Print Page - Tower of Drapt’na’at (the Kings residence)

Araman limped from the garderobe, forgetting to close the double doors behind him, and made his way as quickly as he could to his bed chambers. He threw himself onto the bed, and curled up into a ball. The pain was excruciating this time. Everytime the thought of even to pass water came to him, he would get panicked, not that he had to do it very often any more. The feeling was there, but it just would never come. Sometimes he would sit there for an hour in the coldness, his buttocks freezing on the stone seat, waiting for something to happen, but it would not. But when it did, the burning and the pain were almost enough to make him call out in pain. This time there was blood as well.

He lay there for a few moments, beads of sweat forming on his brow. He managed to control his breathing, somewhat, which in turn eased his agony. There was a knocking on his door, which he tried to ignore, but it occurred again, and was more insistant. "What is it?" he finally called forth, irritability clearly heard in his voice.

The door opened and Allemedo stepped into the room, followed by a shrivelled old man, carrying a bowl. Allemedo looked upon the king and his heart broke. He bowed. "Highness. I was informed that you were using the privy and thought you may need some assistance. I brought the physician. He has prepared some medication for you."

The kings face went a deep crimson. Was nothing he did private? He glared at the adviser and the old man. "Can I not do anything in private, that you need spies to tell you when I empty my bladder?" Exasperated, he threw a pillow at the old man. "Get him out of here! I am tired of taking all these foul tasting concoctions. Not one has eased my suffering or fixed what it is that ails me." He glared at the old man who was looking to Allemedo with a questioning gaze. "Do not look to him! Get out!" This was shouted and sounded almost like a scream.

Allemedo nodded to the old man, and when the door closed and they were alone, he approached the bed and sighed. "You need something, Araman. Look at you. Laying there, soaking your sheets with your own sweat. Something is wrong."

"You think I don't know that?" The words were harsh from the pain, but he softened somewhat. "I will be fine in a moment. What news you bring?"

Allemedo cleared his throat. "The Ximaxian ship has docked. A patrol has been sent to escort them back."

Araman nodded. "Good. I hope you sent that Jorgan officer."

Allemedo inclined his head. "Of course, Highness. As you had instructed." He then paused. "The nobles are requesting an audience with you as well."

Araman grunted. "A pox on them! I have no wish to see them. Send them away." Rellech and his band of money hungry merchants. He had no use for them right now.

Allemedo nodded. "As you wish. I will return when the delegation gets here. Until then, rest highness." He hated to see the king thus. They had been together for many years, and were as much friends as they were king and adviser. as much as he hated to admit it, he truly believed that Araman was dying. Something inside the older king was rotting, and eating him from the inside out. It broke his heart to see it.

Araman nodded and watched Allemedo leave. He closed his eyes for a moment. Yes, rest would be so very nice.

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Allemedo walked briskly down to the base of the Tower. Lines creased his old face, etched with worry. He worried for his friend and King, worried for their beloved city. His faith in the crown Prince, however, stayed that concern if only a little. Allemedo ran a wrinkled hand along the wall as he slowed his pace. His love for this place grew with each passing day, and he smiled in fond remembrance of memories here. Cinnabrown eyes flickered in the light as he made his way toward the entrance hall.

Passing by the throne room, the elderly man placed a hand on the worn handle. Pushing it gently open, Allemedo’s soft eyes surveyed the beautiful chamber, dark save for the beam of light from the opened door. The throne lay at the far end of the light, and Allemedo took an involuntary step toward it. Stealing himself, he quickly closed the door and turned to descend the Tower again.

Reaching the bottom, he strode down the long hall to the entrance chamber. The warmly lit, light played at the man’s every feature, accentuating it, making him look older than he really was; as old as he felt. His beautiful xazure blue robes swam around him, and he seemed to float down the hall. Although he was not royal, aides and servants in the hall moved aside, inclining their heads with respect. Soon, a youthful boy, Brogan by name, caught his attention. The boy approached him with a respectful bow, and Allemedo looked at him fondly. Always a reliable messenger, Allemedo consistently called upon Brogan when he needed something. “What is it, my boy?” Allemedo laid a hand gently on his shoulder.

The young man and a clear voice as he spoke. Allemedo recalled his first visit to the Tower, a quavering youth, nervous and unsure. However, he quickly improved, for Allemedo had seen great potential in the child. “The man you requested has arrived.” He boy looked straight into the elder man’s eyes. For a moment they stood, as if grandfather and grandson, frozen in a perfect picture depicting the passage of time. Allemedo raised his bushy brows, “Oh? Early, but wonderful, wonderful...” Yes, Allemedo was skeptical about his decision to send for a scribe. However, in his old age he knew better than most how important a biographer for the King would be. To have it recorded, even if to be filed away, sometime in the future another would read the biography; find it inspiring and useful. Although he had not spoken to Araman of his idea, he wanted the task completed before it was too late.

Peering past the boy, Allemedo distractedly replied quietly, ”Thank you, off you go.” and gave his shoulder a friendly squeeze. Taking a few strides forward, Allemedo stood, folded his hands before him, and held his head high.

The wind tousled his already windswept hair, blowing it across his eyes, as he strode toward the tower in the distance as it dominated the landscape. His feet were thankful for the cobblestones beneath them, his boots landing on each with only the slightest of thuds, after a long voyage by sea. It seemed as though his body would never become accustomed to the rolling of the waves, his stomach in particular. Even now he felt half-starved from upchucking more than half of his meals. And his balance was ever forfeit at sea as he proved unable to steady his wobbly legs. He was never any use to anyone on a ship; he would much rather have the earth beneath him any day.

His feet brought him to stand before the great tower as he paused. He should be impressed by the tower before him and by the city in its entirety, by the grandeur that surrounded him, but Jon could not help but remember his native city of Milkengrad, said to be the most beautiful human city in the world. The beauty of this Remusiat could not compare, though its fortifications were on par with Milkengrad’s own, if a bit different in nature. But then, the territory was vastly different; an island was much easier to defend than a city open to the land around it. Nor did his people have to worry about attacking orcs, their greatest foes were other Helcrani.

As he stood on the tower’s doorstep as it were, his gaze cast skyward at its topmost level, where no doubt the king resided, according to the rumors, Jon glanced behind him, reassured to see Luna still sleeping. Only her little grey ears protruded from her compartment in his pack, a single flap resting on her head and concealing it from view. Undoubtedly the little critter was tired from her rambunctious antics on the deck of the ship. At least someone had been having fun as he stood perched over the railing, emptying his stomach time and time again. He had not even bothered to keep a record of his sea voyage, so overcome was his with his malaise. No matter, he’d hardly be able to write in such conditions anyway.

Deciding that he had loitered long enough, Jon took a few strides forward with his long legs to the entrance of the tower, his gaze flickering back and forth between the two guards that stood there. His instructions specifically told him to come to the tower where he would be met and given further instructions, yet no mention had been made as to how he’d actually get past the guards. Would they know who he was? Or would they just lock him in some dark dungeon for daring to intrude on the king’s palace? He could imagine them dragging him off to a secluded prison deep underground, never to see the light of the sun again, leaving poor Luna to fend for herself.

Before he had lingered for no reason other than he was lost in his own thoughts, yet now he paused from fear, his mind conjuring up the possible outcomes. No matter that each was more unlikely than the last, he was never one to be ruled by reason. But he knew one thing, and that was that he was meant to be here. At the very worst, the guards would send for someone to confirm his identity, and that would be that. Or they’d just send him away entirely, after which he’d figure out something to do, no use worrying about it now. Taking a deep breath, he walked up to the guards, bowing his head before speaking, his words quickened by his nervousness. “Excuse me my good sirs, I am the scribe sent for by the King’s advisor. Would either of you gentlemen know his whereabouts?”

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Watching the two cross the magnificent hall, Allemedo did not move. He liked to give the impression that he was regal and composed; all for business. At least at first impressions. The young scribe was plain, but very personable. Allemedo inclined his head as the boy approached, and grinned broadly at Brogan. The sparkle in his eyes when he looked at the youngster was the sparkle of youth in itself. Brogan looked pleased, and half walked, half jogged past him and down the hall towards the kitchens. Staring after him for a moment, Allemedo ran a hand over his stubbly beard in thought. Such a delightful boy. “Greetings Sir Allemedo, I am Jon Smith, the scribe.”

Shaking from his reverie, Allemedo laid a gnarled hand on the young man’s shoulder when he stood upright from his bow, and gave a reassuring squeeze. A scribe, and so young, he mused. Before writing the biography of course, he’d have to judge that his writing skills were excellent. Not only because he would be paid copious amounts, but because Allamedo hardly wanted inaccurate or less than descriptive words to be all there was to remember his beloved King with. ”Walk with me.” His voice said softly, a kind smile lighting up his cinnabrown eyes. It was probably not the sort of introduction the young man was used to, but neither was Allemedo the sort of old man anyone was used to.

Turning Jon with him, he pressed between his shoulder blades, guiding him down the hall. Their boots echoed on the floor and up towards the high ceilings. As they passed the kitchens, Allemedo signaled a halt. Indicating the open doorway, servants, cooks and runners bustling inside, Alledmedo looked at Jon. ”The belly of our home. Remember, without warm, hearty food in our stomachs we wouldn’t be nearly as pleased and content as we are half the time.” Standing still a few moments longer, Allemedo looked fondly in on the workers in the kitchen. With a wink, he guided Jon along again. They passed various other chambers and public rooms, near the end Allemedo pointed into an open room. The commotion inside caused by the armorers and smiths hard at work.

”In the same way, these craftsman keep us safe. Protect our noble cause, whatever it may be..” Studying the youth, Allemedo wondered if he was confusing the boy. What he considered wisdom wasn’t always the same definition to others. Regardless, he gazed into the large chamber. Various weapons and pieces of armor covered one long wall. Allemedo took a moment to look fondly at each. The craftsmanship of the men at the Tower was extraordinary. His eyes came to rest on a large tapestry containing the Remusian crest. The nor’sidion blade jumped off the wall towards him and Allemedo closed his eyes briefly, turning away from the entrance.

Looking now at Jon, he smiled again. ”Here in the base of the Tower you’ll find many amazing and extraordinary sights. Even the servants’ bunks hold a special place in my heart. I love my home and I love my King… forgive me for this, but I must know your skill before I charge you with your task.” Looking about Allemedo searched for Brogan. Perhaps he would guide Jon about the Tower. The boy usually noticed when he searched for him with his calm eyes, but he was nowhere in sight. No matter.

”Mr. Smith, take your time. Examine a single room or each chamber in turn, whatever it is you deem sufficient to show your talent. I do not doubt you, I am sure you are remarkable, but please understand I must be sure. I'll be in the kitchen.” Inclining his head toward the young man, Allemedo turned back down the hall, intent upon a light snack from the kitchen while awaiting the man’s completed ‘assignment’. Smiling to himself once his back was turned, Allemedo wondered how the youth would handle the situation.

Timeras

The Crown Prince of Remusiat lounged idly in a large, cushioned chair. On the floor below lay a book and a stack of parchment; documents he had to read through as soon as he made up his mind to do so. His feet were up over the side of the chair and his bare, muscled torso sprawled out over it. In one hand he held a piece of parchment, sifting through the intricate lettering on it once more, and grinning as he reached the bottom.

Signed,
The Brothers Mallister

Reading it a couple more times, the young man tossed the parchment to the floor and stretched out his arms; yawning a lion’s yawn. Timeras was bored. He needed excitement, and his friends would do just the trick. The comfort of his father’s Tower was getting old, and Timeras found himself spending increasingly more time outdoors and around the city than was recommended. He was fond of his home and people; he preferred to be among them rather than consistently cooped up in meetings at the top of a lonely Tower.

Standing and arching his back to stretch, Timeras approached his huge bed, noting the clothes laid out on it. The duties and lifestyle of a Crown Prince pained him. The tedious duties involving the governing of the city came as second nature to him. Even Allemedo, a hard man when it came to overlooking the city he loves, agreed with nearly all of Timeras’ judgment calls. Although he was less a soldier than his father, Timeras hoped one day he could look past that, or perhaps he would never have reason to prove his worth as a Remusian warrior.

Sighing audibly, rough hands pulled the mahogany tunic over his head, not bothering to do the laces in the front. Slipping on his calf-high boots, the young man stood for a moment, looking solemnly out his window over the ocean. As a hand flattened his auburn hair against his head, Timeras’ chiseled, stubble-covered face scrunched in a frown. What in the name of the gods was he getting ready for? Frustrated, Timeras gazed around the room. There was nothing to tidy up, he had no desire to read through the boring literature of the city; he’d read the letter from his friends a dozen times. For a Crown Prince you’d think I’d have more to do.. he thought, snorting aloud and kicking the side of the bed with a resounding thud.

A throat cleared behind him, and he spun about, karikrimson flared on his ears as Timeras’ eyes fell upon Brogan. ”Don’t startle me like that, child!” he snapped at the young boy, whom he knew to be a favorite of Allemedo’s. The boy’s eyes grew wide, but he did not look frightened or upset, merely surprised. Timeras thought it odd the boy could read people so easily. Perhaps the old Advisor was rubbing off on him. Quickly chastising himself, Timeras hastily continued, ”I am sorry, what is it Brogan?”

The wide eyed boy immediately answered, hardly phased from Timeras’ tone a moment before, ”Your friends, the ones you’ve been waiting for? They have arrived in the city, m’Lord.” The boys voice was soft, but rang clear and true. To Timeras’ surprise, Brogan took a step forward and said, ”They are the friends you’ve been anticipating? Will they be in the city for long? Will... can… may I meet them?” the words tumbled from the excited youngster’s mouth unceremoniously. Timeras chuckled, he was such a sweet lad.

”I believe their intent is on passing through, but I’ll see what I can arrange.” Timeras winked at Brogan and reached for a soft leather jacket. He understood his excitement. He himself was bubbling with joy over the meeting of acquaintances, of friends not forgotten, and dearly missed. He was sure the boy had heard his mentioning of visiting friends enough times he could no longer count them on his fingers and toes. Sliding the jacked over him, Timeras looked at Brogan. He knew nothing about this youth, but he did know he seemed to look up to Timeras, and flocked towards any part of the Prince’s life he could be involved in. Being a mentor and friend to the boy was hardly a hassle. Placing a hand on Brogan’s petite shoulder, Timeras ushered him from his room and together they descended the Tower of Drapt’na’at.

Jon nodded to the older gentleman as he fell in step behind him. Much as he tried to control them, his eyes roamed about the walls and chambers that surrounded him, seemingly unable to keep still. He was yet awed by the grandeur that surrounded him, the majestic residence of none other than the king himself. And he had enough sense to realize that he would meet that very king, would indeed spend more time with him than most as his biographer. If his accounts of the king were to be anywhere near the truth, then he had to meet with the great man himself, but he had no doubt that his advisor knew this.

For the most part, he simply remained silent as he walked with the advisor, only nodding occasionally to acknowledge that he’d heard. It was just his way to prefer listening over speaking, for he found that the fewer words one spoke, often enough the more weight those words carried. As a writer, his words bore considerable weight and charm on their own, as carefully crafted as any smith would forge a sword or armor. Fitting that he would think of it so, as words were very much his sword and shield, both his defense and offense against any that sought to do him harm. It would be a gruesome day indeed when he failed to talk his way out of an unsavory situation.

He could not help the quizzical expression that came over his face as Sir Allemedo showed him the kitchen. Without a doubt, he appreciated a tour of the tower, and the kitchen was certainly an important place to know the whereabouts of. Or so claimed his stomach as it rumbled its displeasure of not receiving nourishment since he stepped off that infernal ship. Still, the tour continued as they made their way to the workroom. Now here was a sight that brought back memories and not fond ones at that. He could very easily recall the years spent working in his father’s smithery; his hands remembered most of all, more calloused than the hands of a writer should be. If a belief in the gods existed within him, then he would have thanked them for an assignment that required not the fell trade he had been taught but rather what he felt was his calling in this world.

His gaze followed that of the older man as he looked upon a tapestry hanging on the wall, one that reminded him of his people’s coat of arms. It was not the flaming sword of his people, yet the way the sword was positioned reminded him of it nonetheless. Should it be a surprise that the King’s advisor felt pride in his people and his country? Perhaps not, but Jon had lost faith in his own people years ago, seemingly unable to do little more than squabble amongst themselves. He could not help the confident smile that spread across his lips as the man spoke, his eyes gleaming with excitement. A chance to show his skills was more than fair, one he looked forward to as he would cherish every opportunity to impress his new employers.

As the man walked out of the room, Jon set about the task at hand. First and foremost, he walked away from the workroom where the smiths toiled, having no desire to describe them. Without a doubt he could skillfully, having his own experience to build upon, he would just rather not. But with free reign of the tower, where should he go first? Should he try to describe a single room or the entire tower? Just what would it take to prove his skills? The smile broadened into a grin as an idea occurred to him, and he set off down the hallway at a brisk pace, head turning left and right, seeking the chamber that would suit his purposes.

And then he found it. The room was simply perfect, or so it seemed to his eyes. Dust covered the room from wall to wall, illuminated by a single shaft of sunlight shining through a window set high in one wall. He smiled to see what appeared to be the dust dancing in its single ray of light, sunlight reflecting off each little piece. The room boasted of only two pieces of furniture, if furniture you could call them. Little more than a worn stone slab protruding from the wall, the desk was accompanied by a chair crafted of bone, rawhide stretched over the seat and back to provide some comfort. He could not ask for a more fitting setting.

With a smile he turned the chair away from the makeshift desk, sinking down into it as he set his pack to one side on the floor, careful of the sleeping Luna as he did his best to not disturb her. Nimble fingers fished into another compartment of the pack as he sought his quill, a sheet of parchment, and his journal. Crossing one leg over the other, he held the journal in his lap as he placed the parchment on top of it, his quill dipping into the ink as he began to write. Were someone to watch over his shoulder to see the words appear on the parchment before him, these words would greet their eyes.

Carousing, carefree in the noon sun, dust light and joyous, never again bound to the ground below. Dancing in radiant sunlight, piercing the gloom of darkened room, a soothsayer in times of doubt, eternal light of hope. If only men possessed such spirit, if only they could dance so and forget woes past and troubles future, living for only the warm glow of sunlight upon their enlightened faces. But men are bound to ever be light and dark, never so pure as a shaft of light shining through a window high.

The smile remained upon Jon’s lips as he rose, tucking the quill and journal back into his pack before shouldering it once more, again careful of the sleeping Luna. The piece of parchment he carried in one hand as he made his way back to the kitchen. A sly smile curled the corners of his lips as he walked in on the advisor eating something he no doubt managed to pilfer from one of the cooks. With a bow of his head, he presented the parchment to Sir Allemedo. Doubt took him then as he stood, nervously shifting from one foot to the other. “I pray that my writing proves satisfactory. I apologize if it is not what you intended; I gazed upon the light and inspiration took me.”

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Bread and water, those were all the old man required. Those within the kitchen offered him much more, but Allemedo was a simple man beneath all the regal attire and fancy language. Bread and water would keep him alive. It was only a short time before Jon strode through the doorway, a smile upon his face. Almost immediately Allemedo knew the youth had created a great work, for no craftsman had that look of satisfaction upon his face without reason. Approaching him, Jon presented a parchment and said, “I pray that my writing proves satisfactory. I apologize if it is not what you intended; I gazed upon the light and inspiration took me.” Endeared by the young man’s words, Allemedo’s eyes looked kindly upon him for a moment, then shifted down onto the parchment.

Looking at it, Allemedo noticed its length first and foremost. Brief, but brevity meant nothing accompanied with heavy hearted words. Reading through the neatly written script, Allemedo pitied one who could not read even this small paragraph. Reading through it another time, the old man read aloud the last words, ”…men are bound to ever be light and dark, never so pure as a shaft of light shining through a window high.” Looking up at the man, Allemedo looked straight into his eyes. The youth was beyond his years, not only did his writing surpass any expectations the old man held, but he touched on the task of purity some men worked hard to accomplish, only to learn the truth just as their lives ended.

Finally finding a voice, Allemedo stood and bent at the waist, bowing with respect for the young man, ”Your writing is beyond satisfaction. It will give me great joy to introduce a man of such talent to my King.” Straightening, Allemedo glanced about to realize the stares he received from the hands in the kitchen. It was not often they witnessed a switch in roles such as the one he had just displayed. The twinkle back in his eye, he asked the young man, ”You’ll deserve every coin you earn during your stay here… would you like to see the remainder of the Tower? And your room, of course..” Finishing the water, Allemedo broke the remnants of his bread in two, offering half to the boy, and holding fast to the other half. The loaf was soft; Allemedo was convinced the Tower held some of the best, fresh baked bread anywhere in the world.

Taking up Jon’s parchment again, Allemedo tucked it inside his robes. He hoped the lad wouldn’t mind him keeping it, but it was an awfully good piece of writing. Exiting the kitchen, Allemedo turned to continue down the hall, past the armory and smithy, past the courts and meeting rooms, past various other chambers. Slowing his long strides to match Jon’s, Allemedo hoped the young man would come to love the Tower and Araman nearly as much as he did. ”Please, tell me about yourself, Jon.” Allemedo did not ask anything specific. The man would tell him what he offered and nothing more. Searching for anything deeper might cause the man to produce a lie, something Allemedo did not seek.

He shifted all the more as the advisor’s gaze remained upon him, his body overcome with nervousness. A sigh of relief, relief to be free of his gaze, escaped Jon’s lips as the advisor’s eyes flickered down to the parchment before him. The way he looked at Jon upon reading the gracefully flowing script disconcerted the youth, as if the older gentlemen peered into the very depths of his soul. He could not help but feel bare, stark naked, under such a gaze. His collar seemed to tighten, his clothes seeking to strangle him as his skin crawled, feeling heated despite the icy clime he stood in.

It was even more of a shock to witness Sir Allemedo bow before him, showing him respect as none had ever before. There was no doubt in his mind that his writing was superb, not at this present moment at least, but it was still surprising to see one so highly ranked bow to him on account of his talent. He did not know if his talent was worth such respect, but he appreciated it nonetheless. His smile broadened at the mention of gold. He did not think of himself as a materialistic man, far from it, but any gold he was paid would go far in keeping food in his belly and clothes on his back. His stomach rumbling again at the mention of food, he graciously accepted the bread offered to him, doing his best to remember his manners while scarfing it down, a losing battle if there ever was one.

He fell into step alongside the advisor as they left the kitchen once more, his gaze yet again roaming the grandeur that surrounded him. In time, he might become accustomed to living within such fine quarters, but for now their exquisite beauty overwhelmed him. As they walked, he pondered whether he’d prefer a tour or if he’d like to be shown to his room straight away. His curiosity got the better of him when it came to exploring this tower, but then again his feet and the rest of him were weary after a long voyage. “Thank you Sir for the compliments. If you don’t mind, I’d prefer to be shown to my room first so that I might rest and unpack my things. Perhaps I could be shown the rest of the tower later today?” A nap just might be the thing he most desired at this present moment. His thoughts of collapsing onto a soft bed were interrupted by a question he knew would be asked eventually.

How would he describe himself? The possibilities were nearly endless. He was not one to prattle on about his life story; it was not his place to waste the time of another nor was he so open about his life. He also had no desire to lie to Sir Allemedo, so he could only hope that the man would accept what Jon told him and not pry any further. In the end, it came down to that which he was most skilled with, words. “You ask the one question I do not have an answer to. Who am I? If only I knew. I suppose I could tell you of my past, my people, and my homeland, but such things fail to define me, as do words in general. Ask me about any of those, and I will answer to the best of my ability. But as to your question, I can only answer with four words, the only ones that even come close to describing me: I am a writer.”

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

A sparkle entered his eye as Allemedo watched the youth eat the bread so quickly. Ah, where were his manners? Allemedo listened as the boy spoke. To his room first, yes, he was an old fool for expecting the child to start his work immediately. When he paused, Allemedo interjected, ”Certainly. And I’ll introduce you to Feyla, she’ll be more than happy to get you what you require while you stay here.” Allemedo was sure Brogan would happily accept this task, but the boy was too busy running about the Tower, and too fond of following Timeras throughout the city to expect him to dawdle around the Tower all day.

Jon was wise beyond his years. ”I am a writer.” he finished with, and Allemedo glanced at him with a soft smile. Making their way to the end of the hall, Allemedo opened the door to his left, revealing a staircase. Beginning to climb, Allemedo’s old legs wearied him. Ah, the Tower would soon be too much for this old man to handle. He didn’t understand Jon’s reasoning. Allemedo’s people and this home he had known all his life defined him through and through. He is a Remusian, no doubt in his mind. Nevertheless, Jon seemed to be content with the way he was; the person he had become. If writing the way he did defined him, then Allemedo admired him all the more for his age. Many that young still spent their time as foolhardy drunkards, ending up warriors like the rest, but without much lot in life.

Reaching the second level, which included the throne room, Allemedo said quietly, ”And writing you must do, my boy.” patting his robes where the parchment was tucked away, ”A better and more sure writer I could not have found in all the lands as far as I can tell. I am glad you are here with us.” Kind eyes gazed at the young man before him for a moment, then he turned and began down a short hallway with various doors throughout. Walking to the first door on the right, only a short distance down the hall from the throne room, a withered had reached out and pushed the door ajar.

A small room within lay empty, but free of dust in preparation for its occupant. It contained three simple pieces of furniture: a large bed, a little desk, and a wardrobe. The fireplace was small, but would provide proficient heat for the room. Looking at it with love, for it resembled Allemedo’s own quarters, he stepped through the doorway. ”I should hope this is sufficient for you, Mr. Smith. I believe we should get a fire started… now where is that... ah! Feyla, I knew you’d be about.” A small face poked through the door frame, long brown hair framed a round face with full ginger lips and large brown eyes. At eighteen, the young maiden caught sight of Jon and blushed furiously, sending her eyes downcast.

Chuckling knowingly, Allemedo looked pointedly at Jon. ”Feyla will be here for anything you need. Our cooks, smiths and others live in this hall, and she serves them all, for which I am eternally grateful.” Allemedo gently lifted the chin of the girl, smiling at her and patting her cheek fondly. Each in this Tower was a family member to him, and he cared greatly for this young woman and the future Kor’och held for her. ”Feyla, provide Mr. Smith with whatever he may need, please. If that is all…” Allemedo glanced about the room briefly, then from young man to young woman with a questioning expression. Assuming nothing else would be required from him, the old man took his leave, exiting quietly down the carpeted hallway and climbing the stairs to the top of the Tower.

His boots struck the stone each time with only the slightest of thuds as he followed Sir Allemedo up the stairway the door had opened to reveal. Despite being tall, at least among his own people, Jon was light on his feet and not one to stomp around as a clumsy oaf might. The stairs proved to be of little difficulty to scale for someone of his age and vigor, but he tried nonetheless to climb alongside the advisor, not wishing to appear rude by going on ahead. Anyway, he had no idea just to how many levels they would have to ascend. It was with a sigh of relief that he noticed Sir Allemedo stopping to open a door on the second level. Any other time he might be able to climb to even the highest level of the tower, but his legs were yet unused to having solid ground beneath them once more. Jon doubted he would ever become accustomed to travel by sea.

His cheeks flushed at the older man’s compliments as Jon cast his gaze downward, anything to avoid the look in Sir Allemedo’s eyes as he looked upon him. It was one thing to compliment his talent, but to say that his talent was the greatest in all the lands, well it was a great compliment the youth could scarcely handle without his cheeks flushing and his gaze desiring to be elsewhere. His gaze remained on the floor as he followed the advisor down the hallway, only looking up when the man turned to open a door on the right, his gaze immediately seeking to look upon the room that would be his own.

Lighting up at the sight of the room, his eyes sparkled as he gazed upon it, delighted with what he saw. It was just what he needed, nothing more and nothing less. The most crucial piece of furniture was undoubtedly the desk where he would work, but the other two served their purposes as well as he would have to sleep and dress himself of course. He stepped into the room as Sir Allemedo mentioned a fire, walking to stand near the fireplace, his back turned to the door. A fireplace was something that was needed only in winter in his homeland, yet he could easily see how one would be needed year round in the icy north.

Jon turned as the advisor mentioned the girl again, expecting to see before him a young girl of no more than twelve. What greeted his gaze instead was no child but rather a gorgeous young woman who’s beauty left him lost for thought. His gaze flickered over her flowing brown tresses before settling on eyes of a similar hue. A small smile teased at the corner of his lips as he gazed within such eyes, his mind lost as the moment seemed to stretch on for an eternity. The older man’s voice stirred him from his reverie as Jon realized he had been staring and cast his gaze downward as his cheeks flushed, nearly mirroring the expression of the maiden herself as he bashfully stared at the toes of his boots.

He looked up again as Sir Allemedo took his leave, his eyes following the back of the other man for only a moment before turning back to the maiden, to Feyla. His gaze seemed to possess a mind of its own as it wavered, seemingly unable to look her directly in the face again and unwilling to appear lecherous by staring at the other parts of her body. Here he was standing before his greatest weakness when it came to women, a brunette, her soft brown eyes looking at him as a woman looks at a man, and he found himself frozen, as immobile as he would have been had he been a statue.

Finally some inkling of courage managed to worm its way up from his gut as he spoke, mumbling at first before his voice gained a bit of confidence, returning to its usual clear baritone. “Hello Freyla, I am honored to make your acquaintance.” He bowed his head to her then, trying to be polite and show her respect, before continuing. “Would you know how to light the fire? I admit that my homeland does not have temperatures such as the icy climes of the north.”

His eyes remained on her as he moved to sit on the edge of the bed, finally daring to once again look into her gorgeous eyes. The pack he slipped off and set on the floor to lean against the bed, the slumbering Luna secure within her compartment, seemingly a sound sleeper. As he looked up at Feyla again, Jon blushed and cast his gaze downward yet again. “And then, could you sit with me and talk?” He looked up at her and continued. “I’ve missed the company of someone my own age, long has it been since I’ve had anyone but crude sailors to speak to.”

Feyla

The girl wanted desperately to call Sir Allemedo back. Serving the inhabitants of the Tower was easy enough, but this handsome visitor? Surely he could not be serious. Feyla mustered up the nerve to look at Mr. Smith as he spoke to her and bowed. Why would he bow to the girl sent to serve him? She inclined her head politely with a deep blush. She let out an inadvertent giggle as he asked if she could make a fire, and immediately bustled over to the hearth. She knew well to build a fire, almost as well as following orders. Bending to tend to the kindling, Mr. Smith sat on the end of the bed and set down his pack.

He seemed not to be able to hold her gaze either, and this gave the young woman confidence. Pushing her hair behind her ears and turning to look at him again, her brown eyes widened as he asked if she would stay and speak with him. Opening her mouth briefly, she snapped her jaw shut again. Would that be appropriate? Sir Allemedo requested she provide Mr. Smith with whatever he may need, but…

Turning back to the fire, Feyla swiftly set to work, and within moments heard the crackling of the wood and saw the spark of flame. Standing and brushing off her skirts, Feyla stumbled over her words as she pulled out the chair of the desk uncertainly. ”Um, certainly J- oh, Mr. Smith. I’ll stay as long as.. as I can.” Sitting lightly in the chair, Feyla respectfully crossed her ankles and laughed her ringing laugh nervously. ”Surely I will provide better conversation than our sailors, depending on the desired topic of conversation.” A light returned to her eyes as Feyla’s fire flared behind her, and she looked directly into Mr. Smith’s hazel eyes daringly.

Quickly standing again, however, Feyla wondered where her manners were. It was her duty to provide this man with comfort, and her own selfish desire to look upon his attractive face clouded that notion briefly. Her brown locks bounced about her shoulders as she made her way to the door again, saying, ”Dearly sorry, Mr. Smith, will there be anything you require? Food? Drink? Need you extra blankets? I’ve completely forgotten my place.” Feyla bowed slightly, the questions pouring from her mouth in utter embarrassment.

The soft smile never faded from his lips as he watched her. It seemed eternal, destined to forever illuminate his face. The smile represented his confidence in himself and his excitement at finally meeting a maiden his own age, as he had dearly missed the company of the fairer sex. Yet the smile did fade as it was replaced by a scowl, the corners of his mouth curling downward as she referred to him as Mr. Smith. He could accept such a title from someone as distinguished and high ranking as Sir Allemedo, it was not Jon's place to correct him, but coming from a maiden his own age, it just seemed wrong. His gaze remained upon her own as he spoke. "Please, call me Jon. Mr. Smith makes me sound old."

The smile returned, brighter than ever, as she laughed, her laughter as music to his ears. The feminine peals of laughter that arose from her lips were melodious to hear, reminding him of the peals of silver bells. But he blushed furiously as she gazed into his eyes, surprised by so bold a move and embarrassed to have been caught finding such pleasure in something as simple as the sound of her laughter. Still, he found his gaze captured by her own, unable to look away, his hazel orbs locked onto hers of softest brown hues.

He sighed in both relief and disappointment as she moved to stand, walking to the door as if to flee his presence. Did he truly make her that nervous? It seemed to him that it was the other way around, and that he was not a sight worthy of quickening so beautiful a maiden's heart. But all this talk of serving him utterly confused him, leaving him feeling awkward toward her. He did not want to dishonor the customs of Remusiat, yet he also was not accustomed to being waited on. Never before had he been so important that he was worthy of being served.

Moving to stand as well, Jon stood by the edge of the bed as he spoke, trying to control both his and Feyla's nervousness by not moving any closer just yet. "I'm sorry Feyla, but I am not accustomed to being served. It would not feel right for me to allow you to serve me while I lazed around. Perhaps you could show me to the dining hall, and we can get a meal together? I do not know if you've eaten yet, but I would be honored to dine with you." The soft smile returned to his lips as he awaited her reply, daring to look into her eyes as she had his only moments before.

Feyla

Mr. Smith… no, Jon corrected her, and Feyla’s eyes grew even wider and her flush an even deeper karikrimson hue. Full lips formed an ‘oh’ and she started to shake her head obstinately. There was no point, however, as the man stood too, and began to speak again. His voice rang gently in Feyla’s ears as he asked to be shown to the dining hall to eat. He smiled and looked directly at her and Feyla felt weak in the knees. She did not know if it was from anxiety, embarrassment, or the way his soft eyes surveyed her, but she averted her gaze quickly to the floor.

”A… a meal together?” Feyla shifted her feet awkwardly, involuntarily reaching down to pat her skirt smooth. It was a simple eophran dress, and the cotton sweater she wore over it a soft hue of grey. The earthen tones matched the tone of her skin and the color of her eyes. Feyla considered it one of the nicest dresses she owned. Nicest of the three, anyway. Feyla tried to gauge how appropriate such a thing would be. The dining all would be nearly empty by this time… and she had nothing to attend to until supper now. An internal battle raged within the young maiden. Never before had a guest been this way, but then again never before had a guest been so young. Her temper flared momentarily at Sir Allemedo for putting her in this situation, but she knew regardless she would have attended to this floor and met Jon eventually during his stay.

His stay… how long would he live in Remusiat? And why was he in the King’s Tower anyway? Bringing her thoughts back to the present, Feyla chastised herself. Whatever his purpose in Remusiat, none of it was her business, and he would not be here long. This the young woman used as leverage to accept Jon’s offer. It was only fitting to allow a short term guest to have the same degree of care as a long term one, she told herself. Looking up at him again, Feyla returned his smile. ”If you’ll not allow me to bring a meal to you, I suppose…” Uneasily, Feyla stepped out into the hall, ready to show him the way.

He could not help but smile as he watched her, looking into her eyes as they were shyly cast downward. The way her embarrassment colored her cheeks was so adorable, and he found himself endeared to her because of it. And it seemed that the more nervous she became, the more confident he was with the knowledge that it was his words and his eyes that made her heart quicken so. Not much time had passed since the shattering of his heart by Rachelle, it was still on the mend it seemed, but he would be delighted to share this maiden's company if for nothing more than companionship. If something more, something wonderful even, became of it, then so be it. It was too soon, by far, to have such thoughts anyway.

His eyes followed her hand as it moved to smooth her skirt, his gaze lingering there to take in the sight of her curves accentuated by the dress before slowly moving upward to take in yet more curves as he gazed upon her sweater and the bosom it hid. By the time his eyes reached her own yet again, his cheeks had flushed a deep karikrimson as he realized yet again that he had been staring, once more overcome by her beauty. If he could only stand here for an eternity and gaze upon her, then he would be content and consider his life fulfilled. Already the moment seemed to stretch on before she finally moved to step into the hall.

Pulling his sky blue cloak closer about him, feeling the chill in the air, Jon walked to step through the doorway and stand next to Feyla, his cheeks yet possessing the faintest hint of a rosy hue. But he smiled at her nonetheless, despite his nervousness and embarrassment, and bowed his head to her once again. "Lead on my lady, and I will follow. Do you mind if we converse as we walk? I would like to hear more of King Araman, I am to be his biographer after all."

Feyla

Jon’s attire was simple, like her own. Feyla wondered where he hailed from, to be so kind and decent, yet so strange. She felt his eyes on her and could not slow the palpitations of her heart. In the hall, she let out a deep, shaky breath before looking up with a small smile when Jon readily joined her. He asked for her to lead the way, and to be told of the King. A biographer? He was to write of the King’s life…. Why, that would take some time, wouldn’t it? Feyla looked at Jon curiously and with the light of excitement in her eyes, but quickly averted her gaze again and led the way down the hall and toward the stair.

Her steps she took in contemplative silence. Upon reaching the door, she pulled it slowly open, and as she waited for Jon to step through before her—as he should—she spoke quietly, ”I’m afraid I do not know much of our King, Jon. Of course I’ve seen him about the Tower, I have brought him a meal weekly at the very least… but I have never truly spoken with him.” With her eyes locked on the downward staircase Feyla added, ”I’m sure you could imagine why, with my hesitancy to even speak with you. But he is a noble ruler, and his decisions wise.”

The truth was, Feyla knew almost nothing about the King’s decisions, but the ruler hadn’t sent their city into ruin or turmoil that the girl knew of. Actually, she did not know much outside the Tower of Drapt’na’at. Worry etched into her young face as she thought of what information she could provide Jon. None. That was the honest truth.

His heart stopped. He could think of no other way to describe it. His heart stopped and he passed from this world into a higher plane of existence, mesmerized by her smile, entranced by the hope that shone within it. Hope stirred his own heart as it jolted back to life, beating furiously within his chest as it threatened to burst free from the cage that bound it. And it only quickened all the more as she once again looked at him with those gorgeous brown orbs. Thoughts fled with such eyes upon him, becoming sluggish as they failed to materialize at all.

Slowly he inhaled as she looked away again, breathing deep in an attempt to relax. Confusion was writ large in his features as she opened a door and held it open for him, apparently waiting for him to step through first. He could only stand there dumbfounded for a moment, his eyes curiously locked onto her own as he considered. The customs of these Remusians were foreign to him; as the gentleman he should be the one holding the door open for her, not the other way around. Had he known the layout of the tower, then he would have moved to open the door before she had a chance to. But with a small shake of his head he stepped through the door and waited for her to follow. He would do his best to adhere to these strange customs, so long as they did not greatly violate his own sense of honor.

He listened intently as she spoke, momentarily focusing on more than the melodious tones of her voice. His thoughts were awhirl within his mind as Jon contemplated the nature of this King. It should not surprise him that a serving girl knew little of him; only the highest ranking officials such as Sir Allemedo would be privy to seeing the King as anything other than a ruler. But still, the ones that worked for a man, even the lowliest of servants, were often a good source of information about him. He just supposed that Feyla was not in the King's presence often enough to truly know anything, and he wondered if any servant was.

His thoughts were interrupted as his gaze flickered to the beautiful maiden standing next to him, noting the worry in her expression. It had not been his intent to cause such worry within the girl; it really wasn't that important of a matter if she knew nothing useful about the King. A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he smiled reassuringly at her, his hazel eyes lighting up with his smile. His voice was soft as he spoke in an attempt to further console the girl. "Don't worry about knowing much about the King; I will know more than my fair share before long, it is the nature of my work after all. But there is someone else I would know more about. Someone more important to me than the King at this present moment." His eyes locked on her own as he spoke the last word. "You."

Almost immediately he bit down on his lower lip and blushed furiously, looking away after so bold a move, speaking again yet without the confidence that had infused his voice only a moment ago. "My apologies Feyla. I barely know you, and here I am, flirting with a pretty face. I meant no offense."

Feyla

Feyla sighed in relief as Jon stepped through the door. She was not prepared to fight all the customs she knew for this visitor. Although it did look like his visit would be lengthy. As they moved down the stair, he smiled at her and Feyla listened as she dreaded that fatal word- you Her furious blush could not be hidden, and it seemed Jon was quite as embarrassed as she was. Quickly he tried to remedy the situation, but in Feyla’s mind it only made it worse. Just flirting with a pretty face? Seemed like something he accidentally did on many occasions. However, he did seem sincere, and Feyla digressed it was extremely flattering.

Reaching the bottom and again opening the door for Jon, Feyla stepped into the hall after him and she said, ”We will have to go through the kitchen into the hall, there is another entrance, but it is used for the King’s grande feasts. Guests enter that way.” Reaching up to smooth a wavy brown lock, Feyla wondered if she could ignore his request—and his apology—and feel right about it. No, she could not. He asked and she felt it was her duty to answer.

"And please, do not apologize. I will be serving you during your stay, it is better for a friend to serve than a stranger. What is it you wish to know, Jon?” Feyla kept her eyes forward, just a half step behind Jon as they walked down the hall together. The kitchen was approaching on their left, and the warm glow accompanied with the familiarity of the hall kept her nerves somewhat at bay. What was the harm in a friendly lunch and good conversation? Glancing wistfully at Jon again, Feyla greatly hoped there was none at all.

His own blush only worsened as her cheeks flushed, his own hot with embarrassment. His eyes looked anywhere and everywhere but at her, apparently taking the opportunity to admire the architecture surrounding them, a nervous smile upon his lips. As his gaze remained on the walls around them and the ceiling above, his feet lost all claim to grace, occasionally stumbling on the stairs as he smiled nervously at Feyla before furiously glaring at his feet. He was just a nervous wreck at this point.

Upon reaching the door, his sureness of foot seemed to reassert itself, his feet once more on level ground. It helped that his eyes were taking in the sight of the new hall, thus distracting him from his nervousness. But his gaze went to her again as she spoke, finally garnishing enough courage to allow his eyes to linger upon her lips as she spoke. Yet for once his thoughts were not romantic, trying his best to focus on her instructions for reaching the dining hall to stave off his own nervousness. Were he to imagine kissing those full ginger lips, then there would be no end to his embarrassment.

A sigh of relief fell from his lips at her refusal of his apology, reassured that he had not yet overstepped any bounds. Still, it was clear to him that he had to make some attempt at controlling himself, as usual, or the girl would be scared away before he ever had the chance to even befriend her. As they walked down the hall toward the kitchen, Jon slowed his steps to walk more alongside her instead of slightly to the front, unaccustomed to anyone treating him in such a manner. His voice was soft as he spoke, and he stole a glance at her. "I want to know your background I suppose, about your life growing up if you will. Your customs are... strange to me. And I'm guessing that you're more than a little curious about me as well; I'm happy to answer any questions you might have." Nervously he reached up with one hand to run a hand through his thick brown hair, his fingers accentuating its blonde highlights.

Feyla

As Jon spoke to her, he seemed relieved that she was not offended. Smiling confidently, Feyla led the way through the kitchens and into the dining hall. A long stone table stood magnificently filling the room with many seats surrounding it. At the head, a throne-like chair obviously belonged to the king, and at each end of the room a large fireplace crackles and sent a warm glow throughout.

Choosing the opposite end than the King’s seat, Feyla approached it and indicated two seats, side by side. It was close to the fire, warm and inviting, shedding a lovely glow onto Jon’s face, accentuating the highlights in his hair, dancing in his hazel eyes. Color swept over Feyla’s fair skin as she took him in again, and quickly busied herself, pulling out his seat and her own.

Standing with her hands placed on the chair’s back, Feyla said softly, ”Our customs are simple enough, Jon. We are a simple people. My life and my mother’s life before mine were spent in this Tower, serving our King. Dull, really, although I don’t mind my duties at all… I’d much rather hear of yours. Where do you hail from, and how do your customs differ? I know almost nothing of anywhere other than Remusiat…” trailing off, Feyla’s brown eyes widened and her blush once again deepened as she realized the gibberish spilling from her mouth. Placing a slender hand on her cheek, she chuckled nervously and inclined her head.

”I am sorry, there is so much I do not know… what would you like for your meal?” Indicating the seat again, Feyla urged him to sit. She was forgetting her duties and her manners once again, caught up in what this intriguing man had to say.

With her smile bloomed hope in his trembling heart, a flower blossoming with petals upturned to the rising sun. It rose through him, overwhelming his senses, intoxicating him with the very sight of her beauty. His eyes had not the willpower to look away as they entered the dining hall, scarcely noticing the long table or the ornate chair that dominated it. What was the grandeur of a king's dining hall compared to the simple elegance of the smile of a fair maiden? The heat of the fireplace matched the heat rising in his cheeks as he stepped closer to the chairs she indicated, blushing all the more upon noticing the crimson that flushed her cheeks.

Again, he could only halt in momentary confusion as she held out his chair for him, much as he should be for her. One of these days he would have to show her how a gentleman treated a lady, and he smiled at the thought of more time spent with the beautiful Feyla, the smile softly tugging the corners of his lips up, gracing him with a quiet confidence. He stepped even closer to her as she spoke, moving to take the seat she offered, willing to adhere to her strange customs if only to be near her. But he paused as he listened to her speak, entranced by the melodious tones of her voice, her accent so different from his own. The smile remained upon his lips as he gazed upon her, a twinkle of merriment shining in his eyes.

He nodded to confirm that he had heard before taking his seat, leaning his head backward over its back as he gazed up into her eyes, his own glowing golden in the firelight. It was an intimate position, to have her standing over him so, and he could not help but smile all the more, though a faint rosy hue remained to his cheeks, not entirely over his embarrassment. "I cannot imagine a life within these walls. Do you not dream of something more? I dream with words, with every mark of my quill upon parchment. If I did not dream, then I would not truly be alive."

The smile faded entirely as he cast his gaze downward at the table, speaking loud enough to be heard yet no longer looking in her direction. Savagely he bit down on his lower lip, his eyes moistening despite all his efforts to maintain control. He would not have her see the pain that flashed in his eyes upon thinking of his home, but it made itself known in his voice all the same. "I hail from Milkengrad, a city far to the south. A more beautiful city built by man there is not in this world, and by her White Wall the jewel of the Helcrani is kept ever safe. But for all her grandeur, there is no beauty for me within those walls, no reason to ever return." After a soul searing battle, of fighting to regain control over the emotions raging within him, the smile returned as Jon looked at Feyla again, sheepishly wiping his eyes, a light chuckle rising from his lips. "Serve me whatever you think is best; I don't even know what Remusians eat."

Feyla

Feyla listened politely as Jon sat, and spoke. First, he gazed upward, such a handsome visage in the firelight. Feyla tried to tear her eyes away, but finally settled upon staring directly upon him. Was it so wrong? Did she dream of something more? Certainly not. What more could she ask for? She was clothed and provided for her entire life. ”A dreamer I am, Jon. But I dream of the life I already possess, I need nothing more. To many, my life is a dream in itself. I have truly been blessed.” But was it enough, or had she simply been forced to believe it was enough?

Her voice was quiet as she answered, for she saw him gaze now at the table. Sidestepping, Feyla tried to see the man’s face, but could not get a clear view. She listened as he spoke of a home he would not return to. When he looked at her again, he wiped his eyes and emitted a small chuckle. Asking to be served however she thought best, Feyla inclined her head and started towards the kitchen. Her mind raced, however, and she only took a few steps before turning back. Kneeling beside him and daring to put a slender-fingered hand on his knee, Feyla said, ”Jon, whatever happened in Milkengrad to cause you anguish will be washed away. You may soon find another place to welcome you, one which you can also call home.”

Feyla looked at the man for only a moment longer before bustling away and into the kitchen. What drove her to say that? Why in the name of Kor’och did she touch him? Shaking her head, she requested a meal for two and stood uneasily in the kitchen, biting her lip. The cooks soon provided Feyla with two plates containing a fair portion of pinnip meat, cooked to perfection. She stopped to fill and artfully carry two mugs of water in one hand, while balancing the plates on the other arm. Steam rose from the plates as Feyla carefully carried them back into the dining hall. Pausing at the door, she wondered if her actions previously had been too much.

Taking a deep breath, the simple girl strode lightly back down the row of chairs. Stepping beside Jon, Feyla placed the water down, then she lowered first his plate, followed by her own, onto the table. The sound of plates hitting stone in the silence was almost deafening to Feyla’s overly-anxious ears. She sat lightly and stared hard at the meat before her in absolute horror of what the man would think, and what he would say next.

She was a strange one, to him at least, content where she was and not dreaming of something more. If only he could find such contentment. Instead he was always dreaming of something more, of what lay beyond the next horizon. His writing could only encompass what he knew and what he could dream up, and yet even his own dreaming was not enough. He had to actually see it and live it and then transfer that experience into writing with a flair of his own. He would stagnate in the life she led, in a life encompassed by only four walls, ignorant of the world beyond.

It occurred to him then that perhaps he had signed on for that very life, a life cooped up in this tower recording the life of a king he didn't even know. He would have to ask her, or someone, about the possibility of exploring the city and going out for a night of fun. Otherwise he would be suffocated by these four walls. But then, he didn't know his way around the city, surely he'd need a guide. So far he knew only Feyla and Sir Allemedo; the maiden was clearly the more attractive guide of the two. It was an interesting prospect, one he might suggest to her if he thought the moment right.

His reverie was interrupted by her voice as he turned his head, surprised to find her kneeling by his side, her hand on his knee. Eyes wide with surprise, he bit down on his lower lip, his cheeks blushing furiously. It was an intimate gesture, one he had not expected and yet did not wholly reject. He could feel his eyes tearing up again, looking away, not daring to hope that he could find a second home here, one where he would truly belong as he had never in his first. By the time he regained his composure and looked to her again, she was gone.

He had a few moments to think to himself as she bustled about the kitchen, and in those moments doubt overcame him. Why had she fled his presence so? Was she only embarrassed? Or had he scared her away already? Story of his life, he was constantly scaring away women it seemed as they learned they could live without him. He was not so sure he could live without them; one of these days he was bound to be heart broken and remain that way. Maybe romance would find him once again, and maybe it would break him yet again.

He looked to her as she set down his plate and sat down next to him. With every fiber of his being he wanted to turn to her, to engage her in conversation, but for the life of him he hadn't a clue what to say after her display. For once, a writer, one gifted with words, was speechless. He took a sip of his water before sheepishly looking at her, speaking softly, still blushing, saying the only thing that would come to mind at the moment. "Uhm, thank you for the sentiment. I don't quite know how to respond to it, but it is appreciated." He looked away again, still blushing as he tore off a strip of the meat and began to eat, almost immediately moaning in delight at the taste.

Some unspoken boundary had been crossed it seemed as they sat in an awkward silence. They had moved too quickly, by far, her sentiment was one of a lover and not a newly met friend. It almost seemed as though she promised that Remusiat would be his new home, that he would belong here and find contentment as he had never before. But to belong to any one place was to tie himself there, to bind himself to a mundane existence. A part of him, a large part, wanted that with all the hope that remained within him. A wife and family was his dream, with someplace to call home. But another part needed to always be free, to wander as a leaf upon the wind, and he knew not which desire would win out.

Finally her voice broke the silence, and he turned his head to look upon her once more. It pained him to see her so uncomfortable and to know that he was the source of her discomfort. With all his heart he wished they could be as they were moments ago, bashful yet relaxed enough to converse with one another. He missed her smile and her gentle laughter. But the words had been spoken and could not be taken back. What moved her to say such a thing; Jon did not know but could only hope that it was a budding fondness for him, that in time she would come to care for him, even as only a friend. A small smile illuminated his face at that thought, his eyes alight. It was not a beaming grin, but it was there nonetheless.

He took another sip of his water as he listened to Feyla speak, caught up in the very sound of her voice and nearly missing out on the words entirely. But with a small shake of his head he cleared his mind, hearing enough to know of her intentions. Just as it seemed he was thinking with clarity once more, his gaze became lost in her soft brown eyes, uncertain now where they once were confident and caring. He could not leave things as they were, could not allow this wall between them to remain. The smile remained on his lips as he looked to her, reaching to take one of her hands in his own, his gaze boldly locked on her face. “Please, do not apologize. You did not offend me. Nothing would offend me more than to hear you apologize needlessly.” His gaze swept back to the meal before him for a moment before returning to the maiden. “Aye, it is more than satisfactory, it’s wonderful. I am in your hands Feyla; I will follow where you lead.”

Feyla

Feyla somehow forgot the rudimentary art of breathing. All her focus honed in on each point where their skin touched and her eyes grew wide in awe at his bold move. She thought she had deeply offended him… but this? She thought he said he liked the meal. Not so sure, she only nodded, unable to move for breaking this intimate moment. Feyla barely knew him, but his kindness was beyond anything she had expected or imagined. She was rarely around boys her age, it was a wonder he had some here at all. Perhaps Kor’och had truly blessed her this time around. Perhaps she didn’t need to be a dreamer, only a hopeful woman content in the life she lived.

Clearing her throat softly, Feyla flushed karikrimson again and gave Jon’s hand a little squeeze before breaking their contact. Her slender hand suddenly felt like ice. It took a few moments before she regained full control over her own appendage, and she moved it to bump clumsily into her water. Her face scrunched in embarrassment, Feyla managed to place the mug to her lips and took a long gulp, attempting to calm her shaken nerves. Finally looking into Jon’s eyes again, Feyla managed a warm smile… perhaps a bit too broad and a little too affectionate.

Brushing her hair from her face, Feyla said softy, ”I am truly happy you’re enjoying your meal. Pinnip always warms me, although I hardly notice the cold anymore.” Taking a bite and savoring the flavor of the meat, Feyla wished her hand would quit trembling before the meat fell away from her mouth and back to the plate. She would look incredibly foolish. Swallowing, she continued, ”When you’re finished I will find Sir Allemedo, however, for I’m afraid if I steal you away your entire stay you will not be paid nearly as well.” Feyla let out a little chuckle. She had to admit, to herself at least, she would not mind stealing him away. Not at all. He was brought here to perform a specific duty, though, and she should not hinder that.

A soft whimper escaped his lips as he bit down on his lower lip, unable to contain the joy soaring through him as she squeezed his hand. All of his feelings were focused on that one hand as the rest of him was momentarily forgotten, vaguely aware of a head swimming in conflicting emotions, disoriented by their brunt force. The whimper became a sigh of disappointment as she withdrew his hand, yet the smile remained upon his lips. It was a moment before he pulled back his own hand, gazing at it as if to ascertain that it was real.

His own cheeks flushed crimson as he watched her, unable to help the smile to cross his lips at the sight of her embarrassed clumsiness. But Jon looked away to hide his own embarrassment and rosy cheeks, bringing his glass up to his lips in an attempt to hide the wide grin that fought to reveal itself. The cool water helped to calm his nerves as his eyes occasionally flickered to her before returning to the meal before him, mesmerized by even the slightest glance of her beauty.

Finally, he managed some degree of composure as he turned his head to fully gaze upon her once more, only to find her already looking at him. At the sight of her warm smile, illuminating her eyes and his life, his heart sang, beating faster in an increased tempo as it seemed to leap into his throat entirely, staving off any words he might speak. So he could only nod in response to her, saddened that he would be leaving her presence so soon. Yet it comforted him to know that he would see her again, possibly quite often as they both worked in the tower.

As she finished speaking, he finally managed to find the words that struggled to burst free of his lips. A beaming grin that he could not help lit up his face, revealing a dimple in his right cheek, as he spoke, his eyes cast downward at the floor in embarrassment. "Perhaps later you could show me around the city? I am new here and in need of a guide." His grin faded a bit as he continued. "But for now, you're right, I need to get to work. Oh, and I've finished my meal."

He stood then, pushing in his chair before moving to stand next to hers, proffering a hand, intending to help the lady stand as any gentleman should. "I'm afraid you'll have to lead me for a little while longer; I'm quite sure I'd be lost without you."

Feyla

Show him the city? Of course she would! The idea seemed to Feyla to be the sweetest thing ever uttered to her from another’s lips. She would love to spend more time with him, talk and get to know him better. Jon was foreign and interesting to her, but simple and kind. Surely his mind was more complex than she could ever imagine. She could not help but smile broadly as she thought of meaning behind his words. Scolding herself inwardly, Feyla knew she could expect nothing to come of their friendship, but her thoughts continued to wander against her wishes.

Feyla looked at Jon curiously as he stood, pushed in his chair, and faced her, holding out his hand. Slowly she put her own in it and stood gracefully, eyes lowered humbly before him. She murmured her thanks, although his actions were unknown to her, and looked him in the eye again. ”I will lead you back to your room, then summon Allemedo to introduce you to the king..” hesitating a moment, Feyla said quietly, ”Thank you for allowing me to dine with you, it was much more enjoyable than dining alone again.”

Her words spoke a profound truth, and as if to emphasize this, Feyla held fast to Jon’s hand unconsciously, even as she began to exit the hall. As she reached the length of their jointed arms, she stopped short and quickly dropped it, blushing furiously and looking at him apologetically. If she did not cease her silliness she would not be able to look him full in the face again! Smiling boldly once more, she opened the door to the kitchen for him and said, ”Of course I’d be delighted to show you the city! Although... you’ll have to forgive me, I haven’t been around it all that often myself…” Her words came out in soft embarrassment, as she knew she should know her own city very well. Hopefully he would not think less of her for it.

Leading him out into the hall and walking at a leisurely pace down towards the door to the staircase, Feyla walked in contemplative silence. Her duties for the remainder of the day ran through her mind, tumbling over various thoughts involving the man following her. Also stumbling over his quarters being in the same hall as hers, his blush, his hazel eyes locking on hers and his equally intimate response to her bold move. Trying to shake her head clear, Feyla almost bumped directly into Allemedo himself.

Taking a quick step back, Feyla inclined her head in greeting and said, ”Sir, I was going to ask for you. Jo.. oh, Mr. Smith has eaten in our hall and wishes to begin in work.” She hoped the elderly man would not mind or even ask about the time since his departure from them, but she had suspected from the start what the twinkle in his old eyes meant. Glancing back at Jon, Feyla smiled a gentle smile and held out a slender arm to indicate Allemedo, ”Sir Allemedo will lead you now, Mr. Smith, I will take my leave. I will return whenever you need me.” Feyla tried to say more with her eyes, but at the same time kept her eye contact with him at a minimum. She was worried that too close of a relationship developing between them would be looked down upon, even abhorred. Worry rippled through her smooth features but she reminded herself he would still be here when she returned, this afternoon, and for nigh a month at least.

(ooc: I like that avatar, Jon)

(OOC: Thanks, I'm glad you do.)

The hope that had bloomed within him only grew and blossomed even more as she smiled at him, returning her smile with an impish grin of his own. Oh how he looked forward to this evening, when he would be able to spend more time in the maiden's pleasant company. He was also eager to see the city itself, but it was far more important that Feyla be the one to show it to him. An evening spent in her presence was the most pleasant way to spend his day that he could think of, even if they only talked and got to know each other better. He had to admit a curiosity about her life in general and about her, surely there was more to it than this tower, more to her. And he was dying to hear her lilting laughter once more, a tune more fair than the song of birds, or so it was to his infatuated ears.

He regained some control over his composure and his smile, reining in his excitement, as she stood and accepted his hand. With his arm he guided her free of the table, smiling at her all the while, pleased to have such a beautiful maiden on his arm. No, pleased to have Feyla on his arm. Her every word and reaction drew him in, mesmerizing him with her every blush, smile, and word to fall from those ginger lips. His gaze focused on those lips as they walked, his mind overcome with a desire to kiss them. But now was not the time, and this was not the place. If he was to kiss her, it had to be in a time and place of his choosing, one suitable for their shared infatuation. And he was certain by now that she liked him, her eyes alone said that much.

But he could not help the chuckle that escaped his lips as she began to walk away from him, still clutching to his hand, apparently intent upon dragging him with her before she realized that she had yet to release him. Her blush only made him laugh harder as a twinkle of merriment danced in his eyes. He steeled himself to contain his mirth as she glanced back at him, not wishing to appear that he was laughing at her, though he surely had been. He stepped through the kitchen door before her as she held the door, becoming accustomed to her traditions, though he remained somewhat uncomfortable with them as they contradicted all that he had been taught of manners. The impish grin returned as she spoke, becoming even wider to see her smiling so, delighted by her own delight at the evening they would share in the city.

A response to her acceptance was forming in his mind, undoubtedly to reassure her of how honored he would be to have her as a guide, as they bumped into none other than Sir Allemedo himself. Despite himself, Jon could not help the frown that unpleasantly curled his lips downward. It was not that he disliked the advisor, he rather liked him actually, but he frowned to see his time with Feyla coming to an end, even if it was only for a few hours. Of course he knew there was work to be done, namely the writing of the King's biography, but he could not help but wish that he could tarry with Feyla a while longer. He knew that while he was performing the task for which he had been hired, his thoughts would remain with her and the evening they planned. It saddened him all the same to hear those words he knew were forthcoming, namely that she was taking her leave. But a small smile was upon his lips as he turned to her, again taking her hand in one of his own, lifting it to his lips, gracing the back of her hand with a soft kiss as his eyes gleamed golden. His voice was soft as he spoke, barely above a whisper. "Until tonight Feyla. I look forward to exploring the city with you."

Turning back to face Sir Allemedo, he respectively bowed his head, the smile still upon his lips. He had not meant to frown earlier and hoped the advisor had not taken offense. "Hello again Sir Allemedo. I am ready to begin however you see fit." It was only after he finished speaking that he realized he yet held onto the maiden's hand, abashedly releasing it as he blushed deeply and glanced at her.

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Bumping into the young man, Mr. Smith, and the maiden he left in his charge was a surprise indeed. Allemedo’s eyes twinkled knowingly as he surveyed the two, both cheeks rosy with color, glimmers in their eye and hands clasped. Pretending not to notice as much as he did, however, the elderly man inclined his head to the lovely maiden and watched her walk away before echoing the gesture towards Jon. When Feyla was a good distance down the hall, Allemedo gave the young many before him a wink. A hearty chuckle escaped his lips as he had guessed the moment he saw Feyla and Jon make eye contact. Oh, to feel the intense emotions of youth once more.

Alas, he was but an old man, and had many duties to perform. He had not seen Brogan for a few hours now, assuming he left when the Prince did. Wishing the boy’s young legs would lead Jon to the top of the Tower, Allemedo reluctantly made the decision to do it himself instead of sending for another. Smiling kindly at Jon, Allemedo spoke softly, ”I hope you enjoyed your meal. I tend to believe our cooks are the best in the North. But, I may be a bit biased.” The comment stayed their conversation until they reached the end of the hall, and Allemedo began to climb the steps, cursing his age again. Old age brought wisdom, but he sure wished creaking of bones and straining of muscle was not a part of that.

Reaching the landing on the second floor, Allemedo stopped for a breather, also giving the man a chance to procure supplies from his room if he needed. While he gave his legs a moments rest, he said, ”We will go up into the King’s quarters now, at the top of the stair...” Allemedo’s eyes rolled upwards. Although he loved the Tower and its engineering was pure genius, he wondered if the designer had taken into account old men making the trek to the top several times a day.

Then again, Allemedo’s bright eyes flashed in momentary amusement, he would not be in as fit a condition had he not been forced to ascend and descend them daily, ”…he will be delighted to see you, I am sure. He will only expect as much as you would expect from yourself, then he will more than likely send you away.” Pausing, Allemedo looked pointedly at Jon and led him past the throne room and toward the next flight of stairs upward. ”He is getting on in years and he is a King, remember that.”

Allemedo began to climb and wondered if any of his speech was necessary. He was sure the boy knew how to act in a King’s presence, whether he had been in the situation in the past or had not. Most knew the authority of a ruler very well. Intent upon keeping his mouth shut, Allemedo climbed in silence. Reaching the top, the large, ornate door into the King’s quarters dominated the area. The lighting was brighter here, perhaps because they were closer to the sky. Small windows looked out over the city, and although it was the smallest part of the Tower, it was definitely the most lavish. The Remusian crest stood out on the door, as well as on the tapestries about it. Allemedo looked lovingly about before rapping smartly on the door three times and calling in a low voice, ”My Lord?” Allemedo’s friendship with Araman allowed him to simply barge in unannounced, but Allemedo thought it entirely unprofessional in the midst of a guest… especially considering his state earlier that very day.

Giving Jon a kind smile, as if to reassure him in the event that he was nervous, and also to reassure himself that the King must be in a better mood by this time, Allemedo responded to the faint call to enter. Opening the door, Allemedo glanced quickly around the room as he bowed to Araman. The King looked as if he had hastily risen from his bed and straightened his clothes, but looked better than he had earlier overall. Allemedo looked intently into his face to see any signs of pain, but Araman’s face was smooth and his features unforgiving. He could not tell his old friend’s state. Indicating Jon with a gesture of his hand, Allemedo said in a clear voice, ”May I present to you your biographer, Highness, Jon Smith.” Grinning then, between the two men, one who was dying and one who was just beginning to truly live, Allemedo said, ”And a greater lad you will not find in all Remusia.”

(ooc: Sorry it was a little rushed, Jon. Had to get my last post in, though.)

King Araman

Araman felt better; much better. The pain had dissapated and he even managed tio get some sleep. He stood stoicly, as he wished this young man' first impression of him to be one of vitality, strength and youth where youth no longer existed. There would be far too much time for the young man to see him weak and in pain.

Araman absently waved Allemedo from the room and watched his oldest adviser leave. He then stared hard at the man, for first impressions were very important to araman, and once his mind was made up about someone, it rarely ever changed. He stepped forward, staring the younger man in the eyes, to determine if the man would hold his gaze, or avert his eyes to the king. He then slowly circled the boy, studying him from every angle. "Such high praise from Allemedo. I trust his judgement completely, but I make up my own mind on everything."

Satisfied, Araman stepped back once more. "So, John Smith, you and I shall be spending much time together in the near future. In public, you shall address me as Sire, or Highness. In private, you may call me Araman, if you so choose. I trust Allemedo has taken care of you, getting you a room and seeing that you are fed." Araman smiled to himself. Of course he did, for he would not be Allemedo if he had not.

Araman sighed. The delegation from Ximax would be here soon, and he needed to get ready for them. Such were the demands of state. He motioned the young man to the door. "Let us leave this room, Jon Smith, and go to the throne room. On our way, you can explain to me why a man such as yourself would want to write about a king from a far away land that you no doubt had never heard of, before Allemedo found you. "

The battle between pity and contempt was joined by annoyance as he asked if they wouldn't hate magic if they knew it. Did the guy not listen to what people told him? "We do know magic, or we used to. If it brought us nothing but trouble in the past, why would we be inclined to think it would be otherwise if we knew it again?" he asked.

When the man asked if he hated escorting them, or him rather as the older wizard had made his escape, Jorgan stared blankly ahead, to the entrance to the tower which they were rapidly approaching. How did the young man know that? Jorgan was quite sure that he knew how to hide his true feelings. He was also quite certain that he had not let anything of his feelings be known in this particular instance. Did the magic of the man help him to know the most intimate feelings of the people he dealt with? He didn't want his feelings to be scrutinized thus. He decided to let the remark slide past, hoping that the man wouldn't come back to it.

"Well then, Ohen of Nybelmar." he said. He had no idea whatsoever what Nybelmar was, or where it could lie in the world of Caelereth. As far as he was concerned, he knew the northern lands in which he'd grown up. He also knew that far to the south lay some lands, from which these Ximaxians had come. But that was as far as his knowledge went. He had heard this name before, but that was only in tales and legends and he didn't think this man was referring to that mythical continent. It was probably just the name of a town somewhere in the southern lands. "Welcome to the residence of the King of Remusiat."

He turned to the guards at the door and smiled at them - a smile more generous than any he would ever have for the wizard or his apprentice. In his smooth voice he said: "Good day, Ankera and Ledo. Not too bored yet with duty, I hope?" He made a point of knowing the names of all the guards who served under him. "Could one of you go tell the King that the Ximaxian delegate has arrived?" Oh, he knew he could have ordered them as well. So did they. But a little politeness got one a long way, and he knew they would obey him when he did give an order. He didn't feel it to be necessary that he ascertain his position as Captain of the Guard at every turn. He always kept firmly in mind that the other men were not lower than him, just because he happened to have title in front of his name.

Ledo looked from his Captain to the man standing next to him and back. Just one? And so young looking? his eyes asked, but he didn't say anything and only banged his fist against his heart, after which he turned and went into the tower. Jorgan followed him after a nod to Ankera, who saluted him and went back to his duty of guarding the door. Jorgan didn't punish his men for not saluting him, again a sign that he didn't think himself more than them. Still, most of them did anyway, because they respected him and they wanted to show this to him. It warmed his heart.

Once inside, Jorgan silently heaved a sigh of relief, though he was careful to conceal it from his guest. Nothing had happened. He dismissed the remaining two men, and led Ohen to the room which he had been told the Ximaxians would get. When they got there, Jorgan turned to him. "Here is your room, Ohen. The king has been told of your presence. He will let you know when he will see you. In the meantime, have you already eaten? If not, I can send up a servant with food."

As they walk towards the tower the guard asked Ohèn: "We do know magic, or we used to. If it brought us nothing but trouble in the past, why would we be inclined to think it would be otherwise if we knew it again?"

Ohèn felt heavy when he heard the words of the man. He looked at him again and waited for the answers for his questions. But the reply was not what Ohèn have expected, "Well then, Ohen of Nybelmar."

Ohèn looked at the sky which was quite beautiful during that day. The breeze is also quite amusing. "The northern lands of this continent is kinda similar to where I live," said Ohèn. "It was cold there too!" Then Ohèn shifted his view to the Tower where he will be staying for the rest of his stay in Sarvonia. A surge of excitment run through Ohèn's body but also a tremendous amount of fear filled his heart. He was afraid on messing up with the King but also too excited to meet the King. Seldom does anyone meet a royal blood!

"Welcome to the residence of the King of Remusiat," said the guard as they near the entrace to the tower. Soon they were at the doorsteps of the tower. There were two guards who seemed ever vigilant watching the Tower.

Jorgan said to them in a very warm tone: "Good day, Ankera and Ledo. Not too bored yet with duty, I hope?" The change in his voice was astounding. He greeted them in a voice that seemed so ward; unlike how he greeted Ohèn and the elder wizard.

"Could one of you go tell the King that the Ximaxian delegate has arrived?" Jorgan's command was more like a request because of the manner he told the guards what to do.

'He seem quite nice,' thought Ohèn as smile appeared in his face when he heard the real voice of the Jorgan.

Jorgan dissmissed his other men and led Ohèn towards his room. Before Ohèn entered the room that was given to him, Jorgan asked him: "Here is your room, Ohen. The king has been told of your presence. He will let you know when he will see you. In the meantime, have you already eaten? If not, I can send up a servant with food." Ohèn smiled again and answered the guard with delight, "I would be glad to have some food to eat. I would get it myself but I will just risk losing myself in this tower."

King Araman

Araman walked through the chamber doors, "On second thought, Jon Smith, perhaps it would be better if I heard your story later tonight, when I can concentrate better. There is much that I need to accomplish today, so I need to keep a clear head." He did his best to walk tall and with an air of command, as he had done but just a few years ago. They negotiated the spiral staircase, with its intricately carved newel, descending to the level below, in relative silence, where the throne room was found. This was the kings private staircase, that opened directly into the rear of the throne room, not the main one that emptied into the corridor.

They entered and Araman headed straight for the large ornate throne, garish in its use of decorative wison horns, in an attempt to look intimidating, which it usually did. He sat heavily, the exercise of walking down the stairs taking its toll on him. He wiped away the beads of sweat that were forming on his brow. He looked about the room, noting the young man's interest, and the two guards perched at the doors at the far end of the room. "Very well, Jon Smith, I shall allow you to observe my meetings, though, I expect you to remain silent, unless called upon. I am currently in intense negotiations with differing factions here."

He was brought out of his thoughts by whispering. He knew where it came from, and who it was directed. Above the double doors was a small mezzanine where a guard was posted at the squint, a small hole overlooking the outside corridor, hidden from view. The guards below opened the doors before the approaching figure needed to knock. Conversely, the guards below could barricade the double doors if danger were present. But that was not the case here, and Araman recognised one of the guards who entered and knelt before him.

"Rise, and tell me what it is that brings you. Is it the delegation from Ximax?"

Alvyster Churin

As he bustled back towards the ship, Alvyster looked about, suddenly feeling more vulnerable than before. The man was getting on in years, and although he did not doubt his magic ability, the wall of threatening Remusians around him seemed to tighten. Stopping in his tracks, the older man turned on his heels and began to march back in the direction Ohen and that.. guard had gone. Glancing up at the overcast sky, squinting wrinkled eyes against the wind, Alvyster made his way towards the King’s residence—a looming Tower in the center of the city. Glancing about as he strode through the streets, Alvyster felt threatened and tightened his cloak about him. Blasted cold! Not only were the people here hardened, but their climate seemed to have made them so.

Alvyster had come to a conclusion. Yes, the boy should be the one to talk, as he was able to speak much more kindly towards the people of this city, but he himself would be the only one to negotiate as he saw fit and that was a task that should not be loosely handled. Green eyes narrowed, Alvyster was now close to jogging towards the tower. White robes billowed about him and his hair wisped in the breeze, whipping against cheeks taught with purpose. Ohen was not diplomatic enough. Alvyster knew he would be making a mistake if he allowed the King of his realm to deal with Ohen alone. It would show that he and his kind had no backbone, that they would be putty in the Remusians’ hands. Alvyster would have no such thing.

Reaching the Tower, Alvyster marched up the steps towards the entrance, brushing past the guards without so much as a glance. Entering a great hall, he halted and looked curiously around. People, servants he assumed, bustled here and there, but no one approached him immediately. Clearing his throat and raising his voice, Alvyster said in his smooth, demanding manner, ”I am seeking Jorgan Alleda-fey-Launce. I would appreciate direction to him immediately.” Folding wiry arms across his chest, Alvyster peered about, looking no-nonsense and awaiting direction. He would be the one to speak with the King, the one to make a first impression, certainly not a youth with such a jovial outlook on things.

Ohèn found his room to be quite spacious but not elegant. It was simple but not lacking. All the things that he might need during his stay in Remusiat can be found there. In the far side of the room, a window was present.

Ohèn laid his load down to the chair next to the table and arched his back and shoulder to stretch them a bit.

"I wonder where the elder wizard has gone through?" He was quite curious if the elder wizard was really that confident with his abilities that he dared wander the kingdom alone.

He thoughts, however; where disturbed when he heard a voice in the door.

"Hello there!" said an old man. "I came with your food, sir!" An old man was right in front of him. He seems old but it look like that he was still capable of performing his tasks.

Ohèn smiled and said, "Good day to you sir! I hope that my stay will not trouble any of you here."
Ohèn gladly took the tray and laid it down in the table. He opened it and was surprised when he found a number of fish.

'Quite predictable I say! The city lives too near the sea and the sea gives them most of the things that they have now. As a guest I have no reason to speak my complaints as I am currently being treated nicely.' Ohèn stared at the meal and was wondering if he would really eat the fish.

"I thank you good sir for all the troubles that you had gone through to prepare the meal!" Ohèn then closes the door. When he heard the footsteps of the butler gone soft and slowly fading, he stared at the fish again, asking himself, "I really don't like fish, will I eat it or throw it away?"

Alvyster Chruin

To Alvyster's obvious surprise, almost immediately an elderly man--he supposed a servant--approached him and said, "Jorgan be in t' kitch'n, goo' sir. I be gone tha' way, if ye'll folle me." The man bustled quickly away, apparently expecting him to follow. Hesitating for a moment, Alvyster's green eyes flashed. No formalities? He did not address the man even as a guest, but more as a common visitor. This irritated the mage and he opened his mouth as if to protest. Then, thinking back on his own reasons for letting Ohen speak with Jorgan in the first place, he slowly clenched his jaw, teeth grinding slightly in annoyance.

Taking up stride, Alvyster followed the old servant down a broad hall and to where he supposed must be the kitchen. The man left him there, and Alvyster stood in the doorway, his stomach suddenly churning. After the time spent on a ship, a hearty meal would be welcomed.. but he knew it would most likely find its way back up. Wrinkling his nose in mild disgust, the man stepped across the threshold and spotted the warrior Jorgan, seeming to talk idly as servants milled about. Was this the untidy nature of these people? To not be able to separate workers and nobility in the King's own residence? Primitive, indeed.

However, Alvyster hated to admit the place had a homey feel. He felt comfortable, even in the midst of a people who hated his magic. Ah, magic! How it would enhance this place far beyond what it already knew! How did they misunderstand what a beautiful, powerful art it was, and how it could advance them? Ridiculous how they looked at him so skeptically, when Alvyster knew he looked regal and in charge in his billowy robes. When he was done here, he was certain they would all understand. Well, they'd have to.

Approaching Jorgan, Alvyster spat, "Where have you sent my lac--- aide? To the dungeons, no doubt.." His voice trailed low at the end, spidery fingers running through his hair as he received nastier looks from all corners of the kitchen. Crossly, he figured he should take the maelf's cue and be polite... even civil. If he was to even make it to the King and begin negotiations, this Jorgan would have to approve. Changing the topic altogether, the mage asked, "And where will our quarters be? Am I meeting with the King presently?" His eyes could not help but glow with curiosity.

Jorgan stood up slowly as he was addressed again by the arrogant wizard. Well well, he hadn't gone back to the ship then. Well, at least he wouldn't have to explain to the king why the only delegate was a young and frankly very naieve man. Now he had the pleasure of explaining to him that there were two delegates, the young man and an actual wizard who thought he was the most important man on the face of Caelereth. He crossed his arms and looked on the elderly man coolly. Or icily, might be a better word. Your aide has been shown his room and he has been sent food. He is treated the same as every guest of the King's. He only barely resisted the urge to hit the wizard.

Then a change seemed to come over him, and he asked about his quarters. Ah, so apparently he was capable of some form of politeness! Even if it was obviously reluctantly. Well then, in that case he could return the favour. The tone still did not reach the level of warmth he'd use with people he knew, but at least he managed to hide the contempt he felt for the magicker. If you will follow me, I will show you to your quarters. The king has been informed of your coming, and will surely meet you today.

He decided not to walk a few steps ahead while never looking at the man, like he had on the way here, but to stay next to the wizard instead. It gave more the feeling of being an honoured guest than being a prisoner. He even went so far as to pain his brain as to a topic of conversation, but failed miserably. Ah, well, the wizard could talk enough for two, so it probably didn't matter anyway.

Alvyster Churin

Today. Good. Jorgan fell into step beside Alvyster and sly eyes shifted in the warrior's direction in surprise. What was he playing at? Surely the two could play this game for hours, but when would they truly speak their real feelings? No matter. For now the niceties would make his stay easier... for now. Walking down the hall within the Tower, Alvyster examined the walls, the lighting, even scrutinized the sounds their footsteps made on the stone floor. All seemed to be sound; even impressive. Alvyster tried to imagine how close-minded the King may be. Having heard little about King Araman as a person, Alvyster entered this proposed meeting not knowing how to act or what to expect. If the King was anything like this Jorgan, Alvyster knew he would have a hard time within the meeting today and in the future. Or would he?

Glancing at the guard again, green eyes narrowed skeptically. He seemed friendly even with the kitchen workers, and his puzzled the aging mage. What was he to expect? And where was that Ohen? Acting on impulse, forgetting his polite facade, "Where is that blasted half-elf? Surely you haven't shackled him already?" The sneer in his voice was apparent, and the flash in his eyes gave him an evil look once more. Alvyster knew these people were naive and uneducated; he pitied them, but it still didn't seem to be enough to stay his temper. For all he knew, Ohen could already be with the King making a fool of himself. His temperature rising at the thought, Alvyster picked up the pace down the hallway, eager to make it to his quarters and eventually into the presence of Araman.

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

The elderly man sat comfortably in his study when a light knock at his door jostled him. Straightening in his high-backed chair, Allemedo gently closed a thick book and called softly for the servant to enter. Swiftly informed of the King's need of him, the old man nodded and dismissed the servant. Standing and stretching his old bones, Allemedo paused a moment to peer out his small window. The Tower was a perfect home, overlooking the beautiful and powerful city of Remusiat. Allemedo's window looked to the west, partially at the harbour, but in full view of the Western Gate. If he squinted hard enough, the old man could watch the scouts and guards on the thick outer wall, patrolling and keeping the city safe. With a brief smile, Allemedo grabbed a light cloak from his wardrobe and wrapped it around his wispy frame. Exiting his room, Allemedo gave the empty chamber a small smile and made his way down the hall.

Feyla

Feyla passed by a servant exiting the King's chambers. Peering up the stairs to the top of the Tower, she wondered how Jon's time with the King was panning out. His Highness was said to be a kind and generous man, so she assumed Jon was much happier there, receiving payment for his services, than spending time chatting idly with a servant girl. Sighing heavily, Feyla returned to dusting and tidying the hall... although it was her eleventh time down this very same hallway.

Ledo

Ledo banged his fist against his heart when he heard the king's command, turned around and strode out of the room. All right, tell Jorgan and the magickers they were to go to the assembly room... But where were Jorgan and the magickers? He didn't know where their room was.
He seemed to be in luck, though, as he heard a voice around the corner. When he rounded it, he saw his captain walking next to a white-robed old man. He saluted Jorgan and reported the Kings words: "The king asks that the delegates from Ximax join him in the assembly room, sir. You are also to attend."

***************************************
Jorgan

Silence... All right, if he wanted silence, he would get silence. Jorgan silently walked through the hall, regulating his steps just enough to stay next to the wizard. They were almost at the door of the room that the old man would be sharing with the young one, when he spoke. That blasted half-elf? Oh, so the young one wasn't human, then. Well, not entirely. That probably just made him even more naive concerning the human way of life than he seemed to be already.

The Captain gritted his teeth at the tone of the wizard. He felt the urge to go walk in front of him again and ignore him completely, but realised how utterly childish that would be. He was a grown-up man, wasn't he? But then, never even thinking the man's name and just referring to him as 'the wizard' and 'the old man' wasn't exactly mature either. Ah well, he wasn't the only one. However, he was spared the ordeal of a reply when he saw Ledo rounding the corner. Right, the assembly room. Good, so they just had to go pick up Ohen and then the meeting could be got over with.

"Thank you, Ledo. You can go back to your duties now." When the guard had gone, Jorgan pointed to the right door. "Ohen is in there, eating his lunch. Or dinner, depending on how you wish to see the time. Do you wish for any substance before meeting with the King? I'm sure he wouldn't want his guests to go hungry because of him." As he said this, he knocked on Ohen's door and waited for the half-elf to answer him.

Alvyster Churin

As the maelf called for the two to enter, Alvyster's eyes narrowed in suspicion. Sure, it was polite of the warrior to offer something for him to eat, and even moreso to give credit to his King's hospitality, but Alvyster was too paranoid to take an offer like that with a grain of salt. Indeed, his slippery mind works as if wheels and cogs at the notion of poisoning and other ill-natured attempts at the mage's life. Despite so much polite banter, Alvyster always kept in mind that these Remusians hated mages, and that was the plain truth.

Alvyster's suspicion grew almost into dread as he eyed Jorgan. Almost pushing past the guard and fleeing down the hallway, the aging man almost broke a sweat as he willed his feet to stay rooted to the spot. As the door opened to reveal a quaint chamber with Ohen inside, Alvyster's jaw dropped as he began to cry out to the man. He himself was eating what these primitive people offered him! The foolish man! "Oh, no." he said quickly, his voice straining to remain polite, "I'll not be needing anything of yours." The statement came out more viciously than he expected, and quite untrue as well.

Indeed, Alvyster very much wanted the understanding and alliance of the Remusian people. He wanted their introduction to the magical arts in all its refinement and beauty, and he wanted very much the power they could gain if the Ice Tribes of the North considered using these gifts in a wise manner. However, for the time being, they still disliked and even feared mages to the point of desperation, and Alvyster would not take chances.

Brogan

The smack hurt. The giant oaf hurt him! Brogan, with a pained expression, held a hand against his face protectively as he sat atop the large horse. Holding tightly to the reigns, however, he held his head high and remembered his duty was to Prince Timeras, not to these men. They seemed to be injured, however, and Brogan wondered if they were as strong as Timeras said they were. Why did the Prince love them so? Disappointed for only a moment's time, Brogan recalled his message. Twenty orcs! Ten each.. he thought with awe. Glancing around the crowded streets of the city, as he could see relatively far from atop this beast, Brogan thought if each man and woman within Remusiat could take ten orcs, any sizable army could be easily and swiftly defeated!

Cheered by that thought, Brogan pushed the horse below him into a trot and held on tight for he was unused to his gait. Reaching the Tower walls, he slid clumsily from the mount, stopping when the sharp impact with the ground jostled his face and a stab of pain shot through his head. Holding his face for a moment, Brogan hid behind the horse from the guards and tears filled his eyes. A fire blazed simultaneously, however, and he stomped his foot causing a purposeful shot of pain. If warriors could take stabs by sword, Brogan could handle a bruise. Tromping up the steps into the Tower, Brogan stared straight ahead, not stopping to glance at the guards.

Within the great hall, the boy felt more at home. Striding purposefully through the Tower, Brogan noticed guests he had not seen previously. Later, when he finished this war business, he'd have to find out what they were doing here. Finding his way into Prince Timeras' quarters higher in the Tower, Brogan stopped to knock as powerfully as he could, hurting his knuckles more than he expected. Glaring at the door now, he heard Timeras' voice from within and opened it carefully, for he knew the Prince would fuss over the bruise forming on his face. Of course, the boy was right. Timeras flew to him as if he were his own child, kindly asking what had happened, and for news of his friends. Brogan wondered why the Prince himself did not venture into the wastes and see the orcs for himself, but quickly bit back the question. Of course he had Princely business to attend to! The thought should not occur again.

"Prince Timeras! Yer friends beat twenty orcs! They powerful warriors, they are. Ah this? Just a small bruise, really, I deserved it Prince. They really powerful! Wow! Can I fight in a war?" As inquiries spilled from his mouth, Timeras hushed Brogan and made it clear he was no more ready for war than the King was ready to leave his beloved city. Brogan understood his meaning and a grave expression overcame him. Trying for maturity and poise, he nodded as Timeras thanked him greatly and grabbed his large fur coat again. He seemed ready for business, and Brogan was as well. Opening the door for his Prince, Brogan and Timeras made their way from the tower in a swift, timely manner.

Josephine approached the large Tower warily, having followed some the remaining guards from the Harbor to it. Alvyster and the half-elf, the other members of the Ximaxian delegation, had already gone ahead, having left her behind to gather their things from the ship and then bring them to their place of residence within the Tower. As such, she had various leather satchels and packs hung over and around her shoulders, along with cylindrical scroll cases hanging from her belt and in her hands. The packs contained all manner of things for the journey, including spare clothing, food, some books, and scrolls and parchments of both the mystical and the mundane variety.

Josephine growled to herself as she strugglingly hefted the luggage. While most of it wasn't particularly heavy, the large amount of random bags made it an encumbering task just to make sure she didn't drop anything on the way there. For all she knew, she already had and would be yelled at by Alvyster for it. As if the long, cramped voyage on the ship hadn't been bad enough for the man's naturally sour mood. The last thing she needed was Alvyster's rantings when all of them had to be stuck in Remusiat, where they would be met by nothing but hatred. She was afraid of the reactions of the people, that much was true. She kept her heavy white cloak wrapped tightly around her, concealing the robes underneath that would clearly identify her. She kept the hood up, as well. At least that way she could keep her eyes focused ahead and pretend that the people weren't giving her glares. I'd prefer to stay in the damn boat... she thought to herself as she took a glance around, immediately regretting as she locked eyes with the stares. Quickly she returned her wayward gaze to the ground just in front of her feet, watching as her boots made small imprints in the light layer of snow that had begun piling on the streets since the last sweep.

She took a deep breath of the chilly air, then shivered a bit. Tightly wrapped in her thick robes and used to the effects of cold by now from her arcane abilities, Remusiat was still cold enough to make her want to curl up under heavy blankets next to a warm fire and wish the world away. Maybe they'd have a damn fireplace in their quarters. She could only hope, and she really didn't expect the luxury. Afterall, these assholes probably wanted nothing to do with them. This whole delegation was a farce, the people hated them already and that bastard Alvyster was probably the worst possible choice for a diplomat.

She sighed, breathing out a visible wisp of air from her mouth as she looked up again as she approached the Tower of Da. . . Da something or another, she honestly didn't give a damn about the name of the thing. The King's Tower, that would do. Or just The Tower.

She climbed the steps behind the guards from the Harbour, who proceeded to dump her off before returning to whatever duties they had now. Instead, she was faced with two rigid statues on either side of the Tower doors. A wonder they didn't freeze solid after standing there all day long. She never did understand how guards could keep standing in one place for so long, talk about boring, and tiring. She was already worn out just from the walk from the Harbour! Of course, now she had to actually get inside and find out where the other two had gotten to already.

Looking up at the two guards flanking the door, she bit her lip lightly before asking, "I'm with the delegation. . ." She spoke hesitantly, expecting disdain from both of them, though she hoped her pretty face would make them forget about her arcanistry, and so she smiled weakly at them both. "Where do I need to go now?" She shifted around some of the packs on her shoulders, grunting a little, and hoped it wouldn't be much longer before she could get to the room and set it all down. Why those fucking pricks couldn't have carried their own stuff instead of forcing it all on her she didn't know.

Ledo

The guard saw the woman approaching, long before she had actually reached them. She was struggling with more bags than could possibly belong to her - though with women, you never knew of course. He wanted to go help her, but knew that he shouldn't leave his post unless ordered to. So he just watched her come closer, knowing without looking that Ankera was looking as well. It was pretty hard not to. She seemed a bit... contradictory. Her white cloack looked fancy, what with the gold rim around it, but she struggled with packs as if she was just a servant. That, and she was obviously being guided here by some city guards, so she was probably heading for the Tower.

As she came closer, Ledo could see her face more clearly. It made him feel warm inside, somehow. It was a beautiful face, after all. And even though she was wrapped in her cloak, he could just imagine the curves that hid underneath all the bags. The guards left her with the two palace guards and left for the barracks. She seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then said she was with the delegation. What, her? A magicker? Surely not. She was too pretty to belong to that lot. There must be another explanation... Maybe she was a servant after all? Of a VERY rich master, who could afford to give her a mantle like that? That must be it. The mage must have a lot of money. It relieved him that he wouldn't have to classify her with the same label as the arrogant one who'd come here earlier, or the young, naive one before that, who had come with the Captain.

He nodded his helmeted head. "Yes miss. Please come inside. I will call someone who will show you to the rooms of the delegation, you can drop all those bags there. The delegation has just retreated to the assembly room for the meeting with the King, but you don't have to worry about that, right? They'll be out soon enough." Ledo stepped inside and held the door open for her, so that she could just walking without dropping any bag. She stepped in, asking if she should go to the assembly room as well. Ledo smiled for a moment, not sure what a maid servant would think she could do in the meeting with the king. "I'm sure that won't be necessary, miss. The meeting is for wizard delegates only."

He spotted one of the servants and called to him. "Jev, could you show the miss to the room of the Ximaxian delegation?" Without waiting for another answer from the beautiful young woman, he stepped back outside and closed the door. Jev would take care of things.

********

Jev

The elderly servant looked up as Ledo addressed him. He smiled at the young woman, a genuine smile. He didn't think about whether or not she was a wizard. Even if he'd thought she was, he'd have reacted the same way. He was too old to bother with hating people for knowing something he didn't, even though there had been a time when he'd thought about that quite differently.

"Wan' me t' take some a' dose bags, muss?" He asked, then added in the same breath: "D' Ximax rooms 're dis way." He looked at her for a moment, noting how beautiful she was. She reminded him of his granddaughter, though she seemed to be a few years older. It was the only reaction he had to her beauty; he was too old for another one, too. With a smile on his old lips, he extended a hand to make true his offer.

********

Graviaro

The General walked towards the King's Tower with a brisk pace, however reluctant he had been to give the news to Araman. It must be got over with, and he was the one who had to tell him that an orc army was approaching. Soon enough, he reached the doors to the Tower. "Ledo, Ankera!" he boomed. "One of you know where the king is?" Both men saluted him by banging their hands to their breastplate, above their heart. Ankera answered. "Sir, in the assembly room, sir! With the Ximaxian delegates." Graviaro grunted. Great, not only was he going to have to tell his king the news, he was gonna have to do it in front of some wizards, too. Damn pansies, the lot of them.

He strode in after Ledo opened the door. In passing, he saw the shape of a woman, but didn't give himself the time to look more closely. She'd be taken care of well enough, the king's hospitality would make sure of that. His long legs carried him past her and the white-haired servant who was with her, his two peds of height towering over both of them. He went into one of the corridors and set his stride towards the assembly room, and towards the unpleasant task of telling the King about the orcs.

Josephine was surprised at the rather. . . pleasant treatment the guards had given her. Compared to the glares she had expected, they hadn't really seemed all that concerned of her being with the delegation at all, instead hustling her inside and shifting her off to a servant to take to the quarters. Apparently the meeting was already under way--this king of their's was impatient it seemed, unless it was Alvyster's who had demanded it--though the guard had told her she didn't need to go. As much as she'd have liked to have taken up on his suggestion, just lounging in the room until the meeting was complete, she knew Alvyster would probably want all three of them present. Or he wanted to just do it on his own, and would yell at her for entering. She cursed to herself as the servant began escorting her to her room, annoyed at the lack of instruction she had been given. She was sure Alvyster would do all the talking anyway, so why did she or any other delegate have to be with him? She would much rather just put the bags down in the room and stay there.

She blinked and shook her head after a moment, looking at the servant who was to escort her. He was holding out a hand. "Wha. . ." she stammered out of her daze, before her eyes widened slightly at the realization of the offer. She shook her head quickly, smiling slightly at him, "No. . . No, I've got it, thanks." As much as she'd like having someone else to take the load, the bags were hers to carry and so she'd show everyone here that she could carry them just fine herself--she didn't need someone stepping in to help her with just a few bags. After all, she'd already made the trip from the Harbour to the Tower, she was sure the remainder of the walk would be short. Nothing she couldn't handle.

With that business out of the way, she simply followed the old man through the Tower to her quarters. She allowed herself the privilege to look around the halls as she walked, taking in the architecture and stonemasonry of the building. It was warmer in here than outside, though the ship they had been in had actually managed to be warmer still, and she missed that warmth--confined air and lots of bodies meant the lower decks actually stayed fairly warm even in cold weather.

Thankfully, the Tower wasn't as occupied as the streets outside, so there were few people to give her looks and stares. Still, she felt wildly out of place in the building, and hoped that the room would not be much further so she could hide away in it. Or, at least that's what she wanted to do. But instead she'd probably have to go to the assembly hall--wherever it was--and get straight to the meeting. Why couldn't they have planned for it for a few days after they got here? They'd been on the fucking ship for weeks--months maybe--last thing any of them should want to do is get straight to the damn meeting.

Josephine's shoulders and legs ached by the time they finally reached the room, and she was quick to simply slump the bags down in a messy pile in the middle of the floor as she stumbled into it. Seeing a bed, her first reaction was to walk over to it and then collapse face first on top of it, groaning to herself. She laid still for a few moments, enjoying the relaxation and wishing she could just stay there and go to sleep, but quickly leaned back over to look at the door. The servant had probably said something while she had plopped down on the bed, but she hadn't heard it. And now the door was closing!

Fucking. . . She needed to ask him where the assembly hall was. Alvyster would give her all manner of hell if she wasn't there, she knew.

Fumblingly, she pushed herself up from the bed and jogged to the door, throwing it open and then closing it behind her before chasing after the servant, trying to catch up with him.

"Hey, uhm, where's the assembly hall, sir?" she said as soon as she managed to grab his attention.

Jev

When the young woman declined his offer of helping her, he smiled at her kindly, then swiftly led the way to the Ximaxian rooms. His shuffling gait was surprisingly quick for one his age. After he'd shown her in, he waited for a moment, then asked if he could bring her something to eat. However, she didn't reply, so he assumed she was fine. He closed the door, careful not to make too much noise, then turned to go down the hallway.

He had not gone far before the woman found him again. Maybe she needed something to eat after all? But no, she asked for directions to the assembly room. He nodded his old head, smiling a wrinkled smile. " 's ok, miss. I'll show y' th' way." His shuffling feet brought the two of them to the assembly room soon enough.

******

Jorgan

The Captain of the Guards saluted his king, then went to stand in a vantage position, from where he could survey the whole room while still being close to the door. He knew the King had guards of his own to do this job, but he couldn't help himself. In a situation like this, he preferred to keep standing anyway. His face expressionless, he watched as the arrogant wizard and the young one sat down.

The door had closed again, but not so long after the visitors had found their place, another knock was heard - or rather, a very large bang. Jorgan wanted to move his hand towards the pommel of his sword, but found it was already resting there. It was a pretty usual place for his hand to rest. However, there was no threat - when the door opened, the tall frame of the army's General strode in. The guards closed the door after him, hoping they wouldn't have to open it again - vain hope, as Allemedo had still to come.

************

Graviaro

When the door to the assembly room opened, the general strode in. His trained soldier's eyes surveyed the situation in the room in about a second. The king sitting at the head of the table, on his right a young man with a parchment and ink in front of him. Opposite the king were two men, one elderly and white-haired, the other seemingly still young. So these were the delegates. He wondered about the young man though, he seemed to be part of the king's entourage rather than of the delegation.

Standing straight and focused was the Captain of the Guard. Good kid, him. When his eye found Jorgan's, he watched the man salute for another second, then he turned his attention to his king and in turn saluted. He waited for the king to allow him to speak, instead of bursting the news immediately. It was a sign of respect. he just hoped Araman wouldn't think too badly of him for walking in on the meeting. The king should know that he wouldn't do that normally, unless there was a good reason for it.

Alvyster Churin

Entering the room at King Araman's call, Alvyster glanced quickly around it. It was large, of course, and just as magnificent as the rest of the Tower. If the King's chambers could be any greater than the rest of these rooms... Alvyster chose not to imagine their grandeur for fear of truly admiring these people. Glancing around at those gathered, Alvyster first spotted who he assumed to be the King from his position at the head of the table. A graying man, his blue eyes were as bright as a babe's and the mage rested a level gaze at the aging King for only a moment before a loud knock was heard. Whipping his head about, Yealm hair disturbed his vision as he witnessed a huge man entering the room. A copious frame and dark features gave the man a penetrating look. Of course, as most Remusians he must be a warrior. Alvyster thought only briefly about how this muscled man could snap him like a twig before remembering his tiny brain would most likely not get him within a ped of harming the mage.

Saluting occurred, and for what seemed to be so primitive a people, Alvyster thought it quite nice they had excellent mannerisms. Alvyster did not like feeling inferior. In fact, a smirk dawned upon thin lips as he thought at least he didn't look as pathetic as the maelf beside him. And would their baggage arrive at the Tower safely? Surely, a female and a mage would not assure safety within this wasted city. Why in the wastes did the King need so many warriors present for this meeting? Alvyster's eyes narrowed in suspicion, green orbs flashing dangerously in the light. Reminding himself he could manipulate his own element, perhaps not a sword but much more deadly, Alvyster sized each man up in turn. Disgusting it was, how they believed they could go on as they had in the past.

Feeling a little safer having lowered the big men dominating the room, Alvyster silently cursed as his thin frame shook to a start at another knock on the door. Even as this one was lighter, it startled him. He wished the blasted King would have sent a delegation to Ximax instead of demanding they make the trip themselves. Magic wasn't needed to simply travel, weren't they capable of making the journey. Watching the door for the next guest, Alvyster licked thin lips to wet them. His sallow face frozen in a look of abhorrence, he waited to be told what to do.

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Striding swiftly to the assembly room and knocking politely, Allemedo knew he could freely go about as he pleased, but preferred the formalities. Such were the ways of an old man. Graying locks whipped in the rush of air as he passed over the threshold and into the hall. Brown eyes fell in greeting to his King, and he inclined his head with deep respect. Looking for a moment at the boy Jon, then sweeping his gaze over Gravario and Jorgan, Allemedo rested upon the newcomers. Standing with obvious unease, a tall man with dark hair, and another man with light hair and billowy white robes stood. Ah, so they must be the delegates. Amusement played in friendly brown eyes as Allemedo took his place beside Araman.

So they would discuss magic, would they? Allemedo, as an old traditional man, was clearly set in his ways. He loved his people, Remusiat, and his King. What need had they of bringing in new ways, new traditions, and changing the way things were now? Surely Araman would take the same stance. However, the kindly old man knew there were always times for change, and perhaps this was one of them. It was never welcome. Resting his gaze on Jon Smith again, Allemedo thanked Kor'och that this change would be recorded. He had witnessed too many events soon forgotten and their reasons for occurring discarded. Whether this be a great choice or a mistake, Timeras and generations after him could decide, using the records. He was witnessing great events in Remusia. In loving his land, this was all Allemedo could ask for.

King Araman

Araman looked at all the faces in turn. A warm smile came across his face, as Allemedo entered the room. He waited for his friend and adviser to take his place to his immediate right. Araman leaned over to Allemedo, conspiratorilly whispering. "I do not recall that Graviaro was to be here. Did you invite him?" When the adviser disavowed this, Araman pursed his lip. It was no matter. Perhaps Graviaro should be here. If the general of the army was not important enough to sit in on a meeting of this perportion, who was?

Araman studied the rest of the room. There was something very discomforting about the tall delegate, the elder one. Was it just Araman's own bias, or was there something not right about the man? Was this a mistake? It was too late to start having second thoughts now, Araman chided himself. Besides, the younger man next to the tall one seemed alright, if not a little beyond his depth here. And there was another, who Araman could not make out. A female? It was hard to tell as the person kept their face hidden within the folds of their cowl.

He looked at Jorgan, and when catching the young captain's eye, nodded toward the hidden form. Araman did not feel concerned for his wellfare from the mysterious figure, but he wanted Jorgan to take note of them. But, Jorgan being Jorgan, the captain had probably already made note of it.

Araman stood up, a sharp pin in his abdomen making him grimace slightly. Not now! He did not need to be in pain at this moment. The pain was gone in an instant, and he smiled warmly at the room. "Good afternoon, my friends, and special guests. If we can all take our seats, I am sure we can get started in what I'm hoping will be monumental agreements between our two states. I am Araman, Lanrul of the Remusian peoples, and King of Remusia. I hope that each of you can introduce yourselves. To my right is Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock, my most trusted adviser. To my left is Jon Smith, who shall be recording this event for posterity's sake. The large man here is Graviaro Griffyn-fey-Grau, my military general. Might I add Graviaro, that I did not expect you this afternoon, but it is always a pleasure to see you." He bowed to the general. Then he motioned to Jorgan. "And finally, this is Jorgan Alleda-fey-Launce, my Captain of the Guards. He will be in charge of your security here. Have no fear, he is very proficient in his duties."

Graviaro

When Araman introduced everyone, Graviaro held his peace just long enough to let him say everything. As soon as Jorgan was named, the general moved a little closer to the king. Although at all other times he could not for the life of him modulate the volume of his voice, he did talk quieter now that he was face to face with his king - partly out of respect, but also out of concern. Still, the respect for his friend was clearly the dominant feeling. "My king, you are right that I was not invited to this meeting. My business here is of another matter, one that I am afraid cannot wait, however... important the delegation is." Only the closest of listeners could have heard the minute pause in his speech. Graviaro was not completely a man of the sword. "An army of orcs is approaching Remusiat. They will be here in a few days. I came to you as soon as I heard this from my scouts."

He did not enjoy being the harbinger of such news. How he wished he could have something better to tell the king. But this was the way life went, he supposed. He could now only wait to see how Araman reacted.

*************

Jorgan

The Captain of the guards had already moved a little closer to the cloaked and hooded figure when he saw Araman's nod. He was just close enough to hear her quiet, whispered words. It was not only her voice that gave her away as being female - Jorgan was still young enough to kind of know this sort of thing. So she was with the delegation? Hmm. Another magicker then. Still, there was something.... well, distinctly different about her. She was clearly not as arrogant as the old wizard, or she'd have strode into the room as if she owned it. And even though the quietness of her manner suggested otherwise, Jorgan had a gut feeling that she was made of harder material than the half-elf.

In another two steps he was by her side, relieving the guards of having to answer. While putting a hand on her elbow, he said in almost as quiet a tone as she had used: "Please take a seat miss." With the hand that was touching her elbow, he guided her towards the seat next to Ohen's. Then he stepped back a foot and continued his surveillance of the room, meanwhile listening to the general's worrisome news.

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Allemedo did not know who invited the General, so he simply shook is old head as his King inquired it of him. He hated being unable to give an answer, but the big man's presence puzzled him as well. His eyes gazed over those in the room, but did not stop to think on them too much. His concern was with the King's opinion. He would voice his own in private; he would not scold or direct in the presence of the public. Advising, Allemedo thought, was to be done on terms with a close friend, not with an audience. His kind eyes fixed momentarily on the woman Jorgan directed to a seat. Beautiful, she was. Was she to perform magic as well? Interesting. Allemedo had formed an opinion that man and beast are man and beast; nothing more. If magic would aid man, if it would present itself as a gift, useful and usable perhaps it was time to accept it as well.

Snapping his head to attention at Graviaro's words, however, Allemedo's face fell. He nearly refused to accept the words, but in his age he had learned to take bad news as it came and fully accept it. Glancing immediately at his King, he let the notion settle over him. Surely, war upon a city of hardened warriors should not startle him so, but he shook his foundations. Face expressionless, Allemedo awaited Araman's response. With endless love for his city, Allemedo despaired on the inside, but held fast to his composure on the outside. Bringing the news before a foreign delegation though? The old man felt it slightly tactless, but passed it by. Soon enough the visitors would have known.

Alvyster Churin

The King seemed eloquent. Alvyster turned to each in turn as they were announced, warriors and an old adviser. As the King mentioned Jorgan was proficient at his duties, Alvyster almost dared to laugh. Was that hint of a threat? And already? Sly green eyes surveyed the King with a level gaze. What was he playing at. As soon as introductions were finishing, Alvyster drew himself up, billowing white robes hiding his thin frame. With an air of importance, he mustered all the clarity and authority he could in saying, "I am Alvyster Churin, mage and Head of the Delegation from Ximax." Inclining his head towards the King out of duty, not respect, a thin arm raised to indicate Ohen, "My aide Ohen." he spat shortly, then his eyes fell on the woman. Ah, she had returned. Alvyster thought her less of a dolt than this maelf beside him, and green eyes actually seemed to soften when resting upon her. Beautiful and clever.

Only daring to hold her gaze for a moment longer, the older mage turned to look at the King and said, "And another member of our delegation, Josephine." Her name was spoken with more respect, and it was obvious from his voice. Despite the fact that she was fairly young, and a woman, Alvyster thought her skilled. Opening his wide mouth to speak again, Alvyster stopped short and snapped his jaw shut as the large General leaned in to the King. His voice in low tones that could not be imagined from the copious man, Alvyster assumed the matter urgent. Alvyster blinked lazily about the room. What news could a General have for the King? So the city would be riddled with war? Torn and unprepared? His first and only thought was the result of this meeting. Should it go the way he hoped, they could be aided in the war! If not this one, than the next. Yes, they certainly should understand the need for magic when they understood its power. Perhaps he was bringing news of a robbery, an ailing family member, or a person in need. Whatever the news, Graviaro did not seem to want the entire room to hear just yet. Waiting for the general to finish and discussion to end before it began, Alvyster fixed his gaze on the King.

King Araman

At the words that came from Graviaro's mouth, Araman felt as though his manhood retracted up into his body. A cold wave washed over him, as his jaw slackened in disbelief. Yet, this was Graviaro, so unlike any other harbinger of this type of news, Araman knew the information to be correct. As sickening as it was, it would be correct. Araman inhaled sharply, as he cast furtive glances to the delegation. This was the very worst possible time for this. What to do? What to do? He leaned forward and down nearer the big warrior.

He chewed on his lip a moment, before speaking. He had good people in good positions. If they could not be trusted to handle serious situations during times of crisis, then he was not a very good king. He looked hard at Graviaro, keeping his voice to near whisper volume. "Graviaro, my friend, you have my army, and my trust. Do what you must until I am finished here. Once this meeting has concluded for the day, I shall join you and get your full report. Find my son, make sure he is safe. He's a good politician, but he's no warrior. I will try to wrap this up as quickly as I can, but I dare not disrupt it now. Its taken too long to line up all the pieces in this dangerous game we play. I will make your excuses."

Araman again resumed his full stature. "I am afraid that my general, Graviaro, must take his leave. Duty calls, I'm sorry to say. However, we shall continue this meeting as planned until our serving staff announces a banquet I have had planned in your honour. I look forward to hearing your opening statements." He smiled coolly, every fibre of him striving to be the diplomat, though it was not truly his nature.

He turned to Allemedo, whispering once more. "Let us hope that banquet is ready soon, my friend."

Alvyster Churin

Uncertain the King had even heard him, green eyes flashed dangerously in the King’s direction. Otherwise, the expression Alvyster’s lean face did not change. Thin lips and stringy Yealm hair made him appear taller than he really was, while billowy robes filled out his sticklike form. Standing still, watching closely the expression on the King’s face as well as that of older man beside him change minutely, Alvyster guessed with a hidden glee that the news was not excellent, nor was it even remotely good. Wrinkles appeared at the corner of his eye as King Araman announced that the large Army General must take his leave. Alvyster could not decipher his own emotions on the matter. Was he perturbed that one of these men had not found him important? Or was he simply glad there was one less burly, intimidating person in the room?

The Centoraurian quickly brushed the last thought aside. Of course he was offended! Duties. Of course. Regardless, the King kept to formalities and expressed interest in their reason for being in the city. Alvyster thought of several responses at once. Not the least of which being to set fire to the uppity King’s formal attire. Evilly Alvyster entertained this thought, knowing he could easily do so, but to quite a risk if he must admit as much. Glancing about the room again, as if weaving the intricate and detailed introduction that would spill from his thin mouth soon enough, the aging mage instead simply sized up each individual in the room. Yes, the three magickers there could easily best the assembled, and Alvyster found that his shoulders drooped a little as he relaxed. Now, to business.

Arrogantly, the mage drew himself up and stepped toward the King. Directly across the large stone table from the man, Alvyster did not sit down to his level. Instead he preferred to remain higher up; superior at least in the mind’s subconscious eye to anyone watching the exchange, or anyone who might walk into the situation. Alvyster liked that thought very much. His eyes dancing as he consistently built himself up; the mage’s smooth voice ascertained that he as well should begin with the formalities. ”Greetings, King Araman. Let me begin by saying with grand admiration that your city is indeed magnificent. My humblest thanks to you for providing my aides and I a warm, comfortable place to stay within your residence.” Folding spidery, pale fingers before him, Alvyster inclined his head in a polite bow—one that could be mistaken for, but certainly was not, a respectful greeting.

Positively pleased with himself at his smooth display, the Ximaxian delegate shot a glance over to Josephine and Ohen. Wondering if indeed they were to interject at all, he paused for only a few short moments. Taking a steady breath, he turned Sognastheen eyes back towards the King. It was then he reached his decision. He would allow the leader of the Remusian people to provide his own opinion and statements before he himself did. That, Alvyster deciphered, would give him leverage in the situation. A rebuttal could easily form with more information on the King’s stance.

Fluidly, he continued, ”As you know, Your Highness, I have come to introduce you and your people to magic and its many enhancing characteristics. A tool which, when used correctly, will be highly beneficial to you, I am certain.” A simple statement, the arrogant Centoraurian said so much beneath it. His emphasis and deliberate choosing of “Your Highness” would give the Remusian King a false sense that he was in control. In addition, the “I” within his opening statement proposed that he himself could easily handle the situation without his useless aides. He was a grown man, independent and perfectly capable. Perfectly happy with himself, Alvyster remained standing, his eyes fixed upon the King as if daring him to refuse his generous offering.

Torchlight danced along the stone walls of the assembly chamber, the light flickering within the king’s gaze as it remained on the closed doors, azure orbs unwavering. Still as a statue, his features could not have been more steadfast even had they been carved of stone, his will a palpable force that dominated the room. King Araman sat as a judge receiving an audience, as a king entertaining diplomats, secure in the knowledge that his word was law and thus unassailable by those beneath him. It was a privilege he afforded these mages, this meeting to hear out their cause, not a demand he acquiesced to, as king he accepted only the demands of his own people, his subjects.

The silence of the chamber was interrupted by a rasp at the door, the moment lost as the king motioned for the guards to admit his guests, blue eyes upon the doors once more as a warm smile spread across his weathered face, the breaking of the sun in this icy wasteland. First to enter was a young man, young in comparison to his elders that resided over this affair. The very epitome of a loyal soldier, his every look and action radiated devotion, a willingness to put the lives of his king and people above his own. Dangerous was one such as he, no doubt sword and shield for his liege, whether the king needed it or not.

But the king’s high spirits seemed to waver as the next two entered the room, as though the iciness without had stolen into the room and robbed his smile of its warmth. By their garb, robes flowing and billowing, these were the mages, their power over the elements beyond the comprehension of the common man, especially when that commoner was a Remusian, bred to distrust the supernatural, the seemingly unnatural. But, though their occupations were no doubt similar, these were very different men. The first was almost unearthly in his beauty, as if touched by something more than the blood of mortals, but mortal all the same, his appearance weathered by the passing of time. Nonetheless, the look in his face and eyes was somehow wholesome.

Night and day, the second contrasted the first. A frail man, his gaze surveyed the room as a carrion bird intent upon prey not yet deceased, green eyes glinting dangerously, hinting at a power beyond his slight frame. His presence was somehow dark and foreboding, one could almost believe that the torchlight receded in fear. As dominating as his arrival had been, the attention of the room’s occupants was diverted momentarily to the young captain as he saluted his king and moved to stand guard over the door, the very door everyone looked to reflexively as a boom announced the next arrival.

Larger even than the force he had exerted upon the door, the soldier filled the doorway as he stepped through, an air of command about him hinting at a position high on the chain of command. Dark eyes told of battles fought, of lives taken without regret for the sake of his people, choices he would make again without hesitation. Such a man belonged on the battlefield, drenched in blood, his sword cutting a swath through his enemies, not here in the assembly chamber where a silver tongue won out over cold steel.

His opposite soon entered the room, the king’s advisor, Sir Allemedo. Appearing nearly as regal as the king himself, the advisor looked the part, the wisdom in his kindly brown eyes revealing his aptitude at handling the tasks required of him. Without a doubt, his presence was as notable, as necessary even, as that of the king, if more subtle with the quiet confident air that emanated tranquility, founded in years of experience. Close on his heels strode a cloaked figure, taking a place next to the mages that revealed his, no her, the curves beneath voluminous robes were undoubtedly feminine, allegiance.

Any unwanted attention, clearly unwanted by the silence that spoke louder than words would have, upon the newcomer was diverted as the king whispered to his advisor, the warmth returning to his face. Every figure in the room seemed to lean in then, ears straining to hear what they should not, everyone appearing to almost abashedly pull back as the king stood. His voice fell from his lips with the authority of one accustomed to being obeyed without question, as well he should be. With each introduction, the identity of each member of the king’s entourage was revealed, the young guard none other than the Captain of the Guards, Jorgan Alleda-fey-Launce, whereas the giant of a man was the general Graviaro Griffyn-fey-Grau. Yet the identities of the mages remained enshrouded in mystery, no doubt to be revealed by the mages themselves, as etiquette demanded.

Answer the call they did, their leader, the elderly mage, rising up as the introductions were panned out as bread crumbs to a crowd of beggars, the audience unworthy of them by the tone of his voice. He was Alvyster Churin, head of the delegation from Ximax, a name and title he expected to be known for power and authority, his beady eyes said as much. And yet, he introduced his aide as one might a dog, almost immediately dismissing one always assumed to be there, one not to be missed if he was not. But the third and final mage was introduced with a sentiment unexpected from this calculating figure as of yet, respect.

But even one as self-important, as self-righteous, as he was silenced by the whispering that commenced again, the general leaning in close to whisper news in his liege’s ear, news dire by the color that faded from King Araman’s face. A hush filled the room, none daring to speak, the walls themselves straining to hear the words that would worry a king so. Speculations no doubt arose in every mind present, but none could know the truth, save those that had proven themselves worthy of the king’s trust. And, his place in this meeting explained, the general left as quickly as he had arrived, seeing to, as the king assured the gathered company, his duties.

Jon paused in his writing, his quill hesitating as his mind fled to something entirely unrelated to the proceedings, though something unsurprising for one his age, the beautiful maiden Feyla. Not forgotten were their plans to go out this night, for her to show him the town. It was a night he looked forward to and a thought that brought a beaming smile to his face, one he quickly dismissed as he recalled the matter at hand, his quill dipping into the ink once more as it resumed its scribbling, the actions and words of those around him recorded as quickly as he could scribe.

Alvyster, appearing somewhat taken aback by the lack of attention focused on his person, drew himself up once more, approaching the king’s lofty seat as his speech began anew. Somehow dripping with both honey and venom, his voice spoke of humility and gratitude when neither was present in his tone. A man did not stand before them, rather it was a spider, his every word a thread of webbing, carefully weaving the trap that would ensnare his victims. But he whispered of promises, as the spider must whisper to the fly, his offer that of magic, of the ways in which it could serve the Remusian people.

And in a moment the king placed the fate of his people on a precipice, balanced between innovation and tradition, one to be their savior and the other their doom, if only they knew which was which. The scale teetered toward innovation at the king’s words as they allowed what tradition had long prohibited, the open practice of magic in Remusiat.

Alvyster Churin

A slight sense of eagerness crossed his face as Alvyster watched the Remusian King cough. Was the King ill? And… where was his heir? There was, after all, a prince. The mage knew this, but where was he? Assuming they were all taking this meeting as seriously as they should be, Alvyster marked the Remusian leadership down on his internal list. Incompetence will inherit the throne, I see. The thought passed with subdued glee through his head. Yes, perhaps that would not be so horrible after all. True surprise formed at the King’s mention of a demonstration. From an apprentice? A mocking glance swept over Ohén, as Alvyster knew he would sooner demonstrate on the maelf than allow him to perform the uses of magic before this court.

Looking a bit harder at the female mage, Josephine. Beautiful as she was, her talent matched. Yes, if he was not to perform any demonstrations, she would have to. In fact, Alvyster was a bit surprised and confused that the King would immediately request a demonstration. Or at least suggest one later on. Weren’t these people supposed to be afraid of magic? The power and abilities mages had surely scared them, yet he openly asked for a manifestation of their skills right away. Suspiciously Alvyster eyed the King, watching the boy beside him scribbling away. A scribe? Knowing it would only be appropriate, the lean mage still watched with growing suspicion.

This wasn’t at all what he expected it to be, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the King was getting at. Why ask for anything without his heir present? Was he really sick? A flush of anxiety appeared on his face, and Alvyster thanked himself for keeping his beige hair long enough to cover his burning ears. Drawing himself up, billowy robes hiding his fragile frame, Alvyster Churin opened his mouth with only a hint of hesitation, ”Surely you’d rather ask questions before w---“ Stopping quickly, with birdlike speed the mage’s head twisted towards the newly opened door. Rude, incompetent, barbaric people!

Feyla

Taking in the room before her, a smile crossed Feyla’s youthful face. The dining hall was magnificent. A roaring fire on each end, the large stone table in between flickered and danced in the firelight. Long rows of chairs covered in animal hide lined each side of the table. The two ends, of course, reserved and adorned with lovelier chairs with higher backs. The place settings were beautifully crafted and only used for guests. Feyla had placed her portion of the settings carefully and precisely. With great love she set each chair straight, aligned with the table. Full lips cast a grin over the scene. If anything, the guests would definitely be impressed with the stature of their meal. Of course, accompanying the sight, the delicacies of the Remusian people would certainly blow them away.

Lastly, Feyla set and lit ornate, vast candles in various locations upon the table’s surface. A soft glow cast itself over and danced within each place setting. “Beautiful,” she whispered with a hint of awe in her voice. Then, with hesitation and embarrassment enveloping her, Feyla simply obeyed orders. Marching towards the assembly room, her plain eophran dress swishing about her legs, warmly shoed feet reached the door in a timely manner. Reaching up a hand to fix her dark eophran curls, Feyla stared hard at the entrance before her. To cross the threshold would be to interrupt a meeting of the King himself. And yet, Sir Allemedo told ordered her inform them of the banquet’s readiness. Indeed, the food was ready, and the grande table was set. Taking a breath, she opened the door with a façade of confidence.

Stepping into the hall, Feyla quickly shut the door behind her. Silently cursing, the young girl immediately knew she had interrupted. What was worse, she interrupted one of the guests. Trying to hide her crestfallen expression, the young maiden inclined her head as she moved her legs into a graceful curtsy, holding out the folds of her dress. Red hued cheeks lifted again to observe the room for only a moment. Full of men, the place seemed to vibrate with competitive notions and challenges. However, it was not necessarily hostile. Giving a small smile, the young maid opened her mouth and spoke smoothly and softly, “The banquet his ready, My Lord.” Grateful that the walls carried her voice, Feyla did not have to repeat herself.

Glimpsing the one woman in the room, a beautiful woman obviously a bit older than her, Feyla’s brown eyes widened further. Was she a mage? A woman who looked like that and could perform magic? Knowing it was none of her business; Feyla stole herself and backed out of the room into the large hallway again. Only as soon as the door closed again did a worried expression cross her face. She hadn’t seen Jon. Narrowing her eyes a little, Feyla thought to open the door again, searching her mind for excuses to do so. Knowing it was hardly appropriate, the maiden made her way slowly back towards the kitchen. Perhaps she was so flustered and preoccupied to have noticed him. Yes, that must be it.

Alvyster Churin

The small, rude youth announced dinner to be ready. Was this how they ran things around here? Alvyster wondered if it was appropriate for her to burst in as she did. However, her words and actions showed a great deal of respect, and the mage thought he’d allow it to pass this time around. More and more he was disappointed in the primitive way these Northerners acted. Nevertheless, he had heard wonderful things about their dishes. Staring after the young, and if he must admit, very beautiful woman his mouth began to water. A small stomach grumbled within him. Clearing his throat as others in the room stirred, silence fell again.

With a small smirk—Was that boy writing down their dinner announcement? Hah!—Alvyster continued, ”Perhaps it would not be unwise to have a discussion over dinner, and a demonstration at a later time or date?” Although it was a suggestion, the tall mage said it more with a hint of a challenge. Yes, he’d much rather get the formalities of conversation over with before risking his impalement in the event of a demonstration. Although he surely had control over his own will, others might not think so. Especially the uncivilized and uncultured people of Remusia. To first discuss the matter and allow others to know what may or may not take place would be wise.

Content in the fact that he was indeed much wiser than Araman, Alvyster jerked a little towards the door. He was exceedingly hungry, and a cold sweat broke out over his neck as he imagined the scribe writing his own personal opinions of those gathered here. Surely in the records Araman and his company would be glorified, and the Ximaxians made to look the fools. Maddened a little by the thought, Alvyster suppressed voicing anything else. To eat, and to discuss, is what the group needed most.

At last, the have entered the meeting room. Ohèn did not bother to look at the King at all, rather he stared at the floor. He wasn't used to this kind of meeting. He had never seen a king or have a king in his presence.

Before the greetings of the king, there were two interruptions. The first, came from a big man. His appearance made Ohèn's stomach turn. The Second came from a woman. She did not look like the people around here, though Ohèn can't be sure since the woman have covered her face.

Then, the elder greeted the king in return and introduced, himself and Ohèn. And to Ohèn's surprise, she also introduced the lady that just came in as one of them, a mage.

Ohèn saw the big man approcahing the king, he whispered something that seemed to bother the king. His warm face turned to icy cold.

'Something must have happened', Ohèn thought to himself.

The king announced the early leave of the big man. For some reason, Ohèn is relieved at the news, he felt uncomfortable with the person around. He felt danger and trouble.

At last, the meeting began. But first, the king asked for a demonstration. "I look forward to hearing your proposals, Master Churin. Perhaps, even a demonstration, from you or one of your apprentices, to give us an idea of what it is that magic can do for us? I'm sure it would be most helpful.."

Ohèn looked at the elder wizard but he recieved a mocking glance. He took three steps backwards, he felt so inferior now. 'Maybe the other lady should demonstrate' he thought to himself. But there was another knock on the door. The elder wizard seems to be uncomfortable with these interruptions.

A beautiful lady went inside and spoke about dinner. The elder wizard said in somewhat a mocking voice, ”Perhaps it would not be unwise to have a discussion over dinner, and a demonstration at a later time or date?”

Ohèn was a bit hungry as well. He agrees with the elder wizard but he only wishes that the food will be something else but fish.

Allemedo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Allemedo watched as the beautiful young Felya barged in just as he’d asked her. She was, of course, outrageously nervous, but the old adviser smiled thinly nonetheless. He was amused partially at the young maiden, but partially at his King who was annoyed. Occasionally the old man wanted his laughs before it was too late. As Feyla left the hall, the rest of the guests looked relaxed. Food. Food was always a good way to connect, gain trust and form interests in one another. Also, the King was grateful for the timing and as his thin arm was given a kindly squeeze Allemedo graciously accepted the thanks with a polite nod.

Now, standing and helping the King rise from his seat, Allemedo glanced first at Jon—still scribbling away—and was pleased. Sure, the mage Alvyster seemed less than polite towards most he came into contact with here, but it was not totally uncivil. Content with that for the moment, because the old adviser was really not in the mood to be shocked into submittance by the use of magic, he said loudly, ”Let us then make our way to the banquet hall and enjoy a meal of resplendence and refinery.” A smile crossed his pale face and Allemedo turned, Araman on his arm, to exit the hall first. He let his King walk half a step before him as they made their way down the large hall.

Watching as Feyla disappeared into the kitchen, King and adviser made their way into the banquet room. The stone table was elaborately set, the roaring fire giving off heat and the candles a warm, brilliant glow. It was homey, despite the hard, stone structures. Although Allemedo was actually unsure of the King’s feelings about it, he himself preferred the more intimate setting; no matter the guests. If anything could bring them on good terms with each other it was worth it. Seating the King at the head of the large table, he sat at his right hand as usual. Across the table from him would be Jon’s seat. On down the table would begin from importance and trickle down to aids and other guests within the Tower. Allemedo was not at all concerned about seating as he would only be in tune with those immediately surrounding himself. Gazing over the room, he watched the others file in.

Alvyster Churin

The lean mage stood and followed their little caravan down the large hall and into the banquet room. He hated to admit it still, but the structure and beauty mixed with the homeliness of the lighting and the meal stirred in him a like of the place. The Tower, different than a traditional palace he was used to, was impressive. As they all took their seats, Alvyster wondered why that serving girl was allowed to bustle about as if she were important. Perhaps she had some false sense of self-worth about her. Whatever it was, he watched her with narrowed green eyes until she was out of sight and took his seat at the large stone table.

He nodded politely toward the King and waited. He wasn't sure the protocol for eating here. Perhaps they all had to wait like servants until the King ate, or maybe they were so unrefined that they could dig in and eat their fill at any time. Regardless, he himself would show some refinery and sit still, long slender hands folded until given some sort of cue that he could, in fact, eat. Green eyes pierced all along the table, looking at each one more in turn. His mind wandered over the young boy scribbling away and wondered what it was he was doing. It occurred to the man that this, seemingly small as it was, was a huge step for Remusiat. This would be recorded into their history. Although he thought these people barbarian, he still puffed with pride at mention of his name in historical documents.

Well, he'd certainly have to make his mark, at any rate. "I humbly thank you for the opportunity to dine at your side, King Araman. Your hospitality is commendable." Alvyster started in an airy tone. Boy, he was going to get incredibly tired of all the complimenting and praise of this warrior-king. He looked at the food, wondering what exactly it was and certain that the King was right--it was not fancy at all. Clearing his throat a little, he said, "Would you mind telling me, " he waved his hand to indicate his aides, "Exactly what it is you'd like to be.. demonstrated. Magic is dynamic, it has many uses." He finished with the fact as if there were so many possibilities these Remusians could never understand. And really, Alvyster was sure they couldn't.

The Captain of the Guards didn't say much. In fact, he didn't say anything at all in the time it took to go from the one room to the other, and he was still silent when everyone had taken their seats and gotten their food. He didn't take anything for himself; he also didn't sit down, much like in the other room. He was on duty here, eating could always come later. He didn't need much food anyway, usually.

He placed himself advantageously, where he could observe everyone and keep an eye on the door at the same time, but where the guests wouldn't really see him. Well, they could see him if they wanted to, he wasn't hiding himself, but he had noticed a general tendency in most people that they paid no attention to those who did not draw it. With a conversation going on, most everyone would be concentrated on that, and not on him. It gave him a nice chance to observe them, these guests that could do magic. No matter what they said, or demonstrated, he did not think he could bring himself to trust them. He was not as completely set against magickers in general as some Remusians he could name, but his dislike of magic was too deeply ingrained in him to just set aside. They were doing fine the way they were, no?

Except now there was an orc army coming... And a large one, apparently. Graviaro had gone as soon as he'd brought the news, no doubt he was on the walls, organising defenses. He could wish he was there too, but this meeting was just as important, and the king had ordered him to be here. Still though, if these magicians could help just a little in stopping the flood of orcs that was coming, then he might come to trust them. Eventually. As the conversation flowed, Jorgan leaned back against the wall, keeping up the sharp attention he was paying to everything.

(http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa39/Grodyn/Araman2.jpg)

Servants bustled about, placing heaping plates of food on the table before each of them. Pinnip soup, wison roast, loaves of bread. It all smelled wonderful. Large wison horn cups were filled with wine and placed in holes specially carved for them on the table so that they would not fall over. Torches in sconces on the wall provided the flickering light that enabled them to dine in relative comfort. The cold stone that made up the walls were covered in a mix of wison hide and tapastries, some locally woven, and some imported. The stone floors echoed with the footfalls of those who traveled over it.

It was this atmosphere that Araman found himself in, while listening to a mage asking for him on what type of magic he wanted demonstrated. What were the ghosts of his forefathers thinking as they wandered the halls of this palace? Would they approve? No, probably not, he thought dryly, and with more than a little regret. Once he gave his request, once the mage performed his tricks, then Remusiat was changed forever.

He pursed his lips. What to ask for. "Something practical, I should think. If I am to convince my people that magic is not evil, in of itself, then I must show then that it can be a tool. My people appreciate tools."

He watched with interest as the younger mage stood and approached Jorgan. Araman smiled with anticipation to see how his young Orsah-Arrock would react. It would seem that the elder mage did not have complete control over his apprentices. Interesting.

Araman took a large cut of wison roast and began to chew, dipping his piece of bread in the juices on his plate. His nearly moaned with pleasure, as the meat nearly disolved in his mouth, so tender was it. It was his personal favorite, wison roast marinated in harump sauce.

(http://i220.photobucket.com/albums/dd88/JuditC/Jorgan-1.jpg)

Jorgan almost scowled. He succeeded pretty well in hiding that, even if he didn't quite manage a smile. What in Koroch's name was this pup talking about? Hadn't he heard the General's words? Of course their was danger looming! And not only from the approaching army, either. The different factions in the city were getting closer to friction all the time, and some time soon the boiling point would be reached. Of course, the half-elf couldn't know that. So he satisfied himself with answering: "I am merely making sure that no such danger as you mention reaches us. It is always good to have at least one person not partaking of good food and better wine, such as my king has kindly provided. I have no other trouble on my mind than that, and the news that my general brought. Please, sit and eat, and be assured that no danger will come to you."

He was about to step back to his advantagous position when Ohen said something more. Jorgan looked at the extended hand, then at the warm smile on the half-elf's face, and he thought that the suspicion he felt must be showing in his face - it was too big to be repressed immediately. He quickly tried to school his expression to something more neutral though. No need to make the guests angry, even if they were starting to do the same to him.

"While I appreciate that my King has asked for a demonstration, I would respectfully decline being the object of such a demonstration. I thank you for the offer, but I am not so troubled as you seem to think I am." Ok, except troubled by the interference, perhaps, but that was not something he could say without offending. He could only wish that Ohen had shown some more sense. If you wanted to gain a man's trust, the last thing you should do was offer to meddle with his mind. Jorgan liked his mind right where it was - inside his head, where nobody could touch it. He was not about to change that for someone who could not read him well enough that he mistook attentiveness for a troubled mind. He hoped that the guy would take his advice and sit down to eat some more, and let Jorgan go on with his job.

(http://i259.photobucket.com/albums/hh297/sbammi/Alvyster.jpg?t=1205819636)

Alvyster listened politely to the King. Something practical. Yes, he supposed knowing the uses of even this tool would be handy. Pleased that the King was at least somewhat knowledgeable and easy to speak with, Alvyster dug into the meat provided before him. He hate to admit it, but it was delicious. He enjoyed quite a few bites before gulping more wine than he should have and giving a half hearted smile to a man of the party across from him. His gaze moved then to the King once more to answer, but Araman's gaze was locked elsewhere. He followed it, and his body tensed at what he saw.

Ohen. That fool of a half-elf had approached one of the guards--Jorgan, his name was. At the look on the Remusians' face, Alvyster could only guess he had done something stupid. He did not hear the exchange, but watched as Ohen returned to his seat, head bowed. Anger boiled inside the mage. Why in the wastes would that stupid man confront one of the Remusians? And no doubt offering some stupid promise of comfort or solice in these cold times. Narrowing green eyes, Alvyster pierced Ohen with a fierce look. Oh, if only his "practical" demonstration could include reprimand.... his fingers twitched as his mind lingered on the thought. A competent aide would have been much welcomed.

Regardless, he looked away, and cleared his throat. He said loudly, "I apologize for the actions of my aide. He is still learning, and I'll be the first to note that he's doing so at a rate of extreme slowness." A fiery gaze locked on the King. Oh no, magic wasn't completely evil, but at times he wanted to show the worst of his fiery powers. Clenching a fist beneath the stone table, Alvyster gazed past the King to the blazing hearth. It would be so easy. Relaxing, he continued. "Perhaps a practical show of lighting a hearth, then? Or could I interest you in dousing one; the power of my aid could do such a thing. I could call on another, in turn, to stir the winds.." He spoke as if reminiscing on a fond memory, turning it over carefully in his mind. A wave of his hand and he could reheat the slab of meat slowly growing colder on the table. In turn, he could asked Josephine to coat each wine glass in a thin frost. He shuddered. This northern city did not need any more ice.

(http://i259.photobucket.com/albums/hh297/sbammi/Alvyster.jpg?t=1205819636)

Alvyster listened to the King, and a fire seemed to alight in his eyes as the current fire was doused. He immediately stood, but hesitation followed. It was unlike the arrogant mage to pause in thought before his actions, but on this occasion it was warranted. Is this a trick? he thought skeptically, wondering that if it was so, he should let the hapless aide humiliate himself. Green eyes flashed about the hard Remusian faces circling the table, and the sure, calm face of Araman. He had given the sign to proceed, and the mages’ robes billowed about his thin frame as he took a few steps towards the fire.

A small smile spread on his thin lips, then. He enjoyed his power very much, and he changed directions. Taking long strides away from the fireplace, Alvyster distanced himself from it. As he did so, he blew out each candle upon the stone table. Why not make this interesting? Arrogant and sure of himself, the man reached the end of the hall and about faced to gaze back towards the King.

To manipulate his Cár’áll and ignite the candles as well as the fire was an easy take. It would take little energy on his behalf, that was sure. In Ximax, Alvyster at learned to rise a flame at a young age. It was over time and with practice he learned from a greater distance, but even these few Peds would be nothing to him. A broader grin, revealing white teeth, gleamed as his Yealm hair framed his long face. Looking rather sinister, the mage stood easily at rest, and focused himself upon the wicks of each candle in turn, voicing the formula “Kái Fér Dál“ and in turn each wick ignited—as it was already flammable, nothing had to be applied first (including immense amounts of energy).

Alvyster did not look upon the faces of those in the room. Instead, he focused lastly on the fire at the end of the hall, saying the formula more loudly and clearly, but without even the slightest motion other than his lips. The hearth rose to life, emanating heat and sparking flames just as it has previously. Conjunctive logs caught and the crackling that once filled the hall began again. As if nothing had passed, Alvyster strode leisurely back to his seat and nodded at the King. Sitting, the mage asked, ”Is there any further proof you’ll need?”

Josephine had only marginally paid attention to the proceedings of the night, still having felt exhausted from the long voyage at sea. She figured that Alvyster, in his typical exceedingly arrogant manner, was an embarrassment to them and would certainly spell a negative image on Ximax and magic before the night was done. The other aide, the elf-thing, wasn't a particularly better example either. She figured she could do a better job than the two of them, but didn't have much of a desire to mention the idea to Alvyster, as she would surely incur his wrath for daring to insinuate that his "diplomatic skills" were in any way lacking.

She rolled her sleeves a bit as she mildly prodded at the food from the banquet, having already eaten her fill but definitely not finished the plate. Running a hand through her hair--having lowered her hood some time ago--she looked up and around at the various guests, though making sure to avoid any possible return gazes that went her way. Not that she had any reason to fear that, most of the guests were strictly focused on Alvyster, as he set about on a light-the-fire show. She figured he was clearly enjoying himself. Yes, you can light a fire. I'm sure everyone is so proud of you. She rolled her eyes. This whole thing was a farce. They'd awe a couple of people, scare most others, then told that Remusiat didn't want magi and sent back on their way--a complete waste of months and months of travel.

She leaned back in her chair and rested her hands in her lap for a moment before folding them over her chest. She looked up towards the ceiling, then around at the room again. She just wanted the show to be over, so they could all go to their rooms, and she could try and catch up on some badly needed sleep. She rubbed her eyes tiredly and suppressed a yawn.

His gaze rose from the parchment before him the moment the doors opened, immediately taken by the sight before him. The king, his advisor, and these mages could have their memorable moment that would forever grace the pages of history, his heart was more set on the beauty of this world. At the moment it was the beauty of soft brown eyes and silken tresses that enthralled him. He barely knew her, and yet, his heart beat all the quicker whenever she was near, and his moments were spent anticipating the next time they would meet.

His quill dipped into the ink and graced the parchment once more just long enough to scribble down her dinner announcement before he tucked them both away and followed the diplomats and mages from the assembly chambers. If he were more concerned with his duties, then his eyes might have been taking note of his surroundings, to be recorded once their seats in the banquet hall were obtained. Alas, his mind was yet overcome by the fervor of youth as his gaze focused on the swirling skirts of that beautiful brunette, Feyla. Finally he snapped out of it the moment she disappeared into the kitchen.

It was an honor to be seated across from the king’s advisor himself, as a lowly scribe Jon was surely unworthy of the honor. Nevertheless, he would do his best to be hospitable and not disgrace his hosts. He only hoped that no one would take offense at the way he barely touched his food. It was not that he found the meal before him unappetizing, far from it, it was just that his hunger had already been sated from the private dinner with Feyla. A smile graced his lips at that memory, and he bent his head lower, picking at the meat on his plate, to hide it. His quill dipped into the ink once more in that moment, and, almost absentmindedly, he wrote.

By firelight and candlelight, the great hall was illuminated, the table set with the most magnificent of meals, suitable for a king and his party. At the head of the table sat none other than the king himself, regal as ever, the very strength and wisdom of the Remusian people clear in every line of his face. His advisor and the delegates from Ximax filled the table, each setting into their meals, some with more gusto than others. For one not born of these cold, hard people, it was a foreign meal, one made from those strange blue beasts that roam the tundra.

Dinner was not to be entirely uneventful. Almost seeming as a pup desperately trying to impress his sire, the apprentice mage rose and approached the soldier Jorgan, the hard planes of his face making it clear how unwelcome the advance was. Away from the table, their dialogue did not wholly reach those seated, but the result was clear as the apprentice slunk back to the table, his tail between his legs. Even more noticeable was the glare of the elder mage, a look fit to set flesh aflame.

The conversation at the table was by far the one of greater import as the king and this elder mage discussed the manner in which this history changing example of magic was to take place. His understanding of his people was shown yet again as the King Araman called for an example of magic as a tool, a usefulness his people would respect. There could be no surprise at the manner of tool offered for which magic could serve as, the greatest tool of these men of the icy north, fire. It was agreed upon then, the hearth was to be killed and then relit by magic alone, a feat that would shake the proverbial earth beneath these Remusians’ feet.

His head rose as he became aware that the king was addressing him. With reverence and respect, Jon hailed his words, nodding in agreement, his lips parted as he spoke in barely more than a whisper. “The food is excellent, but I fear I had my fill earlier with Feyla. And my quill knows only the biases of the hand that wields it. I have to admit, my writing casts this evening in your favor.”

His quill dipped into the ink once more before falling to the parchment before him. Alvyster, this elder mage upon which the future of the relations between Ximax and Remusiat rested, rose to his feet. Hesitation seemed to grip him as he stood there, perhaps gripped with some doubt as to the extent of his very power. Feet moving as a decision was reached in his mind, he made his way to the far end of the hall, away from the hearth, blowing out each candle as he went. It was clear to those gathered; he needed this display to convey as much of his power as it possibly could, to intimidate with something as simple as fire.

Flames rose to greet the very words falling from the mage’s lips, first along the wicks of the candles and then finally among the logs of the hearth itself. It was a good trick, this lighting of embers with only words, but only time would tell if it would be enough to impress the king and his people. For such a practical people, it seemed unlikely that this display would warrant even a moment of their attention, this trick that could as easily be accomplished with striking stones.

Josephine frowned and shifted a bit in her seat as Alvyster looked over at her and indicated that he wanted her to show a display. As much as she knew that she could, being the center of attention in this matter wasn't exactly what she wanted. Looking around the hall, knowing that for every second she did nothing she'd look like a fool, she pushed her chair back and stood. Her mind raced to come up with something that would be both practical while still... inspiring. As much as Alvyster's show might have been simple, Fire had a bit more practical use for people in a frozen environment than her own Water and Ice spells.

She took a deep breath, and then held her hands in front of her as she concentrated, pushing out the thoughts of the rest of the people in the room and focusing completely on the traces of Water ounía in the environment. She looked down at her plate of unfinished food, then focused on ounía within the plate. The plate began to glisten with moisture as the Water became more apparent, before freezing completely. She concentrated on the frozen particles and lifted them into the air--the plate and food being carried along with it. Looking around the room, she knew that this display was certainly not worthwhile yet, so she looked back at the plate and focused this time on increasing the influence of the Water ounía, while letting the properties of ice fade. Again moisture briefly took hold of the plate, but this time it went a step further, and, almost as if melting despite no heat being applied to it, the plate began to liquidize, and within a few moments it and the food on top of it became unrecognizable as such, instead becoming a floating ball of rippling water. Though it perhaps looked drinkable, she wasn't able to create water from thin air yet and the plate would return to its original shape if she broke concentration.

Josephine took another step back from the table as she began to do the same to the chair behind her, turning it to water. She rose her arms to the air, centralizing the separate globes of liquid into a single, large sphere. Then, looking around her, she located the doors to the hall, and threw her arms forwards towards it. The liquid, moving in a long stream rather than all at once as she struggled to manipulate such large amount of ounía at once, converged on the door, piling up around the floor but reaching upwards to wrap around the door's handle and locks. She pulled Water ounía out of the air to help add more to the glob, then, with a wave of her hand, the spectacle froze completely--turning into a frozen barrier, blocking and supporting the door's frames, and completely jamming the locks. Anyone that tried to come through would have a pretty difficult time of it without some kind of battering ram--something she figured these military-oriented people would enjoy.

Letting out a tired breath as she pressed her hands onto the table and leaned down on them, she said, "And yes, I can change them back." Indeed they would naturally change back, though for now she kept a light focus on it to keep them in their shape, enough for the hall to think about what they were seeing before she released it.

(http://i220.photobucket.com/albums/dd88/JuditC/Jorgan-1.jpg)

He felt... uncomfortable. The more this whole magic deal was shown, the more uncomfortable he grew. He wasn't there to approve or disapprove though, he was just there to keep guard. He was a soldier - he did what he was told, no questions asked. Except this one that was running through his head right now: was this really necessary? Progression or no progression, it was going to take a lot more than a few candles extinguished and relit to get the Remusians to accept this. He liked to think of himself as fairly openminded, but this whole situation was very rapidly approaching his boundaries. And he didn't know what was going to happen when those boundaries were crossed.

When the beautiful woman was called upon to do her little show, a whole army started slashing at his boundaries, eager to tear them completely down and make him lose himself. His nerves went all tingly and the hair in the back of his neck stood on end. It was not the fact that this was a woman doing those things - although admittedly, that might have something to do with it, since he liked to think of women as soft beings who needed his strength to protect them - but no, the thing that made his stomach constrict in such a way that he thought he was going to be sick, was what she was *doing* with that magic. He was imagining that it were his intestines, or maybe his brains, that were being turned into water and smashed against a door where they were solidified into ice. He didn't even know if that was possible, but if she could do that with a plate of food... and a chair, in Korochs name!... then who was to say she couldn't do that to a person? He felt himself turn very pale, and hoped that nobody was paying attention to him.

Then he realised that what everyone would be looking at was the woman, and her demonstration. They wouldn't pay attention to him. Surreptitiously, making sure that nobody was watching him, he wiped his suddenly clammy hands on his pants. Why did they need him anyway? If he was here to watch their safety... these mages were well capable of watching out for themselves, and everyone else in the room for that matter. He looked at his King and shook his head, though he was pretty sure that Araman wasn't looking at him. This wouldn't work. The people, the Remusians, they'd never allow this. Let her show this in public, say on the square, and they'd have her bound and on a nice little bonfire before you could say Koroch. He could make magic legal as much as he wanted, the people wouldn't care. Show them magic the way it had been shown here, and all the legal documents in the world wouldn't help the woman, or the man, who exercised that power. He wished he could tell this to the king right now. It would *never* work.

Allemeddo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock

Allemeddo watched with a patient expression. Ultimately, as much as he disagreed that this was for the good of the realm, he would do what his king wanted. When the arrogant—and Allemeddo knew arrogance when he saw it—mage stood and performed his tricks with fire, brown eyes widened slightly but not too noticeably. It would not be right to show any sort of surprise or judgment. His gaze shifted towards Jon Smith, scribbling away, recording each person’s move. It would only be right for the king’s advisor to be recorded as calm, regal and collected. Even without being watched the aging man would have deemed it so.

His gnarled hands rested lightly on each side of his plate. Only a few delicious bites had been taken, but it was almost all he could bear in his old age. He thought of the youth of Jon and some of the delegation as they ate heartily, but not longingly. Content in the passage of his time in this world, Allemeddo simply enjoyed observing.

As the young woman performed her skill, using the strength of their very own climate, the advisor could not contain his wonder. His eyes glued not on the acts she was performing, but the look on the woman’s face. She was using the full potential of her energy, and despite his preconceived notions, Allemeddo saw the wear on her when she leaned against the table at the finish. The expression on his face was worried as he thought more about the person behind the magic, and the toll it would take on them, rather than the outcome of the performance.

It was not until Araman jumped to, making his way towards the solidified wall of ice that Allemeddo saw the extent to which she’d gone to show her skill. Masterfully done, it was, and impressive. That, coupled with the gift of fire, would be simple yet useful and deadly enough to aid them in ways they never dreamed. He certainly hadn’t dreamed anything like this in all his days—nor did he see his own need for it.

Suddenly, he saw the shift in his king’s expression and posture. Before thinking, the advisor was on his feet, but Araman made his way back to his seat. ”This is enough for one night, my King. You need rest and sustenance.” He said it firmly, not as an order, but as advice from a long-time friend. This was something he needed to mull over in his mind; to move past astonishment and think rationally for a while without the burden of pain.

(http://i259.photobucket.com/albums/hh297/sbammi/Alvyster.jpg?t=1205819636)

The fire mage had to admit what the woman had done was much more over the top than he’d planned. Nevertheless a fire of sorts lit in his eyes as he watched the response of the Remusian King to her display. Allowing a dent in his dignity for a brief moment, as all eyes were on the King, he caught the eye of the woman Josephine and gave her a crooked smile and a nod of approval. It was good knowing there’d been talent upon the ship with him here.

It was unfortunate that her skill would prove more useful than his own in this wasteland, but good enough that those around seemed to be impressed. As the King’s advisor suggested they withdraw for the night, Alvyster called to her, ”Release the door of your hold, let them exit and think on what you have shown them.” He gazed idly over the other aide as well, wondering if he should have his chance at a little show. The thought occurred to him to allow it, but it looked as if there wasn’t enough time in this meeting. With that scribe scribbling away and the King’s health somewhat in question, Alvyster thought the meal would abruptly end now.

As this seemed to be the case, he spoke up for the last time, ”King Araman, I again thank you for your hospitality. I hope you trust we’ve come to show you ways that magic will enhance your city. I am dearly sorry you have gone so long without it… “ he did not have to feign his sorrow, although it was more of a cruel smugness that caused the wiry man to feel pity on these secluded people. ”Not only will it prove a useful tool for you, but it will connect you with other parts of the world. You are a secluded people.” It was a fact.

Looking towards the door, he wondered what he might do when the meeting was released. He had no reason to return to the ship at this time, and the news the army general dropped on the King seemed to be grave. A gleam accumulated in his eyes as he thought he might investigate this threat to the city and the people of Remusiat, whatever it was.

(http://i259.photobucket.com/albums/hh297/sbammi/Timeras.jpg?t=1205819676)
Timeras
((Outside))

Timeras snorted a little at the man’s actions. Was his verbosity a way of showing he respected royalty? Either way, the young prince now regretting informing him of his position in Remusiat. Although he was a foreigner, would he not want this Benedict character to be equally as friendly and kind to him as any of his people were? And should he not treat him the same way? Sighing, Timeras placed a hand on the older man’s arm and his mouth upturned slightly. “Not a problem, we’ll fetch you a steed as worth as your Justice from my very own stables.” Glancing at Ruil, he jerked his head towards the door, passing a new entrée on the way. He slowed, watching the elf as she let her hair fall and pulled off the black garment she wore. Timeras was always one to welcome newcomers to his city, especially the ones who caught his eye as she did not, but he could not pause now.

A few long-legged strides and the three were at the threshold, but before pulling it open, he added “And please, if you will, call be by my name. Surely I am not your Prince.” Forcing his feet to move, they ventured out into the snow. Taking hold of Junari’s reigns, the young man beckoned his swords to follow, and started towards the Tower. What would his father be doing now? Surely, with the battle already started, he would be preparing to enter it himself. He would, although much too old, have to prove himself to his city one last time at the very least..

Brooding a little now, Timeras led his horse and the two other men southward, feet crunching in the snow and the tall Tower of the King approaching quickly. Not many citizens gathered in the streets, most would be at the wall or holed in their homes; frightened and depending on Remusiat’s finest to protect them. Smugly he thought it would not be so much the men, but their fine engineering that would save them against any certain threat. The thickness and vastness of their walls was their greatest ally. Not only that, but their climate could not house an outside army for too long. Lack of food and any useful supply on the wastes would kill them off eventually… wouldn’t it?

Rubbing the back of his neck with a gloved hand, the three reached the stables. The Tower loomed overhead, within its shadow and coupled with the night air, the chill was harsher here. It wove its way through his fabric and wound itself under his skin. The prince swiftly chose a horse, a large nor’sidion steed, and asked a boy to lead it from the stables while he entered the Tower to don his armor. As a servant armed him, Timeras let his mind wander. He wasn’t in the mood to don it himself, nor to have a friend aid him. The impersonal touch of a servant was enough; he only allowed himself mumbles of thanks and various adjustments. The movements of his body were mechanical, but his thoughts seemed outrageous.

Instead of focus on his people, his city, on a blasted war, the prince rubbed at the stubble on his face, dwelled on the absence of the other two Mallisters; was more in tune with the urgent rumbling of his stomach. A cold sweat dripped down the small of his back and the weight of full armor burdened him much less than the myriad of thoughts. I am a politician… a man of my people. I have no place here.

Sadly the man returned to his friends, waiting outside the Tower. ”Sir Bennett,” He asked quietly, although now was not the time or place for conversation, ”Have you been to war before?”

(http://i259.photobucket.com/albums/hh297/sbammi/Timeras.jpg?t=1205819676)

Prince Timeras had a wild eyed look in his face, as if he had seen something that came out of nightmares in your sleep as he rode his horse into the palace stables. A young page rushed out to help Timeras down and to take care of the Prince's mount. The page noticed huge rents in the prince's armour and his shield was missing. Timera's horse's armour also showed signs of battle and looked as weary as its owner as it plodded into the stables and then stopped.

Timeras slid off his horse, landing heavily on his feet, absent-mindedly handing the reigns to the page boy. He patted his horse on its flank, and then hugged his neck; a small wet spot was left behind when the prince finally lifted his head. "Take good care of him," Timeras said, "The best oats and grain we have. He saved my life today." One last hug and then the prince trudged into the palace.

So many? Hundreds, thousands? They come at you and come at you; climbing over their dead as if they were so many pieces of meat. His friends, the Mallisters, who had come to see him. Who had come for some sport...missing. Lost in battle. Finally the hordes were pushed back, thankfully they did not breech the Western Gate. They retreated.

His father must surely know! This council of the southerners, these so called sorcerer's, will have to wait!

Timeras's anger rose each step he took toward the council chambers. The guards guarding the door stared at the prince but quickly stepped aside as Timeras grasped ahold of the handles and threw the doors opened, each one slamming into their respective walls. The chamber was empty!

He whirrled around, "Where is everyone?" He asked.

"They had retired for the day, prince. Your father is quite ill," a familiar voice said from the far wall of the chamber.

Timeras turned and there stood his father's trusted advisor and friend; Allemeddo.

All of the rage that Timeras had drained out of him. Allemeddo slowly walked toward him, his hands hidden in his robe. Timeras met him half-way. "How is he, Allemeddo?" Timeras asked concerned.

"Not well I am afraid. Come. He had hoped to speak with you when you returned.

(http://i259.photobucket.com/albums/hh297/sbammi/Timeras.jpg?t=1205819676)

Timeras followed Allmeddo to his father's bed chamber. The hallway was awfully quiet. Timeras saw one servant rushing down an adjoining hallway and then disappearing behind a door. "Allmeddo, where are the southerners?" He asked.

"Once your father became ill, most left. I think there may be one or two still in the palace. I expect they became stranded here once the war started," Allmeddo replied.

"Allmeddo, were...were they real magicians? I...I guess what I am asking is did they do what they claimed they could do or were they just charltans?"

"I saw one turn his palm up and fire danced upon it and then I saw a young lady turn the chamber doors to solid ice. Nothing, not even an axe would have broken through. So to answer your question, yes I believe they were true magicans."

Timeras became silent as he thought of how these magican's could help in the war with the orcs. But if most have them left, then what good are they? Unless he could find in the palace the one or two still here. Then perhaps...

His thoughts were interrupted when they came to his father's bed chamber doors. Guards were on either side of it and saluted Timeras as Allmeddo, gently knocked and then opened the door. He waited for Timeras to enter and then followed, closing the door behind them.

Timeras saw his father lying in his bed. His face was sallow, with a yellow tinge to the skin. His eyes were closed, but they fluttered open when Timeras sat on a chair next to his father's head and whispered, "Father, I am here."

(http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa39/Grodyn/FD%20Avatars/Araman2.jpg)

Araman opened his eyes. He had awaken in great pain again this morning, so much so that after his morning passing of water, he had passed out and fallen to the floor. One of the servants had found him and had him put back in his bed. It was simply humiliating. It was one thing for Allemeddo to know his current state of health, but it was quite someting else for other members of the palace staff.

If this were out on the wastes, he would have the dignity of being allowed to wander out alone into the ice, death coming to him as a real Remusian. But, that was not to be his fate. No, his was to suffer here, slowly wasting away, rotting on the inside. His son, looking at him now with pity, was not yet ready to be king. That was obvious in the weakness in that gaze. To be king, you could not afford the luxury of having too much compassion.

With that, Araman pulled himself up into a sitting position, swinging his legs out over the side of the bed. Inside, his body screamed at the pain, and he could feel beads of sweat forming on his brow, but his face remained rigid. No, they would not see the depth of this malady. "What news of the war?" He stepped from the bed, and for a brief moment, he faltered, as if he might again faint. "I need you to be my eyes and ears. I would go myself, but these negotiations with the wizards is much too important."

He dropped the night gown that he wore, and stood nude, trying to decide which robes he wished to wear today. "As well, the nobles..." his voice trailed off. The nobles. How he wished that with everything else going on, he did not have to deal with them. "Arnevahr and the other nobles will be here shortly to, no doubt, become yet another pain in my side. I tell you, my son, I would rather face the orcs on the wall than the greedy politics of the nobles." The word "noble" was spat out of his mouth, that showed he thought they were anything except what the word meant. He picked the dhura blue robe. It projected the complete authority of the throne, exactly what he was looking for. He held the garment out for Timeras to take. "Help me with this."

"Now, I ask again, what news of the war?"

(http://i259.photobucket.com/albums/hh297/sbammi/Timeras.jpg?t=1205819676)

Timeras pulled himself away from his father as he swung himself out of his bed. "What news of the war?" His father demanded.

Timeras could not believe his ears! His anger grew. He saw his father falter as he tried to step away from his bed. Timeras stood there and watched; anger and disbelief mirroring his face and eyes.

His father continued, "I need you to be my eyes and ears. I would go myself, but these negotiations with the wizards is much too important."

Again Timeras could not believe his ears. Wizards! Negotations! Has he gone mad!

"As well, the nobles..." his voice trailed off. "Arnevahr and the other nobles will be here shortly to, no doubt, become yet another pain in my side. I tell you, my son, I would rather face the orcs on the wall than the greedy politics of the nobles," as his father spat out the word, standing nude in front of Timeras who looked anywhere else except at the old man until he heard his father order. "Help me with this."

His father was holding out a dhura blue robe.

"Now, I ask again, what news of the war?"

"What of the war, father? Timeras roared, his anger reaching the boiling point. He picked up the chair he had been sitting on, heaved it against the far wall, shattering it into so many pieces of firewood. "Have your eyes gone as well as your insides? Look! I have rents in my armor by orcish blades! Their blood and mine mingled on my arms and legs! My friends, brothers, are missing! Who knows where they are? Dead perhaps. Their heads hanging around some orc's neck! You speak of negotations with the wizards. Most of them have fled, the unlucky ones are hiding in the palace like a bunch of scared pack dogs!"

Timeras strode to the window and pushed it open. "You speak of being on the wall facing orc's than the nobles. Well take a look for yourself! Never mind, you would probably fall after two steps if it were not for Allmeddo holding your hand like a child," Timeras said as he slammed the window shut again, and swiveled around facing his father.

"The Western Gate held. How I do not know. They came at us first with volleys and volleys of arrows and then they rushed the walls with ladders. Our soldiers cut them down by the dozens, and yet they still came!

Timeras paced the floor. "How is the war going father? Ask the orc's! They fight not amongst themselves, but like a real army. They fight with tactics and a purpose! How do they know of such things? Who is commanding such an army?"

Timeras suddenly stopped, swivled around and faced his father who was still holding onto his robe. "What news of the war father! Do you know that they have built a trebuchet and using Ogre's to power them are pounding the harbour!" Timeras spat, "You speak of wanting to be out on the wall. You cannot even go to the toilet without screaming in pain! Or take a few steps without faltering and looking as if you are going to faint. Damn your pride, father! And put your own damn robe on!"

Timeras stormed out of his father's chambers.

Timeras stomped through the palace to cool off and then headed for his room. He opened his door, closed it behind him, took off his armor, glanced at the huge rent in it. If it were not for his shield He would be daad for certain. His shield, ripped from his arm by a tree trunk sized one armed orc carrying a spiked club that devasted anything and anyone he came across.

How the orc had climbed a ladder with only one arm only Timeras could guess, but suddenly there he was screaming something in its own language Timeras guessed, to Timeras it sounded like someone vomiting and talking at the same time. The sight of the brute shocked Timeras so that he did not move when the orc took the first swing.

It was like time had slowed down to just blinks. He saw the club heading for his head and he tried to raise his shield to protect it, but the shield seemed so heavy and he could not raise it faster than the club was coming down and then he heard a scream "I will save you Prince!" and he was pushed aside colliding against the castle wall.

Time quickly came back. Timeras saw a young soldier stand in his stead and get literally chopped up by the orc's club. The orc turned on him, but this time Timeras was ready. The club came down, Timeras raised his shield to ward of the blow and prepared to swipe at the orc's legs with his own sword, when the blow from the club stunned him and numbed his shield arm. The orc pulled his club back ripping and tearing the handles of the shield that were wrapped around his arm right off. His arm numb and bleeding hung useless at his side. Timeras stunned by such strength stood there. The orc was enraged as it tried to scrape Timeras's shield off of its club.

Suddenly several more soldiers jumped into the fray and began fighting the orc, who just bashed at them with his club and Timeras's shield still attached. One of the soldier's swords cut into the orc's thigh, the orc roared and hit him with the sheild sending the brother over the edge. Timeras heard the other one scream out the soldier's name and then attacked the orc with such a rage and flurry of blows that it seemed to Timeras that the other soldier was going to kill the orc, when suddenly after dodging a blow the orc's club scraped against the castle wall, ripped Timeras's shield off of the orc's club and the orc swung bashing down upon the unfortunate soldier.

Timeras joined in the fray and he and the soldier fought side by side slowly cutting and whittling the orc down, but the damage the orc was doing to both Timeras and the brother and even the walls themselves was enormous. With one last push they attacked the orc hard, the orc fought like he was rabbid and a small part of his club caught the soldier shield and sent him flying against the wall. Timeras heard the man's head crack against the wall like an egg against an iron pan.

Timeras realized that his time was up as he faced the orc who was bleeding heavily from his legs and left side. The orc was breathing heavily and stood there facing Timeras. Timeras could feel the blow coming even before it came. He raised his sword to ward of the blow knowing that his sword hand was growing numb itself and probably would not help protect him. Many a thought runs through your mind when you are about to die, thought Timeras; his relationship with his father was foremost and then his friends....

Suddenly he heard his name being called and several soldiers came to his rescue from his side and from the back of the orc. The orc snarled as he swung his big club around in a huge arc and then he threw his club over the wall, jumped over it as well, his hand grabbing onto the side rail of a ladder and he slid down the ladder, breaking it as he went. Timeras rushed to the side of the wall, and saw the orc wade through his dead kin until he found his club and then trudged off the battlefield. Shortly after that there was the sound of a deer horn and the orcs left the battlefield.

Timeras took off the rest of his clothes and sunk into a hot tub of water. His wounds stung some, but the water was so relaxing that he soon forgot them. He closed his eyes wondering what happened to the brothers and then why was his and his father's relationship so...carosive. Slowly his eyelids closed and he fell asleep.

(http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa39/Grodyn/FD%20Avatars/Araman2.jpg)

King Araman heard Timeras stomp angrily from the room, and a small smirk graced his lips. The cloak he held out for his son was then taken from his hand, as Allemeddo draped it over his shoulders. Araman placed his arms into the sleeves and turned to face his adviser, looking into the old man's eyes. The smirk left his face and a scowl replaced it. Without saying a word, Allemeddo knew how to convey his feelings toward the king, and this sometimes vexed Araman. Today was just such a time. "Oh, I know what you are thinking, Allemeddo! You are thinking I'm too hard on the boy." Araman snorted. "The boy needs it. He is going to need to be able to rule when I'm gone, and that day is coming sooner than I would like, if only for that reason. Otherwise, Kor'och knows I would rather be on my way to the next life!"

Araman sat on the edge of the bed and lifted his feet, while Allemeddo gingerly placed slippers onto his gnarled toes. "And do not try and tell me I have years left. We both know that would be a lie." When the slippers were on, Araman stood, placing some of his weight onto his adviser's shoulders. "And it matter's little whether it be today, or next month, or next year, Timeras still has growing to do. He has too much of his mother in him. He is smart, do not get me wrong, my friend. My son is very smart. But he lets his emotions rule him. I blame that on those friends he keeps; the Mallisters. But, no matter. He dreams. He dreams of glory. He dreams of battle." He twirled about to face Allemeddo squarely. "I tell you he needs to quit dreaming and learn to be the leader he is to become. If not, this country will never move forward. You mark my words!" His shook a finger at the old man.

He crossed the floor to the doorway, then stopped with an audible sigh. He turned around and smiled weakly at his close friend. "You are thinking I was much the same way at his age, aren't you my friend?" He nodded, and even allowed himself the luxury of a chuckle. "Yes, I suppose I was. And I turned out fine. So you are thinking that Timeras will come into his own all in time and that I should not press the boy too sternly." Araman pursed his lips. "Perhaps you are right, my friend. I will do my best to try and be a bit more understanding towards him in the future." He clasped Allemeddo by the shoulder in a warm showing of affection. "Thank you, Allemeddo. Now, let us go greet our visitors."

Allemeddo watched his king leave the room and a smile came to face while his eyes twinkled. Sometimes, being Araman's adviser was best served by not saying a word. He followed the king from the room.

Timeras lay upon his bed looking up at the ceiling. After his bath he tried to get some sleep but each time he closed his eyes the images of the battle came back, especially the image of the one armed orc who almost took Timeras's life if it were not for one of the brothers and another soldier whose name he did not even know.

I should know. I should know the names of my people. I should know how they live. I should know how they died, especially those who died defending my kingdom. I have been playing a rich man's game. I have been sheltered inside these walls and even when outside the castle I was sheltered by my position and friends, Timeras thought.

Father tried to tell me. Tried to teach me, but I would not listen. I was too busy playing Prince with the Mallister's at my side. The wine. The women. The fun we had. Now there is nothing but death outside these walls. His friends, the Mallister brothers, either are dead, wounded, or at the very least missing. I should be looking for them instead of lying here.

Timeras rose and dressed quickly. He looked at his armour, the chest plate with the huge rent in it and blood splatter on it. He could easily throw it away and wear brand new armour, but he decided he would wear this one. It was like a badge of honor. He was no more a coddled child but had seen and been involved in battle. Something he had hoped his father would have noticed, but he did not.

The last piece, his sword he shoved into its sheath by his side and strode out of his room.

OOC continue post at western gate.

Poised elegantly upon the foot of the king’s bed, a royally clad figure waited serenely for the Lord of Remusia’s return. Smoothing a fold from the boldly colored silks of his garments, the beautiful elf directed his sightless emerald gaze at the closed doors in front of him. As he fingered the runic carvings on his walking staff, the mage allowed his mind to wander within the perfectly carved marble-esque confines of his frail form.

Sneaking into the king’s bed chamber had been insultingly easy; little more than child’s play. In their fear and hatred of magic, the innocent barbarians had proved themselves far more susceptible to its powers. Floating majestically though the great hallways of the Tower of Drapt’na’at, feet dancing gracefully in tune with the rhythmic song created as his staff struck the stone floors, the mage causally bent the earth ounia within the minds of the guards stationed periodically throughout the hallways. Maintaining a weak focus on the spell as he waltzed past the unsuspecting guards who had been temporarily robbed of their senses and into the king’s bed chamber, a slightly crazed laugh, sounding almost of the splash of crystal clear water, escaped from the feeble form of the man.

Securing the grand double doors closed, the mage exhaled a gentle breath, releasing the barbarians from his hold as he relaxed his focus. Taking a seat upon the massive bed in the center of the room, the mage focused inward once more, this time targeting his own car’all. Slowly manipulating the Earth within his body, the mage increased its influence over his figure, allowing its power and strength to seep into his frail form. Cutting the spell off, he maintained a light focus as he sat in silence upon the bed, an imposing, yet captivating statue of the purest marble.

Noise from outside the door caught the mage’s straining ears, snapping him out of his swirling reveries. Preparing his focus once again, the elf stood gracefully as he slowly streamed earth ounia from a small rock within the pouch upon his hip and readied to project it into the minds of the king and whatever aides would accompany him through the door.

(http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa39/Grodyn/FD%20Avatars/Jahzhur.jpg)

Jorgan stood on the large balcony off the throne room, staring out towards the Western Gate. Even from here, he could hear the sounds of battle off in the distance. Part of him still felt the draw of battle; wishing he were there defending the city. But that was not to be his destiny. His duty lay here in the palace. Three years now he had been Captain of the Imperial Guards, and it had been a wonderful three years. Each year here equalled four in the field. His career was assured. Still...

There was a noise behind him and he turned his head just enough to make out the form of Ankera. It was strange that the guard would be here instead of at his post. "What is it, Ankera?"

"Orsah-Arrock? We have a woman downstairs. She has asked for you or for Allemeddo."

Jorgan returned his gaze to the horizon. "Send her away, I've no time to see some woman at this time of day." When he became aware that the guard had not immediately left, Jorgan's eyebrows furrowed and he turned to face the guard. "What?"

Ankera looked visibly troubled. "Orsah, I think she comes in response to the notice." He swallowed hard, then attempted to explain himself better, knowing that his captain was awaiting further explanation. "She is not Remusian. Nor does she dress like a woman. She wears double swords and carries herself like a warrior."

Jorgan pursed his lips. He was not sure if this news was welcome or not. He had been against the plan from the beginning. He could not understand why the advisor had thought that Jorgan and his men could not adequately protect the King. It had injured his pride, to be quite honest. Still, he had reluctantly agreed, for Allemeddo had pointed out certain dangers neither Jorgan or his men had ever encountered before.

With the mages here in Remusiat, more so in the palace, there were new threats to the sovereign; in the form of magic and poison. Magic was banned in Remusiat, and as such, very few knew how to defend against mages. Likewise, poison was considered less than noble or honourable, and not Remusian. But, being ever the pragmatist, Jorgan had to admit that these two dangers were more of a threat now than they had ever been before. Thus, he had assented to Allemeddo's idea to send out notice for someone more adept at defending against such dangers.

"Very well, where is she?"

"Still at the front doors, Orsah."

Jorgan nodded and strode forward. "I will go and meet her, you seek out Allemeddo and summon him to my office, where I will bring her." He then stepped past the guard and headed toward the stairs. Taking the stairs two at a time, he made it to the ground floor in short order, crossed the entrance hall and stepped out into the night air.

Guards snapped to attention as he emerged from the palace, and he stopped before the woman. Ankera was correct, she had the demeanor of a warrior; it was evident in her stance and the way her eyes surveyed her surroundings, taking in exactly where everyone stood and what threats they might be.

Jorgan came to a stop before the woman. "I am Orsah-Arrock Jorgan Alleda-fey-Launce, Captain of the Imperial Guards. Who are you, and what brings you here at this hour?"

Sylvia waited patiently as one of the guards walked brusquely into the tower, another guard stepping up to take his place as the guard of the door. Normally, she would've shown signs of annoyance at the time it was taking. But today, all she felt was anticipation. She didn't even know if her long journey had been in vain. She hoped, for their sakes, that it wasn't.

Ilarol Vir had, at some point, come to stand at her right side, never once taking his eyes off of the surrounding guards. Sylvia suppressed a smile of admiration, instead favoring her usual mask of cold confidence. What would she do without her beloved wolf? She kept her eyes on the guards after her brief glance at Ilarol. She didn't trust them in the least.

Her half-elven ears picked up the faint sound of powerful footsteps echoing throughout the tower, drawing closer and closer with each passing second. Suddenly, a rather attractive man with brown hair and eyes stepped through the tower door, the guard quickly moving out of the way. The men stood at attention upon seeing him. Obviously, he was an important individual. Sylvia suppressed yet another smile, this one of embarrassment of being near this handsome chap.

Suddenly, he spoke "I am Orash-Arrock Jorgan Alleda-fey-Launce, captain of the Imperial Guards. Who are you, and what brings you here at this hour?"

Sylvia pondered his rather long title, before responding, "Sylvia Palinor at your service, captain. I have come to offer my protection to his majesty, King Arraman. I will protect him with my life, for a price of course."

She bowed low for effect, hoping to improve her chances. That part 'with my life' was added for the same reason. She had a high opinion of mages and did not believe they would make an attempt on Arraman's life. Besides, who would be stupid enough to try and kill their king at a time of war?

Sylvia smiled inwardly as he nodded to acknowledge her bow. This is going rather smoothly, she thought. However, his expression took on a slightly negative direction. She inwardly began to panic, thinking she had offended him in some way.

She sighed inwardly when he went on to say, with a lighter expression, "Very well Lady Palinor, follow me. We will meet with Allemeddo and discuss the terms of your employment." Sylvia thought she liked being called 'Lady Palinor'. Never had she been called anything but 'woman' or 'you'.

Jorgan made as if to reenter the tower, but turned to face her again, just as she was about to follow him. "The wolf gets secured outside." He said in a firm, low voice.

Sylvia froze, and twitched instinctively as her anger began to boil. She felt a slight breach as her mask slightly crumbled, revealing a hostile glare. She faught hard to regain control of her emotions. With tremendous effort, and every ounce of her willpower, she managed to quickly replace her mask. However, her anger still bubbled at the surface. It wasn't much of a mask anymore, for she was feeling awfully cold toward Jorgan right about now.

She stood there for a few moments, regaining her composure. Then, she reluctantly kneeled down beside Ilarol and gave him a reassuring pat. She then said "Ilarol," the wolf snapped to immediate attention at the sound of his name, " listen very carefully. Do you see those guards?" She waved her hand in their general vicinity. "Obey until furhter orders." She said firmly. Ilarol Vir wimpered a keening timbre as the half-elf stood and took a step forward. "There," she said with a hint of hostility in her voice, "He'll go quietly. Now, shall we go? Oh," She said turning to the guards, "If any harm comes to my wolf, first, I find out who did it, and I will find out. Second, I take care of them, personally. Lastly, but certainly most important to you, I come for you, and there will be nowhere you can hide from my fury." All of this she said, malice layering her voice. And, she meant every single word.

Sylvia continued to stare at the men, but she thought she had caught a slight movement out of the corner of her eye. She turned to see Jorgan staring in the same direction as she. She shrugged off the negative vibe she was feeling. I've done nothing wrong, I did exactly as he said, she thought. Then, Jorgan turned on his heel and stalked into the tower. Sylvia began following him immediately, walking a good five paces behind him.

As she walked, Sylvia felt her anger ebbing away. Her thoughts never left her wolf as she walked. All she could do was hope that her threat had been enough to ensure the protection of Ilarol Vir.

She continued on with these thoughts, until she reached what appeared to be an office. As she stepped inside of the room after Jorgan, she was suddenly faced with an enraged Jorgan.

"One thing you never do... ever!... is threaten my men. You are a guest here, and it would do you well to remember that!" He said, a hostile glare plastered viciously on his face. "You are in the palace of King Araman, and you insult him when you insult the men here. And you insult me!" He finished heatedly.

All she could do was stand there, staring at him in shock. When she recovered, she didn't feel as much rage as most would. She had been screamed at a number of times, and the anger did not register on her face. Instead, it began to slowly eb almost immediately. This, she could handle.

"You have to understand, Captain Jorgan." She began. "In the world of my profession, trust is almost nonexistant." She said.

She let out a sigh, swallowing her pride she said through clenched teeth, "I apologize for my behaviour. I realize it was not my place to threaten your men." She said calmly. "I am just concerned for my wolf. He is one of the last ties I have to my dead father." She stated wistfully. Then she quickly regained her composure and said, "I'm sorry, I've said too much. Let us get down to business, shall we?"

She didn't know what was happening to her. Chinks in her armor were becoming a regular thing ever since she had come to this God-forsaken city. She was going to have to watch every move she made. And, with her moon cycle only a week away, she would need her wolf with her. Why couldn't she shake this bad feeling? I have a bad feeling about this.

"Trust is something we Remusians stake our lives on. Without it, we could not live here. It is a gift from the gods."

The gods, Sylvia scoffed. What nonsense. If there were any gods, you wouldn't be beseiged by orcs. She thought, making no reply to his statement.

"Please sit." He said, indicating a finely carved chair in front of his desk. She noticed it had no fur, a strange sign for someone who was as high ranking as he.

She sat down fluidly, trying to appear as graceful as possible, before tossing in a "Thankyou." at the last minute. She watched as Jorgan quickly followed suit and continued to stare at her.

"As for your wolf; he will be well taken care of, provided he does not bite my men. The king has a large kennel, and a wonderful kennelmaster." He said.

She was elated to hear this, and let out a sigh of relief. "Thankyou for your hospitality, captain." She said evenly, concealing her happiness well.

He sat there, continuing to stare at her for a few moments. Sylvia met his gaze, becoming lost in the catacombs of his deep, brown eyes. She suddenly snapped out of her trance and averted her eyes, barely concealing a blush. I can't afford this right now, she thought, forcing her thoughts of the attractive man out of her head. Nothing would become of this anyway, she reasoned.

Suddenly, he said, "What are you doing here, Palinor?" He waggled his finger, and she noticed a small smile grace his chiseled features. "Before you answer, think about it a moment. Why are you here?" He repeated.

This question greatly puzzled her. Isn't it obvious? She thought. She pondered the question for some time, letting a long pause hang in the air.

She replied, "I suppose I am here to make sure I have enough money to survive in this harsh world, the desires of most." She then went on to say, "Above all, I'm hear to protect King Araman from all harm. Does that answer your question?" She asked, puzzled why he would ask that question, of all the less trivial ones.

Josephine had spent the last day mostly confined to her room. The King had apparently had other matters to attend to that day, so there had been no further negotiations. And she had decided to keep to her own room, so as to not have to deal with Alvyster, or the other aide. She had had enough of the elder mage on the ship, and the last thing she wanted was to deal with him here in this gods-forsaken land.

She hunched over a table in the middle of the room, and took a bite out of a piece of wison steak she'd had delivered a short while ago. She chewed slowly, and absent-mindedly stared down at the pinnip soup bowl she had finished earlier. Pushing her lower jaw to the side in contemplation, she pursed her lips for a moment before finally swallowing the bite, and then sat back. She felt her stomach twist, and pressed her hands flat against the tabletop. She hadn't eaten all day, and though she liked the food, it just wasn't agreeing with her right now. She looked out to the wall, half-expecting to find a window but knowing that all she'd be met with was a wison hide drapery that had been put there to add some texture to the otherwise black wall.

Josephine shivered, though not really from the cold. She didn't like it here. She stood up and walked over to the drapery, and examined its pressed fur for a moment, before turning around and walking to her bed, then over to the other side of the room. She clicked her hands together in front of her, and bit her lip. She didn't like it here, and she didn't like not knowing what was going on outside. She couldn't hear anything, aside from the infrequent passing of footsteps outside.

The city was under siege, and she didn't like that. The guards had told her that the orcs had tried to attack Remusiat hundreds of times and had never even breached the wall, so there was nothing to worry about. She wanted to believe that. She knew Remusiat had never fallen. And while orcs were fearsome, they weren't the kind of people who could defeat a wall, right?

But if they couldn't, then why did they try at all? That was what bothered her. She'd met a few orcs at Ximax, and they certainly weren't dumb. No army would attack a keep if they didn't think they had some chance, some plan, of succeeding. Otherwise the orcs could just blockade the walls and keep the Remusians from hunting their wison herds. Starve them out. But instead they attacked. There had to be a reason.

And hadn't she heard or read something somewhere that the Remusians had been losing territory to the orcs for the last several centuries?

She turned and looked over again at the drapery, and again cursed that there was no window there. She needed to know what was going on. If she was to be locked up in this tower while the city was under siege, then couldn't she at least look outside? The Remusians had told them that they didn't want them to leave their rooms at night, but she couldn't stay here and just wait it out. If something happened, she needed to get out of the city. But escape where? The ships? She'd heard the Ximax vessel had taken a hit to its rigging or mast or something and wasn't seaworthy until repairs.

Josephine knew she was being paranoid, but she couldn't help it. She didn't like being in the middle of a city in war. And orcs were savages. This wasn't a civilized human war. It didn't matter that she was a civilian.

She walked over to the mirror, and pressed her forearms against it and leaned forward, looking at herself. She wasn't wearing her pristine Ximax robe anymore, instead she had donned a warmer outfit, toccon leggings wrapped in fur underneath a knee-length leather skirt, and a brown toccon tunic wrapped in strips of fur and leather. A thick brown fur cloak dropped down over her shoulders and back from a mantle around her neck, reaching to the floor.

After a moment, she pushed a few strands of hair up away from her forehead and considered touching it up further, but then turned away from it. She couldn't concentrate right now.

Striding over to the door, she took a breath before gripping the handle in gloved fingers and pulled it open. After a moment's hesitation she turned and grabbed her spell tome from her bed, hooking it around her belt, hoping the item would identify her as being with the delegation as her outfit certainly didn't today. She needed to get her bearings--find out exactly what was going on so she could figure out what to do.

Turning again, she walked out the door, closing it behind her, and then looked at the halls around her. She had no idea what direction to go. After a silent deliberation, she started walking down the hall to her right, hoping to run into a guard or someone that could tell her what was going on outside.

"I believe what our brave young captain here is asking is, there are many ways to earn a living; most of which you could find closer to your own land and people. Therefore, it begs the question, why are you willing to risk your life for our king?" Allemeddo asked.

Sylvia turned sharply in her seat, not expecting a surprise such as this. Her hands were at the ready to grab her swords. However, once she saw the old figure before her, she lowered them to her lap, where she twiddled her thumbs nervously. As she lowered her hands, the man's question caught up with her.

Why am I here? She thought. Why this job so far north? The old man has a point. Why would I come here when there are so many others? Come to think of it, I don't even remember giving myself a reason other than that I was appalled at the thought of anyone trying to harm such a frail old man.

She pondered these thoughts before concluding that it would be best not to reveal this reason. The old man entered the room, nodding to Jorgan. He then turned to Sylvia and smiled warmly. She nodded to him in return, half-focusing on not returning his smile, though she would like to.

The man then said, "Forgive me for interupting. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Allemeddo Shendekkar-ohm-Arrock, personal aide and advisor to our king."

She then sensed Jorgan begin to rise, but not before the man, now known as Allemeddo, said, "Sit, Captain. I won't be interfering too much tonight. I just wanted to meet our prospective bodyguard." He then returned his gaze to Sylvia. She met his intense stare with practiced, unreadable eyes.

"If Orsah-Arrock Jorgan decides to use your talents, I will meet with you in the morning and go over the finer points of palace life. I'm sure Jorgan will acquaint you with the security issues tonight." He said.

This was when Sylvia seized her oppurtunity to avoid the previous question that she herself, could only half-answer. She stood, her back erect, and said, "My name is Sylvia Palinor." She gave a graceful bow, before adding, "Thankyou for your hospitality in allowing me to enter this grand tower."

She stood there glancing between the two men. Your move, she thought with an inner smirk.

Ledo, Palace Guard

One more ped. Just a little closer... come along...

Ledo stood perfectly still, spear in hand, body upright at attention, perfectly portraying the figure of a palace guard. The only part of him that moved, other than the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, were his eyes. His deep eophran orbs flickered in the torchlit hallway, watching a a small white movement in the corner a few peds from him. For a moment, tiny blue eyes regarded him suspiciously, but seeing no movement or threat, returned to exploring the floor.

Ledo's eyes switched between the diminutive snow rat and the pile of Paxen cheese he had strategically placed near where the butt off his spear rested on the cold stone floor. It had become a bit of a game for the palace guards that while on duty, and therefore stuck in one spot for hours on end, to see who could kill the most rats. It not only provided one with respite from the protracted hours of standing guard in what had always been a peaceful posting, but it provided bragging rights in the barracks afterwards. To date, Ledo was renowned among the guards as the worst of all the rat killers. He needed this one.

A little closer you little bugger...

Slowly the butt of the spear rose from the floor, as the rat moved closer little by little, its nose and whiskers twitching, trying to use the pungent odor of the cheese as a guide. The spear wavered slightly, holding barely a fore off the floor. Waiting... watching... a few beads of perspiration formed on Ledo's brow, and his muscles began to protest at holding the spear so very still off the floor.

The rat was near to the cheese now. It looked around, its blue eyes once more lingering on the guard for blink before it scurried forward and stopped at the cheese. It began to nibble.

Ledo held his breath. Give it just one more blink for it to relax enough that he could bring the butt of the spear down on its head. Just about...now!!

A loud bang was heard as the butt of the spear crashed onto the stone floor. He cursed loudly as the rat scurried off. At the last moment, just as he was about to strike, some fool opened their door and stepped out into the corridor, frightening away the rat. He spun his head about, spotting a female draped in a thick fur cloak. Scowling, he stepped across the corridor, blocking it.

"Where are you going, miss? You cannot go anywhere unescorted."

Inside, he was a bit relieved. He had worried for the briefest of moments that he was going to have to talk to one of the mages. But, luckily, it was only a woman. One of the mages servants, perhaps. Of course, it was evening. A concubine, perhaps? A snort of derision emanated from him.

(http://i202.photobucket.com/albums/aa39/Grodyn/FD%20Avatars/Brem.jpg)

A slight smile crossed Allemeddo's face, and he raised a hand and waggled a finger at the younger woman. "No, no, my dear. It is us who need to thank you. You would be doing us a great service. We Remusians place a great deal of ourselves in the throne. The King is much more than simply a man; he is a symbol. He represents all that is good and true in all of us. He is our strength."

He stepped softly towards her and his faded eyes regarded her closely. There was much in those eyes, and no one who stared deeply into them could assume that the aged man had lost any of his sharpness of youth. "And that is why it is so important for us to know what is in here," one of his soft hands touched her gently on the side of her head, while the other hand touched her above her heart, "and here."

He stepped back from Sylvia, and turned his head to face Jorgan. "If my opinion is worth anything to you, Captain, I think the lady is the right fit for us. Of course, the decision is yours, and you can do as you please."

Back to Sylvia he bowed his head politely. "Should things work out for you, I shall see you tomorrow. Perhaps you will have slept on the question asked and will have an answer by then. I think you will find it may be more use to you, than it will be to us. If not, then I wish you a good long life, my dear." The elder advisor then made his way out of the office, leaving Jorgan and Sylvia alone.

A wry smile crossed Jorgan's face. Of course, the decision had been made. Allemeddo had made it, but it did not leave the Remusian Captain feeling circumvented. The advisor and he had a strong mutual trust. He knew that Allemeddo knew that by giving his confirmation, thus making the decision, that Jorgan would continue to keep an eye on her. They both had their roles to play; their duties. And Jorgan had never been accused of not doing his duty.

He stood up from his desk. "Where would you like to go first? The kennels, so you can take care of your wolf? Or your quarters?"

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Seeing the woman glance at the cheese on the floor, Ledo reached out his foot and kicked it out of the way, trying to hide it, but only smearing it over the stones. He listened to her and nodded. "It...it's not a good idea to be leaving the palace, ma'am. I'm not sure if your master has explained it to you, but there is a war going on. Orcs have the city surrounded."

He studied her for a moment. His orders were clear: the mages were not to go anywhere without direct permission from the kings advisor, or from Orsah-Arrock Jorgan. But, no one said anything about their servant girls or concubines. She would still need an escort, of course, but he wouldn't need to get special permission. "I will tell you what I can do. I should be getting relieved soon. When my replacement gets here, I can take you on a short walk, if you wish."

Ledo glanced at the end of the corridor where the staircase led down. It wouldn't be too much longer, he was sure. He had been standing up here for what felt like hours. He turned his head back to view the girl. He wasn't sure what had made him offer to accompany her, except as a relief to the boredom and restlessness he felt himself. Being a palace guard had its benefits, to be sure, but it also had its negative side. Life had much less surprises than for anyone else. He was stuck in the palace, or on the palace grounds far more than than he'd like. He was still young, only twenty winters, and he yearned for a bit more, sometimes.

And she, whoever she was, was something different.

"No, no, my dear. It is us who need to thank you. You would be doing us a great service. We Remusians place a great deal of ourselves in the throne. The King is much more than simply a man; he is a symbol. He represents all that is good and true in all of us. He is our strength." Allemeddo said, with a soft smile, and a waggle of his finger. These people do a lot of talkin' with they're hands they do, she thought.

Allemeddo stepped forward softly and said, "And that is why it is so important for us to know what is in here," he placed his hand on the side of her head, and the other over her heart, "And here." Sylvia didn't even flinch. This man was so kind and soft, he could never hurt a fly. She felt she could almost trust him. Almost. All she could do was nod in reply to his kindness, without crumbling her mask. She wouldn't let this happen. Not again.

Allemeddo turned his head to Jorgan and said, "If my opinion is worth anything to you, Captain, I think the lady is the right fit for us. Of course, the decision is yours, and you can do as you please."

So Jorgan gives the orders around here, huh, she thought, this might prove difficult. Allemeddo then turned back to Sylvia and bowed his head politely. "Should things work out for you, I shall see you tomorrow. Perhaps you will have slept on the question asked and will have an answer by then. I think you will find it may be more use to you, than it will be to us. If not, then I wish you a good long life, my dear."

"Thankyou, Allemeddo." She said, also bowing her head in return. Allemeddo then proceeded to leave the room. Sylvia turned to Jorgan, and noticed a wry smile cross his thin lips, before disappearing. Jorgan then stood up and said, "Where would you like to go first? The kennels, so you can take care of your wolf? Or your quarters?"

"The kennels, thankyou. I have a feeling that Ilar-my wolf is wanting to see me right about now." She said. Reveal as little information as possible, she thought, these people are not to be trusted. Sylvia began doubting her own thoughts when she recalled the kind old man. What is happening to me, she thought in horror.

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Ledo listened to the girl as she explained herself. She seemed to have a bit of spirit in her, which was a bit disconcerting, if not exciting in a way. Remusian women tended to be a bit more reserved. His eyebrow raised a bit when she challenged him. Of course he would rather be out there, near the war. How else could he feel? He was a warrior. He was Remusian. Silly girl.

He was about to rebuke her when she again looked to the floor where the cheese had been smeared by his boot. He could feel his cheeks turn karikrimson, and cursed himself for it. A sheepish grin crossed his lips. "Oh, that. Uhm... I was killing rats." He decided honesty was the best course. "We have a wager among the guards. I'm one of the best at killing them." Ok, maybe not quite all honesty was needed.

He heard a noise coming from the stairs, and could tell someone was coming. That would be his replacement. He leaned a little closer to her, and whispered conspiratorially. "Let me do the talking. It's best that way."

He turned toward the stairway as a younger guard stepped into the corridor. It relieved him that it wasn't an older guard who might actually object to him. Feeling confident, Ledo stepped forward, puffing himself out a little bit. "Gragir, I'm taking this servant girl down to the kitchen. Her master has a craving for some cold roasted wison. I'll keep an eye on her. We will be back in a little while."

The young and inexperienced guard, not knowing what he should say, simply looked from Ledo to the girl, then back to Ledo and nodded his ascent.

Ledo glanced back to the girl. "Follow me. The kitchen is this way." He winked at her and began leading the way down the stone staircase.

Rat killing? Josephine nearly rolled her eyes, but instead just smiled politely at the guard. She almost had the impression that he was trying to flirt with her, and that assumption was reinforced when the other guard approached, and the man literally puffed himself up. This time she couldn't help herself, and rolled her eyes as she folded her arms and shifted her weight onto her leg, listening to the guard's story.

She wasn't sure if he was lying about her being a servant girl, or if he really didn't think she was one of the magi. The way in which he mislead the other guard about where they were going made her inclined to believe that he was intentionally keeping it unsaid, but if the other guard wouldn't realize then maybe he didn't either. She frowned, looking down at the floor for a moment and making sure she had brought her spellbook. Sure enough it was there, the weight uncomfortably pulling the edge of her belt down a bit.

She eyed the guard for a moment when he approached her and winked. Combined with his posturing, she was starting to get the feeling that the way the man had portrayed his explanation to the younger guard was giving the impression that they were going to be something more than just "going to the kitchen". She felt a brief warmth to her cheeks, but quickly quelled the feeling. As she followed the first guard, she made sure not to give any glance towards the second, fearing that if she looked his way she'd be confirming whatever thoughts he had about what the two were planning on doing.

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Like a thief in the night, Ledo stole quietly down the stone stairway, negotiating each turn with practiced ease, hoping that if anyone bumped into him and the girl, they would simply assume he was doing official business. So far, it seemed to be working, as they had passed two other guards who eyed them both, but never spoke up or challenged them. Finally, they reached the main floor, and Ledo led them across the main hall to the kitchen area.

The kitchen smelled of food and the air was hot from the multiple stoves. To feed all the people here, the kitchen was always in use. Teams of cooks were constantly cooking soups, stews and other dishes. It smelled wonderful and made his mouth water. He dared not stick his finger into one and taste, however. One never knew when a certain dish was being made for the king himself. It would be just his luck to taste a stew that was going to the king, and the king get sick after. Of course, he'd be charged with poisoning the old man, and end up getting split.

He turned back to the girl. "We can exit out the door at the back here. Less chance of running into my commander out here." He motioned towards a door at the back of the kitchen.

Two freshly roasted klymmers caught his eye. They had been carved already and sat on the counter. He knew the guards had been promised roasted klymmer, so assumed that these were for their supper. Pulling out his knife, he cut a chunk off one of the birds and bit into it, juices running down his chin. He almost moaned, it tasted so good. He popped another chunk into his mouth and proffered his knife towards the girl, a chunk of flesh hanging on the point of it. "'Ou wanf fumm?"

One of the cooks passed by and gave the two of them a dirty look.

Josephine carefully followed the guard down the building, carefully making note of the path so that she could navigate it on her own in the future. Normally she would do that anyway, but when she had arrived she'd been so tired that she hadn't had the chance. She wrapped her cloak around her as she trailed him, her feet softly tapping the floor in comparison to the heavier steps of her guide. Out of habit, she avoided stepping on any lines in the stone floor where the separate blocks met.

They had soon arrived at the kitchen area. Josephine's lips curled down slightly for a moment. She had thought that the mention of going to the kitchen had just been a fabrication. Would she have to go through the kitchen anytime she went up to her quarters? She didn't like that idea. She eyed the occupants of the kitchen. Though she had just ate a short while ago, the aroma from the food in the room did smell delightful.

"We can exit out the door at the back here," Ledo said, "Less chance of running into my commander out here."

Josephine looked at him, subconsciously nodding. So that was his plan. Would he really get into so much trouble if the commander saw him? And the occupants of the kitchen wouldn't say anything about it?

Suddenly, the guard pulled out his knife, and cut off a piece of one of the cooked bird meals on the counter. Josephine's eyes went wide and she had to refrain from slapping her forehead. Wouldn't the cooks get upset at him stealing food? If he wanted to avoid the commander, stealing his meal certainly wouldn't help with that!

He stuck another one of the pieces and held it up to her, speaking through a stuffed mouth. She blinked once, her mouth falling slightly open, but then she closed it and shook her head. She had just ate in her room. She was about to answer "no" when one of the cooks passed by, giving them a stare. There it was. She'd go and complain that the guard was stealing food.

She looked back to the guard, swallowing slightly, then finished her response, "No, thank you. I already ate..."

Josephine followed the guard outside. Her face tensed momentarily as the cold night air slapped her, and she rubbed her arms a bit. She looked around the courtyard, but couldn't see much of anything from here. From a distance, she could hear the sounds of battle--the clang of swords and shields against armor and stone. She frowned, and swallowed.

Turning to look towards the guard, she noticed him admiring some of the ice sculptures that were around them. Josephine had hardly noticed them before. Still, she preferred the warmth of Thalambath to this cold place.

"Well, we're outside," the guard said, "Not much to see from back here, but your are safe. Let me know what it is you want to see, and I'll decide if it's safe." Josephine was about to answer when he continued, "Oh, you never told me your name yet. Also, are you sure your master won't start missing you soon? I don't want you getting into any kind of trouble."

She was convinced now that the guard didn't realize she was a wizard. For a moment she considered correcting him, but realized that, for now at least, she had an advantage in having her nature concealed. These people, afterall, didn't respect wizards the way they did in her homeland.

"There won't be any trouble," she replied. "And my name is Josephine Caranos, of Thalambath." She didn't believe for a moment that the guard would have any idea what Thalambath was.

She looked around the courtyard again, though she wasn't sure which way--if there was any--to go to get out to the main part of the city. She looked towards the guard again.

"Is there anywhere we can go to get a glimpse of the rest of the city?" She pondered telling him straight up that she wanted to know, for herself, how the battle was going. "I don't like being trapped inside without knowing how things are going out here."

Josephine took a deep breath, and looked around before immediatedly answering. A shiver ran up her body, and though she tried to stiffle it, it was clear that what little warmth she had had before coming out here was already gone. She turned back to him, and reached a gloved hand up to her hair to brush a few strands behind her ear--which was rapidly getting colder by the minute.

"Y-yeah." She stuttered from a sudden shiver, then paused and cleared her throat, before trying again, "Yeah. I just want to make sure that the city's safe, that's all." She grit her teeth, and looked to the side a moment, as she considered whether to be honest with him. She looked back. "To be honest, I'm just kind of worried. To... to be in the middle of a city that's being sieged. I just... I can't be cooped up inside there with no windows and no idea if the rest of the city is getting overrun or something."

She bit her bottom lip, and looked down towards the snow as she folder her arms over her chest, hugging her fur cloak around her shoulders. "I-I know I'm just probably being paranoid," she smiled and let out a meek laugh, "but I just want to make sure."

She looked up again. "Sorry, sir. I didn't want to distract you from your duties or anything. I was hoping I could just sneak out and check on my own to check but..." She trailed off, her gaze falling to the ground again and hoped the man would understand. Remusia, from what she had read, was very similar to the world she came from. She might have studied in Ximax, but she was born in Thalambath. She grew up under the knowledge that she was inferior because she was a woman, and while people tried to convince her otherwise in Ximax, she had never been able to overcome that. Perhaps others were equal, but not her. It was even worse here, because at least in Thalambath she was solely a woman, but here, she was both a woman and a mage. She cursed herself under her breath as she was reminded of the weight of her spellbook against her leg. She knew she shouldn't have brought it with her, this man might not notice but others might, and then that little cover she had now would be gone.

She turned her gaze back up to him once more. "I-if we can look and everything's okay I'll go back to my quarters and cause you no further trouble, sir."

Sylvia couldn't help the look of contempt that came upon her face. She would conform to their customs, practice their social niceties, and she would even show a little trust in them if that was what it took. But there was no way on this Disk that she would abandon her wolf outside in the cold. He was her partner, her solace. She spoke to him about things that she could never tell anyone, even her own mother. She needed him by her side not only because of her curse, but for a reservoir of inner strength, and she would not let this arrogant soldier steal that from her.

Summoning the last strands of her broken wall of patience, she tried one last time. Maybe the he wanted to see her beg. Well, for Ilarol, she would "Captain, I understand that it is against your customs and beliefs to let an animal inside the palace. But is against my belief and moral character to leave him outside. He is not just a pet for company. He is one of the only friends close to me. If you allow this exception, I will care for him my self and he will be no trouble at all. I will keep him in my room, and take him out to exercise him myself. If he defiles the castle in any way, I will personally clean it to the best of my abilities. He is well-trained and would do anything I ask. I cannot in good conscience just leave him here. Asking me to do this would be like asking you to leave your sword at home when going to battle." She said, through gritted teeth. She had to try. If this man could not accept her wolf, than she had no business with him. He could let his king perish.

Josephine smiled, and shook her head at him. Her body shivered a moment, and a shaky puff of smoke left her lips. "Thank you. All I w-want is to just make sure things are okay. Wherever you think is best, sir. Thank you."

Though she had wanted to go out alone, in truth, she was glad to have someone to guide her. She didn't know this city, and a single woman like her, and a mage at that, in this city of barbarians--though she felt she could handle herself, she preferred having someone else with her.

She looked around, then crossed her arms over her chest. "Where to from here, t-then?" Despite how much she tried to fight it, a few shakes formed in her words from the cold. She really hoped everything was okay, so she could get back inside the much warmer palace. Have some of those, whatever he called them, those things that looked like fried wings of some kind, and tuck herself into the covers of her bed. Get on with everything just fine the next day. That's what she wanted. A little bit of piece and quiet. Then she could go explore the city during the day. Look at the sights, maybe buy some things for herself. She smiled. Yes, that would be nice.

Her eyes flashed to him again, and she shook her head and brought herself back reality. The cold, dark reality where the clangs of metal and shouts could be heard in the distance. Her smile faded, and she bit her lower lip. She stayed close to him as he guided her, and her nervous eyes constantly flashed around her for any sign of danger.

Adventures of Caelereth

Archives => Frozen Darkness => Topic started by: Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin on October 08, 2007, 04:44:55 AM