to shake the young noble fiercely. “This is all your fault!” The plump entertainer turned towards Salkazrian, “Don’t you move missus! Think ya can sneak up on old Edoreth? I see that weapon, I’m a soldier you see, I spot things! Come closer and I’ll throttle im!"

Unabashed, unconcerned and still in the brooding clown’s grip, the young lord turned to his companions and squeaked, “See? I told you I was trouble!” The jester glared; his thick fingers moving up to tightly squeeze the blond’s skinny neck. “Just be glad Guy ain’t here…”

The smug smile fell from Lord Valdimarr’s face, “You knew Guy?” With hands still clasped around his throat, the noble began to cough, only managing to say, “But Guy….is….dead?” More coughing as the lord’s face grew pale, the coughing growing harsher, “Would you….kindly let go, I feel…little ill….” The jester and the lord both looked down, shocked to see the faint pattern of blood that had spattered onto their clothes…

The clown worriedly drew back his hand, backing away slowly, dropping the noble who sunk to the ground, coughing up more blood, confused and terrified of what was happening to him, “Clar-“ He threw up.

Suddenly his whole body felt in agony. Curling up in a ball, he wished for his stomach to stop burning, the young knight emptied more of the contents of his stomach. His whole face seemed to be on fire. His tongue felt bitter, almost metallic, trying to cry out, “Help!”

With that his whole body start to shudder…

The green costumed clown looked desperately at the two women with pleading eyes. He ran out the bathroom, crying out, “I didn’t touch im!”

Confused by the noise, a servant stormed into the room, “What’s going on….” Looking down at the possessed shaking body, the young clerk ran out shouting, “Send for a healer! Lord Valdimarr is ill!”

Lord Valdimarr lay on the ground, his limbs shaking. The servant would send for the ambassador and the castellan. He must warn his friends, he knew he’d been poisoned; his death must not go unpunished…. “Salkaz…” He rasped determinedly, “I did…wrong…Guy….Jervais…31st man…highlands…I let them die, but he will do worse, find him.”  He coughed more as if his whole body was collapsing, struggling to speak, “Don’t trust Red.”

Behind his green mask, his eyes began to flutter, flicking out of consciousness, organs slowly breaking down, and hot pain running through his skin.  On the floor his whole body shook limply like rag doll, shaking as if possessed by demons….



Date: 29th Singing Bird, 4th Hour of Guardorans. (12 pm)



Guillemot watched silently as the crowd fell calm and still under the elven woman’s spell. Perhaps he shouldn’t have let her go so freely. It seemed that Fruwee now possessed not only a superb musician but an enchantress. Embarrassed nobles skulk away, nursing bruised egos and wobbly legs, staggering back to their carriages. Waiters and entertainers crept out from under tables. The guards had all scurried into the gardens, chasing after the assassin, not doubt the assassin from the Courtyard, who had failed in her attempt to kill Jarl. The castellan sighed; more trouble to deal with. The Santhran’s clerks were probably already drafting an angry letter, one that Quinn would not look forward to receiving on his desk tomorrow.

But that was tomorrow; tonight he already had several issues to deal with, including several injured guards and a broken window. He frowned; stained glass of that calibre was rare. Healers were cheap compared to the price the embassy would have to pay craftsmen to get that beautiful window refitted.

“Castellan, one of the guards has been attacked, he’s alive, but barely, we believe it was the woman, Jarl’s assailant.”

More trouble…
The diplomat pinched his nose, trying to keep calm and ignore the ever growing headache. Blue icy eyes looked down at the young messenger before him, matched by a equally sharp voice, “First, I’ll assume that you already sent for our healers?”The young man shook his head.
Quinn sighed, why did only he think of these things?
“Well, send for them. Secondly, send a runner to the Guardhouse. Thirdly, where is Lord Valdimarr now?”

“He was spotted leaving the hall with two women; one recognised as Miss Clarissa Solosis, the other is presumed to be her bodyguard.”
Women? Oh how typical. Jarl Valdimarr, never one to miss an opportunity to court the opposite sex…even while I tried to have him killed…

 “And you just let Lord Valdimarr casually dash off?” The castellan glared, “After someone tried to take his life. He could still be in danger; the attacker could still try to kill him.” I hope they succeed….   “Find him quickly…or I will be severely displeased.”The messenger nodded and scuttled off quickly in fear, followed by the rest of his men. The red haired noble took the opportunity to smile slyly while no one was looking. Long ago Quinn had stopped shouting at servants, when threats and hints kept people in line easily, why ever both to raise one’s voice?

The man spotted as the mysterious fake Corfuyne and his wife, made their may through the hubbub. Ah, yes, his wife. He’d forgotten all about his intention to search for her. No matter, it seems that she was safe. The diplomat thanked the bodyguard kindly for the return of his spouse, “Please send my apologies to the ambassador and his wife, for having to tolerate such a fracas. And thank you again for my wife’s safe return, Miss Corfuyne,” He made sure to pronounce her adopted surname with extra emphasis. “It seems that you are one to watch….”  

With that he bowed and took his leave of the bodyguard. His wife thanked the woman and chased after him, “Guillemot, will you not even spare the time to ask if I am ok?”  Her normal flirty demeanour was absent, her voice filled with fury. Her hand reached out and gripped his arm, pulling him in to whisper in his ear, “You do care, Guillemot?”

“I just presumed you were. You don’t appear to be bruised or injured. I’m sorry for my neglect, what questions would you like me to ask you? How was your dance with the ambassador? I’m sorry, but I must find the ambassador quickly, one of the guards has been attacked by the assassin, and you saw how Lord Valdimarr was attacked….”

 “Guillemot.”  The lady gritted her teeth in frustration from behind her purple mask, "I don’t want you to be asking questions of my dance with Lord Fruwee,”  –which was wonderful…- “I want you to show concern for me!” What was wrong with her? Ever since that talk with Fruwee on the balcony, Moriah was suddenly more aware of all her dear husband’s faults, as if suddenly able to see the bars on her cold cage. Suddenly everything felt more vibrant, more invigorated. The women leaned in closer, whispering softly, “Why do you no longer visit me?”

Quinn was thrown off by the directness of such a private question, his mouth wide open as if to catch flies. Regaining his usual composure, he gently grasped his wife’s hands and detached her iron grip from his arm. “Moriah…You know why, it’s too…you’re too-“
“Quinn!”   His name was shouted across the hall, echoing across the room and bouncing off the walls. At that moment, the crowd parted and Belenos Tristram could be seen waving at him, sword in hand, though the weapon itself was mainly decorative, the man hadn’t used it properly in years. “Over here!”

Guillemot sighed, looking implicitly at his wife, “My dear, please go home, rest, I will speak to you tomorrow.”In the background, Tristram roared, “Now, Quinn! No time to dilly-dally!”
Moriah glared back then nodded. Smoothing down her dress, Lady Quinn left the embassy, not bothering to wish goodnight to her husband.

The redhead watched her go. Turning, he quickly paced towards the ambassador, taking his time to reach the towering lord who was standing at the side of the dance floor watching the servants and staff scurrying around. At his side was what Quinn presumed from the uniform to be a compendiumist. The castellan quickly glanced at the young man, raising one questioning eyebrow as if to ask ‘why are you still here?’ Tristram chuckled slightly at his employee’s marital troubles, “Was that actually an argument with the beautiful Moriah, Quinn? Or did my old aging eyes deceive me? Don’t let them get in the way of your work will you?”  The castellan remained expressionless, “You appear to be in a good mood, mi’lord.”
“Yes, indeed! Here, this good man is…ha, would you look at that! I forgot to ask your name!”
The redhead glared, “Yes. Who are you?”

Tristram beamed, slapping the compendiumist on the back, “He’ll no doubt have lots to write about! In fact, Quinn, please aid him in this, give him all details he needs!”  
The castellan tilted his head, “You wish me to aid him in his account of this mess? Would you like me to start with the great cost involved in all the repairs to the furniture or how many enemies we have no doubt made in this one single night? Or how about the guard currently lying injured in the gardens? Or perhaps about how chirpy the Santhran’s personal guard were at having to smuggle the royal out the building like a sack of potatoes? Perhaps I shall show him the Santhran’s letter when it arrives tomorrow? No doubt it’ll be an exciting read…” The red haired man kept his face straight, expertly hiding his sarcasm. The ambassador smiled, “Yes that all sounds good. Writer, this is my castellan, Guillemot Quinn, I let him do all my worrying for me!"

Belenos swung his sword around playfully, “Oh yes, the Santhran’s clerks will not doubt write us a letter, but it won’t be serious, I’m sure. And no doubt lots of silly whining ninnies will write to us complaining of the lack of impropriety, but we can frame them and hang them up in my office next to all the others!”  

The ambassador grinned, pulling up a chair and squashing his large backside down onto it, leaning back languidly, unworried by the ruins splayed around him that was once his ballroom, “You see…”  The ambassador tried to remember the youngling’s name, Belenos Tristram had always had a problem with names. “……Writer, what Quinn here doesn’t understand is that people don’t go to the safe parties; they go to the infamous ones. The entertainment, the food, the decorations, that’s all background. What people want are fights, gossip and scandal, preferably all combined at once and served with lots of drink….”  A wicked smile crossed his bristly bearded face, matching perfectly with the wicked black feathered mask framing his impish eyes, “Which is why I wrote to Craven this morning…telling him that Jarl would be here….”
The redhead cringed, “Mi’lord…”
“Don’t fuss, Quinn. I promise you that we’ve gained more friends in this one night than in the entire rest of the year. Important people always seek to be friends with infamous people. And Jarl is fine, it’s not like he’s dead or anything!”  

There was a cough from behind them, both men turned to see the young messenger once again stood there, the bearer of more bad news…The gangly runner panted, heaving deep breathes, no doubt tired from having run quickly to get here. The ambassador frowned, barking, “Well, spit it out!”
The weedling stood up straight, as if standing to attention, “Mi’lord! Lord Valdimarr has taken ill!  Perhaps even poisoned! We’ve sent for the physician…”
Tristram frowned, almost perplexed, “Hmm. I didn’t see that coming….how many people want this man dead anyway!?”
Quinn sighed, “Take us to him.”
The ambassador turned back to the young writer, “Well….”  The man paused, having again completely forgotten the poor youth’s name. ”Erm…Compendiumist, come along!”  No doubt the lord thought that this would be an opportunity for yet more scandal, therefore someone must be there to report on it. The redheaded castellan also cast his gaze at the man, glaring at him, “It seems you certainly have something to write about….“




Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Kalína Dalá'isyrás on March 15, 2010, 01:01:24 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Watching as knives were re-sheathed and people arguing over the next best course of action, she felt quite useless and unsure of how to proceed with the events, since the party had obviously ended and chaos still ran a muck - even with her slight help to keep things from getting too chaotic and more people getting hurt in the process. Simply listening, she clasped her hands together and laid them against her gown, being reminded of her status, which was no longer like it was in her past life.

"Tylannah, please," Fruwee echoed.  "Bring her with us if you must."

Ears twitched at the words from the ambassador, as she was indeed eager to leave this place. Not because she feared for her safety, but the companionship of the Lady was quite enjoyable after her time alone. Though, the ambassador and the lady who claimed to be her bodyguard, seemed not too keen on the idea, but relief washed over her as the Lady herself spoken in Kalína's defense.

"Nonsense, Captain.  She tried to protect me."  Tylannah gently took the elf's hands.  "Would you like to come with us?  It will be safer at our embassy tonight, until they can catch that evil woman."

The reassurance from the Lady's touch was welcomed greatly by the elfess, who was unsure of what was to become of her once the Ambassador and his wife left, as she wasn't even sure on how to get back to her room.

"I mean...no ha-rm." Kalína stammered in broken Tharian, in a poor attempt to defend herself as well.

So much had happened in a short amount of time, and though she appeared to have a clear head throughout the entirety of the events, her mind was a muddled mess as to how and why all of this chaos had come to pass. Thus, if she wasn't allowed to join the Ambassador and his wife, she tried to remember how to get back to the room she had been assigned for the duration of the party. The maze of corridors she was lead through didn't help her memory on how to return.

"I ... not...re-mem-ber ... my room." She spoke once more, realizing she may not have made any sense with her latest attempts to communicate.

The Ambassador looked at his wife, then at Kalína before letting out an exasperated sigh. "Very well, bring her with us for the time being. We shall have someone retrieve your belongings and bring them to the Embassy."

This confused the elfess, as she thought she was already in an Embassy, but there were more than just one? Thankfully, someone would be sent to fetch her things, as she was sure she would get lost trying to find her room and retrieving them herself.

Lady Tylannah looped her arm with Kalína's and followed behind her husband, with Drea taking up the rear as they left. The Lady seemed so eager with her husband's approval to allow the elfess to go with them back to their Embassy, as she wanted to learn more about the mysterious harpist and her past experiences. It was a rare thing to find elves, which interacted with other races, to not be more fluent in Tharin, so the Lady was quite intrigued by Kalína and what she could learn.

The walk back to the Embassy was uneventful, despite maneuvering themselves through the panicked crowd. Though, Drea helped immensely with guiding them through the masses. Once they were free from the others, Drea lead them to their home embassy and from there, the Ambassador bid the ladies a good night so he may work on sorting out business which the disrupted party had caused. Lady Tylannah then took Kalína on a quick tour of the Embassy, showing her the main interests and beauties of the building. The enthusiasm with which the Lady expressed when speaking of the various interests was intriguing to the elfess, but deducted they were fairly new to their new life, the Lady still found everything to be exciting.

Every now and again, as they were walking from sight to sight, the Lady would affectionately stroke her protruding belly, something Kalína empathized with greatly. Yet it also created a pang of disappointment and pain, as the one which and grown within her for months, was now gone and unable to be found because of an evil entity which haunted her. Kalína understood the excitement which the Lady must be feeling with the upcoming arrival of her child, and her husband as well. She had watched the interactions between the two and they seemed to be strong.

"Come, I am weary and I would hope we could talk more in my chambers while I get ready for bed. After awhile, you can be escorted to your room." Tylannah smiled at Kalína and took her arm once again, leading the elfess to her chambers.

The room itself was grand, much like most of the embassy, only with a bit more of a homely feeling. The embassy stood for grandeur and politics, being the center of much influence and intrigue by other nations. The Lady's room however, displayed personal touches put together by Tylannah, giving it a separate personality than the rest of the place. Kalína like it very much, and immediately felt comfortable within its walls. A servant came to help the Lady get ready for bed, and Tylannah motioned Kalína to one of the chairs at the side of the bed.

"Please, sit and perhaps play me some soothing music. It has been a long night and I feel anxious still from the events earlier."

A smile played on the elfess' lips as she expressed her pleasure with being able to service the Lady in such a manner. "Yes...m'lady." She took a seat at the bedside and retrieved her harp from the old case in which it was kept, beginning to play a soft soothing tune to ease the Lady into a restful state of mind.

Date: 29th Singing Bird, about the 4th Hour of Guardorans (12PM)

Once the Lady had nodded off, a servant came to retrieve Kalína and take her to her appointed room, one close to the Lady's own quarters. The room was much like the other embassy in grandeur, though not quite as large, something the elfess was far from minding. She was also thankful to find her belongings had been brought to the room and laid upon her bed in plain sight. Kalína removed them from the bed to a table which had been provided in her room, taking her harp from its case and laying it on the nightstand by the bed. She then played a soft lullaby, repeating it several times over while whispering in an ancient tongue. Once she lifted her fingers from the strings, the song continued to play as if her fingers still toyed with the strings. A sigh escaped her as she then began to wind down and prepare for bed.

 Grateful for the time to relax and perhaps get some decent sleep in a warm bed, she took her time slipping her gown off her form and laying it across one of the chairs in the room. Her nightgown was then quickly attired to fend off any chill which may have permeated the room, and she quickly crawled into bed. Closing her eyes, it was not long before sleep consumed her mind and she was sleeping peacefully.



Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on March 15, 2010, 05:14:12 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

Ylaya walked slowly down the cobbled alley ways and looked around slightly disappointed, but not surprised. She had failed, no doubt about it and her employer would be raging, but she could win him round one way or another. Failure did not bother Ylaya that much, she could live with it and she had in the past. More important were the reasons for it and it was no fault of her own, this she knew.

As she walked images quickly flashed into her mind...the elf...the singing elf that cursed her and stopped her at the most important moment. Her blade had been stopped from being thrown by that witch, that caster whoever she was...whoever...she had been the one who had saved the Lord's life. Ylaya thought about her...

If anything else was required of her in the future that singing elf would have to go she thought as her gloved hand touched her blade on the side of her waist.

Yes...she would have to go.

As she continued taking the shortcut to the tavern a voice came through the darkness...it was recognisable…she knew it.

"I would not take that path if I was you..." he said.

Ylaya looked round to see the pawn of her contractor emerge from the darkness once more.

"Why?" she said inquisitively

"Let's just say Ferlin encountered a bit of trouble and has been taken, so might you." he said.

"He...talked" she replied rather shocked.

"No, well...I don't know yet..." he said as she smiled at his lack of knowing.  

"....but there is one thing I do know, you failed"
he continued with a slightly angry tone in his voice as she crossed her arms for she knew it was not her fault. A silence then descended for 20 seconds as he watched her and she watched him.

"What?….What exactly is your name anyway?..." she said ignoring the comment about failure. Her words came across with broken speech and curiosity.

"Oh, you can call me Turrel"
he said not sure exactly how to react.

"Hmm...well...Tur-rel...whether I failed or not, is not for you to say" she said taking a strong stance against him.  

He paused shocked by the way she was handling this situation...he had power...but he did not use it.

"I answer to only one... the one you wo-rk for, I want to meet him." she said putting her hand closer to her blade as she walked over to him.

His hand wandered down his crotch area, remembering the pain administered there last time.

"Well...I suppose I can oblige you a meeting with him miss…" he said trying to keep his nerve.

"Ylaya" she said looking at him, darkened eyes trying to suss out whether he was a truthful individual or a scheming one.

"Ok then...Ylaya...but remember now that I know your name, you won't cross me" he said defiantly.

She came slightly closer to him and took off her hood turning her head to the left as she aimed to intimidate him. He shook slightly and was ready for some sort of backlash, but it did not arrive to his salvation.

"Just take me to the contractor behind this assassination Turrel" she said coldly as she walked in the opposite direction of the tavern. He followed slowly and then advanced to lead the way.

(To be continued)


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Salkazrian on March 22, 2010, 04:49:32 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11PM)

   “He’s been poisoned,” Salkazrian thought to herself as she watched Lord Valdimarr struggle with the clown.  It made perfect sense.  If the assassin had been using a poisoned blade, and managed to cut the lord, then her work might yet be completed successfully.

   The clown made a sharp exit, but Salkazrian made no attempt to follow him.  She knew his name, and he shouldn’t be too hard to find later.  The more pressing concern was to try and save Lord Valdimarr’s life.

   Kneeling next to him, Salkazrian opened her medical bag, and started rummaging through it for what she needed.  Clarissa wasn’t helping much, and Salkazrian knew that she had to try and calm her friend down.

   “He’ll be alright,” she said as reassuringly as she could.  “Just calm down, and hold him still.  Here, this will help.”

   She pulled a vial of black powder out of her bag, and quickly mixed it with some fresh water.  Getting Jarl to swallow the resulting liquid was the best that she could do at the moment.

   “He needs to drink this,” she said as she knelt by the lord again.  “Help me with his mask.”

   Then, as the two women reached to unfasten Jarl’s mask, he began to speak, his voice weak and grating.  Salkazrian listened carefully to his words, recording every detail.  Then, after issuing a warning about Red, the lord’s eyes started to flicker erratically.

   Salkazrian quickly got back to her work, and removed the mask, revealing a shocking sight.  Lord Valdimarr’s face was bright red, and his skin seemed thicker than normal.

   “The mask,” Salkazrian said aloud, as she realised how the poison had been administered.  “The poison’s on the mask.  Don’t touch it!”

   Clarissa was beside herself, and merely wailed in response.

   “This will help him, Clarry,” Salkazrian said as she poured the black liquid into the lord’s mouth.  Fortunately, he could still swallow, and soon the entire vial had been emptied down his neck.

   Then she held Jarl still, and waited.  There was little more that she could do.  Hopefully, the charcoal that she had just given him would help keep him alive until a better equipped healer arrived.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on March 23, 2010, 02:59:24 AM
(continued)

Ylaya and Turrel walked, he leading, she following behind as an awkward silence seemed to descend amongst the two for the time being. Lights flickered on the roadside as they moved through the stretches of alley shaded by the dark. They had not really gone that far, but the alleys seemed to be getting slightly smaller and the path more direct. She watched him carefully for she mistrusted him like she mistrusted everyone else...for whatever he was...he was still a man and human she thought.

Whilst walking she always kept one hand on one blade under her cloak for anyone could be behind the next corner and so far many corners had been turned...but better to always be prepared for the unexpected. Turrel then turned his head round as they walked...what did he want now?

"So, if you don't mind me asking, why did you come here in the first place?" he said openly.

She looked at him and waited a few seconds till she provided a response.

"Why do you ask?" she said suspiciously.

"Well, you know, just trying to lighten the mood...well...you are on the run at the moment after all" he said stopping on the road side waiting for her to catch up.

She did not give this attempt at lightening the mood much thought and she walked straight past him stating very coldly and sharply "I have always been on the run"

After that response he did not ask anymore questions...for she was sick of him and he was sick of her. She had no time for middlemen like him who only followed orders and wielded little power, she only had time for those at the top, the ones influencing events...the exact ones she aimed to meet and do business with...

As she walked on he hurried and ran to get back infront of her so he could lead the way. Ylaya just kept walking at her own pace and then...slowly, Turrel infront seemed to check if no one was around like a rat preparing to feast on the leftovers of food scrapped under the door.  

She watched him as her legs walked with pace as he seemed to stumble round a corner and towards the front of some kind of store. Her eyes looked at the store with disbelief as she turned the corner and stood still on her heels.

"Come" he said ushering her out of the darkness to him across the street.

She followed making sure her cloak gave anyone watching even at this late time no form of appearance or identity.

Under a dull shred of light it could be observed that the store was a cheese makers 'CrokersCheese" and Turrel opened the door suspiciously. However Ylaya's mind was full of confusion...confusion about the location, confusion that the store was still open at this time...what was Turrel playing at?

As she entered behind him it seemed like a normal store, the smell was digusting however...she had never liked cheese. She even pinched her nose with her gloved fingers to get rid of the smell to some extent.

"Why here Turrel?"
she said tapping him on the shoulder showing her discontent with the smell of the place by shaking her head under her heavy hood.

He turned round. "Well…you will see soon enough" he said seeming to take some pleasure in her suffering at the fragrance of the smell of cheese. He smiled obviously not classy enough for her he thought.  

Ylaya looked around and it could be seen the place was old. As her eyes searched she saw that there were a few candles dotted around away from some of the cheese on display, but a lot of it seemed off. However, the floors and the sides seemed clean and as they entered into the main area a desk became apparent and some one asleep there head on the desk. The head on the desk was that of a man, he was fat and his smell worse than that of the cheese.

Her eyes watched as Turrel woke the man asleep and seemed to say some harsh words. Obviously this place was some sort of safe house, why else come here?  She had come to that conclusion not long ago, but whatever kind of place it was, it was poorly run indeed.

After exchanging a few harsh words Turrel then escorted Ylaya past the man who was now fully awake for the time being continuing to eat the cheese his face had been parked in 20-30 seconds prior.  

"...not very good man-age-ment Turrel" said Ylaya as she laughed a little following him through some doors and down some stairs into a large cellar underground.

"This is our safehouse" he said revealing the cellar with some large barrels in a corner and a desk, some chairs and even weapons on full display.

"Doesn't look like much"
she said looking around inspecting it with cold eyes.

He then walked over to a corner and shoved aside a book cabinet containing nothing but cobwebs. She trotted over to him and looked behind the cabinet.

"O..." she said as she observed an escape passage from the cellar.

"You see, such a place is not worth having without a escape route" he said confidently.

"Well, I suppose humans have enough intelligence for at least some useful things..."
she said trying to make humans sound inferior and degrading him in effect.

"...when do I meet him?" she then continued trying to get straight to the point.

"Soon" he replied putting the cabinet back into position.

"But please make yourself comfortable"
he said standing back on the wall.

Her long dark cloak then slipped off of her revealing her very naked and scantily clad form underneath. The sight of such a beauty lacking any external covering made Turrel’s heart pound somewhat faster than usual for he had never seen a dark elf before, let alone such a beautiful woman with so little on.  As his eyes tracked her she slowly walked over to the weapons available and picked up one of the axes on display for all eyes to see.

"Just a precaution, it is always good to have a few spares around if trouble comes through that door above…you know what I mean?" he said mouth watering over her choice of clothing.

She turned to him and lay the axe on the table as she observed his eyes tracking her below the waste. Her gloved hands then hovered down to untighten her black stockings strapped to her belt for that weird pain had gone now and they did not need to be as tight. As much as to relieve pressure on her legs, she drew his gaze intentionally for it was fun to play with the minds of men and then shatter their fantasies straight after.

"Looking at something" she said as he lay back trying to look disinterested, but now she knew what kind of man he was…and he did not deserve to gaze upon her.  

"If you cannot control your lust or at least the area between your legs infront of me perhaps you had better wait upstairs for our guest” she said with a sense of distrust and she pronounced this well, obviously her Tharian was getting better.

"Fine, stay down here on your own" he said in a tone that showed his sexual anxiety for he was lacking excitement in his life, that much was obvious...and she knew it.

She smiled “I will…” as she picked up her long cloak and placed it back around herself as she sat down in the chair covering all.

You can always tell who they are from their reaction to a woman with less than is usually acceptable covering her she thought smiling under the hood of her cloak. He by this time was furious and had stormed off back up the stairs to take his aggression out on the mug that occupied the desk.

She then looked at the axe, how barbaric…and slid her arm across the table knocking it onto the floor. She had no time for him or that of anyone else besides her client and sitting their she formulated her game plan to "deal" with him for he would need persuading to share his power with her if he even had any...first impressions would tell the most she thought.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on March 23, 2010, 11:15:24 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11pm)

Edoreth Beattie ran down the streets, too terrified to look back. He’d entered a small alleyway and stopped for a while to recover his breath. The dim lights of candles in windows, unaided Eddie as he frantically looked around in the dark, watching the shadows, unnoticing as one seemed to creep up behind him, knocking him over the head and casting his mind into darkness. Two green legs visible as the clown was dragged away into the night...





The ambassador stormed down the corridor, trailing clerks, healers, bodyguards and various others behind him, Quinn just managing to keep up with his employer’s hurried pace. The messenger pointed towards the bathroom and Tristram stampeded forwards, flinging the door open.
  
“Is he here? Jarl!”
The round man looked down over his large belly, and gasped, “Good gods! What’s wrong with his face!” He turned and bellowed out into the corridor, “HEALER!”

A skinny elderly gentlemen scurried in, kneeling down next to the poisoned man, peering down at the young lord’s red inflated face, “He’s been poisoned Mi’lord, Arznikh no doubt, cunningly hidden in his mask. I’ll do my best -Seyella willing- he might recover. But it seems that this young woman has saved his life, no doubt with charcoal, such a substance can slow down the effects.” The skinny elder looked over and nodded approvingly at the Seyelite.

The castellan appeared from behind Tristram, “Very good Healer, send him to my chambers, you may treat him there.” The healer nodded as two guards came and carried the poor poisoned lord away.

The ambassador frowned at the two women, opposites of each other in their demeanour, the red armoured one looking calm and in control, while the other seemed unable to restrain her emotions. “Who are they then?!” The man demanded.

The castellan whispered an answer, “The one in Green is Miss Clarissa Solosis, a very well connected woman who makes her living as a merchant, and the other is her bodyguard, obviously a Seyelite....”

The lord sniffed, grumbling, “A Seyelite...women in the army...queer idea...wouldn’t be tolerated in my time...” Rotating his large mountain-like body, he turned towards the two women, suddenly his flabby face becoming firm and stone-like, “My dear Lady Solosis, I believe I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Lord Belenos Tristram, Ambassador of this embassy, now perhaps you and your bodyguard would kindly tell me everyone that happened...perhaps starting with why , in gods’ name, was Jarl Valdimarr in a women’s bathroom!?”


The redhead sighed, listening to his master’s interrogation, “Mi’lord, perhaps they should go to the guardhouse, the constables will probably want to ask them questions, ours can wait.”

Lord Tristram turned and glared at his employee, “Quinn, this is my embassy; they’ll go only when I say so!”

“Yes, mi’lord. However we’re a province, not a kingdom. We must report this.”

“Fine. But I want to know why a man is dying under my roof. I want answers, castellan. I’m not sitting around here waiting for the coor-ridden watch to give them to me! I’m going with them!”

The castellan flinched momentarily, “I’m sure the watch will enjoy your company immensely Mi’lord, but maybe we should wait till morning, at least allow our own guards time to gather information."

"Fine," The bearded lord huffed, "But in the morning we go to the Guardhouse. Prepare rooms for our new guests."   He turned to the two women, "Lady Solosis, would be kindly accept my offer to stay here at the embassy? You've witnessed a lot and must be a bit shaken, please rest here for the night, we have plenty of guest rooms for you and your bodyguard. And you'll be close to Lord Valdimarr while he recovers. We can go to the Guardhouse in the morning. What do you think?”

The red haired castellan sighed behind him, it was easy for the ambassador to offer them rooms, but he was the one who had to sort it all, they already were cramped for space from accommodating all entertainers. "Why not go further and invite the writer to stay? I’m sure he won’t want to miss such a opportunity....”
The bull like figure ignored his advisor and grinned; “Sounds good to me, Quinn. Writer! Writer?” The ambassador looked around for his new friend, barking into the crowd, “Want to stay?!”






Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (12pm)

The castellan stood outside his office, his old enemy now lay unconscious within his quarters, being treated by healers. Guarded by bodyguards and treated by several healers, there was no way to get to him. Though the redhead would have to kill him before he awoke, Valdimarr knew too much.

The redhead sighed. Someone had tried to kill Jarl. Someone that was not him. This worried him. All his life, Guil had been used to moving people around like game pieces, but now it seemed like someone else was playing the game as well....“Castellan!” Quinn turned, his gaze resting again on the rather tired messenger.

“What is it?”

“Just that list you wanted, of all the staff and performers that didn’t turn up today for the party.”

The redhead nodded, quickly taking the scroll from the youth. The fact was that anyone could have switched the masks; however Quinn needed a suspect, someone who could be stuck in their dungeon for a while, till they found the real would-be killer. His blue eyes scanned the list of names and found the perfect candidate.

Sývaein Sorossa

The list said that he was a wizard and fire-maker; no doubt such people carried poisons about in their pockets. He’d do anyway. The castellan needed to find out who really tried to kill Jarl, and to do so would mean making the assassin think that they were off the hook.

“Send for the guards, take this Syvaein into the cells.”

The messenger nodded, then suddenly remembered something, “Mi’lord, a parcel came for you an hour ago.”

Quinn frowned, picking up the package, the material unrolling to reveal a single white feather and a note, ‘First the warning,’ A chill ran up the normally unstirred diplomat’s back. Faint memories flickered past. Could it be him?

“Watch over Lord Valdimarr, I have to leave for while, I have errands to run, tell the ambassador that I've gone to talk to our cheesemaker...”





Date: 29th Singing Bird, 5th Hour of Guardorans (1am)

There was a click as the door was opened, and the fat cheesemaker looked up momentarily before drifting back into his slumbers.

The castellan yawned, running a hand through his red hair. It’d been a long night, with several relays of messages between his envoys and himself, he’d managed to warn the elf assassin and get her here. Now he was going to have a talk with this elven temptress. Waiting to greet him was Turrell, looking slightly annoyed about something but Quinn didn’t really care enough to enquire.
“Sir, I did as you asked, she’s downstairs.”

“Hm, is Noone here yet?”

Turrell shook his head, “No sir.”

Yet as soon as the envoy made this statement, a scrawny figure crawled out from behind some boxes, “I’ve been waiting for hours for you to turn up, I didn’t want to bother Turrell, he was a bit busy trying to court our new resident murderer.” Dorian grumbled, ignoring the other envoy’s glares at him.

The redhead smiled slightly, a rare sight. “Hello Dorian, by that statement I presume you dislike your new apprentice?”

The spy blinked, “Apprentice? You want me to look after a woman who murdered a man in cold blood? I might be a crook, but even the underground had higher morals than that, letting an innocent man be blamed...”

Redhead sighed, “I knew you’d take that approach, for a criminal you’ve got a very strong sense of right and wrong....Turrell, you may leave now.”

The other envoy frowned, obviously surprised as his sudden dismissal, the man skulked away, glaring more at Dorian, envious of his boss’ trust in his colleague.
The ratty Noone grinned, “Don’t let the door smack you in your troll ugly face on the way out!”

Glaring even at Dorian, the bald envoy had left.

The red haired man crossed his arms, “Well that was uncalled for. Why tease him?”
Noone shrugged, walking towards the stairs at the back of the shop, “I have only a few pleasures in life, one of them is infuriating Turrell, he’s as smart as an orc, why’d you hire him?”

The castellan’s mouth twitched slightly, “He demands less money and he’s good at extracting information out of people.”

 “Yeah and he’s terrible at keeping information to himself, you know that he told her his name? I followed them on the way here...”

“Well that’s his mistake, we shall not make the same one.”

“Are you sure you want to get involved with such a woman? The reports from Turrell make her sound...fatal to a guy’s will power.”

The diplomat looked over at his friend as they descended the stairs, slightly amused at his friend’s statement, “Is that you’re way of hinting that you think she’ll manipulate me with her beautiful appearance?”

“To be frank, yes.”

The redhead shook his head, “Then it seems you know me less than I thought.”
With that the castellan entered the cellar.

The castellan didn’t look over at the woman, the red haired young man just pulled up a chair at the table, straightening up and brushing down his jacket sleeves. Picking at some fluff from the expensive navy material, the man didn’t bother to look up as he talked. His voice calm and casual, “I always thought appearance can tell a lot about people.”

His pale face tilted to one side, peering at the woman like she was an object. “Take you, for example, one glance at your choice of clothes and I could easily unravel your entire life....”

The redhead raised an eyebrow at her scantily clad figure, unaffected by its curves and beauty.

“You think that your appearance makes all men weak....Hm. You failed. You broke our deal. By rights I can inform the watch any time I like about you. You’ve left a big trail behind, a dead man in a tavern, an injured guard, and lots of trouble, why should I bother hiding you?”

The redhead looked on at the assassin, a grim expression on his face “Now right now you’re probably debating how to kill me...Perhaps I should mention that I have contract with the Templars, if I go missing, they all go looking for a Coór'hém elven woman, with your profession, your weapons and your exact height and weight, I’ve made sure that they pay special attention to anyone wearing dark hoods and hardly any clothes.”

The man leaned closer to the table, looking down as if counting the lines in the wood, “Now how do you feel? Feel like running away? Feel like taking on twenty templars? Not even Feyronn could have won against such odds so don’t consider it an option. Luckily I’m offering you a way out...you will come work for me as an envoy, no more random kills, no more failed attempts at assassinations, you become my spy and I won’t alert Behrns or have you killed.” The redhead leaned back, a bleak stare across his face.

 “Deal?”


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on March 24, 2010, 08:04:51 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 5th Hour of Guardorans (1am)

Suddenly the sound of steps being stepped upon as someone moved down into the cellar filled the room. Ylaya's head looked up as she saw a man enter the room, a redheaded individual...but who was he? He must obviously be the contractor...it was obvious for his clothes were that of a rich man...a man with both power and influence...but what would he do? How best to dispatch of this one?

She then looked over watching him carefully removing her hood with her hands trying to get a better look at him. Her long pointed ears pricked up as he took a seat and then he now spoke with a certain confidence she had seen lacking in other men on her travels...he was different.

“I always thought appearance can tell a lot about people.” he said. Interesting, Ylaya was the same, a judger of image and appearance, she smiled...A nice way to start a conversation she thought listening carefully to each word pouring outwards from his mouth as he continued...

“You think that your appearance makes all men weak....Hm. You failed. You broke our deal. By rights I can inform the watch any time I like about you. You’ve left a big trail behind, a dead man in a tavern, an injured guard, and lots of trouble, why should I bother hiding you?”


Indeed, he did have power she thought and the advantage for the time being.  If only she could explain to this arrogant man her side of the story, but the language gap did prevent her from such a large amount of explanation. For the time being she would have to be wise with her choice of words even if it was irritating to say the least and this came fourth in her slightly unhappy response.

He then spoke again “Now right now you’re probably debating how to kill me...Perhaps I should mention that I have contract with the Templars, if I go missing, they all go looking for a Coór'hém elven woman, with your profession, your weapons and your exact height and weight, I’ve made sure that they pay special attention to anyone wearing dark hoods and hardly any clothes.”


She gave him a blank expression, who was he to lecture her? Did he think he was frightening her, of all people? and if he was killed by her, what pleasure could he receive from knowing she would be hunted down and killed for after all he would be dead anyway. He was making statements that were very arrogant...and foolish.


"Now how do you feel? Feel like running away? Feel like taking on twenty templars? Not even Feyronn could have won against such odds so don’t consider it an option. Luckily I’m offering you a way out...you will come work for me as an envoy, no more random kills, no more failed attempts at assassinations, you become my spy and I won’t alert Behrns or have you killed.”

Obviously he thought she did not have the confidence, well...he was right...for only a crazy person would strike him down now...and hope to survive. This was a test of the will she thought sitting there.  

"Deal?"

She looked at him with certain distrust on her face and then she stood up and walked towards a wall. Keeping her back towards him and facing the wall with arms crossed…she thought on.

Was it better to come fourth and appear strong, perhaps risking all or conform to his desires and satisfy his lust for control?

Her cloak then again, just like before, fell off...revealing her armour, weapons and curves in full view. Yes...this one was not as stupid as the previous ones she thought recounting his previous expressions and the others, his lack of lust for her was startling to say the least...but he could he be moulded to her will? Soon she would be able to tell.

Keeping her face towards the wall she then responded "Interesting Deal..." with a sense of aggression towards him in her voice. She could not show weakness, even if she could not reply to the best of her ability...she lacked the words to come fourth powerfully and on top...this would be a struggle.

She then turned round on her heel and slowly approached him her arms moving from side to side hanging.

"...but just because I lack speech in your tongue does not mean I will be your ...dis-posable asset."she then said very clearly and plainly as she came closer removing her blades.

She placed them on the side of a barrel as she reached halfway the distance towards him. Perhaps this would show him that she was not looking for a fight. As she reached the table infront of him she sat on the furthest end and looked at him, her eyes constantly trying to pin down what his facial expressions showed about his mood.

"As for tonight, I could tell you why what happened tonight happened..." she said "...but I will just tell you that there were a number of rogue factors...if that is what you would call them in Th-ari-an?"

She then stood up from leaning back on the table and slowly approached him with ease, her heels making the slightest sounds on the floor as she moved. At the same time her long skirt swayed from side to side in between her finely curved legs covered in armour on her knees. She then moved her right hand lower putting a single finger under the top of the rim of the soft material making up her black stockings that clung to her lower legs and thighs.

As her gloved hand moved towards his shoulder she decided to say a little more…

"But you know...I think we are not too different you and I..." she said in a soft voice that was aimed to penetrate that thick shield he was hanging around himself, obviously he feared sexual desire on his side. This was the very reason...the very why...why he was going out of his way to stay on top of her in this battle of the wills, not in the literal sense...that is not 'yet'.

"...for I too see app-ear-ance...as a judge." she said continuing where she left off. As she spoke her left gloved hand made contact with his shoulder and she then made one final statement and posed a question to him.

"However, what I cannot tell from your app-ear-eance...what do you want?"


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Salkazrian on April 12, 2010, 02:23:41 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 3rd Hour of Guardorans (11pm)

   Salkazrian breathed a sigh of relief when a proper healer arrived.  She’d been watching Jarl’s laboured breathing grow more peaceful as she’d been waiting.  Perhaps there was still hope for him, yet?  The old man who had crouched next to her seemed to know his trade well, identifying the most likely poison almost immediately.

   Soon, the stricken lord was carried from the room, leaving Salkazrian with her distraught friend and two men.  One of the men was large in every way, while the other seemed cool and distant, somehow.

   The large man turned out to be the host of the party, the Nermeran Ambassador, whilst the red head was one of his servants.  Salkazrian listened carefully as they conversed, and was disturbed to learn that they intended on keeping the matter within the embassy until the morning.

   “Sir,” Salkazrian said in response to his offer of a room for the night.  “Whilst I respect your desire to keep this matter within the embassy for now, I implore you to contact the local guardhouse immediately.  Whoever is responsible for this is no doubt still nearby, and I feel that we’d have the best chance of capturing them if we act right away.”

   Unfortunately, her words seemed wasted on the man.  Either he was too scared of the consequences to his reputation if word of the evening’s events were released too soon, or he didn’t think much of a woman’s opinion.  He was quite insistent that the constables only be informed in the morning.  Salkazrian didn’t pursue the matter, recognising that here was a man who was as stubborn as an ox.

   “Very well,” she said in reluctant acquiescence, “we would be happy to accept your generous offer of a room for the night.  However, I must insist that you send the head of your embassy’s security to see me.  I have several pieces of intelligence which are of vital importance to solving this case.”

   Fortunately, the Lord agreed to this, and soon, the two ladies were being escorted to a bedroom.

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 4th Hour of Guardorans (12am)

   “Will…he…be alright?”  Clarissa whimpered, drying her eyes.

   “I’m sure he will be, Clarry,” Salkazrian said as cheerily as she could.  “He’s in good hands.  The best thing you can do is to try and get some rest.  I’ll stay here with you, so there’s nothing to fear.”

   Clarissa sat down on the edge of one of the twin beds, the soft mattress yielding slightly under her weight.  She seemed a little more composed now, and even a slight smile had come back to her face.

   “You’re right, Salk, there’s nothing more I can do.  But I feel so…so…so confused.  Why would anybody want to kill him?  I mean, first of all, that horrible assassin, and now this.”

   Salkazrian couldn’t answer her friend.  It was one of the questions that had been running through her own mind, along with who, and how best to find them.

   “I don’t know, Clarry,” she said as she paced the room, “But I hope to find out.  And then we can catch them, and watch them hang!”

   “I agree.”  A new voice made both women turn to face the door.  “And hopefully, you’ll be able to help me.”  A tall, dark-haired man had entered the room.  “Allow me to introduce myself; I’m Darjan Gosonji, head of the security here.  I believe you have some information to give me?”

   Salkazrian introduced herself, and then invited the newcomer to sit on an armchair.

   “Indeed, I do,” she said, as she settled herself onto the end of her bed.  “Do you have a quill and parchment?”

   Darjan smiled, and promptly produced his writing materials from a small, leather bag which he had been carrying.  Salkazrian nodded in approval, and cast her mind back, getting the details into some kind of order.  Then, she started to tell Darjan all that she could recall.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Cár'scál Sae'llán on April 14, 2010, 07:10:29 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 4th Hour of Guardorans (12am)

It had taken a long while, and the days and nights were just one big blend to him. Off in the distance birds could be heard cooing their songs around the area. A light wind ruffled the hood that he wore, and provided a welcoming breeze to the dusty elf. The soft boots that he wore were lightly dusted with dirt, and the white of his flowing pants had faded to a light, earthy color. Underneath his cloak, the white of his vest, and sash gleamed in the moonlight.

Raising his hands to his face, he removed the hood so he could better feel the breeze on his brow. The hilt of his sword shone like the finest alabaster from underneath the cloak, and the silver white of his hair shone like liquid silver. Cár'scál looked about, his elven eyes drinking in the movement of light and shadow on grass. In the distance he could already see the Nermeran Embassy. Knowing humans, there was bound to be work for one who could fight and fend for himself.

Taking care to not soil his clothing further, he made his slow but steady way over to the building. Even in the dead of night, the pure white of his body could not be missed. With a flourish he threw of his cloak as he reached the doorway, with an unnatural grace that seemed almost to perfect. His first instinct was to simply open the door, before realizing that humans had the annoying habit of keeping them locked. With the same uncaring elegance, Cár'scál tapped on the door and waited for someone to open the door for him.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on April 18, 2010, 10:31:20 AM

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 5th Hour of Guardorans (1am)

The lady lay languidly on the fanciful cushion covered bed, unable to sleep, swamped by the many layers of soft spilk purple bed covers. Moriah’s headache had gotten worse, her brow creased in anger, no doubt lines were forming from all her frowning, but her annoyance with her husband still hadn’t subsided. A few shouts and footsteps could be heard from outside, the city was as awake as she. All was quiet within the house, Dorcas had gone to bed, the housekeeper never bothered to wait up for the master of the house, often the man didn’t return home till Shadowleave and tonight seemed to be no different. Even when he did return, he always went straight to his own quarters, never thinking to wish her good night.

Shaking such depressing thoughts out her head, the lady delicately flung back the covers, escaping out the mass of sheets and quilting, to tip toe across a cross the stone floor of her bedroom to her dresser, lighting a single candle. The woman gazed at her own reflection in the mirror, almost not recognising the ghostly face that stared back at her its pale watery eyes. Here she was standing in her nightdress, just a whisper of the woman she once was. When last had she felt like herself? Dancing with Kembar. Lady Quinn paused, pursing her lips, had she just used Lord Fruwee by his first name?

Moriah frowned again, helping to cause even more wrinkles. Why would she think of Lord Fruwee? Hah, it was only a dance. “Just a dance.”  She repeated firmly to herself. Dear gods, she wasn’t going to act like some young girl blushing at every man who talked to her. Who was she turning into? Kaitrin?! Her nose wrinkled at such a thought.

Soft footsteps echoed from the corridor. Strange, was Guillemot back early?

Gracefully tiptoeing to the door, green cat-like eyes peeked out the room, no one was there. “Guillemot?” No reply. Sighing a quick sigh, Moriah picked up her spilk night robe and, pulling it around herself, went to her husband’s quarters, resolved to talk to him.

No response came after, a quiet tap on his door, “Guillemot?”  His wife whispered, frustrated, she decided to just go in anyway. But after flinging back the door in a demanding and determined way, creating a rather dramatic entrance, she found that her efforts had been pointless, her quarry was no where to be seen, the room was empty. Strange.

Even stranger, her husband’s desk looked like it’d been tampered with.

For years Moriah had tried to pick the lock on her husband’s desk draws, and all she’d found out was that hair pins don’t actually work unless you’re a trained professional lock pick, and lock picking had sadly never been part of Goutonch’s curriculum.

Yet it looked like someone else had succeeded. One of the draws was open.

The lady paused; she should go downstairs and get Dorcas to inform the Guardhouse that someone had broken into their house. That is was what she should have been doing. What she found herself doing, was scurrying in an unlady-like fashion over to the desk, and delving into the draw herself with unbridled curiosity.

The draw held no secrets, no love letters of secret lovers, no receipts or letters of credit from visiting brothels, no threats from gambling dens or bludd dealers. It seemed her husband’s life was as boring and sparse as he made it out to be.

Yet why had she always felt like he had kept things from her?

All there was was a very old drawing; a picture of her husband and two others, no doubt from his years as a captain in the Order. Next to her husband, the artist had managed to capture the scrawny Dorian looking rather grumpy. Yet it was the stranger in the picture that interested her the most. He looked rather familiar; in fact, he looked rather like her husband. The artist had captured the similarity, the same chin, pale eyes, and harsh cheekbones. Who was he?


Date: 29th Singing Bird, 5th Hour of Guardorans (1am)
 

In the cold cellar, sat amongst the molding cheeses, Quinn reflected on the woman’s question, staring blankly at the hand she had placed on his shoulder as if it were not the hand of a beautiful woman. Her question had been an interesting one, it was a shame she’d tried to touch him.

Want? Always better to aim for things you need….and what I need is someone to blame if things get problematic….and I need to find out who else wants Jarl dead…

Looking up, his head slightly tilted and a coy smile on his face that somehow didn’t fit his eyes. “I don’t ‘want’ anything.”  In one swift movement, he carefully batted the hand away, walking leisurely to the other side of the room.

“But I do have work for you. Tonight after you left, someone else tried to kill Jarl, they almost succeeded. They tried to poison him with a mask. I need you to find out who else wants Jarl dead and why.”  

There was movement in a dingy corner, and where before there had been just empty space, a figure stepped out from his hiding place. The young man was unremarkable in appearance; in fact there was nothing distinctive about him, no defining features to single him out from a crowd. His face was plain, his shaggy hair a dull brown, his nose straight and boring, his eyes a browny-greenish colour, perhaps even blue.

“This is…well he has a name but I think it’s best for you not to know it. He is the spy master of sorts.”  The figure behind Quinn rolled his eyes at such a silly term as ‘spy’. Glaring at the elven woman like a sullen youngling, the ragged dark haired man perched on top one of the crates, “Boo.”

The redhead smiled slightly at the envoy’s sulking, “Well I’m glad we’ve all made friends….
Once again he turned to the elf,“I want you to help my friend here track down the assassin before the Guard catch him. Fail, and it will both your heads on the block.”  Cold blue eyes rested on the elf’s, “I’ll make sure of it.”  

“I don’t like it.”  The spy crossed his arms grouchily. “Look at her, all that fancy armour, how is that going to help us stay hidden!?”

“As spectacular you are at your chosen profession, you’re still really just a gangly cowardly little weed of a man with not even enough strength in your arms to lift a pebble. We need muscle as well as guile. I believe you’ll work well together, don’t treat her like you do Turrell…” The redhead turned towards the elf, “And I advise you to follow his guidance, he might act like a street rat but he knows more then he lets on…Now, I have my real work to do. I don’t get paid to lurk in storerooms with wanted criminals….”

The diplomat left the two criminals to themselves. As the door closed behind him, the skinny man jumped off his perch and walked towards the exotic elf, circling her slowly.

“Right, princess, my first rule, whatever tricks, charms and enchantments you have…”  Dorian took a quick sweep of the elf’s appearance, and his cheeks colouring slightly. “…I’m the boss, ya hear? So don’t start grabbing elves by the ears…erm…”  Perhaps that was the wrong thing to say….

“My second rule, the first thing people notice is someone that don’t wanna be seen. Nothing is more inconspicious than someone wandering round in a hood. And no black neither!“  The spy tutted, “If you want the guard off your back we’re gonna have to find ya other clothes. Perhaps a headscarf to hide them ears...“

“And my final rule, don’t get into trouble. I don’t want to be dragging your body out the river. Cause of you an innocent man might be hanged. I almost lost my freedom trying to get your damn body out that inn. The guards are after you. You failed to kill Jarl.“

Dorian leaned closer in, whispering,

“You‘re walking a tightrope...don’t fall off...“

With that, the spy straightened up, dusting off once again his torn mouldy jacket and went to push open the hatch door slightly, to check to see if anyone lurked nearby.

“Now, I’ve managed to find out from the Nermeran embassy’s security, that a clown was seen attacking Jarl, and I have an inkling as to which clown he’s refering to. So we’re going to go have a chat with a old friend of mine.“
With a gangly arm, the envoy pushed up the hatch, climbing out like a spider, “You coming or what?

Date: 29th Singing Bird, 4th Hour of Guardorans (12am)

Whump. The head of the Nermeran ambassador hit the desk with a loud thud, rattling his quill pot and causing scrolls to tumble and cascade onto the floor. “What a night! A member of the league is on the brink of death, there’s a killer skipping about the city and here I am stuck writing letters!”

In the corner, a nervous clerk shifted from one foot to the other, unsure how to consol him. The poor servant had only come in to ask the ambassador about something, now he was stuck reassuring him, standing there as the Lord waffled on.

Belenos sighed, one meaty fist propping up his large head, squishing into a red fleshy cheek, as he tried not to fall asleep on his letter to the royal palace, apologising for the discord of the party and explaining in detail what had happened, though Gosonji still hadn’t given him his full report. Yet more details, that means more work…perhaps I could get that compendiumist to write these letters for me…

Where was his castellan when he needed him? At the cheeseshop, no doubt checking with his own sneaky little rats, seeing what his spies and skulkers could uncover.

He glanced up longingly at the rows of weaponry on his walls. It was strange how much he missed war. Most people wouldn’t understand how he could long for the past, when he’d fought for his life, stuck in the mud, the dirt, bloody battles and chaos. And yesm he didn’t miss the results of war, no one could miss the pain that came with it.

But he did miss the principles that he and his men had lived by. The honour and bravery. Now nobles required only wealth and a fancy title to gain prestige, not a sharp sword and iron guts. Such frivolous requirements as money could make anyone a member of the aristocracy. And no longer was fighting the only tactic available, words and diplomacy were the new tools by which wars could be won.

So here he was, stuck inside, behind a desk, his swords rusting away in their sheaves. Part of him secretly wished to pull one of the weapons off the wall, and leap out the door, to go track down that damn killer, to bring back his head and stick it on a pike. But now he was an ambassador and ambassadors weren’t supposed to do such things, ambassadors had to doing things the civilised way, ambassadors had to play nice if they wanted to keep friendly with their neighbours.

Still doesn’t stop the backstabbing though, they all still sneak and skulk, plot and conspire, it’s just war behind closed doors. Men acting like rats…and I’ve turned into one of them…
“That girl was right, the killer is out there right now, and we’re just sitting here….”  

The clerk frowned, “Which girl, mi’lord?”

“The damned Seyellite one! For a woman, she talked with guts, not like the other one…….”

The man grew silent for a moment, scratching his beard as he remembered how upset Miss Solosis had looked. For her sake, I hope Jarl doesn’t die. It was his fault, the old fat war hero couldn’t even protect one of his own guests. Its my damned fault…Gods are probably laughing at me.

“Sorry mi’lord, I didn’t hear you.”

“Nothing, nothing.....” Belenos mumbled, before deciding to catch the clerk off guard with a loud bark, "Why you come in here anyway!?”

“Erm, there is a man outside, mi’lord, he seeks a job.”

“Job?! What kind of job?! Writer, scholar, guard, entertainer?”

“He didn’t say, mi’lord.”

“Well, what did he look like? Was he wearing a weapon? Were his clothes new or well worn? Details man!”

The young clerk’s face contorted in thought, trying to remember, “Er, I remember that he was not human, an elf I think.”

“He’s an elf.”  The lord raised an eyebrow, unamused. “That is all the information you can give me? Well, wonderful, send him in! At least it’ll give me a break from writing…”

“Are you sure mi’lord, he could be dangerous.”

Tristram chuckled, a deep earthy sound, “I think we’ve had our fair share of attackers tonight, if he tries and attacks me, I’ll be ready for him!”  Nodding, the nervous clerk scurried away, hurrying back down the corridors, down the stairways to fetch the jobseeker.

The ambassador leaned back in his chair; it creaked under his weight as he rested two heavy booted feet on his desk, grinning wryly at the stranger before him.

“Now I’m very busy at the moment, but my clerk tells me that you’re here for a job, so what is your name and what skills do you possess that could perhaps help my dear embassy?"




Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on April 18, 2010, 10:52:53 PM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 5th Hour of Guardorans (1:30am)

Impressive she thought...he almost seemed completely immune to her charms. Was she losing her touch? How could he resist such a faint move and reject it? Perhaps he really was impervious to her beauty? It seemed in that precise moment he pushed her hand away doubt clustered in her mind and her head tilted slightly to one side, eyes and ears more focused on what he had to say.

He obviously was no fool, this she had known when he first had entered the room, now it was self evident...he was strong, somewhat cold and focused on his ambitions. She smiled slightly listening to what he wanted for he was a lot more "interesting" than others she had met and also more mysterious. Nothing?  she thought.

Now as he put forward a task she listened, her ears razed to gather every detail and his tone. As he explained what exactly he wanted she took note in her head. Who and Why? That was all he wanted she thought rather unimpressed.

Then came a rather less inspiring and filthy animal from behind some crates. His voice, posture and appearance was nothing special, his form almost like a rat. As she watched him with hawk eyes Quinn spoke and she listened. He talked about the "spy" that lay before her on the crates, "friendship" and if they failed.

Only one will have his head on the block if things go wrong. she thought confidently eyes looking from head to toe the "spy".

As Quinn left Ylaya sighed, she had been paired with some low minion of little value than to lurk in shadows, anyone could do that. Oh well, she would please Quinn. Favour to her was more important, she had to win his trust and faith if anything was going to be made of this arrangement between the two. He was clever, she would have to suss out his desires and what he wanted. Thus far little had been revealed...his plot...his goals...well...that would not last long she thought as she smiled.

Now came fourth the "rat" to check her over. She portrayed a disinterested face as he looked and spoke some words that had little significance. How could she take him seriously? He was a man and a poorly dressed one at that. She pondered a few of his words. He was the boss? Fine she thought He can take the blame if we fail...fine by me.

The rest of his waffle seemed a waste of time, but he was right about one thing...she needed a new way to hide her image...her long ears gave her away too easily and so did that long black hood she had taken from...well...it could be altered later.

“You‘re walking a tightrope...don’t fall off...“ he said quietly as if he was scared. She thought for a moment...Yeah...he was just completely out of his depth with her, but he would learn respect she thought. He would.

He then opened a hatch, she watched. He explained the plan...

“You coming or what?"

She shook her head and followed...how could she have been paired with such a cretin? she thought...and a dirty one at that. Well, for now she would follow, but always with one hand ready to take out a blade. On the way out she picked up her hood casting it on herself and grabbed her blades strapping them to the back of her legs. This would not take long…

As they reached the top of the hatch she stated “Let me just say one thing…I don’t care about innocent men dying or your ambition human…all I want is “his” respect…get in my way and you will wish you had lost your freedom” she said simply, but with a somewhat menacing tone towards the end.

She then looked down towards the blade she concealed pulling back the cloak revealing it strapped to her leg and then looked up at him smiling beneath her hood. “Now…what do you mean by chat?”


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylva Rasmussan on April 21, 2010, 03:43:13 AM
Date: 29th Singing Bird, 5th Hour of Guardorans (1:30am)

Dorian nodded slowly, thinking over the lady’s words. Her attitude worried him, but he laughed slightly at one point, “You want “his” respect, hm? Hah, well you could try dancing around naked, but the guy wouldn’t notice. You’re going to have to earn it the hard way.” His eyes flicked down to the dagger at her leg, frowning and pursing his lips like an old lady, “Anyway, I meant a chat as in one person speaking to the other, what do you think chat means? I hope you’re not like Turrell, he enjoys his job a bit too much...” Glaring at the elfess, mumbling the last bit of his speech. “Those sorts of people cause mess...” the bloody kind.

The ragged haired gangly man checked again to see if no one was around, then speedily darted out the hatch into a nearby alcove, whispering to his new reluctant accomplice, “My only ambition is a simple one, stay alive. And it’s very achievable as long as attention seeking beauties don’t get in my way...Follow me.” The skinny man crept further down the alley till he got to a small doorway, pulling a key out his pocket, he unlocked the small door. “Ferlin has probably broke down by now, he’ll give them a description, here’s hoping its an ambiguous one. Still means that it’ll be safer if we avoid walking around up top." Inside the door was just someone’s home, a woman sat in a chair, a small baby in her arms, sucking at one breast. The mother didn't seem surprised as he entered, not interested as he pulled back her rug to reveal a hatch, obviously used to strangers walking in and out all the time, she just lit a torch from her fire and passed it to him.

With his skinny arms, the envoy had barely managed to heave open the hatch, grabbing the torch off the woman, he descended into the darkness, a series of ancient tunnels, small hatches and entrances, bits of people’s cellars and catacombs, all connected and stuck together to form a network of pathways under the earth, away from prying eyes. “The Thief Walkways. Created same time as the Underground as a way for non-law-abiding members of the populace, like us, to get around without the law butting their nose into our business.”   The criminal explained to his new partner in crime as they descended into the dark. “You should feel privileged, most the people in this city have no idea it exists, they don’t realise that all these cellars connect with each other, and let’s pray they stay ignorant, so no blabbing...we don’t want the guard wandering down here do we?”

They weaved through the maze of tunnel after tunnel, creeping through people’s cellars and larders, strolling past barrels and crates, old furniture, black market goods and piles of food with rats fighting each other for dinner. “Don’t use the Walkways by yourself, people who use them without permission end up dead. Besides it takes years to remember the routes.”

After what seemed like years, they ended up in a small cramped larder, squashed against bags of grain. Flapping rats out his way, Dorian clambered up the pile of wheat, and pushed open a storage hatch, pulling himself up into the night. After flittering down a few streets, they’d finally come to their destination, the house looked like all the others, miserable little buildings that sagged with disrepaired roofs and broken tiles, accommodating people that had more pride than money, the sort that never admitted when they’re bellies had been empty for days.

“Now be nice, pull that cloak around yourself, don’t want these people to think you’re a lady of the night. Now you’re going to ask for Edoreth Beattie, he was at the ball and he assaulted Jarl, he's hiding somewhere, but his wife will be in, if so ask nicely where he could be, where he normally goes when he’s in trouble. Get information out of her but don’t scare her, she’ll shut up as soon as she senses trouble, and she’s a tough one. Now I’m going to wait for you, but I can’t go in with you...” The envoy paused, his ears reddening slightly as Dorian admitted the reason, “Eddie’s wife doesn’t like me...tried to make a pass at her, Eddie never found out.” With that the man knocked on the door and scurried away, vanishing into the night.

The door itself flung open to reveal an annoyed haggard looking woman, a shawl wrapped around her, sharp eyes peering at the foreign lady, “Well, what do you want?”


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Ylaya on April 22, 2010, 03:42:25 AM
Ylaya looked at the woman…with a certain irritated manner for Dorian was bugging her, his constant history being thrown up like regurgitation. Why did she want to know who he made a pass at? Did he think she would care? These thoughts filled her mind for a second whilst she spoke in response to the wife.

“Not much…I’m looking for Edoreth Beat-tie” said Ylaya her hood hiding most of her facial features and more importantly those long ears. 

“O” she replied deciding whether or not to trust this stranger. The woman was slightly confused, why did this person want her husband? 

“I have been asked to check on him, is he here please?” continued Ylaya.

“Erhh...no…no…not at the moment…actually I don’t know where he is” she replied in a strange, almost completely oblivious way.

“Why has something happened to him?” the wife said in a caring, perhaps artificially caring tone.

“No…but you have any…any idea where he might be?” said Ylaya in response. She had to at least learn something from this hag.

“No…I don’t” and with that the door closed. Failure…Dorian’s tactics had ceased to yield anything.

With that Ylaya removed her hood and walked over to a dark spot waiting for Dorian to remerge.

“So?” said Dorian expecting an answer straight away as he crept out from the darkness. Only his head seemed visible. 

“Nothing” she said with a unimpressed face

“Nothing?” he said as he seemed to scurry over to her quickly not as watchful of his surroundings as he usually was.

“Yes, appears ‘your’ strategy of restraint failed…she obviously knew…if shown my blade we would have gotten information quickly” she said with certain sarcasm.

“Now just wait one minute…you cannot just go around like that…this mission requires restraint to get the information we need, not for you to just go parading round extracting it like some crazed banshee” he said trying to consolidate his own position. 

“Whatever you say…” she said as she began to make her way back to the walkways walking slowly. Her legs moved one in front of the other as if she did not belong all wrapped up and hidden under that dark cloak. She walked with a certain exoticness that could not escape his eyes and neither could her heels.

Dorian felt partly angered and cautious, this duel operation was not as easy going as he had foreseen…she was so difficult as much as she was attractive. With haste he cleared his mind the best he could. He would not go down to her level, no, he would not...

As they both reached the passage way Dorian led them and seemed to be checking a lot more frequently, perhaps unfriendly foke were around…he was not sure. Ylaya with her gloved hands put her hood back up…who knew what could be around the next corner...

Together they climbed down and went through a cellar as Dorian planned his next move. Ylaya however wanted to know now exactly where they were going…

“So what now?” she said interested in what he was thinking.

“You’re the one with the blades who can get information, you tell me?” he said

She laughed at this comment “I was merely stating the obvious before…you were too cautious.”

“Well maybe you were too obvious and Beattie’s wife saw straight through you??”

Ylaya smirked, he had come back strong, but she was better at playing this game than him
“Just like she saw through you?”

Dorian at that moment portrayed a some what angry face in comparison with the gloating face of Ylaya.

“Right enough…I think its time such childish…” began Dorian as he was rudely interrupted by the sounds of strangers moving in from all sides of the passageway.

“Hello travellers, a strange time to be moving about isn’t it?” said a voice from the darkness infront of them.

Ylaya and Dorian kept quiet as five lightly armoured men came in from the sides of the passage way and from infront and behind, the corners had hidden them perfectly. Under there cloaks there were most likely armed with light weapons; Ylaya looked at the one speaking. Dorian on the other hand seemed to be looking at each one for a short time in sequence, he felt scared perhaps, unable to deal with the situation around him.

“Well, what has brought the two of you down here?” he said, the man appearing quite tall wearing light clothes built for speed.

“We were just passing through…we beg your apologies for the disturbance” said Dorian trying to show a confident face as he heard knives and small blades being drawn from hidden area under the cloaks of the masked assailants. Not very smart thought Ylaya in that moment. 

“Yes well I’m afraid an apology won’t be enough…” the master of the thieves said infront of them.

“…for this ground is ours, anyone…no everyone who has come through here in the past has had to give something…pay us something…that is the way it works down here you know.” He continued.

Dorian shivered, he had nothing to give them…well…he did but they would probably die anyway even if they did give the thieves something …he looked desperately for some form of escape rope but there were none.

Ylaya on the other hand who had all ready put both hands on her blades on the back of her legs now reached up and removed her hood. Her cloak at the same time dangled revealing some of her appearance to the masked individual. Her long hair, long ears, breasts, athletic legs all made the chief of the thief’s eyes light up.

“Ooo, what kind of beauty comes down here…” said the master of thieves as he approached

“…with such poor company as this worm in her midst” he continued to say.

Ylaya liked the way this guy spoke, but he was obviously trying to take advantage of her, that she would not tolerate. Her suspicions were made clear when he took her gloved hand with his dirty hand. She would let him make this move, but if he tried anything else…she would not hesitate.

He wanted a response from her; maybe she could not speak the language? These thoughts filled his mind

“So not from around these parts then. Why not come with us? We could definitely take better care of you than this parasite, wouldn’t we lads”

The other thieves in the corridor laughed and agreed in their vile common tongues.

“…and the worm?” she said in a certain child like manner.

To this he held his knife up and two men moved in to surround Dorian from the back.  They held his shoulders and restrained him.

“Oh we can take good care of him to” he said to her approval as she smiled and giggled.

“What are you doing Ylaya?”  said Dorian sweat pouring off his face as the guards held him tightly by the shoulders. He felt completely helpless, what was this betrayal?

“Merely learning from mistakes” she said taking the chief thief’s hand. He seemingly finding this invitation a no brainer and accepted gripping her hand more tightly.

“You two…cut his throat now…the rest of you can leave” said the chief thief. This left him, two thieves, Ylaya and Dorian.

“Ylaya…” he said as he escorted her backwards slightly avoiding any of the blood that might come gushing out of Dorian once the cut had been made. 

Any last words said a thief to Dorian under the flickering torch he held in his hand.

“…would you do me the pleasure of…” said the chief thief to Ylaya as he turned his head and was interruptedly met by an elbow to his nose making him fall backwards. A really nasty cracking sound could be heard…blood seemingly poured from his nose as he sat there are on the floor being forced onto it.

The thieves then came at her fast and left Dorian who held his hands over his face as some close quartered combat happened right before his eyes.

Ylaya after crunching her would be lovers nose shook off her cloak and revealed her true appearance. With haste one hand went down the back of her leg and pulled out a blade that she used to stop the first thief’s knife from entering her skull as he lunged at her. He almost got his knife in her eye as her longer jagged blade slowly began to overpower him and she pushed him back.

The other thief then tried to attack with two knives from the side, but Ylaya managed to halt his attack as well with a parry and then dodged another incoming attack from the first thief. The chief thief just lay on the floor holding his nose. Ylaya was going to enjoy his, she smiled as the two men she faced held back a second.

With a slight break in the assault by the two armed thieves she drew her other blade and held them both infront of her.

“Well?” she said as a guard approached her attempting to strike again. Again he found his attack blocked by her blades and then in that same second realised that his chest had caved in after being kneed by Ylaya. His knife skimmed across her hair in the struggle taking out one of the arrow shaped clips that hung to it. She then grabbed him by the face as he choked, winded obviously and flung him onto the floor.

She then looked around and could not see the second thief, where had he gone? From behind the masked attacker watched her and advanced grabbing her by the neck. She responded by elbowing him in the chest and then bringing a blade round to strike his shoulder sending him in pain to the floor. After he hit the floor he crawled away down a corridor, the other did as well. Now it was just her and the chief thief still there clutching his bleeding nose on the slated floor.

Ylaya then slowly approached the chief thief on the floor holding his nose. She thought he might be out of it but he struck when she did not expect it and his small knife sliced along her leg scratching her stocking that clung tightly to her right leg. Whether a cut had developed underneath, she could not see. However the pain triggered her to violently kick him in the face. He lay for a second unconscious on the floor.

This was not to last though for as he lay there a knife still in hand her heel came down on that hand and his mouth cried out with the whines of a pig being put to slaughter.

“Now…I think you know what woman I am…so please…put one more scratch these…”

“Go on…” she said as she removed her heel from his injured hand that he held with pain. She then moved right up to his face basically standing on top of him. Her blades she held at either side.

“You were smart there my beauty…better watch it next time though” he said trying to be smart.

“Next time.” she said as she crouched down to his face looking at his nose nodding. Then before he could say anything else she punched him putting him out cold. 

Putting one blade away she held the other running the edge along her finger.

“I don’t think there will be a next time lover.” She said to the body on the floor as a voice rang out “Wait!” from the darkness behind her.

With that that Ylaya looked round, where was Dorian? She checked the two corridors, one of them was empty and then…there he was. She held him against the wall.

“What were you playing at there?” he said.

“Saving our necks merely…even without your help”

“Well you could have hinted you had a plan…I thought you had decided to go off with that scum…that was some deception, even for you” he said trying to give her credit in his own twisted way.

“You think I would surrender my body to that scum…?” she said laughing “I think you will find I am full of surprises” she said hiding her other blade in its original spot.

“Why did you say wait anyway? I was enjoying myself” said Ylaya

“Because if you had killed him I doubt we could have ever used these tunnels again, attracting individuals like him is not what we should be trying to do…I was merely thinking forward”

There was then the sound of movement from down one of the corridors.

“Perhaps we should keep moving” he said

“After you” she replied.

Then the pair went down one of the corridors, there direction unknown…to Ylaya anyway.


Title: Re: Nermeran Embassy
Post by: Azalahn on May 17, 2010, 10:13:10 AM
Date: 30th Singing Bird, 1st Hour of Sunblaze (9 AM)

It had been a long trip. Azalahn had enjoyed it, seeing the marvelous structures in the capital again. It had been years since he had been in this city. Last time he had seen it was 5 years ago when he was traveling south. The business in Bardavos was going as it should, and he was ready to expand it. He would find work in the capital and spend some of his time looking for a good place to open a tavern or an inn. Perhaps he could get lucky and find a place that he could take over for a cheap price. His inn in Bardavos was in good hands, he was sure Aria and Thorgrim would run it as well as anyway possible.

But getting work here... A part of him regretted taking the dark elf along. In one of the inns they had passed on the road up north they had been kicked out, well actually the owner had been very friendly til the moment the dark elf had removed her hood, then all of a sudden things had become very much different. They had been allowed to finish the meals that they had allready payed for, but had been asked to leave as soon as they had finished.

Well too late to worry about the problems associated with a dark elf now. He knew that one of his old mercenary buds was living her and was working as a lieutenant in a nobleman's personal guard. It had taken some time to find the man, but at last he had managed to do it. But finding his old friend had proved very easy compared to finding an inn that would wellcome him and his traveling companion. He wondered what it was about this city that fascinated her so much. Sure the city was marvelous, but she looked like a little school girl realizing the wonders of the world for the first time in her life. She had been talking about all the various buildings, and architecture styles ever since they came to the city.

His friend had told him that the Nermeran Embassy most likely had a job opening for a military officer, and had written him a letter of recommendation. It would be nice if he could get the dark elf in as well, but even if he couldn't then it really didn't matter, he would get a salary and would be able to support the both of them for the time being, and he could work earning a living for both of them while she gathered information about the various taverns and inns in the city. There was also another possibility, he could transport goods from the south up to the capital if there was a profitable market, and if he could get a job at one of the embassies then he would be bound to come into contact with a lot of people, and that would be equal to potential business contacts later on. Spend a year or two here and he would most likely be able to have enough information and contacts to expand his business.

He put on his full armor, he had spent most of last night's evening polishing it, down to the last little tiny piece. He had gotten an appointment with the ambassador and was on his way to meet his hopefully future boss. Well being an associate of a dark elf would perhaps prove to be usefull, just as much as a curse. An associate of evil incarnate would most likely have some insight into how these vile creatures worked and that insight could be something every embassy could use.

Here he was, the student of the famous master walking in the streets of the Sarvonian capital, on his way to a job interview, and accompanied by a dark elf. They would most likely have him flogged if they could see him now. If it wasn't for his cursed fate then he should have a few hundred warriors under his command and be second in command of an army by now. What was it humans called it... colonel yes that was the word. The thought of what could have been drifted towards the woman he loved. How would their life have been now... would they have children if they had been allowed to be together... How would they live... He imagined them living happily and waking up in the room he used to live in, in his masters mansion. A little boy pulling the blankets, Momy dady the sun shining... He smiled at the thought.

Holt. Hold on sir. He was at the embassy and a guard was addressing him. Damn it not a good impression on his way to a job interview.

"What? I though I was expected" he said, not wanting to reveal his daydreaming before he had even entered the embassy grounds.

"Who are you and who is expecting you?" the guard asked.

"I commander Azalahn Dél’Raguierá am, and with the ambassador appointment I have. You to the ambassador escort me, or my arrival announce will"  He said in his very best Tharian.

A bit later he was lead into the Ambassador's office.
My lord, this is the elf that you have an appointment with, b but he is accompanied by a a dark elf, and insisted on bringing her along, so I have gathered a few extra guards just in case. The guard said.

"Greeting my lord ambassador, I commander Azalahn of house Dél’Raguierá am. That your embassy for a decent warrior or two might have use, I heard have. As for my companion, yes she born a Dark Elf is, but watching my back, there are few people if any I would rather have, assure you I do" He said, and handed the letter of recommendation.