Difference between revisions of "Old Gods/Practices/Vernal Equinox"
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"You going to try yourself then?" | "You going to try yourself then?" | ||
+ | |Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Soren Navaar | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=Soren turned and looked up at Nerta with a wide grin and gave an extra sweeping bow in her direction. As he went to collect the few belongings he had set aside, the next person, Elios Everlight, took to the stage after. Looking up at the crowd, he began to circle the arena, feigning gasps when the duke was pushed back and cheering his advances. His fingers twitched toward his back where his lute was not waiting for him at the moment. | ||
+ | |||
+ | As Elios' bout came to an end, Soren marched up into the arena again. "Duke Everlight, everybody!" He held up a small pouch of gold and walked a circle around the man he seemed to be sizing up as a rival. "In honor of the only other man with the guts to come up on stage today, I'm inviting everyone here for drinks! From my favorite nobles," he said, with a glance toward Nerta, to people I've never met before, all of you tell me your tales and come have a pint on me! Then, let's have a second pint in honor of the good Duke here. Compared to my pitiful skills, this is a man who knows what a joust is. He is by far my superior at firmly grasping a long pole and shoving it into another man!" | ||
+ | |||
+ | He flashed the Duke a grin before stepping away. "Third, let's toast our gracious hosts, The Duke Bob, and Queen Aibhlidhn. You can't ignore me forever, your majesty! Come greet your guests and subjects for a drink or four, alright?" he shouted into the crowds of visitors, before rounding on his heel to face the people behind him. "And one more drink for this great festival, and the beautiful people attending it. If I see at least three more nobles at the next bar I go to, I'll sing you all a song. And after five rounds, I promise I'll sound like a true musical muse!" | ||
+ | |Title=Count of Seven Rivers | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Arsene Solicix | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=At the sound of an unfamiliar voice behind her, Arsene startled, twitching slightly as she turned around. Her gaze immediately focused on a cloaked woman sitting in the row above the railing, her skin painted a surprising violet as a spear rested on her knees. She blinked, wondering for the briefest moment if this was a common custom in Ar Argyr or whatever realm this lady was from, and her momentary pause caused Vivien to notice, her squire turning and openly gawking at the women. Her reaction assisted in returning sense to Arsene, and she lay her free hand heavily on Vivien's shoulder, nodding her head respectfully to the woman above. There was a strange aura about her that unnerved the Baroness, but she pushed the uneasy feeling down in favor of courtesy. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Please forgive us, ma'am. Right or wrong she may be, but her mind is not as sharp as her tongue." Outraged, Vivien took a deep breath to retort, but at the fierce glare in Arsene's pale green eyes she shut her mouth reluctantly. Even if the unknown woman agreed with them, it was never a good idea to reveal too much of themselves, lest the stranger becomes an enemy. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Witnessing the lady wave to the men below, Arsene realized she must know them, and she felt a significant flash of relief that Vivien had not angered her. That could have ended very badly if she had gotten insulted, for at least one of the men was likely her realm-mate. When she spoke again, asking if Arsene would try as well, the Baroness chuckled, lifting her carved wooden cane a little for emphasis. "I'm afraid not. The past few days of traveling have rekindled some old wounds in my leg, and I can hardly walk with it right now. I'll save my strength for tournament day." | ||
+ | |||
+ | Their conversation then took a short break as the victor of the match they had originally been watching shouted to the spectators, calling for toasts to important nobles and offering drinks for all. Throughout the speech, Vivien crossed her arms, scowling and rolling her eyes so much that Arsene thought they might just roll out of her head, and she swallowed a sigh of exasperation at her squire. Once the man had finished, Arsene turned to glance back at the woman above, her curiosity getting the best of her wariness. "May I know whom I have the honor of addressing?" | ||
+ | |Title=Baroness of Lezzel | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Bob Baceolus | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=Festival of Lights. Agyr. | ||
+ | You announce a large festival to be held tomorrow. | ||
+ | |Title=Duke of Agyr | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Nerta the Weaver | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=Festival of Lights. Agyr. | ||
+ | The introduction of Elios with free drinks and innuendo prompts Nerta to sniff and turn her glittering eyes back to Arsene. Perhaps the ale stained woman wasn't a fan of Soren's bawdy jokes, or the one introduced. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "The 'honour of addressing'? Precious little of that by Patrician standards, but you can call me Nerta all the same." | ||
+ | |||
+ | Once again resting in that hunched perch, the spear haft slips out to tap at the cane. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Now my question: What's the story to this?" The spear swings to point to Vivien's cane. "Dull mind decided to be a blunt instrument the last time you chided that loose tongue?" | ||
+ | |Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Arsene Solicix | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=Arsene blinked when the spear tapped her cane, stewing on the painted woman's words. She pondered for a moment, observing Nerta while Vivien fidgeted, glancing between her mistress and the woman above intensely. | ||
+ | |||
+ | While she was normally averse to sharing anything about her or her squire to those they had just met, surely telling about her old wounds wouldn't cause any harm? It wasn't like she was spilling something life altering, but her cautious warrior mindset said otherwise. Sharing information about her leg was revealing one of her greatest weaknesses that could easily be exploited in a fight, but she was generally careful enough to hide this fact when she fought on the battlefield or even just strolled through town. Unfortunately, she overestimated her ability to travel, and was now paying the due price for it. | ||
+ | |||
+ | After another glance at Nerta's eyes, Arsene sighed, relenting. The woman didn't seem to radiate any hostility, though she did have an aura of mystery. | ||
+ | |||
+ | She opened her mouth to speak, but Vivien had apparently grown tired of waiting during the tense silence and spoke up instead. "You can insult my speech and my intellect all you like, milady, but please don't ever insult my loyalty." Her statement could almost have been considered polite, until her squire looked Nerta square in the eyes and rested her hands on her knives in a subtle threat. "I would never injure my liege like that!" | ||
+ | |||
+ | Arsene stared at Vivien in utter confusion for a few seconds, until the meaning of her ire became clear. 'Last time you chided that loose tongue, dull mind decided to be a blunt instrument?' | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Baroness couldn't help it, she gave a very unladylike snort before smacking away one of Vivien's hands from her knives. "Lady Nerta, rest assured; this little spitfire could not have injured me this bad in a fight. Most of the time she just sulks about after I scold her, like a drowned rat." Shaking her head, she shifted her weight slightly. "My old wounds are battle scars from fighting the undead back in Thalmarkin." | ||
+ | |||
+ | Her eyes glazed over with memories, and her brow furrowed. It only lasted but a moment before her attention returned, and she cleared her throat. "The undead seem to be a problem down here as well, it seems." | ||
+ | |Title=Baroness of Lezzel | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Nerta the Weaver | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=Festival of Lights. Agyr. | ||
+ | With the tournament about to get under way, the rapidly filling stands push Nerta from her perch. That glittering gaze dancing as the squire settles a hand on her knife, the woman leans just a bit closer. "Loyal and direct. I like you." | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Baroness interjects before Nerta can say more. Though is her frown from the interruption, or a reflection of the various insults piled atop Vivien? | ||
+ | |||
+ | "The undead you say? Let me guess: a big champion with growing green eyes carrying a blade of black steel?" A bandaged arm rises from beneath the cloak, the edges of the linen reveal a spider-work of black lines. "I had my own run in with such in [[Unti Family/Nerta/A5S1|Bessimir]] and, as I learned a few weeks ago in [[Unti Family/Nerta/A6S4|Wudenken,]] such wounds ''lingers''." | ||
+ | |||
+ | The woman's spear swings toward the city. There in the shadow of the Eternal Flame, and next to the Senate, is the restored temple to the Old Gods. "After the festival I'll be digging through the old records, maybe even see what the [[Melhed/Agyrian Academy|Academy]] might know about this rot. You're welcome to join m-" | ||
+ | |||
+ | The last word is cut off as the crowd roars. Apparently the games had begun. | ||
|Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | |Title=[[Melhed/Foederati|Foederati]] | ||
}}</center> | }}</center> | ||
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}}</center> | }}</center> | ||
|- | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Aibhlidhn Dubhaine | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=Aibhlidhn was in pensive mood, her desk strewn with scout reports smuggled at great risk from the heart of the Sunken Lands. Everywhere her spy passed the reckoning was the same: thousands upon thousands of the dead mustering at their Master's call, and alongside them regiments of fell things like unto men in only the broadest of outline. | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Queen was no stranger to fighting such things. Indeed she'd lead the charge so many times and against such overwhelming odds that she'd gained something of a reputation as a berserker though quite how this sat with the thoughtful, humorous, elegant woman who frequented libraries and teahouses was difficult to reconcile. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Whatever the Necromancer had planned he'd not want for strength. That was a certainty. From Creasur in the North to Cagamir in the utmost South his rule was unchallenged and what really cut to Aibhlidhn's heart were not the accounts of his strength but of the few isolated survivors who somehow clung on in spite of the many perils around them. The accounting of great cities fallen to decay where once the banners of humanity proudly flew. The knowledge that in truth the Dead Lands might be lost for all time. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Could such a fate also befall the Northern Realms? For now the gods had given them a reprieve though at what dreadful cost few others dared comprehend. | ||
+ | |||
+ | She thought a while longer, idly toying with her quill as if to capture her thoughts on parchment but in truth all that flowed were aimless doodles, geometric patterns oddly interspersed with rabbits and hares about the business of men... | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Oh damn it," she set the quill aside, "this is not the time to sit with your thoughts Aive. The Winter is past and Spring demands your attention." | ||
+ | |||
+ | She was just reaching to pull the velvet cord and summon her servants when Djieves entered the study with his presciently impeccable timing. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "You rang ma'am?" his stentorian voice always calmed her mood. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Yes Djieves, have Lady Morag gather my Ladies-in-Waiting and set out suitable attire for this evening's festivities." | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Very good ma'am," the door closed with a whisper and Aibhlidhn turned her thoughts to the impending tournament, a chance to mingle with her subjects and enjoy their good humour. | ||
+ | |Title=Queen of Ar Agyr | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Moira | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content="You really should try these pastries, they're amazing," Reia set her plate and a pot of tea on the trestle table before sitting down opposite Moira with obvious relief, the wooden platter laden with all manner of sweet delicacies, some iced in luminous colours, some glazed with honey, some garnished with motley collections of dull dried fruits and vivid crystallised peels, suffused with cream and fragrant spices. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "That's okay," Moira tapped the rim of her tankard, "I'll stick with the mulled wine for now and maybe a pie when I'm feeling peckish. These old bones need the warmth. But don't let me stop you digging in." | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Oh don't worry about that ma'am," Reia slurred through a mouthful of cake, the former paladin's asceticism for once thrown to the winds, "I think Darton will forgive me this one excess." | ||
+ | |||
+ | The Queen's Inquisitor doubted Darton cared one way or the other but she offered her friend an indulgent smile anyway and raised her tankard in salute. The women had been travelling companions for longer than either could clearly remember, their friendship forged long ago and far away in the free city of Via, the one sworn to mete justice where none else dared, the other to bring comfort and mercy. It was Reia who in due course had delivered Moira's three wildling daughters, Ciarghuala the Reaver and the doomed twins, Scein and Threiginion. And years later it was Reia who accompanied her across the wide ocean when she answered the call to aid Aibhlidhn in the Sixth Invasion. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Their journey north from Creasur had been long and hard, the winter snows lying particularly thick on the land this year. Whether that had aught to do with the ill-conceived ritual they participated in was far from clear but even for seasoned travellers like Moira and Reia the ancient trackways had been heavy going and many a night they'd made their camp amongst the drifts, their only warmth the single ember of the Eternal Flame which they'd borne with them. Memories of the Dead Lands haunted their steps and their one consolation as they'd trudged their way through the seemingly endless leagues of blizzard winds and perilous black ice had been the thought of a hot bath, a soft bed, and a filling meal before their next venture on Her Majesty's service. | ||
+ | |||
+ | When they'd reached the capital it hadn't taken long to learn of the impending tournament and so they stopped overnight to soothe their tired limbs before continuing on up the Great North Road to the mighty haven of Agyr. The weather was gentler within the well-tended demesne of their mistress and the metalled road was busy with excited pilgrims and liveried merchant caravans bearing exotic wares to the Festival of Lights, a celebration of that rare vernal equinox when the Gregorian Year coincided with its mundane counterpart. The Queen herself would be in attendance along with many of mankind's champions and the call had gone out far and wide for adventurers of all kinds to join the festivities and share their tales. | ||
+ | |||
+ | The tale Moira had to share was for the Queen's ears alone. Not that the tale would be unknown to Aibhlidhn for whom many eyes secretly provided knowledge of the Necromancer's doings. Whilst the other realms jockeyed for power and prestige, in Ar Agyr all counsels were turned to that greater conflict which must inevitably press ever closer upon the lands of man. | ||
+ | |Title=Adventurer | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Stebe | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=At a upscale tavern... for a commoner. (Slumming it for a noble) | ||
+ | Stebe leans against a wall watching the nobility lose themselves to the drink. A smile up his face whenever round is bought. How many has it been 7 or 8 Stebe doesn't care or remember if he was to be honest with himself. The latest batch of nobles too young to understand their own mortality and too stupid to realize it. Think to himself, I was like these kids once. Too innocent realize the real pain is still ahead. I was that ones age when I wed Francine. I wonder how the kids are? | ||
+ | |||
+ | Shorts of excitement as one of the nobles climb upon a chair and begins to sing a tune so off tune that you Stebe couldn't tell if the serenader was doing it intentionally or not. | ||
+ | |||
+ | Raising his voice just enough for Quincy to her of the nights ruckus Stebe says, "Reminds of Francine's Singing voice." Quincy looks at Stebe slightly confused. "Loud, Obnoxious, and without a care for anyone around them," Stebe Laughs at his own joke. Quincy's frown only causes Stebe to laugh all that much more. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Do think we could get into one of those richer parties?" Stebe asks. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "No, Sir." Quincy drawls out in the most grating monotone that a couple of near by revelers looked at Quincy in confusion before turning back to their party. "I would advice against it, Sir" | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Quincy, Sometimes I must say you have soul of boulder. Just sitting there with no sense of adventure." Looking at Quincy as he downs his latest drink. "This is why we ran away from home. No more Shtups to give! Quincy I tried to rally my Schtup army but they have been Schtupping defeated!" Looking around during a momentary pause. "Come Quincy. The Day is still young let's see what mischief be can get into to broker in a new spring." | ||
+ | |Title=Adventurer | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |Tournament Report | ||
+ | Welcome to the tournament in Agyr. 24 nobles from 6 realms paid their 0 gold entrance fee and visit the tournament grounds today to claim the winner's honours and 1000 (gold) (500 for second place).<br> | ||
+ | This is a swordfighting tournament, and here are the results:<br> | ||
+ | <br> | ||
+ | Round 1, 24 participants:<br> | ||
+ | Shebin from Nothoi -beats- Rogan from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Rodderick from Shattered Vales -beats- Reigner from Reven<br> | ||
+ | Talzir from Nothoi -beats- Arsene from Irondale<br> | ||
+ | Nostalgia from Ar Agyr -beats- Moritz from Nothoi<br> | ||
+ | Sol from Reven -beats- Biff from Irondale<br> | ||
+ | Keene from Irondale -beats- Artea from Thalmarkin<br> | ||
+ | Otto from Ar Agyr -beats- Kravin from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Quincy from Irondale -beats- Tidalous from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Elios from Thalmarkin -beats- Nefasto from Nothoi<br> | ||
+ | Soren from Ar Agyr -beats- Annon from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Owain from Shattered Vales -beats- Von D'arco from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Draximo from Ar Agyr -beats- Astrid from Shattered Vales<br> | ||
+ | <br> | ||
+ | Round 2, 12 participants:<br> | ||
+ | Quincy from Irondale -beats- Rodderick from Shattered Vales<br> | ||
+ | Elios from Thalmarkin -beats- Talzir from Nothoi<br> | ||
+ | Owain from Shattered Vales -beats- Nostalgia from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Soren from Ar Agyr -beats- Draximo from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Sol from Reven -beats- Otto from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Shebin from Nothoi -beats- Keene from Irondale<br> | ||
+ | <br> | ||
+ | Round 3, 6 participants:<br> | ||
+ | Owain from Shattered Vales -beats- Elios from Thalmarkin<br> | ||
+ | Shebin from Nothoi -beats- Soren from Ar Agyr<br> | ||
+ | Quincy from Irondale -beats- Sol from Reven<br> | ||
+ | <br> | ||
+ | Semifinal round:<br> | ||
+ | Quincy from Irondale -beats- Owain from Shattered Vales<br> | ||
+ | Shebin - wildcard<br> | ||
+ | <br> | ||
+ | Final Round:<br> | ||
+ | Quincy from Irondale -beats- Shebin from Nothoi<br> | ||
+ | Winner: Quincy<br> | ||
+ | That was the tournament in Agyr. Congratulations to the winner and to all participants.<br> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Quincy Stormreaver | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=I think a few of you had a bit too much to drink for me to come out on top! A fine event in any such case, cheers to you all. | ||
+ | |Title=Knight of Firbalt | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Sol Tempest | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=The drinking is the best part. | ||
+ | |Title=Knight of Firbalt | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Aibhlidhn Dubhaine | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content=Congratulations Sir Quincy. Your display of swordsmanship is an inspiration to us all. | ||
+ | |Title=Queen of Ar Agyr | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |colspan=1 | <center> {{Message2 | ||
+ | |Width=100% | ||
+ | |Type=Roleplay | ||
+ | |Sender=Stebe | ||
+ | |Recipients=Everyone at the Festival of Lights | ||
+ | |Content= | ||
+ | "Well Quincy," exclaims Stebe in exasperation. "I was not expecting that." Turning to leave Stebe tosses a sack of coin to the bookie that catches it out of the air before then nods in appreciation as Stebe passes out of the arena area. | ||
+ | |||
+ | "Come Quincy let us get out of town and head home before these roads get clogged down with travelers." | ||
+ | |Title=Adventurer | ||
+ | }}</center> | ||
+ | |- | ||
+ | |||
+ | |} |
Latest revision as of 22:44, 29 March 2022
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Tournament Announced
Aibhlidhn Dubhaine, Queen of Ar Agyr, Royal of Ar Agyr, Duchess of Havilmark has announced a Tournament of Swordfighting to be held in Agyr 9 days from now. | ||||||
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Tyler Thrice-Blessed | ||||||
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Festival of Lights | ||||||
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Tournament Report
Welcome to the tournament in Agyr. 24 nobles from 6 realms paid their 0 gold entrance fee and visit the tournament grounds today to claim the winner's honours and 1000 (gold) (500 for second place). | ||||||
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