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Author Topic: Nermeran Embassy  (Read 12462 times)
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Ylaya
Temptress
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Posts: 883


Elf, Coór'hém


« Reply #30 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.
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Foraste Lydan
Traveling Compendiumist
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Human, Erpheronian


« Reply #31 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.
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If you won't take my money, how about a write up?

Foraste Lydan
Ylaya
Temptress
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Elf, Coór'hém


« Reply #32 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.  
« Last Edit: March 08, 2010, 11:55:22 AM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged

Drea
Dangerous Doxy
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« Reply #33 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.
« Last Edit: March 08, 2010, 11:28:09 PM by Drea » Logged

Drea's CD

Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
Ylva Rasmussan
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Human, Murmillion.


« Reply #34 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….“


« Last Edit: April 21, 2010, 02:07:09 AM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
Kalína Dalá'isyrás
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« Reply #35 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.

« Last Edit: March 23, 2010, 01:51:50 PM by Kalína Mërénwèn » Logged

Insanity is only a perception made by those who have yet to attain its greatness. While those of us who have already stepped inside its bounds find bliss in our utter madness.
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« Reply #36 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)
« Last Edit: March 15, 2010, 05:29:19 AM by Ylaya » Logged

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« Reply #37 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.
« Last Edit: March 22, 2010, 04:54:05 AM by Salkazrian » Logged

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Ylaya
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« Reply #38 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.
« Last Edit: March 23, 2010, 03:03:44 AM by Ylaya » Logged

Ylva Rasmussan
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« Reply #39 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?”
« Last Edit: April 21, 2010, 02:18:26 AM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
Ylaya
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« Reply #40 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?"
« Last Edit: March 24, 2010, 08:08:27 AM by Ylaya » Logged

Salkazrian
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« Reply #41 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.
« Last Edit: April 12, 2010, 02:24:59 AM by Salkazrian » Logged

In military strategy, as in life itself, timing is everything!

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Cár'scál Sae'llán
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« Reply #42 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.
« Last Edit: April 15, 2010, 05:48:26 AM by Cár'scál Sae'llán » Logged

Zeiél só Avásh, Sae'llán
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:Cár'scál Sae'llán:
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Ylva Rasmussan
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« Reply #43 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?"


« Last Edit: April 21, 2010, 02:01:21 AM by Ylva Rasmussan » Logged
Ylaya
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« Reply #44 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?”
« Last Edit: April 18, 2010, 10:56:44 PM by Ylaya » Logged

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