Rea Family/Dancer/Long Live The Queen
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| His old man nap turned into an old man sleep, as none of his retainers wanted the wrath when waking the Duke. Some time during the night, he blinked awake and stretched, lazily eyeballing the room. Mersault still lay unconscious, breathing lightly, each arm glinting in the moonlight from heavy shackles fastened to the bed frame. None of his retainers or guards were around, but someone had thrown a blanket over Dancer. The room was completely at peace, the only sounds breaking the night the two mens' breathing, and some crickets outside.
Calm, peace. Words that had held little meaning to him for some years. But now, now he'd grown to like the calmness, the serine mountains covered in snow. It was rare he got to just sit - His stomach growled, interrupting his thoughts. He glanced at Mersault. The boy would be fine of course, but Dancer wanted to be there when he woke. It was about time they had a little heart to heart. Careful not to make any noise, he made his way from the room, the latch softly clicking behind him. The kitchens weren't far, the smell of rising bread filling the hallway for some distance. It was a matter of moments for Dancer to slip in and out, his prize a handful of goat jerky. He made his way back to the infirmary, about to lift the latch, when a runner clattered down the hallway, breaking the silence he had been enjoying so. Dancer glared at the man, and gave him a low growl, "This had better be important." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| Less then fifteen minutes later, Dancer had his men on their feet, Jax in the yard, and several missives sent to all corners of the realm. The moon was bright, everything not lit by torchlight was made of hard edges, and every shadow black as pitch. At least he had slept in his travelling clothes.
Anyte. "Jax! The fleetest shape you have." The "pony" looked at him, and blinked. Dancer yelled, startling the other men, and ponys, in the yard. "I do not care what that Akkan-cursed Judge has to say! Now, Jax!" By Akkan, if that infil has killed her...... The 'pony' bowed, and the air around him shimmered. A blink later, and a massive hellhound stood in the yard, its smashed, gargoyle-like face coming to above Dancer's shoulder. Claws like a grizzly bear dug into the dirt, and the monster's midnight coat rippled with muscle. Massive canines hung out of its mouth, sharp points dripping with drool. Its ears pointed straight up, and its deep purple eyes watched Dancer carefully. Dancer paid no heed to the beast, throwing the nearby tack on Jax's back and hastily buckling the various straps. He jumped into the saddle, tying off his pack to the horn, before looking out at his men. They were still in half dress, rubbing sleep from their eyes. Several were fumbling with buckles and saddles on the little ponys, slowly putting everything together. They wouldn't be able to keep up with Jax on those ponys anyway. Dancer growled, barking orders to them. "Catch up with me in the city, and Jormorosh help you if you tarry!" As Dancer violently pulled Jax around, his master-of-the-house ran from the building. "Duke, Sir!" Dancer glared, and roared at the man, all semblance of politeness gone. "WHAT!" The man stopped short, paling. "Baron Duke Sir, Mersault is awake. I just thought -" "Enough!" Dancer took a deep breath, trying his best to level his voice. "Clean him up, and send him with the men. I'll deal with him in Unger. Don't lose him, or I will personally see you placed in one of my sacrifice circles." With another violent yank, Jax bounded into the night, Dancer perched on his back. Anyte. | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| That same night Jax and Dancer made it to the city. Jax's claws and thick muscles had proven more then a match for the mountainous terrain, and the early morning light was just beginning to lighten the sky as Jax bounded up to the city gates of Unger. They were closed, but a commanding roar from the Duke, and a low growl from the hellhound, and the guards' found themselves dropping the gate, half awake, and slightly more sober. None of the locals were in the streets at this early hour, while the city was locked down, and Jax raced unimpeded to the old palace Anyte called home. Palace gates opened for them, easier then the city. The Matrons had seen the Duke and his hound before, although none of them remembered Jax ever looking so ugly. The pair rode through the palace itself, passing the throne with its grisly trophy, a new dark stain decorating the seat, and Dancer only jumped off the hound at Anyte's bedroom door. Allova was there, and another woman he did not recognize, but a simple nod from a grim-faced Allova, and he was let in the door.
No. The smell hit him first, the thick stench of iron. Of death. Anyte lay in her bed, pale, the only sign of life a slight gargle and movement of the thin sheet that covered her. Even her usually fiery hair seemed to have lost its shine, brushed out unnaturally around her head. Anyte. As if a puppet, Dancer walked to the bed, carefully reaching out for the sheet. As he pulled it back, he could feel the bile rising in his throat, and the tears pricking at his eyes. Thick bandages covered her chest, large spots of red showing exactly where the blood was leaking slowly to the surface. How many times had she been stabbed? No. No. No. | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| He clenched his fists around the sheet, screwing his eyes shut, trying to hold back the tears. Why? Why hadn't he been here? Why hadn't he gone for the infil's throat in Jed? Why hadn't the guards stopped this? Why? Why? Why? The word kept tumbling around in his head, as he stood above his dying love, tears streaming down his face. Anger rose inside of him, anger at the infil, the guards, and most of all, at himself. He'd had that infil, and he'd left it to the militia, instead of going after her himself. A coward, hiding in his fortress, too afraid to face the axe should he lose a one on one confrontation. This was his fault, and his fault alone. He opened his eyes, staring through the tears down at the blood soaked bandages. A ripping brought him down to his hands, still clenched around the sheet, fibers slowly separating from the pull between his white-knuckled fists. Slowly he released his hands, letting the sheet flutter to the floor.
No. It would not end this way. <underline>She</underline> would not end this way. His eyes moved to her face, a lock of her red hair hanging low. Carefully, he brushed it aside, and leaned down to her ear. What once she told him, now he told her. "Anyte. You cannot die." He whispered into her ear, "Because I need you as much as you need me." He rose, new purpose coloring his words, "You will not die, not as long as I hold breath. In sickness, and in health, My Love."
| |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| Thalmarkin is an old realm, with a long history, and the blackened timbers in the old palace throne room showed every year that had passed. Several rulers over the years had had small changes made to the throne room, as well as several feasts, many nights of which lived on in the thick pillars, gouges and cuts darkening into a story as old as the realm itself over the years. The center of the room usually held heavy circular tables, and leather seats for all the Kin, scattered around an old stone plinth. To the left and right, large black granite columns covered in silver markings held the tall ceiling aloft. Beyond those, long tables were set out, a space for the common soldiers that had proved themselves in battle. Long windows let the early morning sunlight in, the city spread out below.
The back of the room held the centerpiece of the space, however. Up a pair of steps, a massive white stone throne sat, usually covered with the hide of a ghost bear, the skull of the Daemon Lord Overlord mounted to its top. The horns of the skull had been torn off, and usually the skull was lit from below, billowing out flame from the horn holes, the eyes, and mouth. Behind the throne, a stained glass window depicted the shield of Thalmarkin, the mountains of Jed picturesque in the background. This morning, however, the skull was cold, and the throne sat empty, a long dark stain across the usually pristine stone. The center had been cleared, at the cultist's order. Anyte lay across the plinth, still just barely breathing, with fresh bandages white as snow. A dozen condemned criminals were gagged and chained between two of the pillars, quietly shuffling about every so often. Dancer stood shirtless, his mangled back on full display, at one of the long tables that had been pulled forward, covered in various supplies, buckets, torches, and bandages. His pack sat, discarded on a clear part of the table, contents spilling across the ancient wood. His whip, books, stained scarf, a pair of daggers, and a strange embellished golden cup all sat near the pack, as the cultist flicked through a worn tome, carefully making notes on a bit of parchment. Allova slipped through the heavy main doors of the room, her boots tapping across the worn stone floor. She didn't react to the lashing scars, she'd seen them before. "Do you need of anything, Lord Duke?" Dancer looked up from his scribbles, noting the matron's pinched and worried face. "No, Allova. You have done everything you can." Dancer reached down, pulling a small letter from under the tome. "Give this to Sol, when she gets here. She is to take my men, and hers, and keep the city protected. I only trust my own knights to enter the city gates until I am done. Lock down the palace now, child, and post only your best and more trustworthy at the doors to this room. Once every two hours, the even ones, bring me my knights', and the adventurer's letters, and none other. No one but you are to enter, and only at the even hours. Do you understand child?" Allova looked pale, but nodded. "Lord Duke, a pair of letters from the General came for you - " Dancer glared her to silence. "I do not care what that traitor has to say. It can wait until I am done. No one in or out of the Palace, and no one but my knights in the city." Allova bowed her head, and accepted the scrap of paper. "As you wish." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| After the matron had left, it had taken Dancer nearly the first full two hours to draw his circles, and two of the criminals. One circle he placed around the center plinth, a double walled monstrosity with hundreds of tiny infernal runes sandwiched between the lines. A second one he placed around the throne, carefully inscribing several runes on the skull of the Daemon Lord itself. The circles came together at a single point, exactly two thirds of the way to the throne. It was even a mortar line at the point, much to Dancer's glee. With a grunt, Dancer plunged his ritual sword into the old mortar, the nearly powdery substance giving way easily. Dancer had marked his arms up and down with additional infernal runes, and stripped the rest of his cloths away save a pair of short trousers. He kneeled, hands over the hilt of his sword, and began his first chant.
"Gryiz larvw ao zmy nyzmyr sardv, xe tidd oar hafr iuv, oar hafr easyr. Xe krulq haf zmywy witruoutyw," Dancer's voice began to rise, and he lowered his left hand to the blade of his ritual sword, squeezing the blade, until red ran down the infernal runes etched on it, "wzirzulq suzm ph asl kdaav. Hyir py ph larvw! lylv py hafr wzrylqzm!" Ever so slowly, sickly red light began to trace his circles, the room steadily glowing brighter red. Dancer's voice rose, a crescendo of guttural roars echoing through the high ceiling. He could feel it, the energy slowly building around him as the circles closed. The red lights of both circles connected back to his sword at the same time, and with a snap, Dancer felt the magic tie itself into place. He smiled slightly, casting his eyes up to the skull of Overlord. The marks he had made were glowing faintly with the same power the circles were closed by. He was ready to begin, but first, he needed to rest for a bit, and let Allova make her bi-hourly report. With a groan, he pulled himself up from the kneel, and walked around to the dais with Anyte. He would have to change her bandages as well before the next step, as they were already soaking through. Carefully, he brought himself down to a sitting position, facing the dais, his scarred back to the doors, waiting for the first report. | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Sol Tempest | |
| Lady Sol finally arrived at Unger, herself in quite the mess. Her usual well groomed long blonde hair tied up in an unkempt bun, face dirty and sweaty from the long hard ride through the mountains. She arrived at the gates to find the city completely locked down. Not surprising considering the circumstances. The guards at the gate did not give Judge Tempest any grief letting her and her men enter the city immediately.
Walking the streets towards the palace was eerily quiet as most of the residents were not going about their normal business either because of the lock-down or concern for their Queen's life. Sol thought to herself she would have to address this situation soon as well, their Queen might be wounded but the city of Unger, the beating heart of Thalmarkin would have to return to a semblance of normality as soon as possible. As Lady Tempest ascended the stairs of the palace she noticed the guards at the main gate were much less at ease than those at the city gates and the door remained closed. “Open the door and clear the path I must see our Queen.” Sol proclaimed. One of the Guards would reply “I’m sorry my Lady but we have been ordered not to let anyone enter the palace.” Judge Tempest stared the man down, her golden eyes gleaming with conviction and the guard quickly moved aside while the other opened the door for the lady. “Captain Gotfried have the Mounties add extra security to the palace. Only Chancellor Rob should be allowed entry with the palace after myself. Captain Estrilda you are with me” Sol assigned her Captains their duties and entered the Palace. Sol was not wandering around the palace long before a lady approached and spoke to the Lady Judge, “You are not supposed to be here.” “Nonsense, I must see my Queen and lend her my support. Who are you anyway?” inquired Lady Tempest. “Allova, a matron in service to our Queen, Anyte.” “Well Allova take me to where Duke Dancer and our Queen are NOW.” Allova squirmed for a moment then turned to face a nearby hallway and motioned for Sol to follow; before long they approached a locked and guarded door. “Judge Tempest I really think you should reconsider entering the throne room, it's not decent within right now.” Allova implored and the guards either side of the door crossed their halberds over each other. Judge Sol placed her hand firmly on the hilt of her sword before speaking “I will be entering one way or another.” Looking uneasy Captain Estrilda also gripped her own sword however she seemed uneasy and having doubts about fighting within the palace. Allova broke the tension first, “That won’t be necessary however your Captain absolutely must remain outside. I insist.” Sol released her still sheathed sword, “Captain Guard this door with these men as well. No one enters until I say so.” The door to the throne room would quickly be opened just a sliver and promptly shut just as fast once Lady Tempest entered the chamber. Standing for a moment in mortified silence Sol studied the room and what was taking place. She would not retain her composure for long before screaming at the shirtless man standing within the ritual circles placed among the room. “DANCER WHAT IN THE NAME OF THE GODS ARE YOU DOING!?” Dancer quickly looked towards the direction of the shriek before returning his own low growl, “Whatever you do, don’t break the circle, child.” “Well you better come to me right this instant then!” the still armour clad Judge barked back. The old cultist rose, stiffly. His back hadn’t been oiled in some time now, and was getting rather stiff. “Why are you in here?” he asked, tiredly. Growing impatient Sol tapped her foot as she snidely replied “Remove yourself from the ritual circle so I can show you why I am here.” "What do you need, Sol? I am busy.” He gestured around aimlessly, "If you haven't noticed." Sol returned to shouting at the shirtless stubborn soul, “I have noticed and that is why it’s imperative you come here immediately otherwise I'll be dragging my flaming sword across your precious circles!” Dancer ran his hand through his hair. The larger circle was a working circle, and while it didn’t have much power in it at the moment, he really didn’t want to find out the consequences of breaking such a large working in the wrong way. Anyte was still in the center, and she couldn’t take any more wounds right now. Carefully, he stepped through the circle, parting the magic like a curtain, before stopping in front of his knight. Should it come to it, he had a dagger tucked in his trousers. He crossed his arms, and waited. Sol still wearing her gauntlets doesn’t hesitate and proceeds to give the Duke a ferocious backhanded taste of blackened steel gauntlet across his face. “IS THIS WHAT YOU THINK OUR QUEEN WANTS! If you saved her this way her first act would be to murder you.” Anger exploded within Dancer. How dare she? Slowly, he took a deep breath through his nose, strangling the urge to respond with violence. She was young, and hotheaded, even if she pretended otherwise. He worked his jaw while she continued. Sol not even flinching over the fact Dancer might kill her at any moment continued, “No, clean this farce up immediately. Then have some servants gather some supplies. I need a black candle, and pale blue candle, a silver chalice and some violet burning essence. If we are going to save our Queen it will be on her terms. We will make a plea to the goddess’ of old, The Ice Queen and The Dark Mistress.” Lady Tempest studied the throne room glancing at the last thing she would need. Grand windows let the moonlight radiate within the imposing pillar filled room shining directly onto Queen Anyte’s almost lifeless body. “The only one who can save her now is the Dark Mistress, we must implore the goddess to grant our Queen a stay of death so that she can finish her work in the Dark Mistress’ name. Hurry now if we don’t act fast we will lose our Queen!” | |
| Sol Tempest | |
| Roleplay from Rob Strome | |
| Letters, letters blasted letters, of all the things to deal with in the midst of a Queen being stabbed, Rob matched his namesake well that day as he stormed up to the castle Unger's gates and commanded the guards to move with a very uncharactgeristic bark. His retinue of archers followed behind him timidly until he ordered them "take the walls and don't let one other soul in, NO ONE! Not any other person not a General Not a Marshal not a mouse not -a-FROG" He ranted, more then vexed by the last few days correspondence. "What do I do Hermann?" he questioned his captain who followed by the young man keeping stride the best he could.
"You're a chancellor- a banker sir" "Aye a banker thats what I do- I bank I do numbers I sit on the council where I was elected to sit and do my job and anything outside of that what do I do!?!?" He was grilling innocent Hermann, who was beginning to squirm under these questions for fear of giving the wrong answer "You serve your queen...?" "EXACTLY, whether it is in the council or in private letters is no concern of that lout- As he said I do not meddle in his military affairs- if he becomes wounded now can I steer his army and now /diplomacy/ how I like just because I feel there is no one to argue with me?" he went off at another rant about how he can smell ambition from a league away and today he could smell it wafting all the way from Gemke. For all his blustering it was stopped short by two Tempest mans Halberds locking into a barrier from the throne room. "Move!" He commanded hotly. "The Judge has ordered no one enter the throne room." "Don't be an idiot tell her I am here, let me in now!" Rob demanded again The men seemed unaffected by the Chancellors ire, they were good at their jobs "She said not even Rob, Sir" Outside the throne room Rob and Hermann sat on the steps leaning back on their elbows casually while looking up at the old ceiling beams. Sol's orders didn't sting as much as any others; the guards noted that compared to his approach, he looked quite glad to wait on her command. | |
| Rob Strome | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| When it rains, it pours. His own knight had walked in on the ritual. Kidnapping, as he had done to Mersault, would have been an option, but Sol was the Judge, and would certainly be noticed missing within a matter of hours. Not that he would win the fist fight - Sol was armed, amoured, and alert. He turned, and walked around the edge of his large circle, faded sickly red light lighting his way. The magic, and the light was low now, waiting for the next step in his ritual.
What Anyte would want, hm? "Sol Tempest. I have let you speak, and now you will let me." He forced himself not to growl too darkly. After all, this was going to be touchy. "Firstly, you will not lay your hand on me like that again. It is below you. " His table of materials, and more importantly, his open pack were but a few dozen steps away. Anger licked around his breast, but he held his voice level. "Secondly, you should know that calling my work here a 'farce' is offensive, and blatantly ignorant. As I am sure you have guessed already, this," He waved his right arm to his circles, red light brightening his underarm, "Is part of my faith, and your demeaning comments do little but enrage me. The Truth is the only religion with any power on this island, the only one who's Gods have walked the land." He reached his pack, quickly nicking out a scroll, as well as his barbed whip. Extra care was put into keeping it coiled as he attached it to his belt, attempting not to spook Sol any farther. A stack of bandages fit comfortably under his arm, and he moved again, headed for the center of the room. "If you think some cattle's bedtime stories will save Anyte, I clearly have not taught you well enough as your Baron." A few more steps, and the magic parted for him again as he made his way to Anyte. Carefully, he set the scroll, and the bandages down, and began to re-dress her wounds. His rage was cooling, replaced with fear as he looked to her wounds. How she was still breathing was a mystery to him. However, he could not continue with Sol interrupting the ritual. It was complex, and the number of steps, and time to complete each step was massive. He had to convince Sol to let him continue without interruption. He could not shake the knowledge that Sol was right on one thing: Anyte would never forgive him, should he do this. But she would be alive. A thought came to him, a simple test. Perhaps Anyte would even forgive him as well. "However, you have one point, young one. Anyte does not like my faith, and actively condones it when ever we speak of it. So, I have a deal for you, Sol Tempest." The bandaging done, and with dirty bandages in hand, Dancer turned, and leveled his milky eyes to his knight, his Judge. "I will use this single scroll, and it will stabilize her for a little while. You may try your 'Ice Queen and Dark Mistress,' I will even provide a healing scroll for the ritual." They needed to heal her. Whatever it takes. "And when it fails, you will help me finish my work here, and we will heal Anyte together. Be warned, Sol, should you do anything that will harm Anyte, I will not hesitate to end you where you stand, the consequences be damned." Naturally, that was the time Allova choose to slip in the room. "Lord and Lady, there is a Chancellor Rob here, a Duncan, and a stack of letters for you, Duke Dancer." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| It only took a minute for Dancer to wipe the dry bloody runes off his arms, and with a quick glance to Anyte, Dancer waved Sol and Allova through the door first, following closely behind them. They made their way to the front of the palace, where Rob waited, sprawled on some steps. Within seconds he wished he'd put a shirt on, as the look on the Chancellor's face nearly made him roll his eyes. Children, all of them. It was like none of them had seen lashing scars before. He could nearly taste the coil of magic that heralded Duncan, and he didn't waste anytime with games of hide and seek. "Duncan. Come out boy. This is Chancellor Rob, and Judge Sol, so keep a civil tongue in your head." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Rob Storme | |
| Lovesick Rob hardly saw Dancer at all on their approach, doing a double take at a few grotesque scars as he lifted himself off the steps to greet them both. Young though he was Rob was tall and green eyed like his sister, though unlike her he was fair and blonde, and far broader in stature. "Your grace" he said to Dancer, giving him the honorific that matched his rank; while still clearly bottling some intense reaction up as he realized they had emerged from that sealed room together with him barely dressed. His first reaction always was to spring to her aid yet; a quick look over Sol was enough to convince him that she had gone unmolested. The look of the haggard man beside her drove it home- it was not the look of a man who had just had a tryst with a Goddess at all. Having somewhat calmed himself he approached Sol for a more friendly greeting, Rob learned his lesson from their battle Gemke when it came to bear hugs he went this time for a less threatening, brief one armed embrace. "Sweet Sol, I'm happy to see you're alright-" he went on to address the two of them as he joined rank in waiting for who or whatever a Duncan was "I offer my service to you both, I want to help our Queen in any way possible." | |
| Rob Storme | |
DUNCAN RP GOES HERE?!
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| "There is no need for such pleasantries, Duncan." Dancer carefully picked up the pack of scrolls in his other hand, glancing at Sol and Rob. "Go now, Jheda is in Wailing Wood. Give him this Accident, and the Pain and suffering. Help him catch that whore, and I will reward you well."
Duncan rushed off, a slightly bloodied freeman disappearing in the sprawl of the city. Dancer turned to the young Councillors, arms full of scrolls. "I need to perform a single scroll, before you start your works, Sol Tempest. It is a scroll of Youth, simply an extra breath of life, if you will, so Anyte will make it though your attempts to save her. Wait here for me, and in the meantime get the chaff to find me some water buckets and some vinegar." Without waiting for an answer, Dancer stiffly marched back into the palace, scrolls in tow. His circle still hummed with power, and Anyte still breathed roughly in the center. He dumped the summon scrolls on the table, and carefully placed the healing scrolls to the side. With a slight groan, he walked to his prisoner line. Man, he was getting to old to haul around bodies anymore. Two hours later, Dancer emerged, the throne room cleaned of his works, the only sign of his workings Anyte breathing slightly easier, empty water buckets, and a tarp covering a lumpy mound in the corner. "Your turn, Sol. Show me the power of your gods." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Sol Tempest | |
| With Dancer retreating within the throne room once again to clean up his art, Sol takes a moment to address Challancor Rob.
“I'm glad you made it in time Rob, it’s nice to see a pleasant face even if on you. I need your aid now. I have written a list of items I will need shortly to make a plea to the Old Gods to try and save our Queen” Lady Tempest takes Rob by that hand and places the list within. “Do not dally every moment is critical” Sol concludes. With Rob departing to fetch the necessary items Judge Tempest motions Captain Estrilda to her side, Whispering Sol gives her Captain new orders, “Estrilda, assemble the Tempest Wardens. But discreetly. Have them in position and prepared to arrest anyone on my command.” “My Lady, I don’t understand who would need arresting here.” Captain Estrila inquires. “Just do as I command Captain. Then continue to guard the door and await my command. No one but myself, Dancer, Rob or Allova are permitted to enter the throne room unless I say so.” Lady Tempest quietly affirms so none of the nearby guards can hear. Not a moment too soon as Dancer emerged from the throne room with a statement, "Your turn, Sol. Show me the power of your gods." “Not my gods Dancer, our Queen’s” Sol quipped back. Sol entered the throne room to see it returned to a state well enough to entertain again and much more befitting a Queen. Anyte still lay motionless on the stone pillar in the center of the room, her bandages freshly changed once again. Still waiting on Rob, Sol takes this moment to share some words in private with her Queen. Not knowing if Queen Anyte can even hear Lady Tempest leans in close to whisper in Anyte’s ear so only she could possibly hear, “Forgive me my Queen, you asked me before and I was not brave enough to answer you then and I might never have another chance so here it is. You asked what is my favored companion style. A dame, a lady, a queen. A woman who is fiercely intelligent and proud.” Judge Tempest stands up retrieving a letter for her pocket then continues to speak normally, “My Queen I have also received some letters of sympathy. I don’t know the full meaning of these words but they seemed significant so I shall read them for you. Obeah knows Her own even if they follow another path. And where one of Her daughters was failed before, She would welcome the sister of that daughter. Let Her end the breach, heal the old wound, and make right the old wrong. Rise, Daughter Anyte, and return to us where you can be welcomed as you should have been all those years ago.” Folding the letter and returning it to her pocket Sol looks towards the sky high window observing the moon. If her plea was to have any effect Sir Rob would need to quickly return with her supplies. | |
| Sol Tempest | |
| Roleplay from Rob Storme | |
| Rob had left with the list of elements needed to help the Queen and most of them seemed quite simple- a couple of candles, a chalice made of silver, very easy things to find in a castle however a violent burning essence...Hermann his captain was walking quickly at his side, silent but evidently looking to help, Rob showed him the list. Unfortunately, the other man gave him a sympathetic look when he reached the last item on the list. " You don't know what it is either?"
Hermann shook his head "Shall we split up Chancellor?" A curt nod gave the other man the signal to go on his way, and Rob went to work searching the castle for the elements needed. It was Anyte's home afterall, her faith- whatever it was had to be here somewhere. The silver chalice was easy, the fourth room he tried had one sitting rather pretty on a table for the taking, with his he strode down seemingly endless halls, trying every door, snooping in every room. The candles popped up next, first blue- easy less easily black. All this time he had been looking he hadn't found one place of prayer in any room, not that he could recognize anyway. That was his best bet for finding a..."VIOLET...BURNING... Essence..." He said outloud, as if trying to summon it. A quiet giggle from a shadow down the corridor made him jump, and turn on his heel. It was a woman, young, with her hair hidden under the hood of a robe he didn't recognize. "Why are you looking for such a thing?" A small voice ask him. He stepped forward, and the figure stepped further away. Rob, knowing how intimidating a man his size could be stayed himself and spoke from the distance she felt safe "We- The council thinks we can save the Queen with it." The robed girl was silent for a long moment, and entered the light for the short moment it took her to cross the corridor and continued down out of Rob's line of sight, saying nothing. "It's alright if you've not got one" he urged, rushing forward to catch her- "If you even know-"Around the same corner Hermann looked surprised to see the younger man rushing toward him- each of them holding a silver chalice, and two candles but without any girl in sight. It was difficult not to laugh, but really it wasn't funny. "Where did that girl run to?" "Girl Sir?" Hermann asked as he took the items in hand. "N-Nothing. Nothing." Rob sighed, moving past his captain to continue looking. "I'm sorry Goddess" Rob looked truly sorrowful, returning empty handed. Hermann had already handed off the two chalice' and four candles but also had no luck. In a gesture of deep regret he put his hand to his chest, as he always did before letting loose some heartfelt words but he stopped short. His eyes darted from Sol to his chest pocket, and he patted it briefly before retrieving what appeared to be a ring box. "I'm sorry that- I took so long" Rob bluffed, groping the box in his own disbelief as when he opened it there was something quite violet and shimmering not unlike a flame nestled on a pillow stitched from something metallic. "Is this- what you need?" He asked sounding very unsure. | |
| Rob Storme | |
| Roleplay from Sol Tempest | |
| Sol studied the items retrieved by Rob, the violet gemstone was particularly beautiful, enough to please a specific Goddess. However, feeling the stone in her hard it felt quite brittle and Lady Tempest understood how she would use the stone for her plea.
This whole ritual was very much a mystery to Lady Sol, she had only ever read a few things about the Old Gods and heard a few things of the Dark Mistress from Queen Anyte before. As Sol had spent most of her life fighting she knew very little of religious arts but she felt that a plea to the Dark Mistress was the only to save the Queen of Thalmarkin. Lady Tempest knelt before the pillar that Anyte was resting on and placed the candles beside her with the silver chalice placed between the candles. Sol would first light the pale blue candle which provided the faintest extra light in the moonlit throne room. Sol then lit the black candle which to her surprise gave off a pale white smoke but practically no light whatsoever. “Ice Queen, your Frozen Majesty master of the winter, one of your children of the north needs you now more than ever. Hear my request I beg you. I need your guidance to connect with the Dark Mistress so I can plead for my Queen’s soul.” Clasping and cupping her hands around the open flame from the pale blue candle Sol suffocates the fire dousing it as a sign of respect for the Old Goddess of Ice. She watches as the last of the smoke from the candle rises towards the vaulted ceiling and escapes on a cool northern breeze. Studying the brilliant fragile violet gemstone for the last time Lady Tempest grinds it to powder between her gauntlets and lets the dust fall into the silver chalice. Turning her gaze to the rising pale white smoke Sol begins to speak, “Dark Mistress hear my plea. Your devotee lies before me waiting for your embrace and release from all the suffering that life holds but she cannot leave us now for she works diligently to redeem your name. There are those on Belutaterra who slander the Dark Mistress and Queen Anyte stands adamant to affirm your divinity for all to know true. The Old Gods were here long before men and by their grace we still remain.” Lady Tempest gently picks up the black candle and uses it to light the glimmering purple powder within the silver chalice. With a brilliant flash of violet flame a torrent of white smoke rises and becomes one with the moonlight covering the throne room in a thin pale fog. “Dark Mistress only you can adjourn the release of life. Please grant us this favor so our Queen can finish her work in your name.” A quick gust of air clears the room of all its smoke and in an instant Anyte seems to take a deep breath. Sol quickly stands to see if her plea was heard only to find her Queen still lying wounded and unconscious on the pillar. However in the silence of the throne room Lady Tempest can hear Queen Anyte’s breath and heartbeat returning to a more relaxed rhythm. Sol turns to the others in the throne room, “I believe the Dark Mistress has heard my plea, but her mercy will only stave off death, she will not heal these wounds for us.” | |
| Sol Tempest | |
