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Elon
Nov 14, 2014 6:38:07 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Nov 14, 2014 6:38:07 GMT
Storm Clouds and Coldwind Spring, 819 year of the prophet Chello was sitting up in bed, paper work and ledger books spread out on the covers all around her. Rashid and Mallic were determined to keep her off her feet, but they couldn’t deny her everything. They couldn’t keep her work away from her completely. Azlyn had passed the administrative duties off, as soon has he’d laid eyes on the stacks of documents. It still amazed her how a man so many considered brave could run like a coward from the sight of a few hundred sheets of parchment. It hadn’t taken Chello long to arrange for at least a portion of the work to be handed back to her. It helped. Helped her deal with… everything else. She hadn’t been able to nurse her baby. She’d been too weak and feverish the first weak after his birth and he’d been given into the care of a local woman for feeding. She’d hardly gotten to see him at all and now Azlyn and the dwarf had carried him away to Karmozijn Kerk. The church thought he was cursed. She wasn’t going to be there for his first blessing, assuming it would even happen. She really had no idea what was going to him. Though she would never admit it, Chello had spent hours and hours of the night sobbing, sobbing for her baby, for Azlyn, for Annabella, for Adessa Connell for anything and nothing at all. If it wasn’t for her work, she’d probably cry now too. She hated this. Hated feeling so weak, hated being so weak. Chello hated not seeing her baby and she hated not having her father, or her home. She hated that she’d never see snow again, that the stars weren’t the same and that musicians played different songs in the north than they did at home. Why did having a child make her such a wreck? Why had she been born with the curse of being a woman? She was looking over the details of their new trade arrangement with Hessnya, fine-tuning the numbers, weaving a way through loopholes and over complex accounts in order to arrange the most advantageous bargains. It was engrossing work, involving some complex equations and a little dirty dealing and it helped keep her mind focused and off the constant depression that had been dragging her down. It helped a lot. More than half the manner had left with the king and the halls and open rooms seemed very quite. There was a cup of hot tea by her bedside and Rashid had left her some herbs to put into it. They added a strange, sweet flavor, but she’d grown accustom to it and even come to like it. She finished writing instructions to the Elonese merchants. Asuming they followed them to the letter, they would probably bring Elon an additional 1000 jiien in trade. She almost felt at peace. Then there was a knock at the door. “Yes?” Chello said, stacking the papers and seting them on the bedside table. The door opened and Hagear Coldwing ducked so he could look in. “Pardon me, My Lady. If this isn’t a good time-” “It’s fine,” Chello said, pushing a thin strand of hair behind her ear. She didn’t look her best, but that wasn’t say much in her case. Hagear ducked through the door and came in. The chamber had a high ceiling, but the giant was still forced to hunch. He didn’t bother with a chair, but sat directly on the floor, by the small fireplace. Even sitting he was as tall as many men. “What news?” Chello asked. She’d learned over the months that her spymaster preferred to be direct, or, he did when he was being honest at least. “None, I’m afraid,” Hagear said. “That’s the problem. I’m afraid there’s no more doubt about it. Our agents never made it out of the Waistlands.” Chello was grave. This was the second mission to end in this way and it was hard to frgive someone for repeated failures. The giant nodded and took out a pipe, agreeing with her unspoken thoughts. “I’ve lost too many of my men. Those that remain are starting to loose their trust in me and moral is generally shitty… forgive my language.” Chello waved a hand dismissively. “What are you going to do? Is there any way to know if the plan worked?” Hagear shrugged and shook his head. “Not unless we send more men, or the Jotun return.” He was silent a moment, lighting his pipe and taking a few puffs. “I’m leaving.” He finally said. “What?!” Chello demanded, “You can’t go.” “I’ll be back,” Hagear said, his deep voice hastening to reassure her, “But I need some time to recruit more men and I have some affairs to deal with outside the country, old contacts I need to see. I think the break will do the rest of the men some good. I’ll be back before Harvest.” Chello was silent a moment. She knew Hagear had been involved in some seriously shady business before he’d come to Elon. He and his family had all but fled here from new Brynis and she suspected that, whatever trouble he’d been in, it’d had something to do with the Empire. She’d decided not to press the matter at the time and she didn’t do so now. “You and Jessica have done a lot for me and the rest of Elon,” she said, “But I’m still not sure I trust you, Hagear Coldwind.” She gave him a weary smile. Hagear chuckled and tapped the stem of his pipe on his large teeth, “That’s because you’re no fool.” “Try not to get yourself killed when you go to New Brynis.” “You’re starting to sound just like my wife. And how did you know where I was going?” Chello just raised an eyebrow at him. Sighing, Hagear chuckled again and got up, nearing bumming his head on the ceiling. “Get your strength back, Your Highness.” He frowned slightly staring out the window; at something only he seemed able to see then looked back down at her. “Elon’s going to need you. Farewell.” The giant waved a large hand, before ducking out of the chamber. Chello watched him close the door then bit her lip. Hagear was a man who always knew more than he’d ever tell and his last comment worried her. What storm clouds could Hagear Coldwind see on the horizon? |
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Elon
Nov 21, 2014 21:38:12 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Nov 21, 2014 21:38:12 GMT
Preparations Summer, 819 year of the prophet The festival square in Percepolis was quite large. At one end was the revered tree of Oleo, its old olive branches festooned with bright banners, and at the other end, build up on the hill overlooking the square, was the new Elonese monument. King Azlyn himself had helped with the design and concept and had put together the final team of sculptors who’d carved the larger than life statue out of white marble. It was of King Evyn accepting the Aedakom faith. Aged and bearded, but still strong and vigorous in the twilight of his life, Evyn was kneeling on one knee, his mighty great sword, Wind Roar, before him and a his stallion, Dantalon, standing close behind him. He was facing toward the tree, symbolic of how Oleo was the one who brought the faith to the king and his hair and tunic, as well as Dantalon’s long mane and tail were caught in an ocean breeze. The artistry of the forms was beautiful. Both the humble nobility of the king and the elegance of the mighty stallion were remarkably captured and the composure of the two, with the life like ripples of wind and even the wrinkles on the old king’s hands created a fascinating verisimilitude. Carved along the base of the monument were elegant designs and artistically styled letters, telling a poetic story that wrapped around the whole structure. Tents and benches had been set along the perimeter of the square, leaving space in the middle for competition. However, large as the festival square was, the tournament was expected to take up much more space than it allowed, so the majority of the playing fields and spectator stands had been set up further down the hill in open pastures, just below Christallo Manner. The coast was on one side of the fields and the orange orchards on the other. The fruit was ripe and sweet on the branches and the commoners were busily picking the oranges, even as they spoke excitedly about the upcoming tournament from atop their ladders. Brown-skinned children ran through the half constructed tents and stands, their clothes stained with orange juice and laughter on their lips, as they got in everyone’s way and played at “tournament” themselves. In the town, new inns and taverns had been constructed, not only for the sake of the tournament, but also as a result of Dovwynn’s general growth and expansion over the past years. Wives and maids had stitched bright banners for the occasion and hung out of every window. There was a chaotic look to them, since no one had agreed on a uniform theme or color scheme. Many had the blue tree of Elon, but other had picked whatever colors or pattern had come into the creator’s fancy, using the fabric at hand. As a result the streets looked almost like a gypsy parade. Along side the banner were garlands woven with late summer flowers and ivy branches. The whole town had been caught up in the spirit of the occasion and Dovwynn had blossomed into color like it was a flower itself. Up at the manner, everyone was busy. Chello and Azlyn had seen to it that plenty of wines, meads and ales had been brought in for the crowds and feasts, as well as an assortment of meats, nuts and fruits. Orange cakes, sugared almonds, dried apricots and honeyed bread was being prepared, along with roasted game and fresh caught fish. The smells were delightful and the activity was like a hive bees in springtime. *** Hagear Coldwind had just returned on the latest ship from New Byrnis and he walked slowly through the streets his face slightly amused as he took in the general colors and excitement. He’d lived in many countries across the north, but there was something almost childlike about Elon, which had a unique charm. He, of course, had his own plans for the tournament, though they weren’t as carefree and innocent as the holiday spirit the rest of the town was caught up in and he’s only spoken of them to a select few. When he got home, he saw Jessica standing back of the house, holding her musket and taking some practice shots at a fence post. They’d both acquired guns and the ability to use them, while living in New Byrnis. They seldom took them out though, especially in Elon were guns were so uncommon and more likely to attract attention. “What’s going on here?” he asked, frowning slightly as he came around the corner. Jessica took aim and fired another shot that went through the center of the post, splitting the wood in splinters. “I think you can guess,” she said, glancing at him, as she lowered the gun and began reloading with practiced fingers. “You indent to enter the tournament as a shooter,” she said rather dubiously, “This whole country’s going crazy over this event and now you too, my own sensible wife.” Jessica laughed, “Dear, if I was really so sensible, would I have married you?” “Good point,” Hagear consented, but still frowned. “I just don’t like you showing off with the guns. Technically we aren’t supposed to have them.” He’d stolen the guns years ago and he doubted anyone from the empire would recognize his wife’s rifle, but he didn’t want any questions raised. “Don’t worry,” Jessica said and then put the musket down and smiled at him. “I’m glad you made it home safe.” “Daddy! Dad’s home!” came a shout and then two children burst out of the house and threw themselves at him, hugging the giant tight around the waist. “Momma’s going to join the tournament!” exclaimed the girl, “Can I? Please! I know how to fight.” Hagear couldn’t help but smile. “Maybe when you’re older,” he said and then leaned down to pick up both children in his strong arms. “Right now I’m starving. Let go eat and maybe take a short break from tournament talk eh?” “But that’s all anyone is talking about,” laughed the boy and the family turned back into the house, Hagear ducking slightly as he passed under the doorway. *** Azlyn was trying to be everywhere at once and Chello was pretty sure he hadn’t taken a moment’s rest in the past two days. He was planning on competing in several of the sports, but also wanted to take part in the music and entertainment he’d planned for the occasion, as well as be the host, of every party. She’d never seen him work so hard. He’d written songs, organized a play, and he’d even ploughed his way through dreaded paperwork and letters, hiring extra performers and taking in account the various heroes and kings who would be there. Chello was actually impressed. At least she was, when she had the time. Though she knew better than to drive herself as hard as Azlyn, she’s been working nearly nonstop herself, organizing and financing the occasion. She wanted Elon to put forward the best possible impression. There would be guests from everywhere in the north and maybe even some from the Southern Mainland. This tournament would propel Elon from a little known northern vassal, to a respected kingdom and a recognized part of the greatest empire that ever existed. Her seamstress was putting the finishing touches on her new dress now. It was made of the finest material she’d had since leaving Arkhaer and most of it had been shipped over from Surveak. It was Elon blue, with silver embroidery and cut in a long elegant manner that complimented her slim almost Elven build, without drawing attention to her small bosom and nearly invisible hips. It was queenly and gave her an almost surrealist air of nobility. Or at least, that’s how Chello was able to imagine herself, as she looked in the mirror. It was at that moment that Azlyn came into the chambers some sheet music in his hand, as he hummed a tune, trying to get a new composition just right. He saw Chello standing by the mirror and paused a second, before smiling. “You look lovely,” he said. Chello silently opened and closed her mouth. In their five years of mirage, she could hardly ever remember her husband complimenting her, at least not on her looks. After a second, she smiled, almost shyly, feeling ten years younger and suddenly like a foolish girl. He smiled back, his eyes warm then hurried over to where his violin was resting on a chair. “I’m writing another song,” he said and began playing an original tune, something slower and more airy than his usual jaunty songs. “I wasn’t sure on the words, but I’ve suddenly come upon inspiration.” He began to sing his deep voice lauding a southern wind spirit, who’d flown over the ocean and transformed into a magical queen in the north and awed the people with her wisdom and beauty. Though he never said her name, Chello knew he was dedicating the song to her, singing to her. For a moment she felt like she might cry, but then she laughed instead. “I have a feeling everything will go wonderfully,” she said. |
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Elon
Nov 23, 2014 22:25:22 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Nov 23, 2014 22:25:22 GMT
Poison and Honor Harvest, 819 in the year of the prophet (Following from the Diplomacy topic "Elon/Jotun" page three.) Elymilak Sarvo and his family had come in from Avyon the day before and were already settled into their house in Percepolis. It wasn’t especially large, but it was pleasant. It over looked the sea on one side and had a walled courtyard on the other. They’d all been busy down in the city, engaged in preparations for the tournament, when one of Elymilak’s servants tapped him on the shoulder and motioned him aside. “What is it?” he demanded. The servant hesitated, “I thought I should tell you, my lord, William heard someone in the tavern say they saw the Jotun going up to Christallo Manner a few hours ago, four of them, including the Jarl and his brother, Thane Gudrik.” Elymilak’s run face drained of some of its color. He’d heard rumors that the giants had made it out of the Waistlands, but he’d also heard just as many about how the orcs had slaughtered the whole army of Jotun. He’d hoped for the latter. The idea of two groups of filthy barbarians bashing each other’s brains out in the wilderness fit well with his sense of justice. However, if they survived that might mean they’d discovered the poison. He doubted they could ever prove it was him, but, on the other hand, they were giants. Giants never cared about actual justice or due process, they were always just after blood. He had been foolish enough to loose his temper that night as the festival and that may be enough to have him accused. Biting his lip, Elymilak considered for a moment. The king was unlikely to let the giants just kill him. The Sarvo family was second only to the Christallos in power, and reputation. As far as wealth was concerned, until recently, Sarvo had been far richer thanks to the vineyards. Since the Queen had come into power, things had been shifting, funneling more and more wealth and power into the throne. It was the Queen who was the real problem. Elymilak had no doubt the southern bitch would hand him over without a thought and she’d proven to have an uncanny amount of influence, even over her husband. Lord Sarvo decided he had to be prepared for the worst and excused himself from his family and entourage. The house seemed empty. They hadn’t brought many servants with them from Ayvon and those they had were down in the city with the rest of the family. He pack what he needed and go back to Ayvon. It wouldn’t be hard to find an excuse and from there he would be in a more defendable position, as well as have a head start in case he needed to leave the country. When Elymilak came out he started at the sight of a giant standing before. At first he thought the Thane or even the Jarl himself was at his door, but then he recognized the blue beard and weathered face. It was the hobo scum of a giant, who had a house along the main road, Hagear Coldworld, or wind, or whatever. Hagear looked down at Elymilak and then causally took out his pipe. “Going some where, my lord?” he asked, glancing at the bag in Elymilak’s arms. “What are you doing here!?” demanded Sarvo. Hagear didn’t answer right away as he took his time lighting his pipe and letting the man’s anxiety and anger grow. Watching Sarvo’s face was like watching a tomato ripen. “I just came up from the harbor,” Hagear said, when he sensed that the man was about to loose his temper and shout his question a second time. “The Jotun are docked there. I happened to get into an interesting conversation with one of the captains.” He watched Sarvo’s face as he continued to tell the story he’d made up, “Apparently, while Thane Gudriks troops were out in the Waistlands one of the barrels of wine they opened turned out to be poisoned. Fortunately, no one was killed.” Sarvo’s face was an open book to Hagear he saw the faint anxiety when the poisoned wine was mentioned and he also saw the anger and frustration, when he was told no one had died. Sarvo had defiantly done it and he wasn’t in the least bit sorry. “The Jarl and his brother don’t know how this happened, or who was behind it,” Hegear continued, “But they bought the remaining barrels back to Elon and are requesting that an investigation be conducted. I doubt the will have time considering the tournament, but I was curious, so I asked the captain if I could take a look at one of the barrels myself. The Jotun may not of known the seal on those barrels, Sarvo, but I did. And if that’s not enough, when I checked the contents I recognized the poison as well, Delilah’s Bell, a plant that grows nearly abundantly on your lands as your famous grape vines.” Elymilak face was screwed up in rage, but at least it didn’t sound like he would be prosquited, not for a while anyway, assuming this nosy bum didn’t spread the story around. “If only your meddling curiosity had lead you to take a drink, you filth,” Sarvo snapped, “You’re so stupid, just like the rest of the giants. Delilah’s bell isn’t strong enough to kill your kind and even it was, the results are much too kind, too quick. It was Cowyn in those barrels. Smells similar, but the results are very different. You and the Thane and all his devilish beasts of an army would have died slowly,” Sarvo smiled, as he thought about it, “Writhing in fever and pain for days. Cowyn thins your blood, overworks your heart, as it tries harder and harder to pump useless blood through your veins, until eventually either your heart bursts from exhaustion, or you die of oxygen deficiency, loosing you mind and seeing all kinds of hallucinations.” Hegear smoked his pipe, watching Sarvo revel in his evil scheme, as well as confess it all to King Azlyn and a dozen of his royal guards listening just on the other side of the courtyard gate. “It’s a real pity no one died of it, but I’m going to wipe at least one of you monsters off the earth.” He pulled a pistol out of his bag, something that actually caught Hagear off guard. Where in the world would lord Sarvo have gotten a pistol? Not even the king owned any guns. All the same, the surprise didn’t show on Hagear’s face. He just puffed his pipe and then looked past Elymilak to where Azlyn and his men were running into the courtyard. “Sarvo!” Azlyn shouted and drew Wind Roar from the scabbard, holding the huge sword in both hands. “You’re under arrest.” Startled, Elymilak turned and the second he did, Hagear’s giant hand swept down. The blow sent the gun spinning across the courtyard and knocked the lord to the ground. Leaning down, Hegear picked him up by the arm, holding as easily as a child holds a doll and he pulled the sword belt off the man’s waist and then dropped him down on his knees before the king. Azlyn eyed Hagear warily, but was satisfied that the giant hadn’t been any rougher than the situation had called for. Then turned his glare back down to Elymilak. “Due to your actions over six hundred of Thane Gudrik’s men died, murdered by your poison and by the trust they had in Elon’s hospitality and honor. Having heard your confession and lack of regret myself, along with these witnesses, you will be found guilty and condemned to death upon trial.” Azlyn let that sink in a moment watching his uncle grow pale. “However, Thane Gudrik demands personal satisfaction and has formally challenged you to a duel. You will accept this, Elymilak, if you value the honor of your house and your kingdom at all.” Elymilak gaped. There was no way he could fight a giant. When he’d been his son’s age, Elymilak had been quite a skilled swordsman, but now he was slow and his joints ached every time he lifted a sword. A duel was a death sentence for him, unless… “I will accept the challenge, but I invoke the right to a champion,” he said. Azlyn glared his disgust growing, “No one will fight for you against Thane Gudrik, Sarvo, his reputation in battle has swept over all the north. You think any of you men will take that risk after they hear of what you did?” “None of me men, no,” Sarvo said, “But my son will. He’s one of the best swordsmen in the kingdom and he’ll gladly risk his life for the honor of his family.” Azlyn gaped in disbelief. Was Elymilak really planning on throwing away his son’s life in a desperate attempt to save himself? It was the most despicable cowardly thing Azlyn had ever heard of and the worst part was that he was right about Alan. Azlyn and Alan had grown up together, practically been brothers and he knew Alan would be willing to fight for his father. The son was everything the father wasn’t. With sudden rage and a surprising amount of strength Azlyn struck his uncle across the face with the hilt of his sword. Blood spurted and with a cry of pain Elymilak was knocked to the ground. “He will do no such thing, because you won’t ask him!” Azlyn said and pressed his boot against the man’s neck. Bringing the point of the sword down right before Elymilak’s eyes, Alzyn leaned over him to speak in a low growl. “The giants wanted to me to have you crucified,” he said, “I refused, but unless you accept their challenge and face the Thane yourself, I won’t just crucify you, Uncle. I will torture you for at least three days first and only then have you crucified to the lintel of your own manner in Ayvon, and left there as a symbol of the shame you brought onto your family name.” “Shame!” Elymilak shouted, holding his bloody nose, “Shame was brought upon us all, when we accepted those barbaric slavers into our lands as friends. When we dirtied ourselves by shearing our bread and wine with Jotun!” Azlyn kicked him in the stomach and then turned to Hagear, “Do you known how we could acquire some torture devises? I’ll want the best, or the worst rather.” “God Damn it! I’ll accept the duel!” shouted Sarvo. “And you will leave Alan out of it?” “I’ll leave him out,” growled Elymilak. Nodding, Azlyn stepped back. “Men, put in him chains for the time being. We will take him to confront the Jotun and make preparations for the duel.” |
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Elon
Nov 25, 2014 6:04:07 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Nov 25, 2014 6:04:07 GMT
Blood and Shame Harvest, 819 year of the prophet (Following from “Elon/Jotun” page 4) Azlyn and the rest of crowd watched the giants leave in bitter silence. Then Azlyn looked at the Tree of Oleo and the gruesome body hanging upon it by the graven spikes. By now blood had drenched the whole front of the tree trunk and pooled amid the roots at the base. Lord Sarvo’s face was an unrecognizable mass of broke bones and blood, making the sight seem even more horrifyingly surreal. Stepping forward, Azlyn drew Wind Roar. It felt heavy and unfamiliar in his arms, a weight upon him, which felt more like shame than anything else. Alan had been right. He’d let this happen. For the sake of the sword, he’d compromise with Jotun and bullied Elymilak into accepting Gudrik’s duel. He’d messed up … Poisoner… Traitor…. Coward … Fool. Only now that he was close could Azlyn read the words on the ends of the stakes and the sight of them filled him a deeper rage. He wanted to scream. Giving a furious yell, he swung the sword and brought it down on Sarvo’s wrist, cutting the hand from the corpse and unpinning the body. He did the same to the other hand and the feet. Alan was going to have to burry his father in pieces, but Azlyn didn’t care. He hated Lord Sarvo for bring this shame upon them all, bring this disgrace and defilement, for creating enemy between Jotun and Elon and most of all between himself and Alan. When only the stake through the heart was left, Azlyn dropped the sword and grabbed Elymilak with both hands. Bracing a leg against the truck, Azlyn pulled the body off the stake, by sheer force. A great hole was left in the middle of the chest, bits of ribs and lung showing wet and red in the evening light. The heart was still nailed to the tree, dangling torn arteries and bits of flesh. Azlyn threw the body down, took out a dagger and viciously cut the heart off the stake. His hands dripping red, he dropped the heart down on the mangled heap at his feet and turned to his guards. “Take the body away,” he ordered sternly, “Have it prepared for burial as best as may be and return it to his wife and son. “And have someone come to clean up the blood here. Everyone else, disperse.” The crowd began to clear, anger looks and bitter mutterings still on their faces and lips. Azlyn turned back to the tree and stepped up to examine the stakes. They were too large and buried too deep into the bark to be removed by an ordinary fashion. They could try cutting them out but the scars left on the trunk would always remain and could even do serious damage. It would be possible to saw off the ends and file the iron down, so that the ends hardly showed, but Azlyn didn’t like the idea of leaving anything of them behind. Once the body had been removed, Chello had come up quietly behind him. She hadn’t been as shocked as the rest of the Elonese by Gudrik’s actions. She’d been fearful as soon as he’d requested the duel to take place under the tree and known when she saw his hammer what he’d intended to do. “This wasn’t your fault,” she said quietly to her husband, “You did your best in an unfortunate situation.” “When you’re king doing your best isn’t good enough,” he growled, “You said it yourself last winter, the people expect me to be perfect. Every time I fail to protect the lives and honor of my people, weather I tried my best or not, I’m guilty.” He gripped the stake that read, “fool” and turned sullenly toward her. “This I a sign, Chello, an omen from Aed. I haven’t been worthy. I’ve been foolish, irresponsible and immoral and this is what’s come of it.” “I think you’re reading too much into this,” Chello said, trying to sooth him, “This was a message from Gudrik, not Aed and it was to Lord Sarvo, not you. Take some time to relax, pray, play your music and God will give you comfort and reassurance. I know he will.” Azlyn took a deep breath. She was probably right. He was reading too much into this, but he couldn’t shake the guilt, or the feeling that this was meant to be a warning to him from god.” “Has Haakon Titanhand arrived for the Tournament?” Azlyn suddenly asked. “The General of the Tovenaar Akur had taught him a lot during their journey to Beg Gurihm together and if anyone could figure out the miracle needed to restore the holy tree of Elon, it would be the master of the Tovenaar Akur, one of the most powerful mages on the Church. “He’s here,” Chello said, “Staying with the rest of the Veakirate contestants over by the new library. Picking up his sword, Azlyn cleaned the blood from it, before sheathing it once more and turning to walk up the hill toward the library. He did pray. He prayed the church would have a way to lift the burden that’s crashed down upon his tonight. He prayed they could restore the tree of his people. |
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Elon
Dec 18, 2014 9:49:56 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Dec 18, 2014 9:49:56 GMT
Ambassador & Architect Winter, 819 in the year of the Prophet It was a fine winter’s morning in Elon. A cold wind was gusting off the rough waves of the sea, but the sky was clear and blue and the sun was shining overhead. Hagear Coldwind was sitting on his porch as usual, his bare feet resting on the rail and a wood carving in his hands. The shavings from the carving were gathering on the floor beneath his rocking chair and his pipe was held between his teeth. He was deep in thought and didn’t even see the traveler coming up the road until he was nearly level with the giant’s cabin. “Good morning!” Hagear looked up to see a tall elf, dressed immaculately in a white doublet, trimmed with a lovely row engraved of silver buttons down the front and trim in red satin and lace. A fine hat set upon his stylishly cut golden blond hair, with one side of the wide brim curled up and a large feather plum that was died deep blue and trembled in the breeze. He held a silver-knobbed cane and both a repair and a customized pistol were on his belt beneath and gallant woolen cloak. He smiled at Hagair with gleaming white teeth and vivid sky blue eyes and his expression was one of smug amusement. Hagear stared at him in silence, but the elf didn’t seem to fine it awkward and for a moment or two they both just stared at each other, the elf still smiling brightly and the giant grim and unreadable behind his piecing icy gaze. Finally Hagear cleared his throat. “Morning,” he mumbled, “Can I help you with something?” “Why yes actually, I’m on my why to Christallo manner. Is this the right road?” Hagear nodded and then glanced up the road, where the top of the manor could clearly be seen in the distance rising over the top of the Veakirate Library. “Just keep going straight ahead.” “Thank you. One more thing, you wouldn’t happen to have a tinderbox? Mine was left on the ship from New Byrnis. A real shame was made by Black & Lunis and given to me by an old friend.” The elf took a finely rolled cigarette from a box and looked up at the Giant in optimistic anticipation. Hagear raised a dubious eyebrow, surveying the elf with slightly renewed interest then nodded. “Sure,” he took out his own tinderbox and tossed it to the elf, “Mine also happens to be made my Black & Lunis.” “Isn’t that a coincidence,” replied the elf, striking a spark with practiced skill, “Not many of them left in the world.” He lit his cigarette and tossed the box back to the giant. “Thank you friend, perhaps I shall see you again some time.” Letting out a puff of smoke, the elf doffed his hat, before continuing on his way. Hagear watched him go with silent thoughtfulness. He patiently finished his own bowl of tobacco, before tapping the ash out of his pipe and getting up. Opening the cabin door his grabbed his boots and coat from the entry mat. “Jess!” he called, “I’m heading out, going up to the manner.” “So early?” Jessica called back, sticking her head out from the washroom, “It’s still five hours until sunset.” “Something has come up. Plan on having dinner without me.” “Nothing’s wrong is it?” Jessica asked in concern, coming out into the hall and drying her hands on a towel. “I don’t think so,” Hagear said, “Not yet anyhow. I’ll fill you in on everything once I know more.” “Alright then.” She came over and Hagear leaned down to kiss the top of her head, before pulling on his boots and coat and heading out the door. *** Talia Selain was a short, plump woman with a cherubic face and curly brown hair tied in a bun upon her head. She had on a black dress with lace on the collar and cuffs and a large locket around her neck. Ink stained the tanned skin of her hands and her trusty satchel with her drafting tools and rolls of designs and parchments was over one shoulder. Talia had been born in Elon, but her father was an architect and ended up traveling across the north, learning from others of the trade and taking jobs wherever he could get them. When he passed away four years ago, Talia had taken over. She’d had the good fortune to work under Ishui Velui in New Byrnis, helping the renowned architect design the Imperil District in Hessnya and the Great Bridge and new Reliquary here in her home nation of Elon. Talia had forgot how much she loved her native country and when the King and Queen had let it become known that they wished to hire someone to take from Velui in a more permanent position, she’d leapt at the opportunity. She was being initiated into the position today and she waited eagerly in one of the manner parlors, for the King and Queen to meet with her. There was a table in the middle of the room, a large window on one wall, wide double doors on a second and the last two were hung with several portraits of kings and queens gone by. The doors opened and Talia looked up, it wasn’t the Royal couple however, but the servant who’d shown her in a few minutes ago. Behind him came an elf, who stood well over seven feet tall, dispute seeming as slim as a bean pole. He was dressed in expensive clothes tailored to the height of fashion in New Byrnis and Talia could see a slender sword belted to his side. “Queen Chello and King Azlyn should be here in a few moments to greet you both,” the servant said, before bowing and closing the doors, leaving Talia alone with the elf. He appeared to be a Sefitian, though she expected he must have spent a few years living in New Byrnis. Taking off his plumed hat, the elf revealed his tall pointed ears and rolling waves of golden hair. “Good morning, I am Belgire Silverstar Esquire.” “Esquire of what?” she asked bluntly. Talia would be the first person to admit that her manners could use a little refinement. Belgire, however, didn’t seem phased and only gave a regretful smile as he answered. “Unfortunately, I am no longer esquire of anywhere. My brother and I were displaced and lost our inheritance in the Sefti-Commonwealth War of Secession. However, I am loath to give up the title. It rolls so nicely off of the tongue and who knows. Maybe Aed shall see fit to one day grant me lands once more.” There was a pleasant, almost gallant charm about the elf and Talia found herself grinning. “I suddenly hope that he does,” she said, “My name is Talia Selain, by the way. I’m going to be the new architect here in Elon.” “Ah,” said Belgire, leaning on his cane, “So the lady is both beautiful and talented. I had a feeling today was going to be a lucky day. The stars were positioned in my favor you see.” Talia giggled slightly. “What about you? Are you here for a retainer position as well?” “Yes indeed. It is my hope to attain the position of ambassador for King and Queen Christallo.” “I think you would be good at that,” Talia said. “Hopefully they will agree with you.” At that moment, the doors opened and Azlyn and Chello came inside. “Hello,” Azlyn greeted, smiling brightly and speaking before the servant could formally introduce anyone. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I’m King Azlyn and this is my wife, Chello.” “Yes we know,” Talia said without thinking. Belgire, however, gave a gracious bow to both of them and kissed the queen’s hand, adhering to all the proper means of introduction. “It is an honor to meet you both, Your Majesties. I am Belgire Silverstar: Esquire from Swansea county in Selfti and more recently from New Byrnis. I would like to thank you both for inviting me to apply for this opportunity to serve you and the great nation of Elon.” Chello smiled, pleased by his manners and refined accent. Azlyn, however seemed a little flustered by all the formality and just smiled again, before waving everyone toward the table. “Yes, we’ve heard good things about your reputation,” he said then turned his warm smile of Talia, “And of course we already know, Miss Selain.” He pulled Talia’s chair out for her and would have done the same for Chello, but Belgire beat him to it. “Thank you, good Sir,” Chello said, using classical Surveakom, as she gracefully took the seat. “But of course, My Lady,” Belgire replied in the same language. “Ah,” Azlyn said, “So you know that fancy old language, my wife has been trying to spread all throughout our courts.” “Yes I know Classical Surveakom, among many other tongues” Belgire said, as they both took their chairs at the table, “I have always had a gift for languages and one of the gifts of a long life is the time to learn much and travel to many places.” “I suppose that’s true,” Azlyn said, “And I reckon all the knowledge must come in useful as an ambassador.” “Knowledge is useful in almost every walk of life and I have done my best to be a master of my art.” Azlyn nodded. “Well, there really isn’t much question about weather or not you will get the jobs. We have heard good things about you both and already narrowed down our choices to just the two of you. This is really just a formal initiation and a chance to finally meet and sign the paperwork. Chello nodded and cast Belgire a quick glance, before taking some parchments out of a case and laying them out on the table. “These are the contracts,” she said, “Please take all the time you need to read through them and ask questions about anything you don’t understand or have any concerns about. Then sign at the bottom and then the King can add the official seal of approval.” Talia pulled the parchment forward and read it carefully. It wasn’t very long, but the language was a little difficult to understand, with a lot of big words and clauses. She’d not even made it half way through, when Belgire laid down his contract and took up the pen, signing it with a flourish. “I look forward to working with you both and advancing us all in the brighter future,” he said, passing the parchment on to Azlyn. Azlyn laughed slightly, “Yes indeed,” he said, preparing the wax for the seal, “I have trust in good things to come.” “We shall see,” Chello said, “Whatever come, good or bad, I suspect we shall encounter the unexpected. Everything is not always what it seems, but sometimes that works in one’s favor.” She exchanged another look with Belgire, before turning to Talia. “Did you need help understanding anything in the contract?” “No. I think I got it all,” Talia said and then signed the parchment herself. “I look forward to beginning a new project and meeting more people.” “As do I,” Belgire said, leaning back and taking out a cigarette and a small tinderbox. |
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Elon
Jan 7, 2015 10:53:53 GMT
Post by Vaklu on Jan 7, 2015 10:53:53 GMT
The Orc Wastes
Sir Bronsyn Alistair wad been in the wastes for weeks with no sign of the lost party he'd been sent to find. To be honest he wasn't quite sure where he was. All he knew for sure was that they were running low on supplies and would need to head back to Elon before much longer. While they'd been able to hunt easily enough fresh water was scarce and their skins were close to dry. He'd made the decision to begin the journey back south at first light. They made camp and had stuck to jerked meat and no fire.
Bron awoke in the the middle of the night to a hand across his mouth. Grabbing the wrist that went with it he used one of the moves Sayoko had shown him to put his assailant on his back. To his shock the figure on the ground was human. In fact it was Liam Yeager, the man who had lead the party he'd been sent to find. "Damn it Liam, I nearly killed you!"
Yeager spun around in the grip and grabbed Bron by his shirt front dragging him to the ground. "Will you shut up you fool." His words were a hiss. "You'll bring a patrol down on us." It was only then the Bron really looked at his friend. His cloaths looked like he'd been rolling in the dirt for weeks and several bandages could just be made out beneath the grime.
"God Li, where are the rest?" Bron was hoping against hope considering Yeager's state.
"Warg chow, like as not."
"DId you find them?"
"Sort of, we never got close enough to get a count. Just ran into their patrols. I've be running the better part of a season. Lost a pack of them a day ago. They'll be back though. We need to get the hell out of here."
Options
Return to Elon without continueing the seach for the orc host
or
Force Yeager to act as guide to continue the mission
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Elon
Jan 7, 2015 11:41:54 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Jan 7, 2015 11:41:54 GMT
Bron looked around and was a little disturbed to realized Liam had snuck all the way to his bedroll without attracting the attention of any of the men he had posted on watch. Of course, Liam had always been a sneaky son of a bitch. They used to joke that Li could steal the socks off a sleeping fox, but this was the far wastelands and no place for jokes. They needed to get home, but on the other hand this was the first lead they had in weeks and Bron was loath to leave a job unfinished.
"If the wargs were on your trail a day ago, chances are they're still following you, unless they decided your hide wasn't worth the time." Bron hesitated, "We could out distance them, our supplies are low and you could ride one of the pack horses. Fast as their damned oversized dogs are, they have nothing on the mustangs when it comes to endurance riding. But..." he frowned, "How many orcs would you say was in the party chasing you?"
Liam let out a small whimper, as he realized what Bron was thinking, "You can't-"
"Answer the question, Li."
"I, I'm not so sure. It's all a blurr. I don't think any more than 10... maybe even less than 5."
Bron thought a moment. "Alright," he said, letting Liam get up. "Go tell those blind bastards you slipped by to get you something to eat and a fresh cloak. Then tell 'em to saddle up. We're heading back right now."
"You're not going to try to fight them then?" Liam asked, sitting up in relief.
"Oh we're going to fight them," Bron said standing and picking up his bow, "But on our terms." He pointed his bow to where some rugged hills blackened the nearer horizon. He had no idea which mountains they were, or even if they were truly mountains and not just a dimple on the vast steppe of the Wiastlands. He was that lost, but he still knew how to spy out the best place for an ambush. We pasted through a valley there yesterday. Narrow, with rugged cliffs on both sides. Hopefully that orc patrol is still on you trail, Liam. I have a some questions I need answered before we ride home and we'll need to get them off your scent once and for all in any case."
---
Bronsyn and his men set out on horse back immediately, making for the rugged hills a few hours ride away. They will hide the horses in a cave, allow a little smoke to try to draw in any orc patrol searching the steppes nearby through the valley and then ambush them from elevated positions along the valley walls, out of the warg rider's melee reach. They will kills the orcs mounts and all but one or two orcs, which Bron will take prisoner and question concerning the lost scouting party and the numbers and location of the enemy army. Once they have whatever information they can gain, they will ride vigorously east x southeast, hoping to reach the Elonese or Firetooth border.
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Elon
Jan 8, 2015 0:03:20 GMT
Post by Vaklu on Jan 8, 2015 0:03:20 GMT
The Ambush
It was just before dawn when the riders came into view. Six wastelanders on wargs with shortbows and long cleavers. Bron's first arrow took the lead rider's mount in the eye, his second the tore out the rider's throat. His men were less accurate, only wounding the enemies' mounts. Liam's shots on the other hand flew true. After a frenzy of close quarters fighting they had a single orc bound and had lost only 2 men.
They questioned the orc for hours in the end he gave up little. Only that an army marched towards Thundercrown and the size of the host. He would not answer any questions after that.
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Post by missmilkmaid on Jan 8, 2015 0:33:50 GMT
Bronsyn wiped sweat from his forehead. They weren't going to get anymore information from their prisoner. "Hold him," he told Liam then drew his sword and slit the orc's throat. "Hide the bodies in the cave. No need to leave anymore signs of our presence than we have to."
He wiped the blood from his sword on the orc's cloak and sheathed it. "We will ride east. Keep careful watch as we go. We don't want to run into this army by accident. Hopefully we will find our way to Thundercrown before they do."
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Elon
Mar 20, 2015 18:28:15 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Mar 20, 2015 18:28:15 GMT
Trouble Over the Bridge of Dovwynn
“Obviously this is all a ploy to weaken are hold on the Southern end of the Ryn River and undermine are commercial interests and commerce through it,” Chello said sounding especially frustrated with her husband’s thick headedness, “Azlyn I happen to have plenty of means of intelligence and the Elder Counsel of the Firetooth have been discussing ways to sabotage the taxes on the Great Bridge practically since it was built. These so called pilgrims and complaints are built of fantasies, which the Clan is using to mask their commercial greed with moral concern.”
Azlyn glared back at her. He disapproved of how she was immediately jumping to the worse conclusion of Elder Rugmar’s concerns. The Firetooth were, after all, an extremely religious and honorable people who had been given authority by both the church and the state to look after the interests of the faithful in the western nations. However, on the other hand, his own investigations had shown the Elders claims of complaints to be exaggerated and he hadn’t quite been able to put the stern animosity of Rugmar’s tone out of his mind, despite his best efforts.
“Even if what you say is true,” Azlyn said, still frowning, “That doesn’t make their concern for the prilgrim taxation any less of a legitimate concern. I looked through the Aedaknam and Raegarnam and discussed the matter with Brother Collyn. There are specific passages against charging pilgrims on their way to holy sights.”
Chello blinked, truly surprised. It was a bit of a running joke among many of the scholars of the Surveakom faction to question weather or not the king could actually read, let alone do any sort of actually research or accounting. The fact that Azlyn had disciplined himself to spend hours bent over books, showed how seriously he took this matter. Quietly she folded her narrow hands on her knees and adjusted her tone. “Yes your right,” she agreed, “But may also point out that the legitimacy of the concern doesn’t negate the treat of the Clan’s true intentions. They will use this to try dismantle Elon’s control of the River, however, I suppose we can do our best to keep them of using the moral high ground against us.”
“Then we will drop the tax on all pilgrims,” Azlyn said.
Chello tried not to roll her eyes. “We will take measures to that existent, but simply dropping the tax like that leaves us open to far too many loopholes. Give me the information you gathered from your surveys at the Bridge and I’ll have my people do a little more and then I’ll see to rewriting the tax laws on the bridge. However we also need to take measures to counter their next move, which is sure to come. We will need to have meetings with both the Vizier and the High Priest.
Azlyn hesitated eyeing her suspiciously. It was rather hurtful for to see it there. This man who was so eager to believe the best of everyone, didn’t truly trust her to keep her word or act with the best intentions. “I promise to do my best to see that the moral issue of the tax upon the pilgrims is addressed,” she said, “And I’ll explain it fully to you and make sure you approve before putting anything into action.”
He seemed to satisfy him, he even looked a little ashamed of his suspicion, as he leaned over and gave her a kiss on the forehead. “I don’t doubt you,” he assured and then left the room.
Chello watched him leave then let out a sigh. She had the feeling this could all turn into a huge mess. Tensions had been rising across the entire North. Nations had worked in concert to fight off the Waistland invasion, but now most still had their armies raised and were falling back to their capitols with the uneasy prowl of a bunch of angry panthers watching each other. Getting out pen and paper, she began writing some letters. She would get the work on the tax laws done, but first she needed to begin placing her pieces upon the map.
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Adjusted bridge tax laws
1. Trade routs directly with Karmozijn Kerk are not to be subjected to tariffs, nor will any official members of a holy order be charged tolls.
2. Rather than taxing every individual or passenger crossing over or under the bridge, tolls will be set by the size of the party or vessel. Pedestrians on foot and traveling in groups less than 12 will not be subject to the toll. Boats, travelers on horseback, with carts or in bands or cravens larger than 12 will still be subject to a toll, but it shall be determined according to the size of cargo, the amount of wagons or size of the boat or caravan, rather than the individual number of travelers.
3. Anyone dressed a holy cap given by the official priests of the church, designating them as pilgrims to a sanctioned holy sight (At the moment the only truly sanctioned holy sight is Messara) will be charged half price. If this reduction of the toll brings it down to less than a copper, than it shall be dropped. (In this manner pilgrims with a cargo of only one or two wagons, or a small boat will not be charged at all)
These are to the purpose of making it so that humble pilgrims or travelers with mainly religious or tourist interests will be unlikely to ever be charged a bridge toll. Those with commercial interests will still pay a small price, but for pilgrims with small commercial venture the toll will be very marginal to nonexistent. Those with substantial commercial interests will still pay a toll, though merchants who are also pilgrims will only be paying half price. Regular commercial traffic and official trade routs will be charged slightly more to make up some of the difference, unless they are directly trading with either Karmozijn Kerk or Messara.
Meanwhile, Chello puts her Administrative and Merchant skills to use in order to develop the tourist shops, around the bridge and local holy sights as well as the Elonese inns and taverns that cater to pilgrims and travelers along the River. Those who save money on bridge tolls may very well spend all the more on souvenirs and a nicer place to sleep and catering to the increased traffic through the area will help boost the economy in Dovwynn. |
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Elon
Apr 25, 2015 23:42:44 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Apr 25, 2015 23:42:44 GMT
Neighbors and Honor
“It’s dangerous and total foolishness,” Chello snapped in a voice she hardly ever used against her husband or anyone else for that matter. King Casomir will be a desperate man, backed into a corner by the declarations from the church. You can’t be sure what measures he might take. This whoel thing is foolishness, Azlyn you shouldn’t spoke out in his defense at all” “He’s an honorable man,” Azlyn said back, his own tone stern and unmoving and one of our longest allies. I need to do everything I can to help save him, not only for the sake of his soul, but for the welfare of his whole nation. If the Firetooth invade, along with a horde of other mercenary bounty hunters and raider dogs, it will be the people who suffer for this.” “They’re not your people,” Chello hissed back, “You realize don’t you that if he and his nephew have been striped of their ranks in the Husaria, you are the most likely candidate to take his place as commander and Elon’s reputation for answering the summons of the church is well known. He may well and very rightly see you as a threat and on top of that you could be a valuable hostage.” “Casomir would never do that,” Azlyn said waving a hand dismissively, “And as of yet, he has not been striped of his command of the Husaria, which makes him my superior, which is another reason I owe him the chance to explain himself to me in person and a chance to listen to my council.” “Azlyn this isn’t the time-” Chello began in a firm angry tone, but Azlyn took hold if her shoulders and spoke in a deep serious voice, which couldn’t be ingnored. “This is exactly the time. Wars and revolutions are breaking out across the north. The world we’ve built over the course of the last three generations is threatening to fall and shatter into a dozen pieces. We need to stand up for peace and unity, Chello. We need to take every measure we can to show the rest of them that honor and faith if our neighbors can still succeed, or else it will descend into a world where might makes right and whomever has the biggest sick, whomever has the most money for mercenaries or most aggressive fighters get decide the rules the rest of us must follow.” He held her gaze a moment then stepped back. “Besides,” he added, “These actions from the church disturb me. The Aedak I grew up with, while strong and willing to defend the faithful, first and foremost was a religion of words, righteousness and the preservation of life, dignity and saintly honor. I know that it may be true that I never really understood the real Veakirate, but it is and always will be my firm belief that Aed would not wish us to recklessly rush to slaughter and bloodshed in his name, especially not against a good man and our neighbor. I’m leaving tonight and I’m going alone. I have no desire to threaten or distress Casomir, by a show of armed forces.” “What?” Chello asked, “You just going to sail into Hessnya like a stupid fat cow ready to be slaughtered?” He frowned at her reprovingly, and she dropped her gaze, letting out a frustrated breath. “At least take your personal guard. They’re sworn to follow and protect you under any circumstances. I doubt they would let you leave the Dovwynn without them.” Azlyn shook his head, but knew she was probably right. “They will do as I tell them.” |
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Elon
Apr 30, 2015 20:11:28 GMT
Post by missmilkmaid on Apr 30, 2015 20:11:28 GMT
An Unexpected Wedding Announcement Autumn, 822 Lord Bronsyn Alistair came to Christallo castle feeling as nervous as a turkey the weak before the harvest feast. He’d been preparing to come and tell his liege about his marriage plans to Ikegami Sayoko, when he’d received a summons. Did the king already know their intentions? Were Azlyn and Chello summoning him here to tell him how displeased they were? Would they order him to call off the wedding? Would he follow that order if they did…? No. He didn’t care what they said, he would marry Sayoko, but he still felt slightly sick as he road into the castle courtyard. King Azlyn and both the children were out in the yard, watching a young foal following its mother around on wobbly legs, as the stable master led the mare to the smith to be shoed. Prince Chonny, who was a chubby toddler now, was on his father’s hip and Eloise, who seemed to have grown a foot since the last time Bron had seen her, was ignoring Azlyn’s instruction to not climb on the corral fences. The King turned around as Bron came road up and smiled, “Lord Alistair,” he greeted then reached over with his free arm and gently took Eloise by the waist a pulled her off the fence and back onto solid ground, “Take your brother inside, El and let the servants know Lord Alistair is arrived.” The princess pouted slightly but obediently took the little boy in her arms, before going inside. “Thanks for coming so quickly,” Azlyn said, shaking the wrinkles from his doublet as Bron dismounted, “I suppose you know what this is all about?” “I reckon so, your majesty, but please give me a chance to explain.” “Explain?” Azlyn chuckled, “I know your construction in Alstri has been going well, but don’t tell me a ranger like you isn’t anxious to start venturing back into the wilds again. You agreed last year to help Naozumi and I lead a mission out to the orkish tribes and had some damn good insights concerning it. This is a little different, since the church is organizing it, but I still know you’re the right man for the job.” “I.. what?” Bron said, caught slightly off guard. “The mission to the Wiastlands. The convention is up in Thundercrown this month and I want you to come with us.” Bron blinked. “Oh… yes. Well you know I would be honored to serve however I may, but I uh… just got engaged.” Azlyn’s face brightened, “Really? Congratulations! I’m sure we can work things out around the wedding arrangements. Who’s the bride?” Bron hesitated slightly. “Erm, the Princess Ikegami Sayoko.” “What?!” Azlyn exclaimed. *** “What?!” Queen Chello exclaimed. She, Bron and Azlyn were in the dining hall of the longhouse and the ranger had just explained his marriage proposal. “What on Aed’s good world were you thinking?” she demanded. She could hardly believe this. Bronsyn Alistair had been one of her pet projects, a humble commoner whom she carefully raised to be one of the most powerful nobles in the nation, Subtly counter-balancing the Revivalist influence of the the king and old-blooded nobles in the eastern shires. Now her pet project had seemingly thrown himself off a metaphorical cliff. “Does Daimyo Naozumi know about this? Did you even think to get his permission at all?” “Sayoko is going to inform him,” Bronsyn explained quietly, “She’s on her way home now to tell him.” Chello let out a breath and sat back in her chair. She had no idea how Naozumi would take this. Would he see this as an international insult to his people, a common born ranger trying to take for himself the heir and princess of one of the most important nations in the north? Bron and Sayoko were even of the same race, let alone the same class. “You need to take back your proposal and send Sayoko and the Daimyo a sincere apology,” Chello said crisply, her mind racing as it tried to find the best diplomatic resolution possible to this situation. “No,” Bron said simply. Chello lifted an eyebrow, “What?” “I love Ikegami Sayoko. I made her a promise, which no king or queen or any person in the world can force me to break. I will marry her, even if it means we have to run away into the Wastelands and live off wild berries and hawks to do it.” Beside him Azlyn smiled slightly. Chello knew this was exactly the sort of romanticism and unbending honor that the king loved. She wouldn’t be surprised if Azlyn decided to write a ballad about all this, rather than do anything remotely helpful. “Both Ikegami Sayoko and Lord Alistair are in positions of power and respect. They not only have, but deserve the dignity of making their own choices,” Azlyn said, crossing his arms and grinning more, “Here in Elon, the King can’t order high lords to marry or not marry someone, so, if Bron refuses to take back his proposal, there is nothing we can do about it.” Chello narrowed her eyes at Azlyn. He seemed way too smug about this. Had he realized the way she been using Bron to promote her influence in the west? Had he known all along that this stubborn, romantic ranger would end up back lashing against her? No. She was giving Azlyn too much credit. “I highly doubt Naozumi will be pleased or allow this to happen,” Chello said. “I think you over estimate the importance of southern and human customs, Chello. The Ikegami have the patients and wisdom of very long lives and Naozumi has a good deal of respect for his daughter. If this marriage is truly what she wants, then he may very well give into her wishes.” Chello didn’t answer. Her own life and marriage had been so completely dictated by politics, customs and the maneuvering of money and power that she had felt nearly helpless as a young woman standing before it. Seeing Bronsyn and Sayoko get away with something so blazon made her feel deeply jealous and somewhat angry. Mutely, she pushed some of her thin blond hair from her face. “We shall see,” she said. “In the mean time, this is no excuse for Lord Alistair to shirk his duty to you. I assume you told him of your plans to take him north with you.” Azlyn nodded. Chello glared over at Bron. “Whatever happens concerning the Ikegami princess you will do as the king commands in this matter at least.” Bron bowed slightly, “Of course your majesty.” “I actually think this would be an excellent opportunity for the Ikegami to join us on this mission. Lady Sayoko is a fine warrior and her people are well known for seeking peace and diplomacy across the north. I’ll write to the Ikegami and encourage them to send representative to the convention in Thundercrown as well.” Smiling, Azlyn slapped Bron encouragingly on the shoulder. “Care to join me for a drink?” I think we’ve settled this as much as we can for the time being. Bron let out a relived breath and smiled back. “Yes, thank you, Your Majesty.” “You may call me Azlyn,” the king said, and waved to a servant, “Bring the best whiskey to the southern patio,” he order, “We’re celebrating a wedding announcement.” |
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