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Greater Eponllyn

The Arrival

Roleplay from Andross Blint Message sent to all nobles of Eponllyn (28 recipients) - 2 days, 31 minutes ago

Andross thundered into Bescanon at the head of 70 battle ready cavalry. His men had adopted the demeanor of their lord, as had Skia, his fully-grown pet direwolf. They were all furious. None more so than Andross. There was talk that he would be robbed of his ducal seat, of Ayden's ducal seat. He would rather die than let that happen. He was willing to duel any who challenged his right to Krimml, to the death. He had nothing to lose. Either he won and retained his seat or he lost, and he'd spend eternity with Ayden. Plus if he lost, he had no doubt that whomever defeated him would be mercilessly hunted by his father, and that thought gave him some small satisfaction.

He rode up in front of the Temple and dismounted, his boots hitting the stone with a thud. He handed the reins off to Friedrich, his captain, and said "See to the men and camp, then you will attend to me in the Temple."

Friedrich nodded and said "Aye, your grace. Reports suggest the Xerarch isn't here yet." Andross gave a curt nod. "I'll wait." He said. Friedrich and his men rode off to setup camp and prepare for the Court. Andross lingered outside the Temple for a moment and then decided to inspect the inside, it could very well be where he had to fight for his duchy, and it would pay to know the terrain. He thought about seeing Selenia and normally such a prospect would excite him, he loved spending time with her, she was mentor and mother to him, liege and friend. Today, however, there was no room for joy or excitement in his heart, there was room only for rage, and death. Skia padded alongside him as he walked through the temple. The fur on the back of her neck stood straight up, it did that when she was scared and hunting. He knew she could sense his rage, and his willingness to throw himself at death, and that scared her. Man and wolf had formed an inseparable bond over the years and she didn't want to lose a part of herself as much as he didn't want to lose her.

But this wasn't a matter up for debate. His mind was made up and his decision set. He rubbed her head to reassure her and she nuzzled against his leg. It was preemptive, but in a way it was also goodbye.

– Andross Blint

{{Quoatation| Roleplay from Selenia JeVondair Message sent to all nobles of Eponllyn (28 recipients) - 1 day, 14 hours, 37 minutes ago

THE PHOENIX COURT: Part I - The Gathering Storm

June, 1019

The warm winds of high summer swept over the province of Bescannon. Here on the Eastern Continent, that meant storms. It had never been a particularly warm place, this land of rising suns and dynasties. It was not so very long ago now that the great cities of its southernmost regions were locked behind an impenetrable expanse of ice and winter. It was the melting of that ice, that thawing of winter, that had heralded her coming. With the warmth of wind and current, Selenia had sailed from the western Ivory Empire she'd built at the head of half a dozen coteries of her bannermen who together joined with many others: migrants and thrill seekers, fortune hunters, refugees from fabled sunken Atamara, and still more storied noble houses. Selenia, though, had come in hopes of finding a peaceful life and family with which to retire while other, more active members of the JeVondair family made their mark.

To this day, the boldest of her confidants still laughed at that last twist of Fate. Today, though, it reminded Selenia just how far she and her people had been made to come, and just how many homes that they’d built and lost and rebuilt. One might even say the fate of the Xavax was caught in Time. Catching a reflection of herself, that particular thought caused her to grimace

Selenia was somewhere in her 30’s, or so an uninformed onlooker might have guessed. However, astride her roan warhorse in the midst of three dozen of her Fearless, there was no mistaking her for who and what she was. She was of tallish height for a woman, though her head might come up to an average man’s nose. Of her flesh, only her head was visible. Blonde hair rippled in tight warbraids against her skalp in intricate patterns that kept stray strands before falling in a restrained mane to her shoulders and whipped about by increasing gusts of wind. Ageless-blue eyes framed by even features and a pert nose that, upon close inspection, would show that it had been very well set. And on more than one occasion. Measured lips set in a thin line and the flush of summer colored her cheeks. A sharp appraiser would note the silvered Sirionite armor beneath crimson cloak she and her men favored, though theirs were trimmed in black while hers was gold, the color of royalty. About her shoulders was a mantle of lionhide and fur. The top half of the great beast’s tanned skull, complete with glass eyes, glared over her right shoulder, its fangs pinning her scarlet cloak in place as a clasp would. At once a symbol of the great House she now ruled, a reminder to her Xavax tribesmen, and a threat to her most hated enemies. Other than these, she wore no symbol of rank or office, and even these, in her opinion, were overkill.

Today, however, the image was necessary. Especially in this place. The latest addition to the realm of Greater Epponlyn, Bescannon was once a province of war machinery and tall towers. Many would admire the wheat fields matched only by the brilliance of shining blue waterways that ran with brilliantly colored fish. With a population greater even than Krimmel. The region had apparently once boasted vast arrays of buildings full of windows where there was a rattling and a trembling all day long, and where the piston of the steam-engines worked monotonously up and down, which was a controlled tempest in a state of constant order building siege engines, or so local guides had once informed her. Selenia had no idea what that meant, but the locals seemed insufferably proud of themselves. Though, credit where due, they had other reason to be. Bescannon was one of, if not the most, heavily defended regions of its like in all the world. Alone, the militia here stands vigilant and ready to combat armies of the vast size and aggression as even the Perleone ‘Empire’ might raise. Though much of ‘the original’ industry was nowhere in evidence, more traditional signs of civilization greeted passerby at every corner. Selenia thought it was certainly much nicer to come as a defender, rather than as a conqueror.


THE PHOENIX COURT: Part I - The Gathering Storm [CONT] Word of her arrival, and destination, had apparently strayed ahead of her as she arrived at the grand Temple of the Triumvirate. A crowd of onlookers had already gathered to watch the many important high nobles make their way within while their men found somewhere to stand guard. Selenia nodded in approval at the discipline on display. Her people’s soldiers stood vigilant, wary, and as ever-ready for battle as their aristocratic patrons were. Her expression warmed by degrees when one figure, a squire in the gilded lion livery of her house, made his way through the Fearless’ ranks to take hold of her roan’s reigns while she dismounted. Högni Peredhel JeVondair was already a good deal taller than his mother. By most standards, he was a man grown, but he still bowed his head affably so she could reach up and run a hand through his hair. She had not seen her son since sending him to look after his younger brother on his first campaign. As was her way, she eschewed words in favor of action, drawing him into a tight hug and bending him so far forwards that he very nearly lost balance. He recovered with grace however, as he returned his mother’s embrace before breaking away and holding her a arms length, smiling. Not for the first time, she marveled at him. He looked so much like her, she thought, but the influence of his father was definitely apparent, far more strongly in some ways than others. Delicate, like her own, for which he surely would have been teased were it not for all the muscle and skill being raised by her had bequeathed him. Högni was well on his way to becoming a good man, while she looked forward to his knighting one day, she was grateful for his value in being able to move about without all the ceremony, and more importantly without the notice, that her movements incurred. In hushed tones, he told her of the nobles that had arrived and those that had yet to. Out of habit so ingrained she did not even notice, her fingers flitted to the twin kukris she’d carried as an adventurer herself a lifetime ago, loosening them in their scabbards as her Fearless dismounted in a cordon of muscle and steel about the pair before they began their ascent. Högni He guided her up the steps to the Temple and towards the Hall of Elysian just as the first fat drops of rain began to fall.