Velaryon Family/Aeravon/On the Road to Keffa

Roleplay from Aeravon Velaryon

As the caravan of soldiers stopped Aeravon dismounted his horse. He was standing in the farthest outskirts of Jyl, in a place just before the bridge that connected Twin Towns. Foul wind descended from the Roof of the World, bringing bitter cold that made even his grizzled Housecarls reach for their furs. It was unusual to feel such cold this far south, yet the bridge was in the open corridor where winds usually blew without any remorse. "It is getting cold", he said softly, "and the night is falling fast. We make camp here." Once the camp was set up, Aeravon retreated to his tent. As he read the daily reports he wondered what was going on in Keffa. He sent his most experienced Housecarl Maximia there. Maximia was a harsh woman, an Ukhian war-maiden and if anyone could slip in unnoticed it was her. He sent her for two reasons, one being that she tries to find out what those lights really meant. Two, she was to locate Fiorina. Fiorina was the ache of his heart, a lady he met in Iato during a tournament, a lady of noble birth pledged to the Empire of Vordul Sangunism. Maximia was to deliver a letter to her, a letter which stated that he was terribly sorry for not keeping in regular contact. A letter where his dreams of meeting her again would be revealed and perhaps her reply would warm his heart. "My Lord", a scout entered the tent, "Her Majesty is half a day behind us, my Lord." "And we will wait for her to catch up.", Aeravon replied. "It would be unwise if we didn't". The Queen of Ar Agyr was a sovereign that commanded respect. Unlike those ill-tempered brutes in Thalmarkin the royal line in Ar Agyr appeared very much preserved. The Queen had a certain pedigree and her demeanor war regal. Her instructions were clear and her goals were for the wellbeing of all. Aeravon only now began to question himself that all these years in the far north had made him perhaps more brusque than he ever wanted to be.

Aeravon Velaryon

Roleplay from Aibhlidhn Dubhaine

The column of Agyrian chivalry wound its way along the road from Jyl to Yipinalke, battle-hardened knights and their professional men-at-arms interspersed with the disciplined teamsters of the well-stocked baggage train. This might be a long campaign - if campaign it proved to be - and the Agyrians always prepared wisely for such eventualities. All along the line bright banners fluttered in the cold wind from the mountains, proudly proclaiming battles fought and won on foreign soil, the air abuzz with jaunty military aires: The Rose of Creasur, The Shores of Ketampkin, The Duke of Fianik's Daughter, Ne'er Uncle Bob Did Turn, The Royal Fusileer - a seemingly endless barrage of memories from a history of conflict. Several years had passed since Queen Aibhlidhn last led her army westward during the Thalmarkin-Grehkia War, a short-lived campaign in which little glory had been earned by any of the participants, though the Queen considered Ar Agyr's duty had been satisfied when the walls of Yipinalke were levelled and the road to Ossmat contested. Wilhelm had as always been prescient in foreseeing the consequences of King Zatar's folly, and now the lands between Jyl and Keffa held uncertain sympathies. The Vorduls were untested, Queen Bae's control of Thalmarkin still uncertain, and who knew what to make of the Obeah cultists? Still, reports from Keffa made action a necessity. True, she'd already sent her most trusted agent to do what she herself couldn't be seen to do: block the unconscionable sorcery being wrought in the city. Better a short, sharp, surgical strike than a full-blown war against who knew what powers. So whilst the march of the Agyrians was no pantomime it was most certainly a distraction. A feint to draw inhuman eyes away from the real danger to their latest scheme. As the Queen's own detachment of Fusileers reached the bridgehead a cloud of dust kicked up on the road ahead, and shortly thereafter a rider emerged at full gallop, pulling her mount to a sudden halt. "Advance and be recognised!" a forward picket stood with fusil drawn, black-feathered shaft ready to loose at the first sign of trouble. "Reia, Equerry to the Queen!" Moira's longtime companion dismounted, letting her horse graze where it would, and walk slowly towards the soldier. Her looks suggested a ruggedness at odds with her slight frame and obvious frame, but she was unarmed and therefore perhaps not a danger? "Speak the phrase Equerry," the soldier relaxed a little, recognising her face. "Forelorn Hope," she did her best not to smile but it was difficult given the nature of her mission. "Very good Mistress," the soldier lowered his bow and thrust the arrow back into the dirt from whence he'd pulled it. There were five others set similarly, each ready to be loosed with barely a breath between. Reia was uncertain how the Queen would take the news from Keffa. Moira could be dead by now for all she knew, though at least the stones had been set. That was their mission and surely now couldn't be undone?

Aibhlidhn Dubhaine