Rea Family/Dancer/Hard Lessons
Contents
Prologue
| Roleplay from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Anyte reads over the letter from Dancer while sipping her brandy. You're damn right you trust me, She thought to herself, You better, though you might not here in a few days.
"Allova, be a dear. Have an announcement sent to the region. It will say that Sir Dancer is my new Steward." "Mistress, is that wise? You know most in the realm dislike him." "Since when have I cared about that? I need someone to take care of the bounty boards while I do my inspection travels. Oh, and take this letter I have personally written to him on the matter." "Of course, mistress, as you say." Sir Dancer, I recieved you letter, and I don't care about an Agyran being here. I have advocated for peace with them and still do. I know this is not why you invite him, but having an Agyran here without harm will show how dedicated we truly are to Ar Agyr. On a side note, I will soon have to leave to start my inspections so I will need some one that I trust to keep on eye on the peasants, food, and bounty boards the advies hunt from. Particularly the last part. Keep the advenurer's happy and they tend to be more useful. As such, I have appointed you Steward of Lastfell. Allova sighs as she heads toward the door to make the announcement, and have the letter that was sweet with Anyte's perfumes delivered. | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
| Roleplay from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Anyte walked down in the basement deep below the actual Bathory, not the tower. Few people could tell the difference because it was well hidden. He had been dragged here. The one who had brought the illicit substances to her home, to the Castle of Lastfell. She could hear the screams of agony billow up the stairs almost like smoke from a chimney in the middle of the frozen winter of the north. Something was off though. The screams didn't sound like they were of real pain, but more like a cacophony of demented pleasure. Confused, Anyte finally entered the door.
"Matron, what in the world are you doing? I told you to torture him for the name of the sender, not whore yourself out and bare him children!" she screamed, angrily, as she burst through the door, but when she caught eye of the man being tortured. He was sitting there, bloody and burned, black and blue, cut and stabbed. Yet the man sat there, laughing, begging the torturer for more. Anyte could not make heads or tails of what was going on. She looked over at the woman holding the hot irons, "What is wrong with him?" she whispered. "Mistress, I... I don't know. He seems... to be enjoying anything and everything I do to him." The Matron said flabbergasted. Annoyed, Anyte marched up the scrawny man with rotted teeth, but he started laughing before she could speak. "I know what you want!" He divulged through short, raspy laughs, "And I'll tell you since this lovely lady showed me such a good time. It was a man named Darius, sending the drugs to one Dancer." With this information, she immediately walked over to the table and because to scribble a letter. Dispreputable Drugdealer Darius, As the Lady of Lastfell, and Ambassador of Thalmarkin, I hereby demand you cease your sending of illicite substances to my realm. We have enough issues without you adding in drugs into the mix. If you continue you do this, I will do everything in my power to ensure your enitre realm pays for your transgressions against my people. Armies, magic, famine, all of it will befall your people and it will be on your head. Anyte Luitolf Chancellor of Thalmarkin Ambassador of Thalmarkin Margravine of Lastfell She turned and walked back to the messenger. "You will deliver this back to your master, or I promise you I will find something don't enjoy so much." | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
| Orders from Baelunìataisharà Blue | |
| Dancer,
Leave your estate now.
Don't let us down! No pressure... Kisses! Baelunìataisharà Blue Queen of Thalmarkin Royal of Thalmarkin Duchess of Sandefur Countess of Rolbury Marshal of the Ursine Legion | |
| Baelunìataisharà Blue | |
| Event | |
| Appointed as Lord
Baelunìataisharà Blue, Queen of Thalmarkin, Royal of Thalmarkin, Duchess of Sandefur, Countess of Rolbury, Marshal of the Ursine Legion has appointed you as the new lord of Jedinchel. You should probably check out the region and estates and make sure everything runs smoothly. | |
| Report from Dancer Rea | |
| What ever you need, My Queen. Your will is my will, until the day the Lords walk this land again. On that day, I will leave you in peace. You'll need everything you have to survive.
Thank you for this opportunity, I will take care of Jed to the best of my ability. ~Dancer Rea Sir Dancer Rea Baron of Jedinchel | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Report from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Dancer,
You will be loyal forever, or I will sacrifice you to my lords myself. Anyte Luitolf Chancellor of Thalmarkin Ambassador of Thalmarkin Margravine of Lastfell | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
| Letter from Dancer Rea | |
| My Love, we've talked about this, at length. Must we bring it up to the Queen as well?
~Dan Sir Dancer Rea Baron of Jedinchel | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Letter from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Dancer,
I built this realm with my own two hands. I will not see it fall so easily. Anyte Luitolf Chancellor of Thalmarkin Ambassador of Thalmarkin Margravine of Lastfell | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
| Letter from Dancer Rea | |
| Unless you plan to convince the entire realm to come to my way of thinking, Thalmarkin will burn with the rest. It has been that way for six invasions now, and it will always be that way until the island sinks below the waves. Would the Great Lords step forth today, I have have no doubt Thal would survive, but it will be brought to heel, just like the rest. I've grown..... fond of several of those that live here, which is why I will have no part of your destruction, and will leave peacefully rather then attempt to tear you apart. Even if my Lords commanded me, I will take their wrath over raising my hand against this realm.
~Dan Sir Dancer Rea Baron of Jedinchel | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Letter from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Dancer,
I will give you one chance to retract your statements, otherwise, even I will be forced to turn my back. You pray to these daimons, yet even you yourself say there have been six invasions. If they are as all-powerful as you say they are, why are we even having this conversation? Why have humans triumphed and pushed them back every single time? I have gone out of my way to see you treated well. I have spoken up on your behalf. I have defended you when none else would. Yet you turn to a group of failures, beings that have lost time and time again to us, over the love I have shown you. It truly breaks my heart that would still see them above those of us that have welcomed you into our lives with open arms. I think you need to truly think about the things you say. I think you need to truly decide what you really want. Will you spurn us, those that truly care about you and welcome you with love and caring, for beings that literally tortured you? Anyte Luitolf Chancellor of Thalmarkin Ambassador of Thalmarkin Margravine of Lastfell | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
The road to an apology.....
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| Autumn leaves danced across the road on occasion, a swirl of oranges and reds covering the dirt. The sun's warmth was warming his wolverine pelt, but it didn't reach down to his skin. Jax trotted obediently, carrying him closer and closer to Lastfell.
I will give you one chance to retract your statements, otherwise, even I will be forced to turn my back. Jax slowed to step over a fallen log, jostling Dancer slightly. Some small rodent skittered to the tree line, the leaves crackling to mark its path. I have gone out of my way to see you treated well. I have spoken up on your behalf. I have defended you when none else would. He'd done it, this time. He'd only been telling the truth, why was she so mad? He'd left the tournament grounds early, just to get back to her. What would he say? What could he say? This was foolish of him - he should have just sent her a letter. No, a letter wasn't personal enough, he should talk to her in person. He wouldn't be able to throw the paper away in person though...he should have just sent a letter..... What was he going to say? Will you spurn us, those that truly care about you and welcome you with love and caring, for beings that literally tortured you? | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| The small wood gate to the Bathory proper was always guarded, and today was no exception. Two Bathory maidens stood at attention on either side of the gate, and Dancer knew there were at least four more on the other side, watching from various weapon holes. He stiffly slid off Jax, his side and buttocks protesting so loud he was amazed they didn't actually make a sound. He'd rode straight from Unger soon after he'd gotten her letter, Jax keeping a good brisk trot.
"Ladies, if you could inform the Chancellor that Dancer Rea is here." Both of the warriors looked at him in mild confusion before one spoke, "Baron, we have standing orders to simply let you in, you don't need announced." The shorter of the two warriors was reaching to open the gate as Dancer replied. "This time, I do. Go and speak to your Lady. I...want to be sure she has time in between her duties." The maiden paused opening the gate, looking to the other woman. A silent agreement went between them, and the first woman looked back at Dancer, and nodded her head. "I will inform her you are here, please, wait here." The warrior slipped inside, leaving Jax, Dancer, and the second warrior alone. Dancer began to unsaddle Jax, without another word. Would she hear him out? What was he even going to say? | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Letter from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Kin,
I demand to know who has been patrolling my region and arrested an official ambassador sent by Obia for discussions! This was put out to you all before she even arrived to leave Lady Mercy be, and will likely be viewed as greatly insulting! Anyte Luitolf Chancellor of Thalmarkin Ambassador of Thalmarkin Margravine of Lastfell | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
| Roleplay from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Anyte stood in her study after the arrest of the Ambassador, wondering exactly what to do about the situation. One one hand, she was an Obian, and all Obians deserved what happened to them, on the other she was an Ambassador sent on official business to conduct diplomacy. It didn't matter in the end, what was done was done, and all she could do now was write an appeal to the judge fur her release. It was just as she sat down with paper, quill, and a nice glass of her custom monster brandy that the maiden came through the door.
"Mistress Anyte, Lord Dancer is here to see you. I know that you have said before..." she began, but Anyte quickly cut her off. "That ingrate dares to show his face here, in my own keep, after what he said, and without even apologizing?" The Bathory Maiden stood there, looking confused, no idea what was going on. Anyte had not had time to spread the news of him being unwelcome until he retracted his filthy, unwarranted words. "Mistress, should I send him away?" the maiden asked, knowing not to pry too much lest her mistresses ire fall on her. "No, no. I would say take him to the dungeons, but it pains a part of me to even think of that. Instead, have a detachment escort him to the top of the tower, and put him in the nice chambers meant for political prisoners. Tell him I will come and talk to him when I feel ready, and when he is ready to apologize and retract his words." The maiden went over the message in her head, ensuring she would not forget it, and ran down to get the women needed to carry out the orders. | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| While they were waiting, Dancer had been pulling at straps, freeing Jax from the riding saddle with several practiced movements. With a grunt of effort, Dancer pulled the whole saddle off, buckles jangling in the cool afternoon air. Jax snorted, and nudged Dancer's shoulder. Dancer looked at the quarter horse, and let a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. Clearly the hellhound could tell Dancer's stomach was a kaleidoscope of butterflies. Dancer reached out, scratching Jax's long nose.
"Perhaps something smaller, Jax. You'll hardly fit in the halls if you stay a horse." The hellhound snorted, but stepped back a pace before shimmering out of focus for a moment. After a second or so, a large black great dane stood in the horse's place, huffing slightly. "Much better Jax. Take my pack, would you?" Dancer pointed at his ever present stained pack, discarded near the saddle. He'd worked hard on the leather pack, adding a large, padded handle to the top just for this purpose. Obediently, Jax padded over, his mouth fitting easily into the handle. The ritual sword hanging off the side of the pack bopped Jax in the nose as he picked it up, but settled out of the hellhound's way after a moment. Dancer had his plain cavalry sword attached to his belt today, but that never stopped him from bringing his ritual sword along; he just didn't feel right without it nearby. The small door in the gate to the Bathory opened, and the first guard slipped back out, but this time, she brought eight other Maidens with her. ----------------------- Brandilin was struggling to keep a blank face. She'd never been part of arresting a noble before, and she'd certainly not been in charge of the whole operation. After the Lady Anyte had given her orders, she had rushed to the barracks, grabbing Maidens she trusted along the way. They had stood in a circle, hashing out the best way to go about arresting the Executioner, worried looks across the board. They all knew Dancer, of course. He'd been in charge of the Courts until recently, and they had all witnessed his judgments a one time or another. Death was the only sentence passed for crimes in Lastfell, and Dancer had earned the name 'Executioner' many times over. They'd all watched him swing the sword, no remorse on his face. After a short debate, they'd made a rough plan, and gathered their weapons. Now they stood outside the keep, slowly circling their target. Brandilin tried to smile at the noble, but she was pretty sure it fell flat. "Baron, we will escort you. However, I have to ask that you come disarmed, and that you send the......dog, away." She held out her hand, attempting another disarming smile. She was careful not to mention what the Lady had said, not yet. His face flickered, and settled on a slight frown. Her fellow Maidens held still, bodies tighter then bowstrings as they held their weapon handles in loose grips. Would this be the moment they had to take him down? How many of her fellows would fall to his sword, or the dog that always seemed to be at his side? Brandilin waited for any move from the noble, any indication of where he would strike. Then he spoke, voice low and gravelly. "Jax," he unbuckled the sword at his side, and began to attach it to the pack the monster held, "Take this to one of my Brothers, and return here and wait for me when you are done." He stepped back from the dog, and the Maidens allowed it to walk past them, back down to the surrounding town. Brandilin dropped her offered hand. The dog taking his weapons was just as good, either way he was unarmed, and alone. Silently, her host fell in around the Executioner, a maneuver they had all practiced many, many times. "Come with us." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| Something was wrong. He could feel the tension from the maidens as the group walked through the Bathory. They'd disarmed him, which they had never done before, and an eight man escort was seven more then he needed to find her office. Naturally, he'd neglected to tell them about the dagger under his shirt, but after that assassin had come after him, he'd been careful to keep a blade of some sort on him at all times. Up flight after flight of stairs they went, well past were he knew her office was at. He would have demanded an explanation, but every maiden in his escort had a hand on a weapon, and they walked in a tight formation around him. For now, he would just have to follow them. Why couldn't he just go to her office and speak with her? Why escort, all the show?
He was deep in thought when they reached the top of the most recent set of stairs, mindlessly following the group through a doorway with a heavy oak door, and down a short hallway. It took three breaths for him to realize what he'd walked into. The first breath he had wasted, looking back at the doorway, instead of in front of him. Why did that door have a barred window? The second breath, he'd looked forward, seeing the end of the hallway open to a large room. The room was circular, with a small open area in the center. Iron bars ringed the area, the space beyond separated into three well furnished cells. Unlike most prisons he'd walked into, everything was lavish, the furniture, bedding, everything fit for a noble. He would have thought he was at someone's estate, if it wasn't for the bars. His thoughts lagged behind his footsteps, new questions fighting for his attention. Where were they? What were these cells for? Why was she meeting him in a cell block? Where was she? It was the third breath when understanding crashed down on him. The cell across from the hallway stood open, a stone faced guard waiting by the door, shackles in her hand. A handful of emotions flashed across his mind, shock, horror, and betrayal all making appearances before his old friend, anger, took over in a wave. How dare she? He'd trusted her, with everything he had. And now she meant to imprison him, like some common criminal. In one movement, he pulled his hidden dagger and spun around, slashing at the throat of maiden right behind him. Skin parted and a long gash opened from the maiden's chin to her ear. She stumbled back, clutching the wound. The move would have disappointed his infiltration tutor, had he seen it. It was one of the moves Dancer had been struggling to preform. Now he wished he'd practiced more. Steel rang though the space, as every one of the guards pulled a weapon. Dancer was two steps to the hallway with the door, before a sword flicked in front of him, inches from his throat. Brandilin had been ready for him, getting ahead of his escape. "Drop the dagger, and be civil, Baron. The Mistress Anyte has ordered you placed here, until she is ready to speak with you, and you are ready to apologize and retract your words." The moment Brandilin had made was enough for the rest of the escort to surround him properly again, swords drawn. Dancer's milky eyes flicked around the room, judging. He'd lost his chance, and with a sinking feeling, he dropped his dagger. It clattered to the floor, and the maidens moved in. | |
| Dancer Rea | |
Nightmares
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| Lastfell
(1/2) The night had gone well, for a little while. Dancer wasn't used to a soft bed, nor a thick duvet. In fact, he had explicitly forbade his estate servants from touching his bed at all, preferring a hard mattress and thin blanket; he dreamed less that way. Tonight, he had crawled under the covers of the strange bed thankfully. The maidens had not taken kindly to his attack, and his body was sore from head to toe from the beating they had handed him. His lip was busted, and one of them had got him square in the eye as well. Considering the pounding his face had taken, the morning would bring a black circle around his eye for sure. At first, he'd struggled to get comfortable at all, between his aching bones and the set of cold metal wrist shackles they'd insisted on locking to him. After a while the metal warmed up, his body relaxed into the soft bed, and he began to dream. He knew it was a dream in a matter of moments. A dark plain stretched before him, small fires burning here and there. He was on a hill, overlooking the carnage, blood still dripping from his sword. Dancer blinked, and cursed. He'd seen this one before, and it never ended well. His brother, Darius, had been sending him brownies with who knows what in them, to help him sleep past these nightmares. The last shipment had never came, and he'd been running on half doses out of his emergency stash for a while now. It seemed the brownies weren't much use the next night, at least when he was stuck on half rations. He cursed again, raising his sword, and spinning around. This nightmare was simple enough, at least. Something would come for him, and drag him into the darkness, kicking and screaming. When, were, what and how were always a bit different, but the setting and result was the same. His hunch paid off, as he parried a silent swing from a shadowy figure. This time, the monster was a shadow, humanoid in size and shape, with a long pointed arm it swung as a weapon. He had to keep a hold on his sword. Every time he'd lost his weapon, he'd been dragged off shortly after. Daemonic runes flickered as Dancer parried another strike from the creature. So, he got his real sword this time, it seemed. He'd been stuck with a dagger, his cavalry sword, or his whip, more then once now during this particular nightmare. None of those weapons were versatile enough to protect him properly, always failing him in the end. His ritual sword always held out for him, at least at first. Another flick, and he caught the shadow on its stomach, and the beast took a step back. Dancer wisely used this moment to turn tail, running headlong down the hillside. He'd tried to fight in previous dreams, and that had failed as well. In what felt like seconds, he hit the bottom of the hill, and began the trek across the plain. The small fires he had seen from the hilltop were much larger here, black smoke lazily curling into the dark sky. Now that he was closer, he could see the source of the fires, and he curled his lip. The smell was what always got to him here, the acidic, nauseating stench burning his nostrils. He'd seen piles like this, hundreds of times, but, even outside of his dreams, he'd never gotten over the smell of burning flesh. | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| (2/2) He picked his way though the piles, giving each a wide berth. Several iterations of this nightmare had the bodies grabbing at him, and he was not going to deal with that again. The shadow-creature was nowhere in sight, but Dancer could feel it still hunting him, like a cold breeze at his back. Pile after pile he passed, charred bodies, one after the other. Some faces he knew, Spearhold nobles, Riombara peasants, anyone in Thalmarkin, they all blurred by as he trotted through the wasteland. Dancer was checking behind him every so often, watching for the pursuit. Without warning, the shadow-thing reappeared, pacing out in front of him from behind a pile of corpses in with his advies' faces on them, already swinging its sword-arm at his head. By Akkan, he'd thought it was behind him. He wasn't ready, and his sword arm moved like molasses. Everything moved slowly, as if to chide him for his inattention. Fear shot through him, pure adrenaline as he tried, vainly, to parry the blow. The shadow bared down, its arm getting closer and closer to his head. He wasn't going to stop it, he was going to be killed, he'd have to suffer the darkness again. The last thing he saw before his skull was shorn in half was two green eyes glaring down at him.
Then, the darkness came, as it always did. Darkness, then pain, lights, screaming, a stone brick wall, chains, blood, darkness, and more agonizing pain. He awoke, screaming and clawing at the blankets, shackles loudly clanging as he untangled himself from the ample bedding. He was in his boxers, on the stone floor near the bed. Cold sweat covered his skin, and he was shaking like a leaf, tears rolling down his face. The guard was at the bars, sticking a torch inside his cell, peering at the mess of bedsheets. "You ok in there?" She asked. Dancer was breathing heavily, trying to control the shaking. He'd instinctively curled up in a ball, and held his head in his hands. "I'm fine," he growled. The maiden stared at him for a moment, before rolling her eyes and returning to a chair on the opposite wall near hallway. Dancer didn't even try to sleep the rest of the night. | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Anyte Luitolf | |
| It had been a few days since Anyte had Dancer locked in the top of her tower, and she dreaded the confrontation she knew was coming once she ascended the stairs. Normally she would have had a man with his actions thrown into the dungeons, but that was not something she could bring herself to do to him. While his actions were certainly indefensible, they were expected and would be corrected. Anyte knew that the inevitable could not be put off any longer, so she slowly started up the stairs, her mind in careful thought along the way. Thoughts about how she was busy protecting his favorite men, she had even had to save one from dying the other day.
Slowly Anyte continued up the long, stairway that led ever upward toward his room. Her dread of the situation grew with every step she took because she knew there was no avoiding what was coming. Dancer was like a feral animal, and everyone knew what happened when you caged ferals. It may have been expected, but it was needed, and she believed he would come out the other side a better person. He had to, she continually told herself, or the Queen herself may have him executed. By the time she reached the top, Anyte was moving much more quickly with anticipation of getting the initial confrontation over with. As soon as she could be seen down the hallway, the maidens on either side of Dancer's door jumped up attentively. The last thing any Bathory Maiden wanted was to be seen lazing about by their Mistress, particularly on this assignment. She approached the maidens, nodded, looked through Dancer's door, and was appalled by what she saw. He sat there, in little more than his undergarments, with shackles around his wrists. She turned to gaze at the maidens, eyes wide but didn't say a word and stared for a moment. She didn't need to as the thinly veiled rage on her face said it all. They knew that this was not a place meant for binding, that was what the dungeons were for. "Mistress, He attacked Brandilin when she brought him here!", the one of the left exclaimed. Anyte stood there, trying to figure out what the maiden was speaking about. "Who in the nether is Brandilin?!" she finally demanded after a moment. "Brandilin, the maiden who you sent to collect the prisoner!" she replied, the panic in her voice starting to rise. Anyte stood there, glaring at the maiden, clearly not amused. "So this, Brandilin as you call her, makes decisions that are higher than mine? The baron is shackled and beaten, neither of which were to be done. If I wanted that, I would have sent him to the dungeons!" She fumed slowly at the maiden. The mistress of the Bathory turned away from the maiden before she could answer and went back look through the bars in the door at the Baron of Jedinchel lay shackled, battered, bruised and all. She peered through the barred hole in the door, taking in the sight. This was bad, very bad, and would not go over well with trying to talk to him, but she had to try. "You, give me the keys to the cell and send for more maidens. No, get matrons. They should know more about proper etiquette and be able to follow my rules more." she snarled at the maiden without turning her head. Then she softened her voice a bit to a smoother tone, "Dancer, I need you to talk to me. Tell me exactly what happened. You look worse than when you came back from the west that one time. This, what they did, this was not what I ordered, and I need to know what happened. | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| (1/2) Three sleepless nights. He'd tried to escape halfway though the second night, of course. Once again, the lessons his infiltration tutor had taught him had come in handy. Shortly after the guard had fallen asleep in the wee hours of the morning, and after some trail and error with a fork he had palmed earlier in the day, he'd managed to pick the lock. He'd made it halfway across the room when a off-hour patrol walked in from the stairs. Trying to fight the newcomer had only made it worse, waking up the first guard. Two well trained maidens against one half blind, shackled old man hadn't been fair in the slightest, and he'd gotten a new layer of bruises and a second round-the-clock guard to show for it. They'd stopped taking the shackles off to let him change clothes as well, leaving him in his boxers rather then risk any other escape attempts.
The third night was the worst so far. Several times he dozed off, living a new horror every few hours. Wolves chasing him across a field in the night, the Judge beheading him, cold smile on her face, his Lords bringing down their judgement, a limp Anyte burning on a stake in the background, a stray arrow lodging in his jugular, blood shooting from between his grasping fingers, his Brothers, both dead and alive, coming for his head, Duncan going for his throat, darkness curling around his body, Anyte being killed, over and over. They all ended the same, with the darkness and pain. When he was awake, he was plagued with tremors and covered in sweat. Morning brought little respite, exhaustion weighing him down like an anvil. Deep bags hung under his eyes as he sat at the small table, in a chair facing the door. Since they had brought his breakfast, he'd shook himself awake a half dozen times, and he hadn't even finished the eggs. Everything on the platter was tasteless to him, and although it did look flavorful, it simply turned to ash in his mouth. Bah, he thought, he wasn't hungry anyway. He pushed the tray to the other side of the table, slightly nauseous. The chair at the table was comfortable, with a small red velvet cushion on the seat. Dancer sighed, and picked himself up with what felt like every ounce of strength he had. Slowly, he moved to the foot of the bed, minding his bruised body as he lowered himself to the floor. The cool stones would help him stay awake, and he could lean against the bed's foot board to stay sitting up right. He'd been dozing on the floor, propped up against the bed, when noises came to him. A door, opening and closing, and his guards shuffling to attention. He didn't bother to open his eyes, conserving his energy for any opening he might get to escape this nightmare. "Mistress, He attacked Brandilin when she brought him here!"
Anyte. Betrayer. A storm of emotion surged past his exhaustion, a kaleidoscope of feelings, each vying for control. Anger, lust, betrayal, love, pain, and fear swirled within him. Anger won, racing to the forefront of his mind, as it always had for most of his life. She was speaking to the maidens at the door, notes of command peppering her voice. "You, give me the keys to the cell and send for more maidens. No, get matrons. They should know more about proper etiquette and be able to follow my rules more."
| |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| (2/2) He opened his eyes, glaring at the door to the cell. He looked at her and felt something, deep beneath the rage. A small ball of warmth hovered, untroubled by the firestorm around it. He pushed the feeling away, sliding farther into blind anger. She'd locked him away, and her personal guards had beat him black and blue, all over one letter. Why? She knew his view, and she'd known for ages now. If it was such a problem, why she didn't just have him killed and get it over with was beyond him.
"You didn't order this, did you, huh?" A thunderstorm sounded friendlier then the snarl coming from Dancer. "Your personal guard of harlots just chose to beat me, and lock me in a cage, all on their own? Then it took you three cursed days to realize?" Dancer's voice dropped into an even lower growl, "Don't Lie to me, Anyte, ever." Malice glittered in his eyes, and the exhaustion had been temporarily burned away by his seething rage. She'd taken advantage of him, and now she'd had him thrown in jail like a common thief. "I wrote facts on a sheet of paper, and you couldn't handle them. You finally realized what you have been dabbling in, and you chose to betray me, rather then accept the truth about this island." He knew he was being hurtful, and he didn't care. Pure, blind rage filled his thoughts, damned be the consequences. "You know Thalmarkin will burn, just like every other realm, when the Lords return to this land. I've told you, over and over. Every man, woman, and child that stands against the rightful Kings of this land will be cut down where they stand, and their bodies will be burned. Pretender 'rulers' like Bae will be strung out, sliced apart inch by inch, while the forces of the Netherworld watch and laugh." His words tasted bad as he said them, but rage and paranoia were choosing his sentences now. "I know this, because I've watched it happen, helped it happen. You had better get your harlots to kill me soon. I won't hesitate to kill you the moment I get a chance, you lying bitch." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Anyte didn't wait for the maidens to bring back their matron superiors. As soon as they had rounded the corner, she placed the keys in the door and opened it. Before he walked in, Anyte peered around the room looking for any discrepancies, but everything looked to be in place. The desk, complete with quill, ink, and paper, while largely untouched, was still there. The bed was still securely in the corner and still had all of its fancy sheets and blankets, though unkempt and unmade. It was clear that he had tried to sleep in them but for some reason had decided to sleep on the floor instead.
That's where he was, where Dancer laid, staring at her largely unmoving. There was a dreadful, rage-induced on his face that she had seen before, but never when it was shot in her direction. The glare didn't phase her too much as it was completely in character for Dancer to jump to conclusions. Anytime someone said anything to him it was all or nothing. Unbridled wrath he would throw around like nothing, or he would ignore the issue. It was as if there was nothing in between, no middle ground to speak of. It was nothing like anything Anyte had seen in any other person in her life, save a few, and they all belonged to one group. The inquisitors in Obia'Seyla. They behaved that way, and they had been corrupted by Obeah. It seemed his daimon lords had done the same to him that their daimon queen had to them. The difference here, she knew, was that there was still a spark of humanity within him, she had seen it. Those as far gone as the inquisitors lose the ability to love, and despite his actions, that was still there in him somewhere, deep down. Anyte pushed her way through the doorway, closed it behind her, and trudged toward where Dancer lay on the floor. He had already barked at her through the door, but that didn't matter, his bark was always worse than his bite when it came to her and she knew it. It didn't take her long to undo the shackles around his wrists. For days he had sat in shackles without need, and it would end here. "I truly did not order this, Dancer, and I will forgive that little bitch comment this time given the circumstances. I am a Chancellor, Ambassador, and Margravine. That's not even counting the side things I have going on, things you know full well about. Are you really surprised it has taken me a few days to make it up here?" She asked while removing the shackles. It was during this time that the matrons finally arrived. They heard their mistress's voice from within the room and were shocked to see her sitting within it. The lead matron burst into the room, weapons drawn after what the maiden's had told their story, but Anyte simply raised her hand and brought them to a halt. "Wait down the hall for me to leave." "But mistress, he could..." Anyte cut them off, "If I have to say it again I'll take you all the way down to a common damsel." The matrons slowly slinked back out the door with confused looks on their face and traveled down the hall, but were careful to stay well within earshot while Anyte turned her attention back to Dancer. "I have never lied to you, so you can drop that right now, you are here because of a letter. Just not because of the one you think. You are here because of a letter from a man named Darius that your servants delivered me, already opened. He allowed this man to bring drugs into my region, my realm?" She could feel the anger start to build within her, so she stopped to take a few breaths. Dancer had been beaten enough, he didn't need her yelling at him as well. After taking a few moments to compose herself, she reached in with one hand to caress his face, while looking softly into his eyes, speaking almost in a whisper. "I know that you are addicted to them, but we will work through this and get you off of them. Then we will work through whatever other issues you may have. This is because I care, if I didn't I would just let you be and use you as a weapon. So, I am forced to present you with a choice." She remarked while and removing her hand from his face so she could place the well known, ornate, ceremonial dagger before Dancer. "You can kill me here and now, or you can agree to stay here and become clean because those are the only two ways you can leave here. You can't continue to live like this." | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
Choices
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| (1/3) Blind rage is all encompassing, forcing your whole being and entire sense of self into one goal: hurt whatever is in front of you. It's like sticking your head underwater; the only thing you are aware of is the rushing in your ears. Most people rarely get to this point; a few deep breaths and they calm down, at least enough for logic to take over. Dancer, however, was not one of these people. Rage roared through him, unmitigated and fierce. His breath came in short bursts, and his body was starting to shake with adrenaline. The glare he was throwing could have melted steel. How dare she? Words echoed in his head, Liar, Betrayer and Heretic all skittering across his rage like water droplets on a hot pan. She entered his cell, stonefaced, and making excuses about duties. The maidens hadn't even gotten the matrons up here. The fool, he could strangle her with the damnable shackles long before the matrons could navigate the hallways and doors. She got closer and closer to him, and he tensed, ready to grab her, twist the chain around her neck, and end this living nightmare.
He caught a whiff of her perfume, and that small ball of warmth he'd so callously pushed aside earlier rolled right back to the forefront of his mind, settling right in the center of the hellstorm of his rage. The little ball sat stubbornly in the path of his anger, refusing to allow him act on his murderous thoughts. A twitch was all he managed as she leaned over him, gently removing the shackles from his wrists. Underneath there was lines of raw skin, tracing the edges where the metal had been rubbing for days. Deeper, older scars crossed underneath the new slices, relics of days past. When the air hit the wounds, pain pricked across his thoughts, further interrupting the blanket of rage he'd so easily slipped under. With that, the rage began to subside, ever so slightly, as that ball of warmth rolled around in his head. Real, logical trains of thought returned to him, and one question beginning to eat away at the edges of his rage. What was wrong with him? He would have killed anyone else in that moment, and he had, many, many times over. Hell, he'd killed for less. Why was she so different? The matrons arrived, the lead one bursting into the room, weapons drawn. His eyes flicked to the new threat, but Anyte had already raised her hand, and after a small protest, she ordered the whole lot of them down the hall. Why would she do that? He'd literally told her he was going to kill her, and he nearly had moments ago. Confusion came into the mad mix that was his thoughts, further muddying the waters. She'd leaned back from him to address her matrons, but she looked back at him now, and began to explain. "I have never lied to you, so you can drop that right now, you are here because of a letter. Just not because of the one you think. You are here because of a letter from a man named Darius that your servants delivered me, already opened. He allowed this man to bring drugs into my region, my realm?" Rage flickered across her face, as Dancer struggled with his own emotions. His rage had cooled an order of magnitude as she spoke, replaced by exhaustion. The missing shipment. She knew about Darius, and she knew about Dancer's brownies. So, that was her reasoning for having him locked in a cage then? She leaned forward more, carefully caressing his face. Akkan, her hand was soft. "I know that you are addicted to them, but we will work through this and get you off of them. Then we will work through whatever other issues you may have. This is because I care, if I didn't I would just let you be and use you as a weapon. So, I am forced to present you with a choice. You can kill me here and now, or you can agree to stay here and become clean because those are the only two ways you can leave here. You can't continue to live like this." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| (2/3) A glittering dagger, gently placed in his lap. Her throat was right there in front of him, one quick slice, and it would be done. Really, he had a duty to end it here for his Brothers, and by extension, duty to his Lords. She had the arrogance to arrest him, who was to say she wouldn't do the same to the rest of his Brothers, if she hadn't already? The missing shipment of brownies had been nearly two months ago, and he didn't believe for a second his letter about the Lords had nothing to do with this. Locked up here for the last three days, there was no way for him to know if she had attacked anyone yet, and there was no way for him to protect them if she left this room.
The handle of the dagger was still warm from where she had held it. It sat in his hand, perfectly balanced, razor sharp edge nearly shimmering. It reminded him of the time they had been in Pomatim, and she'd threatened to remove his manhood for growling at her. He was pretty sure this was the same blade that she'd waived in his face, then. More memories slid by, the first time he'd seen her, on a visit with the then Baron of Jed, her beautiful red hair lightly lifted in the breeze. The first time she'd kissed him, and the tears she'd shed when he'd left her side that day. The night he'd fell at her feet in the Men Down Unger, sick and hallucinating. The ball of warmth in his mind grew, radiating warmth, and clearing the maelstrom of thoughts and feelings in his head. She knew too much. If he finished her now, his Brothers would have a chance to escape, if they still lived. While she had the keys to the doors, he wouldn't make it far, with the matrons down the hall. It didn't matter. News of the Chancellor's death would spread like wildfire, giving his Brothers ample time to slink back into the shadows before they would be discovered. In the end, he really didn't have a choice. He tensed, and flicked the dagger through the air. | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| (3/3) The dagger hit the wall across the room with a clink, spinning in circles on the floor for several revolutions before coming to a halt. He stared at his knees, giving himself a moment to accept his choice; he couldn't do it, and he was pretty sure they both knew it. Fatigue was slipping in, the crystal clarity of adrenaline nearly spent. A shadow lurked at the edges of his vision; he certainly wouldn't be able to shake himself awake this time. A breath after the dagger stopping spinning, Dancer spoke, softer now, even if the venom hadn't completely faded from his voice.
"You could have just asked, Anyte." He rose his gaze back to hers. She was still crouched next to him, her beautiful auburn hair thrown over her shoulder nearly touching the floor. "I didn't have drugs brought to your region, or realm, just to me. Darius is my....eccentric brother, and I write to him often. I like to think it helps him stay sane. A few months ago, I had spoken to him about a problem I was having, and he sent me those brownies in response. I've never given them to anyone else, and I've always had the messenger disposed of properly." Slowly, he reached up, and cupped her chin. "My Love, you were right when you said there were only two ways forward. Get me my brownies," He gestured with his free hand to the discarded dagger, "Or you can put me out of my misery." "Please, My Love, don't make me suffer this any longer." He choked a little over his words, "I don't know how many more nights I can take." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Duncan Blackstone | |
| Duncan left the Lair before he did he nodded to Apostate. He walked up the stairs ignoring the Bathroy Maidens as they did him. He made his way towards the central tower. He was tired of waiting, he felt weak, he had not killed in weeks and the infernal energies keeping him alive were failing. He started at a sprint and made it halfway up the tower before the first arrow hit, it pierced deep into his shoulder then the second one, the third, the fourth and fifth made his vision blur. Crimson and black blood poured from his rooms Duncan fell, he could see it now. The door, Master Rea was so close. Duncan crawled forward and began to stand only to be knocked down by an arrow to his back. Duncan screamed in defiance, no he would not die, he would see his Lord again. Duncan pulled himself up holding himself up by grilling the window bars of the door. Gasping for breath and with his vision fading he spoke “Master Rea....I....” Duncan fell into the void that rushed to embrace him. | |
| Duncan Blackstone | |
| Roleplay from Anyte Luitolf | |
| Anyte watched as Dancer threw the dagger across the room. Her face showing a mixed expression of both displeasure and approval. That was her favorite dagger, after all, one that she had fought Zatar over when she first arrived in Thalmarkin. She knew in her heart that he could never harm her, and knowing his temperament, she was not surprised that it was used that way. Still, she had hoped he would get rid of it in a way that didn't bring damage to it.
"I could have asked." She said allowed while pondering his words. "I have, Dancer, several times. You don't listen." Anyte crossed the room over to the dagger, and just as she had assumed, it had nicks in it. Luckily, though, the blade had not broken. "Dancer, I know that you don't see it now, but this is what is best. You don't need these drugs to function. You need to find a way to function without them." She stated after moving back over to him. Anyte placed her dagger at her side, still within reach of them both, and placed her hands on his face. "Trust me, that is all I ask. When I have ever given you are a reason not to?" Anyte brought her hands down to her lap and gazed intently into his eyes as he explained the predicament that he found himself in. "I didn't have drugs brought to your region, or realm, just to me. Darius is my....eccentric brother, and I write to him often. I like to think it helps him stay sane. A few months ago, I had spoken to him about a problem I was having, and he sent me those brownies in response. I've never given them to anyone else, and I've always had the messenger disposed of properly." "So, your brother is the scoundrel that I chased off. The one so terrified from a single letter that he instantly stopped sending the drugs to you. It is quite obvious the dependable brother is the one that came to Beluaterra. I will say this, you will get no more drugs. You will kick that habit and we will work out healthier ways to deal with these issues." Anyte claimed after all the explanations had been given. Before she could continue talking to Dancer there was a loud crashing outside of the room. Anyte slowly stood and made her way to peer out the door. What she saw was infuriating. There were streaks of blood along the ground and spattered on the walls. The matrons stood around a man, and Anyte pushed her way through the group to see who it was. It was a man well known to her, a man that has been a throne in her side since he had arrived and she was done playing games with him. He only lived because Dancer had asked her not to kill him, but this was too far. With fury, Anyte marched back into Dancer's room and grabbed the manacles that had been used to bind Dancer in place. She looked over at Dancer one last time, "These will not be used on you again, but I will be using them to make a point." Anyte flew out of the room so fast that and onlooker might think the room has caught fire. Stilled holding the manacles in hand she looked over at the senior matron, "Put him in these and hang him from the walls in the dungeon below." She said through grinding clenched teeth. "If he wakes up and tries to escape, kill him. If you do, still hang him in the dungeons. I want death matrons and bell maidens guarding him at all times. If he causes issues, we will feed him to the monsters, bound and gagged, so that he cannot fight. We will wait until they devour every last inch of him, but first, I want answers from him. We will cut them out of him if we have to. Your time has come, Duncan." | |
| Anyte Luitolf | |
| Roleplay from Duncan Blackstone | |
| Duncan didn’t wake for a long time, he felt the chill of death for what felt like days when he awoke the heat was little more a brush upon his soul.
He blinked it was dark and dank, he tried to move but he was shackled he looked up at his arms. He thought he heard bells, Duncan grimaced, he had done it now. He sighed “So be it” he mumbled, he made his gambit, a chance to see his Lord, his master again, he was lost without him. If this was the cost then he will pay it. There was no thrashing, no screaming, no threats of killing. Duncan closed his eyes and hung there. Waiting, only moving to periodically try to kill the rats in the cell around him when they got close enough to his leg. He successfully did it twice and each time he felt the arcane powers preserving him strength. He was alone, truth be he had been for a while. Not many spoke to him and he didn’t care enough to seek people out. He wondered, was he going to die or stay here forever. Had he failed? Duncan didn’t know, didn’t care he hung for hours then days, silent, unmoving. | |
| Duncan Blackstone | |
Some Months later, Unger:
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| All was quiet in Unger, the city snoozing in the warm summer night. A lone woman trotted up to the city gates, massive sack lashed to her back. With every step, the sack crinkled, the alien sound breaking the night air. A few words to the gate guards, and a flashed set of papers, and the woman was through, trotting up to the old palace hastily. She was let in those gates as well. Several hours pass, and the sun rose over the city, promising a new day of work and play to the people of Unger, even as a pair of messengers, both male, left the palace, and began their long journey. | |
| Dancer Rea | |
| Roleplay from Dancer Rea | |
| The sun hung low in the sky, still pulling away from the horizon to start a new day. A lone messenger was escorted by a stern looking woman though the corridors of the old palace in Unger, passing silent guard after silent guard. Early morning darkness still covered most of the palace, with a torch lighting the way every so often. The pair passed through the throne room, now nothing more then a monument to a forgotten war, an old Deamon Lord's skull resting on top of the backing. Its empty eye sockets followed the intruders as they marched across the hall, before they vanished into a side hallway. The new corridor stretched for several yards, a few wooden doors lining its left side, before ending in a dead end. Farthest down the way, a pair of older woman stood guard near the last door, both stone still. The woman escorting the messenger nodded to the two women on guard, and one of them knocked on the wood.
"Messenger for you, Baron." A muffled assent came from the door, and the guard that had spoke reached to her side, retrieving a key ring. She fiddled with the lock for a moment, before a soft click signaled her success. The escort went in first, motioning for the messenger to follow. Like much of the palace, the room was dark, save a single ray of morning light cutting across the center of the room. The source of the voice was nowhere to be seen. Blinking, the messenger looked to the woman for guidance, but the woman was looking to the darkness across the room, hand on the pommel of her sword. The messenger stared, but the light between him and the opposite wall kept him from seeing much. He could see the shape of a man, sitting in a chair perhaps, but nothing more. The woman spoke softly to the messenger, not taking her eyes off the man. "Speak your piece." The messenger fidgeted for a moment, only narrowly not dropping his scroll. This.....wasn't what he had expected; nobles usually met him in an ante chamber, fine silk tunics shimmering in torch light. Everyone had heard the stories of course, that the Duchess drank blood, and that the Baron was the one that filled her glass. The messenger had laughed about such stories over a beer and a roaring fire many a time. It was a much different thing to be standing here, and to see the Baron in person. The man unrolled his scroll, lightly clearing his throat before he spoke. "Zatar Zatirri, King of Thalmarkin, Royal of Thalmarkin, has appointed Dancer Rea, Baron of Jedinchel, to the vacant Duke position of Sandefur." The messenger glanced at the figure in the darkness, "Congratulations, Duke Dancer." The figure in the darkness shifted, and a low chuckle came out of the darkness. The messenger took a step back, and the matron flexed the grip on her sword as the figure stepped into the morning sun. The newly minted Duke smiled a smile that would have looked more suitable on a wolf, and eyes glittering, he quietly growled at the pair. "Finally." | |
| Dancer Rea | |
