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Post by Solaiel on Mar 4, 2017 5:03:50 GMT
The young man seemed lost in thought at her words. "You propose to hide my heart in return for my protection of your kingdom?" Normally Solaiel might have laughed at such a thought. However, he rarely found himself in debt to another. It would have been much easier to kill the woman and be done with it, but even High Dragons had their own odd sense of codes and honor. "A vampiric invasion," he mused as he stroked the small beard on his chin. "The low creatures of the shadow might as well be ants scurrying before my feet. The undead pose no threat, but even I can be overcome by scores of ballistae and sorcerers. How would you protect my heart? I owe you a favor, but why should I bleed for Ashdell?" It seemed that such a thing was not said without difficulty. Dragons took great pride in their superior existence. It rankled at him visibly to admit that the lesser races could eventually overcome him. Yet he did not seem so solidly against the idea of throwing in with her. As a human he suddenly became somewhat easier to read. Facial expressions subtly spoke of doubt. Solaiel knew not where he'd hide the jewel safely. He was unsure if he could destroy it without destroying himself. She could strike it with a hammer and do no more than if she tried to crush it with her mere fingertips. Yet if he unmade this thing, would it not also unmake him? It held his very essence and he found himself afraid to handle it. Perhaps she could keep it safe in some royal vault. Perhaps... Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Mar 4, 2017 5:27:43 GMT
SolaielAs far as she could tell, she had yet to win him over to the idea, but he was listening, at least. That had to count for something. "I'm certain you know war. I'm not asking you to commit yourself to serious risk, Dawnbreaker. A pass or two above an army, a little fire, could make a genuine difference for my people in a crisis. Remember, too, what the skies are like that far north, in the forest valleys. There are heavy clouds over my home most days." Mirielle found her heart was racing; it hadn't done that before, not today. Why now? Her jaw tightened and she stood a little taller. "As for how to protect your heart, I know those woods better than most. There are valleys and crags where nobody ever goes, and no map's ever marked them. I know there are kinds of magic that can detect things like this." She hefted the wrapped gem. "But Ashdell is surrounded by an enchanted forest. It's navigable, but any number of places, animals, and trees have...they have enough presence to...to cloud spells that do that." By the Swan, but she was struggling. Long day. She closed her eyes and let out a slow breath. "Locator rituals get a barrage of false positives in that forest. Magic won't be able to find your heart. Once I hide it in the hills, neither will anything or anyone else. Anonymity will keep it safe. I'll hide it at night, on a slope I can see from my father's home in Coalhurst. I'd be able to see if anyone came there." Her mouth opened and closed again. She'd talked too much already.
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Post by Solaiel on Mar 5, 2017 1:54:50 GMT
There was another lengthy pause as the faux man seemed to get lost in his thoughts once more. He pondered on her words with a certain twinkle in his eyes. Truthfully it wouldn't hurt to tie strings to one more kingdom. The thrill of a hunt and a kill was no where as entertaining as the mass destruction of an entire line of infantry. The screams of a legion was a music that couldn't be duplicated by the paltry patrols he faced this night. The ecstasy of drowning in the adrenaline of dying soldiers was a feeling that simply couldn't be captured into words. That alone was almost enough to agree to her request. Of course there was also the jewel. She did seem confident of her plans, and the reaction with the jewel meant that she was not dark of heart. Perhaps she'd be true to her word. He hadn't yet come up with a better way to secure his treasure than to lock it into a safe within his own estates. Such a place was where one would expect to find treasure though. "Who would have known that i'd pick up a little silver tongued fox along the way," he added quietly in an almost inaudible tone. A soft chuckle followed as amusement graced Solaiel's features. "You could be to Ashdell in just a few hours. You could use the jewel to call upon me when in great need. I would take pleasure in setting nightmares within your enemies that would be felt into the next generation. Such a thing is not so cheaply purchased though." There was the flash of a smile then. It was a dark smile that could wilt the confidence of a young innocent maiden. "I have lived among the lesser races for a few of your life spans now, Mirielle. I admit to have grown accustomed to the sins of mankind. I have grown to hunger for the luxuries afforded to your nobility. It is perhaps what dulled my desire for vengeance for my people." "Royalty such as yourself can afford the fine wines, foods, and ... company that I crave. Devote some of your earnings to keep me entertained, and I will be your faithful hound." The last was added softly as he reached over to move a strand of hair from her eyes. He was curious if she would draw away. She was a beautiful woman for a human. What was she willing to sacrifice to protect her kingdom? That curiosity fueled the amusement that drove him. He was not yet sure if she could truly be trusted with the secret of his identity. Yet that secret might be kept by a woman whom he wrapped around his claw. Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Harrier Wren on Mar 5, 2017 16:23:11 GMT
Smoke already hung in the air, the scent of burning trees and flesh, but burning books had a different odor. "No," Harrier hissed. "No, no, no."
Between two bookshelves was a stained-glass window commemorating some vampiric ritual. She put a chair through it and unslung her pack, rubbing her ornate ring with her thumb. A wisp, a shade, distorted the smoky air. "Mathquil, take the pack to the north shore and hide it under the rotten tree where we launched the boat."
The shade hissed and snatched up the pack. There had to be thirty or forty pounds of books in there, plus her harp, and the incorporeal spirit struggled to maneuver the pack through the broken window. Once outside, it drifted out over the forest and the water.
Speaking of water, that fire needed dousing. Harriet's knuckles tightened on her quarterstaff. Following currents of smoke that curled across the ceiling, she headed for the source.
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Post by Mirielle Merlon on Mar 5, 2017 17:27:48 GMT
SolaielAcademia and folktales agreed on relatively little, in Mirielle's experience. As the dragon brushed the strand of hair away from her face, though, she remembered one point of commonality: nothing eclipsed a dragon for avarice. Apparently that held true for what many would call the finer things in life. A hoard, she supposed, could be abstract. Could she tolerate being part of it? The question stuck in her mind like a thorn. In the service of her people's safety, she'd compromised her conscience over the past couple of months. Sometimes she'd outright surrendered it. Her station and her culture came with binding expectations about royal marriage and virginity. No less binding, though, were expectations regarding murder and black magic, and she'd played a role in human sacrifice for the sake of Ashdell's security. She'd bargained with mortal and immortal beings whose ethics were just as alien as a dragon's greed. "I accept," she said, the scent of his smoke thick in her nostrils. Her voice hadn't trembled; she could take some pride in that. "My mother gave me a small estate south of Coalhurst, the capital. Take me there and my hospitality is yours."
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Post by Solaiel on Mar 5, 2017 20:38:42 GMT
That dark knowing smile quickly turned warmer with mirth. He was amused at her cool and confident composure. It seemed that having nerve was at least as pleasing as fear to the ancient being. A small inclination of his head was returned in acknowledgement to the agreement made. Solaiel's human form then simply just disappeared. In its place was a black smoke that passed around her before moving upward. Then the dragon, Dawnbreaker, stood before her once more. It was the same way that he had turned into a human. Solid form became as intangible as mist. The dark haze grew in proportion and then solid form was taken once more. There were kingdoms that tamed smaller wyverns for the purpose of flight. They sat up on top of their great beasts in saddles fastened for the task. Dragons had many variations, but this one's back was adorned with a full row of spikes. Trying to ride would have been a risky proposition. Luckily the high dragon twisted his arm and placed the back of his talon upon the ground. There Solaiel opened his claws and exposed what would be his palm if he had a human hand. This time Mirielle would not need to hold onto a claw for dear life. He'd shelter her as best as he could. He waited patiently for her to climb into his clutches. It was no so easy as simply stepping from a dock to a ship. Then once she was situated he contracted his claws in and launched into the air with one gigantic swoop of his wingspan. Moments later they were both far into the sky and off into the direction of her homeland. Mirielle Merlon
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Post by Prince Ineirin on Mar 5, 2017 23:55:10 GMT
Ineirin and his guard clashed inside the entrance of the estate, steel throwing sparks as it rang and clattered off blades and armor. A spear had rammed into his breast-plate, knocking him back, but the head had failed to pierce the plate. He set his jaw beneath his helm and rammed forward with the shield, driving back the spear-man. He staggered and Ineirin caught him in the throat with the tip of his sword.
The prince leaped forward, crashing into their line with his shield and ramming open a gap. His honor-guard fell in behind him. In some moments more, the line had broken and fled. Unnatural quiet settled over the first floor.
"Wounds?" Ineirin asked, wiping the blood from his sword on a fallen guard's tabard.
"Cuts and bruises, m'lord," Gwythion replied, assessing the men behind him. "We can continue."
"Very good," Ineirin replied, striding forward. The Sea-Blood surged in his veins now, calling him up the stairs and down a hall. He knew not why, only that it was a summons to duty. He tilted his head in that direction and the others nodded. They too could feel the fury of a hurricane building in their blood.
Some vampire noble perhaps? Some other dark magic? He had no idea, but it was their duty to investigate. They went warily now, shields in front and liberated spears held ahead by some, while others kept their swords at hand.
The stairs were abandoned. Only when they reached the second floor did they run across opposition. A hallway of resurrected skeletons in front of a solid metal door. They raised their weapons and rushed the knights.
"Wall!" Ineirin bellowed and the knights drew together, alternating spear and sword to help keep some of the skeletons back. The forces clashed, and the weight of the skeletons pushed them back a few steps. Ineirin grunted and shoved forward again. "Forward! Pin them to the door!"
His voice rang out across the hallway and the knights surged forward, regaining their ground. There was no room for fancy sword play. Stab between the shields. Catch the attacks on the shield. Cut below, aiming for the legs. Step forward and repeat. Over and over again. Sweat burned his eyes and he blinked it away, so it ran down his face and neck.
It was going to be a long night.
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Post by Sephoria the Undying on Mar 6, 2017 2:38:32 GMT
Fate had placed Sephoria on Uberghof island. It was believed that the vampire empress would be here at her personal estate, or she would be at the palace in her capital. That was a bounty that would pay handsomely. If she wasn't here then the mercenary could raid the archives on her way back to the ship. Either way she wouldn't have to worry about where supper would come from. Her long boat arrived late to the cliffs. Several other boats had already unloaded their passengers. The climb had been a torturous endeavor. She had watched two men fall as foot holds gave way. It was likely that their armor had drowned them. And yet she had seen at least one bear of a man who did the climb even faster in heavy plate armor. She had stripped her gear down considerably for the mission. The sellsword entered the island with only her two swords and a dagger. Some of her armor had been removed to where she would only have light chain mail, and her battered breast plate. By the time she was within the tree line, she could hear alarm bells going off everywhere. That wasn't surprising considering the un-unified nature of the adventurers that took the the cliffs. What was surprising was the blood curdling laughter of a dragon that had filled the night sky. Who did the dragon fight for? How did they enlist it? She did not want to find out all of the answers. Instead she kept to cover as much as possible and made her way to the estate. The entry way had already been breached by the time she got there. Guards laid where they had fallen, and the woman could hear the shouts of men fighting inside. Seph followed the shouts until she made her way up a flight of stairs and into a grand corridor. There the woman saw a line of knights slowly pushing forward with a wall of shields. These were professional fighters from the same banner. She could see that clearly by the efficiency and coordination of their advance. Her hand went down to the two pommels at her side and the sight of skeletons had made the choice clearly for her. Sephoria gripped the hilt of her silver sword and drew it. Without thought she ran forward as she saw one of Ineirin's men fall. The shield crashed to the marble floor in a loud clatter, and was swooped up by the sellsword just a moment later. A female voice was added to line of knights as she filled the hole in the wall, and drove her silver blade forward. The weapon severed spinal cord at the neck, and the silver nullified the magical power that animated the skeleton where it had touched. Several attacks found the skeleton lifeless on the floor. There were only a couple left now. She had arrived late to the party. Prince Ineirin
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Post by Taenor Stormwind on Mar 6, 2017 18:26:19 GMT
Taenor stepped back as the man came forward without bringing his weapon in line. Brutishly using his size to force his way through, Ernst Walcott would instead find the mage removing himself from his path. A guard would have attacked or issued a challenge to the runic mage, whereas the hulking figure merely moved inside. Taenor shrugged and moved in after him, not minding in the slightest that the brutish man had discounted him. If he weren't an enemy, he truly had nothing to worry about from the mage. If he was, then his back made just as fine a target for spellwork as his front. Either way, the man was lost from sight, if not sound, soon after they had moved into the library. Taenor moved along the rows of books with an ear and eye out for others in the archives. He could still hear the brutish man, but not see him yet. As he went, Taenor pulled books almost at random and placed them in his pack. The pack never seemed to grow, no matter how many tomes were put in. The pulling, however, was not truly random. Taenor was pulling books that resonated a magical signature to his bespelled vision. The extradimensional space would let them be safe as he traveled to a secure area to study them and see if they needed to be locked away in the Runic Circle's vault on Mystmarch. Then he heard a bookcase crashing down and glass shattering. Taenor's mind instantly identified the brutish man with lanterns on his belt, a picture rising in his mind's eye easily, and he groaned audibly. He moved on, continuing to pull books as he moved towards where a cheery fire now raged on books. He came upon the brutish man continuing to push bookcases over and shook his head. "You aren't very well versed in magic." Taenor stated, looking through the flames at the armored man. The tone in his voice came across as if this were a truly harrowing type of insult. "You're destroying the regular books, the bookshelves, and the archive building, maybe. Anything in that fire of significantly strong magic, however, will survive." He continued, leaning on his staff. He contemplated speaking more, then just shook his head and walked back into the still untouched shelves, pulling books with either hand and stuffing them into his pack.
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Post by Ernst Walcott on Mar 7, 2017 5:39:06 GMT
Standing behind the flames, poleaxe in one hand and torch still in the other, the armored figure stood stock still for a few long moments. As if weighing his response, he simply reached down and plucked up one of the necromantic tomes smoldering in the growing pile of debris. The edges were singed, the flames still curling around it's filigreed cover. Whether Taenor Stormwind was watching or not, he held the book to the flame on his torch, and it caught alight. It was discarded as it went up in smoke and holy light, and then he was moving onward. More bookshelves, more books to burn. All things holy were always the bane of the dark arts, and holy oil turned righteous flame would snuff out all but the most insidious of books. Some of those books were here, he was sure, but he'd learned a good deal from his time raiding Vaundsburg lands. If anything of that sort was being kept in this particular block, it wasn't here now. He wasn't sure how long the mage had been working on that door, but based on his own brief witness of events, he didn't think the wards strong enough to merit securing the foulest of tomes. No, those were likely in the personal quarters of their horrid queen... or whatever she called herself. Probably something overly foreboding. Back to burning he went.
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Post by Harrier Wren on Mar 8, 2017 0:27:12 GMT
Taenor Stormwind Ernst Walcott Of all the first sights she could have seen, the holy light around the torch-head was probably the most chilling. A priceless, ancient book of ethically dubious magic caught fire. As Harrier peeked out from behind a bookshelf, some part of her felt a deep horror. And, unexpectedly, contempt. Who was this armoured hulk to destroy knowledge so carelessly? And he clearly cared more about his task than about the heavily warded door not far away. Harrier glanced at the other man, the one who was stuffing books into his bag: he, at least, had the right idea. Everything about his demeanour said 'wizard'. That could make him a kindred spirit, or a Council-trained mage who would happily kill her for necromancy. No way to know for sure, not at this stage. Either way, these shelves held books that she could salvage, over and above the load she'd sent away with Mathquil. What she couldn't do was take her pick with those two men around. Fortunately, that door offered an option or two. It wasn't often that she exerted her full power. She'd been trained in the restrained environment of academia and, since her exile, she'd survived by subtlety. Every once in a while, though, a task required a hammer, not a lockpick. The door's wards were complex enough to take quite a while; instead, still crouching behind the bookshelf, she hissed a word in a language not meant for human throats, and put all her strength behind it. The door shuddered on its hinges. Its wards burned with furious light and vanished, filling the room with smoke. The handle and lock melted to slag and dripped on the stone floor.
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Post by Prince Ineirin on Mar 8, 2017 4:02:10 GMT
Sephoria the Undying --------- The EstateIneirin caught a sword strike on his shield, letting his arm shift direction with the force of the blow and stepped to one side. The skeleton staggered forward before Ineirin's sword severed its skull from where it connected to the neck-bone. It collapsed to the ground, bones clattering out. The rest of the skeletons were finished off, with only a slight register that Valwyn had fallen. Only once silence returned to the hall did he acknowledge it. "Ser Valwyn was a man of valor and honor," he intoned, "With strength worthy of the Sea-King. May he be remembered as long as the sea touched our shores." The knights all nodded. Ineirin turned to the newcomer and gave a small bow. "Well met, lady. You are a skilled combatant and it is an honor to fight alongside you," he gestured to himself, "I am Prince Ineirin, knight of the Gull, and this is my honor guard. There is some powerful undead ahead of us and through these doors that we are oath-sworn to destroy. I know not the nature of what we may face, but you are a welcome addition to the party." He turned and headed to the door- solid metal by the looks of it. He ran a gauntleted hand across its surface, tracing its edge. The handle was locked. They'd have to devise another way through. Ramming was out of the question with a metal door but... Ineirin studied the edges of the door, where the hinges connected to the wall. Those looked significantly more vulnerable. He rapped one with his sword-hilt. "It appears we must remove the hinges," he looked to Sephoria, "Unless you know some magic or other means to bypass such a door?" The door stood taller even than Ineirin, who towered above most men, and it was broad enough for four to walk abreast. Its thickness was beyond what he could know at this point. While his blood seethed at the delay, burning like salt in a wound, there was nothing he could yet do. That was a curse of the Sea-Blood. It could overpower those who carried it in their veins and drive them to feats of greatest strength and valor, but killing them in the end. It was the way of the sea. The challenge was to keep it under control. The other men moved the fallen knight to the side, crossing his arms and setting his sword across his chest. He would rest there until they could retrieve him and give him a proper funeral. It had to be in water. Not necessarily the sea, for all waters led to the sea, but it had to be water. There were words to be spoken- words public and words secret. But that would only come later. First, they had to smite some evil.
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Post by Sephoria the Undying on Mar 9, 2017 5:10:37 GMT
Sephoria returned the bow to the prince with genuine intention. There was no immediate danger, and there was certain protocol of ceremony that had to be observed when meeting with one as high as a prince. "Well met, Prince Ineirin. I am Lady Sephoria of House Lasranae, and Knight Lieutenant of the Mapheri Royal Guard," spoke the woman as she placed a fist over the Mapheri Dynasty emblem stamped into her breastplate. House Lasranae had been a major house in Pakellan ten years prior. It burned down to the ground and hadn't been heard from since. The royal guard had been the most prestigious of military posts, but it also faded into dust when the empire collapsed. Still, ceremony had been instilled within her as a young girl. It at least sounded much better than saying that she was a sellsword. "My oaths were not broken when the world fell apart around me. I am also honor bound to see Vaundsberg cleaned from this land. That being said, I hunt beasts and creatures for a living. My employer believes that Empress Rousseau is either here or at her palace. I do not relish the thought of facing her alone if she is here. Perhaps fate looks kindly upon me this night to have met you here." The woman gently lowered the shield she acquired onto the body of the fallen knight that it had belonged to. Then she approached the door that Ineirin was inspecting. "I have no magic skill in this. Perhaps there is another passage. Or ... perhaps we can taunt them and enrage their ego to open it for us." Prince Ineirin
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Post by Prince Ineirin on Mar 10, 2017 20:39:36 GMT
Sephoria the Undying Ineirin inclined his head as she introduced herself, face still beneath his helmet. He had known of House Lasranae when he was younger, but had heard nothing since the empire fell. That was not true of the Royal Guard, and he was far from displeased at their fall from power. Aerlion had not liked the empire and the empire had returned the feeling in kind. But, he spoke none of this, for she was an ally now, and there was nothing personal in the conflict between them. "Well met, Lady Sephoria. You are a welcome addition to our company this night, for I feel the presence of a powerful undead entity within these halls and one of your clear skill is most fortunate." He turned to inspect the door again, running his hand and studying the hinges. They had not come prepared to besiege the estate. It wasn't supposed to have been so heavily fortified, let along with iron doors. Unless there was something else behind that necessitated such a door. Perhaps it was better if they didn't go through that way. He calculated plans and strategies in his mind, assessing their forces to what could lay behind the door. The problem was that they had no idea what might be behind the door and he cared not for the idea of luring it out into the open. "Let us seek a side passage or servant's corridor," he said at last, "I question if even our loudest insults could pass this door." Ineirin rapped the hilt of his sword against the metal and it rang in the hallway. "Or even indeed if the undead have egos that can insulted." He waved his hand to the others and they spread out along the hallway, checking the walls for passages and moving down to intersections and making note of them. Ineirin followed after them, keeping an eye on the progress, but leaving them to it, composing a mental map of the estate as he walked, comparing the size of the estate to the hallways and how much might lie behind that door. It was all a gamble, of course, for they knew too little. But, such was the way of such operations. Much risked with the chance of great gain. There was little choice to do otherwise.
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Post by Taenor Stormwind on Mar 13, 2017 12:14:47 GMT
Harrier Wren Ernst WalcottTaenor sensed a great buildup of magic, in a very short amount of time. Such was the hallmark of a trained mage, so his first thought went to the vaunted empress and her foul arts. However, before Taenor was able to track down the source, a door that led further into the building began to stress. The wards burned hot and heavily in the air, then the doors blew apart in a thunderous display of arcane might. Slag puddles attested to the metal parts of the door, but other than that all was smoke. Taenor passed a finger over the latch on his bag, and it locked. He then drew his staff across his body and began to let his energy focus into it. Runes alighted along the edge, this time in a blue-grey light. With a small effort of will, careful to not help the madman with his flames elsewhere in the library, Taenor summoned a small wind. He pushed the smoke into the room beyond, then ceased it as he waited for what had caused the door to fly apart. In the back of his mind, he still worried about the mage elsewhere in the room, but whatever blew the door apart was his primary focus. Had he been focused more on his surroundings previously, he may have noticed that the mage and the source of the door-splosion were one and the same, but he had been focused on saving as many books as possible, and so may have looked a bit silly to Harrier as he prepared to defend himself from what lay beyond the door.
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