Dubhaine Family/Aibhlidhn/Roleplays/2021/May

Dubhaine Family
Fame	40
Wealth	19485
Home Region	Ashforth
Home World	East Continent

Clan Dubhaine:

• Aednadh
• Aibhlidhn
• Aoifa
• Brigdha
• Cathal
• Ciarghuala
• Etain
• Moira
• Rhidhana
• Scein
• Threiginion

12th May

Summer Day - Marpii

Aibhlidhn Dubhaine

"You have need of my services Ma'am?" the dark-garbed inquisitor stepped from the shadows of the Queen's private study, her cowl falling away to reveal an ageless face, at once beautiful and unsettling. She moved with the calm economy of a skilled hunter.

"My messenger found you then," it was a statement rather than a question. Aibhlidhn looked up from her correspondence, quill poised mid-sentence, the faint creases of a smile forming as she did so.

"More to the point, I found him. Or at least what was left of him," the inquisitor shrugged open her cloak, hand resting gently on the hilt of her wolfshead blade. Her gaze alighted on a crystal decanter, "May I?"

"Help yourself," the Queen settled her quill in its ornate silver holder, pushing her chair back and stretching the stiffness from her shoulders.

The clink of crystal was followed by the gentle glug of brandy being poured. A generously filled glass appeared on the Queen's desk.

"Your hand's as heavy as ever I see," Aibhlidhn lifted the glass and swirled its contents, watching the candlelight scatter through the dark liquor before taking a mouthful.

"It gets a lot of practice in Your Majesty's service," her visitor was already pouring herself a second glass, "So I assume you've heard of events in the South?"

"There's little else the great and the good will talk about," Aibhlidhn stood and pulled a velvet cord, summoning her valet, "But we should eat before discussing that. We may not have another chance for some months."

18th May

Summer Day - Verdomite

Emilia Delamoire

Emilia stands with her shoulders set, the signs of recent battle apparent in the wound on her left cheek, stitched together like a seam on a doll from cheekbone to earlobe. Platinum blonde hair was tied into a loose pony tail behind her shoulders and her. She supported most of her light weight on her left leg, the bandages of her right hip and thigh hidden behind fresh black cloth wrapped around her slender frame like a black clad mummy.

They will not see any weakness; she resolved herself. The weight on her shoulders was apparent, but so too was her determination. With clenched teeth, she minded her place in the line of commanders who she was surprised to see began to represent more females than usual. Coming from a matriarchal family from Shadowdale, she had been used to the Patriarchy, and had forever suffered against it in Vordul Sangunis and the domineering will of its culture.

No more.. the thought.. no more.. but the thought was also deflating. She had tried to unite a realm behind an ideal only to have it blow up in her face, and it had come time for her reckoning. Would her convictions be the fuel for enemies, or would it bring her salvation?

Only time would tell. Emilia stood with resolve, ready to face whatever was sent her way.

Elwin Silvertounge

The tired sun sunk past the horizon, and gave its last moment of light for the day. The wind pinched Elwins’ tender cheeks as he looked across the hillside upon his hardworking troops. The troops haven't had a break in days and it really started to get to some of the men, despite this they still worked hard to please their leader. Originally Elwin planned to meet at vondezzessor with another group of adventurers, but from the faces his men were making along the road Elwin decided to return home. The Icy Moon reminded Elwin of the long week he's had, before returning home he made a stop at his favorite local tavern, the Red Boar. The bartender gave a welcoming grin to Elwin as he finished polishing the last of his glass mugs. “And what can I do for you today fine sir.” The bartender asks. “I’ll take your finest whisky. Glug Glug Glug the glass slides across the splintered table “There you are sir,” Elwin downs the drink in just one gulp. His hand slides across the table collecting splinters along the way. He can feel the bark as if it were yesterday, he still smells the flowers tickling his nose, he could still taste the warm breeze jaunt down the field. He could feel the wood against his skin, he could hear the crunch of leaves against his naked feet. He could hear the giggles of his brothers and sisters. All he wanted to do as a child was to roam the empty lands and go on quests with a mighty group of adventurers, but alas he's slumped against a stool at a bar drinking his sorrow away. “That’ll be all thank you” and with that Elwin flipped him a coin and was off his darkened skin merely blended in with the night. And with his boots trudge across the road he began to head home.

Summer Evening - Verdomite

Emilia Delamoire

There was little time for rest during the day, as the local commanders tried to negotiate peace with the loyalist faction of Verdomitian small folk, and less sleep at night as they weathered the attacks from the rebels. The hours became a blur, it had been a couple of days but it felt like one endless night.

The attack this evening was less organized that before, and along with the tip off from a loyalist, the Shaman Seiðr was able to organize a defense to minimize casualties on both sides. Clever traps and diversions, she never could understand how the Shaman worked, garnering insights from root and twig, divining secrets from the wind.

Emilia walked across the camp, refusing to limp or grimace even though she still bore the jagged wound from right thigh to hip. Pain was reality. It was the only way.

Commanders were gathering people to assist in repairing the fortifications, nobles working among peasants, showing the realm that we could once again unite and return to a sense of normalcy. Three people looked to lift a post for the palisade, and though Emilia knew she would be of little assistance with her small stature, she came forward to help. Placing her hands beneath the post, she braced with her good leg, helping to raise it little by little.

It kind of reminded her of being younger, working among others, a feeling of camaraderie. Something she had lost as she grew older, her mother telling her she must be separate from those beneath her if she were to ever rule. They cannot see you as friend, they cannot see you as human. To rule, she said, you must appear infallible. She knew that her mother lied to herself, as she had taught Emilia to lie to herself, to avoid the reality of an abusive household where her father's rage held dominance.

But maybe she could change.. maybe.. these people knew better than her mother.

The log inched up little.. by little.. and then not at all. Heavier and heavier, Emilia grimaced, looking to the others with shared panic as the log started to fall back. What she saw was that it was not shared panic at all, but the others recognizing who she was and having let go. As the log began to fall backward Emilia could only dive to the side into the mud, the sudden warmth on her side signaling the tear of her stitches as the bandages began to soak through in red.

"Bitch" the closest man spit down, his spittle misting on her cheek as she turned her head.

"No'ne wants yer help, we shuld just kill ye now." the boldest threatened, the other two coming closer. It was only thanks to a Noble troop arriving with a wagon full of additional logs that the trio dipped their heads and got back to work.

Sighing a breath of relief, Emilia reached up and wiped the spit from her cheek with the back of her hand. Stiffly rolling over to her side, she put her good knee beneath her and looked up, trying to find some handhold to get back to her feet.

Robert Von L

I was arriving on my horse to Verdomite when I was stopped by a group of peasants.

​​​​​​"Hey you," the peasant yelled.

"May I help you?" I asked

"I think your the guy who robbed us," accused the peasant

"What no," I said angrily.

​​​​​​I was getting increasingly colder by my hard metal armor covering my entire body. I was tired, annoyed, and my troops were just about to fall asleep.

"You know what? I don't like the way you are talking to me," yelled the peasant while looking me dead in the eyes.

"Just piss off already I have somewhere to be," I said while pulling out my sword sensing a battle is about to come. ​​​​ All of a sudden the peasants started charging.

​​​​​​"Men get ready," I yelled but my men were slow to react, and were quickly over whelmed. I hopped of my horse, and charged at them with my iron tipped spear. I slashed and stabbed with blood going everywhere. The peasants realized they were out numbered and out geared and ran away.

Aibhlidhn Dubhaine

As Aibhlidhn suspected, the peasants avoided approaching the ordered ranks of Agyrian warriors, grim-faced hardened veterans of the Western Wars and numerous campaigns against the Necromancer's legions. It was for the best as the Queen had no desire to spill the blood of craftsmen and their apprentices over a dispute which should never have been allowed to reach this stage.

She knew she should have intervened when the Vorduls went to war with the Obeah, two equally incomprehensible cults picking at each other's flesh when the real enemy was building its forces in the Deep South, there in the Rines Peninsula. Instead she'd turned her attention towards the greater threat, hoping the two groups of incomers to the northern plains would settle their differences and be the stronger for it. That was the Northern Way. The Agyrian Way. Sadly both seemed to have faltered. And then the hordes had struck...

"The fools have courage," Captain Caedberga smiled wrily, the experience of many decades informing her steely gaze, "but sadly little sense of discipline. Look how they run at the Vordul lines like wild dogs upon a bear. I see a few veterans here and there but scant enough for a squad, let alone a company. We would make short work of them."

"Aye, we would," Aibhlidhn sighed, signalling her companies to return to their tents with a wave of her sword before sheathing it. Her bugler Alfrith sounded the recall, the refrain soon being echoed by his counterparts in the other Agyrian companies. Only the Black Guard seemed to hesitate, the ties of kinship with their former countrymen balanced against their newfound loyalty.

"I'll give the lads leave for the evening if that's alright Ma'am," Caedberga shouldered her fusil, the flintlike wood burning red as the sun slipped below the horizon.

"Yes, of course," the Queen replied distractedly. She had business to be about herself if there was to be any hope of resolving the Vordul's fracture and securing the shores of Lake Salaman against the approaching storm, "I have business in the Vordul camp. Aelwyn and Djieves will accompany me so there's no need for a bodyguard."

"Are you sure that's wise?"

"Aye, I think so. But if I'm mistaken Sir Filippo will know what to do," her spycatcher was a taciturn man, shrouded in mystery and rarely seen at Court. If anyone were foolish enough to make an attempt on the Queen's life, he'd make sure it was their last mistake.

"Understood Ma'am," Caedberga retired to their encampment, leaving the Queen to watch the unfolding carnage. So much blood spilt and to what purpose? But as she watched the hopeless peasant charge evaporate beneath the withering fire and skillfully wielded blades of trained men-at-arms Aibhlidhn's imagination was transported back to a time of greasy black grass beneath a smouldering sky and the shriek of daimonic weapons setting the wind on fire. There was a fine line between folly and necessity.

When the bloodshed ended the carrion birds swarmed the night sky, a black shroud billowing in the starlight, hawking and carping with the joy of a well set meal. She stood there foe a long while reflecting on the cruel fate of men before turning towards the Vordul encampment, her retainers falling in silently behind her.

19th May

Summer Day -- Verdomite

Emilia Delamoire

Breaking Point

Two of her female archers carried her on a stretcher after being next to a cart, pale as a ghost as blood drained out her thigh. Too stubborn to ask for help or give into the pain, Emilia had defiantly stood, slowly edging her way back to her tent when her leg gave out from under her and she fainted from the pain.

Would he have scorned her for that? To be fair, she didn't give into the pain.. the pain just.. took over. She wasn't weak.

I'm sorry.. I tried..

Her head lolled to the side as tents and bodies blurred by, her eye lids trying to fight the weight of fatigue, the coal makeup clumped in the corner of her eyes and making it sting to blink.

"Get Demona, her wounds are split." Commanded one of the women carrying the stretcher.

"What do you mean, dead? Damnit! Well, find someone, and get some water boiling!"

There was a thud and Emilia's vision jerked to the side as she was unloaded onto a makeshift bed in the tent flying the Black Fist of Delamoire. She heard some shouting for a moment, and then silence. She was jarred to consciousness again as a hand firmly pushed her shoulder to turn her body as they sheered through the leggings and black wraps of clothing. She saw a hint of orange in her peripheral and then the smell of burning flesh, which oddly came before the pain registered in her mind. Like being flung into ice cold water, Emilia was awake and her screams were unable to be contained.

She blacked out again, after, the inside of the tent imprinted on her mind like an oil painting. She saw the deep blue of her house colors, splashed with blood and dirt. She saw herself surrounded by strangers.

When Emilia awoke again she was on her back and in a black cotton slip, her skin smelled of lye and a tea boiled on a low fire at the center of the tent.

"You're not new to this." came an unfamiliar voice, Emilia turning to look at the older brunette woman with sagging shoulders and wise blue eyes. The eyes glanced to her arms, Emilia's own eyes following and feeling naked against the scrutiny of the scars on her forearms. Scars, which were just a few strokes of a brush compared to the lines on her back from whipping, but each of the scar on her arms carrying a significance of her blind devotion. She pulled her arms in, wishing she could disappear to avoid the scrutiny of the healer at her bedside.

"I suffer to find my way, through pain I find absolution." she related, knowing the words too well.

"And is this... the way.. have you found it?" Asked the woman flatly. It was a fair question, when it was laid out like that.. one that Emilia was wholly unprepared for.

"No.. it wasn't supposed to end this way..." Emilia reflected with an unusual show of self to the strange woman, a weight becoming present on her chest as considered her position.

"My Ma always said things happen for a reason.. and there are people, people that are with you still." consoled the woman as she stood from her stool, starting to clean up bandages soaked in Emilia's blood from the ground next to her bed.

The absurdity of it all hit Emilia and she barked in laughter. Short, at first, and then louder in an even tenor of sincere humor which slowly twisted and contorted with emotional turmoil and pain.

"WiIiITH ME?!" she curled her left hand into a fist on the sheets of the bed, struggling to a seated position as she pointed as the healer.

"Please tell me you filthy witch, where are my people? Huh? Are they hiding under the bed? Are they outside, preparing to sing my praise?!" Emilia reached out, yanking the bandage from the healer's hands if only to try and obstruct her progress.

"There are no "my people", there is the same Patriarchy as before. I shook their seat of power and questioned their worth, and all the men got together and decided my fate. Where is the Wizard's long line of punishment? Why is the Shaman not on the chopping block? Why is that the men are Dukes.. and a f*cking Saint.. and I'm rotting in a tent as the gods damned Crimson C&#$!" the ending of her cussing was cut off by the sound of Emilia upending a bowl of surgical tools that was next to her bed.

The last outburst had made the healer decide better than to stay, and she quickly hurried out of the tent.

"There is no we.. there is only me." Emilia consoled herself, collapsing onto the bed again.

Impi Wolfvern

Impi had arrived to Queen's Aibhlidhn encampment embarrasslying. It was a day an a half before he made. Though when he made it and entered the encampment several Vordul nobles had already arrived. More than he expected though a takeover of the region was also in the process so it made sense.

"Once again I'm sorry for being late the scouts lost track of where to go." Queen Aibhlidhn her 4 nobles had awaited patiently for his arrival. "I take it you've already heard Sir Craglan speech. It's not an uncommon feeling amongst my people they do harbor negative views of him. And he hold the holy city Wudenkin within his pockets with the demands. This is where I hope your mediation will be able to help us both get what we want."

Eriol Blackdagger

Riding slowly into the camp of the Queen, Eriol looks forward and sees the Sanguine Saint entering the encampment. Giving the reigns to a soldier, Eriol unhorses and looks ahead, he nods approvingly, as his courier’s horse is tied up as well. Meaning that his initial letter to the Queen has been delivered. Taking a deep breath, Eriol walks forward, silently praying that this whole thing works out.

Summer Evening -- Verdomite

Aibhlidhn Dubhaine

"I recall these being treacherous lands," Aibhlidhn signalled to her squire to help the Sanguine Saint from his horse, "at least they were when I used to hunt Daimons here. They seemed to have a fondness for the Lake. And the Lake had a fondness for them."

The Queen was dressed in an elegant russet robe of finely tailored linen flowing over a long, fitted, trailing gown of cornflower blue silk. Somehow her hems were unmarred by the muddy ground and she seemed to leave no footprints behind her, gliding effortlessly as she approached her sovereign guest.

"Ah, and I see Ambassador Eriol is not far behind," her eye alighted on the young diplomat, "come my friends, let us dine as you must both be hungry and tired from your travels. Djieves!"

"You called Ma'am?" a stentorian voice announced the presence of a tall, solemn faced retainer clothed in black and dark grey livery.

"Have dinner prepared for three. Something hearty for the gentlemen as they've travelled far, and a bottle or two of the Poryatu Reserve. We have much to discuss."

"Very good Ma'am," the servant disappeared towards the camp's open air kitchens without fuss.

The Queen's pavilion was not unduly distinguished compared to those of her noblemen, marked predominantly by the modest pennants to either side of its entrance flap bearing respectively the distinctive Dubhaine Red Saltire with its upthrust mailed fist, and the Bear Rider of Ar Agyr with his raised cudgel. Inside it was a little larger, subtly lit by oil lamps and furnished in the practical style of a knight errant: campaign chests, a trestle table large enough for entertaining or spreading battle maps, and a half-dozen plushly upholstered chairs in various homely colours, each with folding legs. A flap to the rear suggested private sleeping quarters.

"It's always the chairs which are the biggest nuisance to pack," she signalled for them to sit as she attended to a pitcher, pouring them each a goblet of honeyed wine, "but I find guests much prefer them."

She handed the two men their drinks and then sat facing them, sipping from her goblet, amber eyes sparkling in the warm lamplight.

Eriol Blackdagger

Upon coming closer, Eriol hears from the inside, "come my friends, let us dine as you must both be hungry and tired from your travels. Djieves!" Taking that as an invitation, Eriol enters, and bows first to the Sanguine Saint, then to the Queen. “Your majesty, it is a pleasure to see you again.” Taking the glass from the servant, the diplomat takes a seat, an equal distance from the Sanguine Saint and the Queen. “I am deeply grateful to you for granting me an audience, especially so far from your home.

Craglan Mejor

Craglan murmured a few quiet Words of Power to enhance his voice, then cupped his hands on either side of his mouth. His voice then seemed to boom with physics unknown by the common Noble or the common man.

"Lad Hendrick! It appears no one wants you! I wonder how this could be? Do you not ponder upon why the Queen has not offered you a life in Ar Argyr? You are untrustworthy, a self consumed Waverer, a detriment to a realm with progress in mind. You are a fit warrior and little else. Everyone seems to know! I hear you have BIG WORDS to say regarding my position, that I have something to gain by this request for you not to return. In fact I do gain in your absence for I never have to smell the foul stench of your wavering and betrayal, your sycophantry and ego that can barely fit in the Sanguine Citadel, a place you do not deserve to be... Never did. You only inherited Wudenkin as a last chance hope when Invernus left. He had to give it to someone... I too was given a Dutchy which I lost when imprisoned while fighting our eneies! When I was released, all my positions, my estate, was taken from me and given to Impi. I didn't say a word in protest though it would have been my right to do so. Your will is as week as they come...

I don't suppose it occured to you, Duke Coward, that everyone knows who you really are and what you really stand for. It has reached all of our ears your plans to flip all the cities of Vordul and ruin the place entire, a voice you cast BEFORE your BANISHMENT for breaking the laws, lawfully put forth before you cried out to The Gods That Listen (to you). It's over for you Hendrick. You've no allies here, but for every fallen Paladin there is a chance to regain the sanctity of your Oaths.

There is only one way you'll return to Vordul and that is at the same lowly level that I also inhabit. You will be Sir Hendrick and that is ALL. You will never be trusted, never be honored, never be heard be neither Duke nor Lord whilst yet we live. Everyone here hates the very ground you touch. You say Emelia ruined the realm!? You must be blind, daft or both. Has your horse kicked you in the head or were you always a fool? How the Great Queen can stand your company is flabbergasting to me. I suppose it shows her accomplished temperance and diplomacy.

Fool Hendrick: Ar Argyr cannot hold Wudenkin.... The streets will fill with rebels against you for they know where they truly belong. The tax on food that Wudenkin demands will strain all other regions, and the distance from the capitol will make holding the city very tough indeed.... You've lost. And there is nothing now that you can do for the picture has become clear to all: You're awful...

Emelia has nothing to do with anything. The nobility that slept woke. A thing that occurs in The World. You seem incapable of working with others, your voice has shown this time and time again, for if it was not your idea, it was a bad idea... That's the voice we heard from you. And despite your wavering voice of contempt, it seems you are an accomplished whiner! I guess each man has their gift...

Great and Temperate Queen: I'm sorry if I interrupted your meeting, but the Coward Hendrick throws insults that cannot go unchecked. I am mystified by your solidity and would bow to you with courtesy at any time. I find you quite the marvel. Good luck with securing a place for He Who No One Wants."

Craglan dropped his hands. Scowled at the top of the mountain, and poured a heavy glass of wine which he drank in a single gulp before turning Frost towards the rolling countryside of Verdomite to find Frost a mountain goat for a snack.

Impi Wolfvern

Impi was simply dressed in modified clothing made for battle to suit more formalsettings. He turned his padded armor into a formal military dress. Into the shape of a vest the armor was and with a pauldron on his right shoulder.he was always to defend himself incase he needed to.

He had greeted the Queen and followed her the pavilion. He was impressed for this wasn't something he was used. It was modestly done and still not of the normal places his accustomed to. "This is quite nice pavilion I hadn't seen one of these before." She had offered him drinks and he gladly accepted. He sipped it slowly not trying to appear tired from the journey or show the stressed he built from out circumstances build back home.

"Ahh this is agood drink My Queen sweet and fulfilling." He placed it back on the table. "Its nice to finally meet you in person. Your as lovely as they say and more. Including that your a very serious person not to messed with." He took a deep breathe " this way I asked Ambassador Eriol to come. He is better in these situations and I do not wish to rub toes wrong."

"This is a delicate matter for us, and it is I come best prepared with the right person"

Eriol Blackdagger

After taking a second deep drink from the wine, Eriol smiles and says, "Just as good as when I visited your magnificent capital. It seems so long ago, and almost in another lifetime."

Setting the glass down, Eriol's demeanor changes to one of concern. "As Im sure you are aware Your Majesty, the forces of Thalmarkin are on our border as they have stated a rather ridiculous demand, concerning the election of a man who did not run for election. Concerning such, and forgive me as my information might be out of date as I was retired until recently, but I do believe our defensive alliance is still inforce. Is this still correct? Of course, I would not wish for any hostilities but if it were made known of such an agreement, it would do much to dissuade our warmongering neighbors to the North."

Brick Rat

Brick orders her men to set up a small tent.

a sign hanging on the door says ¨Rat´s Spells and Curses¨

Soldiers stand around the entrance.

• 7 men sit around a fire cooking some foul-smelling meat
• 3 men sharpen their weapons and recount stories of home
• A man sits vomiting into a bucket while his 2 friends comfort him
• 2 men check the supports of the tent merrily
• 4 Men count the rations and clean the dishware
• the youngest of the troops, a boy at most 16, stands in the crowded streets banging pans together in hopes of driving customers to the shop

Aibhlidhn Dubhaine

"I too have heard the drums of war beating in the northern wastes," the Queen set her cup on the table, "and I have made my intentions public. King Dancer knows I recognise Lord Impi's sovereignty and that a treaty exists between us. He knows he will have war with me just as Zatar did when he made war on Grehkia."

As she spoke Aibhlidhn turned the dark copper ring on her left hand with her thumb, hither and thither and hither again, and as she did so a silence fell across the pavilion. A silence so deep that the outside world seemed to recede, a dream barely remembered with the breaking dawn.

"This ring was forged in the eternal flame when the First Necromancer fell," the Queen slipped it from her finger and held it aloft, "Scholars call it the cruel ring for the innumerable tears shed in its making. I wear it as a reminder of my duty."

Aibhlidhn slipped the ring back on to her finger and let the silence linger. They did not need to know the cost of wearing that cursed heirloom.

"Hendrick will not serve alongside Emelia and Emelia will not serve alongside Hendrick. The pride of the one is matched in the other. You must choose my Lords which poison to keep and which to send away."