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You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Rules-based RPGs --> Dungeons and Dragons --> Shadows of the Empire
Related thread: Shadows of the Empire - Recruitment Related thread: Shadows of the Empire Q&A GM for this game: t_catt11 Players for this game: Eol Fefalas, Chessicfayth, breebles, alovet, Esther Suddeth , Octavia, vibechecker628
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t_catt11 Fun is Mandatory RDI Staff Karma: 378/54 7124 Posts
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Shadows of the Empire
8th Bre Taola, 452 E.R.
Isil'nari manor house, library
Tansathil Isil'nari sat easily in a familiar chair, with various documents spread on the table in front of him. The sylvari lord's expression was entirely bland to the casual observer, although those most familiar with his apparently ageless features might have detected the slightest hint of tension around his icy green eyes. As was the custom among the high nobles of the sylvari, Tansathil wore his platinum hair loose, allowing it to hang freely past his shoulders. He wore tasteful, loose-fitting clothing of the finest cream-colored silk, with a delicate gold chain around his neck.
The surroundings of the room were similarly tasteful; the many shelves of books were meticulously arranged and organized, and the furniture here was all of muted colors, soft cushions, and pleasant lighting. The library was designed for serious study, and the lord had spent countless hours making full use of it. Today, however, the hour approached to see a different use to the space.
To his left stood a tall sylvari woman with blonde hair a few shades darker than the lord's. She was likewise outfitted in the trappings of nobility, which she carried with unconscious grace. Her expression, however, was more noticeably darkened.
"Are you certain of this course, my lord?" the woman asked carefully.
A ghost of a frown pulled at the corner of Tansathil's mouth. He glanced up from the papers to the woman's face. "Meriliel, my beloved," he addressed her in a smooth tone that yet suggested tension, "we have discussed this. There appears to be no other way."
Her frown was clear and her tone frosty. "Is that so? Why, after all this time, can we not simply allow the past remain in the past?"
Now, the lord's frown grew pronounced - and the sight of it caused a shiver inside of Meriliel, though she did not outwardly show it.
"My lady," he spoke with hidden iron in his tone, "the very future of this House demands action. I will speak of this no more."
The lady knew full well that there was no point in arguing when her husband was like this; truth be told, for the past few decades, he had been like this more and more often. Part of her desperately longed to wind her life back a few centuries, to the time before Tansathil had become the head of House Isil'nari. Back when her life still seemed her own.
But there was no use expressing such thoughts. With a small nod, she stepped back away from the desk.
A soft rap at the door led to a servant's admission into the library. The young syl bowed his head with sufficient respect before speaking. "Lord Isil'nari, your guests have arrived," the servant spoke.
The platinum-haired lord nodded slightly. "Very well," he answered. "Admit them."
***************************************************
Presently, the servant returned, leading an interesting contrast of individuals into the library. As the group assembled in front of his desk, the lord made no motion to rise and greet them. Instead, Tansathil remained seated, with a pair of armed bodyguards standing stone-still behind him in flanking positions against the wall. Meriliel had had exited the chamber prior to the admission of the guests, leaving just the lord and his three attendants behind.
"Thank you for joining me here today," the sylvari lord spoke graciously. "I trust that your needs have been seen to?"
Indeed, the visitors had been treated to a table of fine foods and beverages, including the offer of a wine older than any of the guests in the room. While the host had not joined his visitors for the meal, he had been certain that they were treated with respect.
(OOC: assuming a general positive response, or at least no objections...)
His face impassive, the lord spoke. "I am Tansathil Isil'nari, lord of this House. Welcome, guests."
(OOC: any responses can go here, none are required)
"I will not waste your time," the lord explained. "Instead, I will move to the heart of the matter." The older sylvari took a long look around the room at the collection of figures present. "Some of you, I know personally," he stated as his eyes lingered on the young sylvari woman with a missing arm. "Others," he continued as his gaze swept over the group, "I have yet to meet before this day, though you have proven to be reliable to my House. As such, I have gathered you here today to seek your aid."
The seven guests indeed seemed to represent a wide swath of the populace; five of the seven were sylvari from all levels of society, one was a cidal, and one was a massive creature that seemed a mix of bull and man.
"Many centuries ago," the lord explained, "there were six Great Houses of Alloyren. Teltathar, Birdel, Eleneth, Isil'nari, Mithethiel - and Lanalthir. In the war against the k'goth - the accursed Anathari - the great city of Viastel was laid waste, and the House of Lanalthir was thrown down. Our people have mourned this loss for two millennia, and even now, the pain tears a hole in our hearts."
Truth be told, Lord Tansathil seemed far more angry - or perhaps bitter - than mournful.
"The ruins of Viastel lay within the bounds of what is now known as Sendria. This is a land of evil men, a land of dark magics, a land of dangers and hatred. We are eternally grateful to the vigilance of Hyanda Nost for their determination to keep us safe from the pollution of these children of the Anathari."
The lord continued. "At least the humans did not fully despoil Viastel as they did some of our other beautiful tal'en; rather than raise up one of their teeming wasp nests they call a city over the bones of Viastel, they have allowed the forests there to overgrow the ruins, so nothing but birds or beasts live there today. And yet..." his voice trailed off for a moment.
"The loss of the city, and of the Great House, stains the honor of our people to this day. So many priceless, irreplaceable pearls were trampled beneath the swine of the Anathari horde... those foul creatures that destroyed in unthinking ignorance and hate." He took a breath.
"House Lanalthir had a manor some twenty miles west of the city of Viastel. We know that the manor also fell during that dark time, and we long assumed that it was fully despoiled. The crypts that contain the bones of our cousins..." his voice trailed off as Tansathil shook his head.
"Viastel itself once contained several fabled relics of our people," the lord continued, "but by all accounts, all of these treasures were lost with the city, and history has given us no indication that any survived those dark years." He paused for a long moment.
"Until now."
The tiniest whisper of a grin graced the sylvari's alabaster features for a moment. "Recently, we have come to possess an ancient journal that speaks of desperate efforts to preserve some of those irreplaceable items, some of those connections to our people. The account tells of a rush to secure some of these treasures beneath the crypts of House Lanalthir. The Anathari were well known for their superstitions around the dead - which made the crypts an ideal location for this. Add in the sealing of the crypts, and certain defensive measures... naturally, nothing is certain after so much time, but the possibility is strong enough to be worth investigating the truth of the present day situation."
Lord Isil'nari sat up straight and steepled his fingers on top of the table. "This, naturally, is where you come in," he explained.
"The empire is not in a position to march a detachment of soldiers across a heavily-guarded border into Sendrian land to demand the return of long-lost relics of our people. That would undoubtedly lead to open war."
He frowned slightly. "Nor are we foolish enough to send some diplomat to seek their return; at best, we would be ignored. More likely, the humans would send their own expedition to ensure that what rightfully belongs to the Sylvari is never returned."
The elder syl allowed his gaze to once again pan over his assembled guests. "Each of you," he began, "brings a certain unique set of skills to the proverbial table. Each of you is more than capable in your chosen craft. If you were to successfully infiltrate the human lands, locate the ruins of the House Lanalthir manor, and retrieve these relics from the crypts there, you would earn the gratitude of the empire... and more immediately, the favor of House Isil'nari. As I understand it, each of you could benefit greatly from such gratitude."
Tansathil allowed his hands to slide into a flattened position. "In the event that this is somehow not obvious," he added, "this... mission is not a thing to discuss with every washerwoman and hunter that you may pass. Naturally, the idea that the Sylvari would condone an... expedition into hostile human territory is not the sort of thing that one may simply broadcast about the countryside. This is sensitive information; I take some degree of risk even discussing it with you. Understand that while you would earn the gratitude of the empire and the favor of this House on your success, betrayal of these secrets would likewise earn you the sort of enmity that... well, let us say could lead to an unpleasant future for you. If you elect to decline my proposal, you must surely understand that any sort of information leak would go very poorly for you, indeed."
After letting the understated threat hang in the air for several moments, the lord spoke again. "Naturally, I expect that you have questions, you may wish to converse a bit among yourselves and so forth. Be that as it may, I will need to know whether or not I can count on you to aid House Isil'nari."
Posted on 2024-10-16 at 15:24:53.
Edited on 2024-10-22 at 08:43:58 by t_catt11
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breebles #1 Kibibi Karma: 58/1 1772 Posts
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I'm Going on an Adventure
Rosariel peered around the table at her six compatriots as she shared a meal with them. Four other Syl, a Cid, and a… bovine man? She had never seen such a being in all her life, but she had lived a relatively sheltered one, and he appeared to be a capable warrior.
When she had left her home she had expected to stay on the outskirts of society. She had never been to a city and had no desire for it. Taudor Salka’s domain was the hunt, the wilderness, and the preservation thereof, but the evil that plagued the wood unfortunately did not always stay there. And thus she followed it into a world unknown to her: civilization.
She held a small crumble of cheese up to her shoulder, where from the soft folds of the hood and out from behind her dark brown hair, the two tiny, outstretched hands of a rat slid through, snatching up the piece and retreating back into the darkness of her cloak.
Eventually they were called to the library of this Sylvari lord, a room as lavash as the dinner spread, at least to one whose only experience with a library had been the stacks of books in her small home.
"Thank you for joining me here today, I trust that your needs have been seen to?"
Rosariel nodded slightly and waited for him to proceed. As he provided context for the task at hand, she couldn’t help but become caught up in the story he told. The lorekeepers told tales of what they knew of their history, but mostly they kept to practical stories and those that would scare the younger Syls into behaving. Never in so much detail, and never with so much emotion had she received such a lesson regarding a wrong done to her kind.
"The empire is not in a position to march a detachment of soldiers across a heavily-guarded border into Sendrian land to demand the return of long-lost relics of our people.” He was saying now, “That would undoubtedly lead to open war. Nor are we foolish enough to send some diplomat to seek their return; at best, we would be ignored. More likely, the humans would send their own expedition to ensure that what rightfully belongs to the Sylvari is never returned."
He scanned them once more, “Each of you brings a certain unique set of skills to the proverbial table. Each of you is more than capable in your chosen craft. If you were to successfully infiltrate the human lands, locate the ruins of the House Lanalthir manor, and retrieve these relics from the crypts there, you would earn the gratitude of the empire... and more immediately, the favor of House Isil'nari. As I understand it, each of you could benefit greatly from such gratitude."
Interesting. What a different sort of hunt this would be.
She felt Tubs squirm around the back of her neck and patted his back through her hood.
But Sendria… She did not know much about the world outside Dor’ghen Loth, and even less about the world outside the Sylvari Forest lands, but she did know Sendria was a dark place filled with worse people. Bringing the vengeful light of the Huntress to such a dark world, aiding these hunters around her… she could feel Taudor Salka’s excitement rising with her own.
Her focus returned once more upon the elder lord, "Naturally, I expect that you have questions, you may wish to converse a bit among yourselves and so forth. Be that as it may, I will need to know whether or not I can count on you to aid House Isil'nari."
Rosariel waited as the others spoke, trying not to fidget as crumbs from a cracker she had given Tubs fell down her back. She felt in her heart she had already committed, she felt the Huntress had given her blessing to assist on this mission. But some of this varied crew, those who knew the world better and knew how to speak within it more succinctly, she wanted to hear them first.
She stood silently, her left hand resting on the antler bone and turquoise beaded bracelet around her right wrist, listening to the others, learning more, as she never seemed to be able to stop doing. It was a moment before they began to declare their alignment with House Isil’nari, and when it came to her, she would declare herself to them as well.
Posted on 2024-10-16 at 18:15:16.
Edited on 2024-10-16 at 18:18:21 by breebles
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Esther Suddeth Occasional Visitor Karma: 6/1 28 Posts
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Another Mission
Arathea Ondolithe brushed a strand of snow white hair away from her soft blue eyes, keeping focused on Tansathil at all times as she breathed softly. She had dressed well for this meeting, wearing a rather decorated dark blue dress, though unlike a true noble, she had worn this dress to many events and would likely wear it to many more.
The night for her had been pleasant, she had savored the meal provided, it brought back memories of home. Though she speculated as to why such her host had abstained from it, ultimately brushing it off as a combination of him being both too busy and of him not wanting to share a table with the more... unique people there.
Arathea had seen many things in her, for Sylvari standards, short time on this planet. However for all the things she'd seen a Bófir was new among them, half man half bull? That was something that brought nothing but questions to her mind. She wondered how it even got into the Empire without something horrible happening to it.
The cow was not the only strange thing here however, a Cidal too? An amputee who appeared to be a mage, and perhaps the only one here who could come close to matching the look of not belonging that the cow in front of Arathea did, a huntress. Though nothing would stop Arathea from trying to be welcoming and positive, she tried her hardest to hold small talk and she told many stories of her life and her days.
Arathea remembered being brought here as the group entered the library, an invitation from the head of the prestigious Isil'nari House being given to her made her wonder what kind of mission she was about to go on, and as she met her new comrades she could only wonder more about what the reason for being here could be. It was clearly something special, she could know that from the start, but this was abnormal even for someone like her.
Arathea looked around the room for a moment now, exhaling slightly before looking into the eyes Tansathil and smiling softly. Slowly she began to speak up in a gentle manner. "Well Lord Tansathil, as you know I am Arathea Ondolithe, loyal servant of Her Imperial Majesty and all Sylvaria."
Arathea tried her best not to get too upset over the clear hatred towards humans being shown, she was after all, a die hard Pacifist. While one would think the young woman would get used to these things after 150 years of being a Sylvari, it never did cease to get under her nerves, her ideals remaining close to her heart at all times. At the very least, she was able to ignore it for the most part, staying focused on the task at hand.
Indeed the mission did excite her, she felt dedication to this new goal almost immediately. Curiosity also came to her mind as she wondered of what these treasures were, of what awaited her. She understood the risks, while she was positive towards humans herself she was well aware that humans hated Sylvari, especially Sendria, she understood she had to be careful and diligent.
Arathea noticed the squirming in the hood of the huntress and almost giggled, finding humor in the situation she was in. She was surroundings by strangers who were truly quite strange, talking to a great lord, and about to be going to save ancient treasures.
"You can count upon my aid sir, it is my duty to bring glory to our great nation, and the return of these treasures is glorious indeed." Arathea kept an elegant demeanor about her, carrying herself though she were a noble herself, and she kept herself looking far happier with the world and her surroundings than Tansathil. Her eyes showed a spark of dedication, and her hands rested gently on her lap. "But I am compelled to ask, what are these treasures my lord? Given how Houses... know eachother, and given how much study you seem to have given to House Lanalthir I would be inclined to believe you may know at least a little bit about what we may find."
Posted on 2024-10-16 at 18:56:45.
Edited on 2024-10-16 at 18:59:14 by Esther Suddeth
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alovet Occasional Visitor Karma: 11/0 36 Posts
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Dearest Uncle
* * *
"Thank you for joining me here today," the sylvari lord spoke graciously. "I trust that your needs have been seen to?"
Lingering in the back of the crowd, right hand subconsciously running through a somatic routine under the charcoal traveling cloak. Waiting.. expectantly. The glint of hostility revealed only in the mock formality, the straight spine mimicking the servant’s posture. The perfect supplicant. Yet as her Uncle speaks, the barest forward lean, her weight on the balls of her feet and she attends his words, listening for what is unsaid, revealing none of her curiosity except in that imperceptible shift.
*You summoned me all this way, Uncle. I am not so far gone to ignore your decree. Yet you cannot be bothered to dine with your black sheep? You have certainly grown to fit his Lordship’s boots. And chain it would seem. A wonder Meriliel stands for it. Gods she must be in her quincentury by now. Perhaps she’s grown tired of sanding your rough edges.*
As she studies the room for evidence of her Aunt’s influence, the bookshelves hold her gaze. She allows a few moments to wander, drinking in the wealth there before she locks back to those icy green eyes.
*More lines than last I saw you Uncle. From squinting by candlelight no doubt. A smile wouldn’t know what to do. Hmph. I suppose I’m one to talk. Both strangers to our century’s past.*
* * *
"Some of you, I know personally," he stated as his eyes lingered on the young sylvari woman with a missing arm.
She returns his gaze impassively, granting her Uncle no entree to her feelings at seeing him for the first time in a near century. He returns the same almost disinterested stare for half a heartbeat, then those green eyes move on.
*Knew, Uncle. I am not the child you remember. In this enterprise, I suspect blood matters little to you anyway. “Nepotism rots from within.” Good. A tool is easier than a niece. Nothing to disappoint that way.*
"Others," he continued as his gaze swept over the group, "I have yet to meet before this day, though you have proven to be reliable to my House. As such, I have gathered you here today to seek your aid."
The seven guests indeed seemed to represent a wide swath of the populace; five of the seven were sylvari from all levels of society, one was a cidal, and one was a massive creature that seemed a mix of bull and man.
*Still can’t puzzle out the tame Minotaur. No conjurer with that kind of power would hide it. But gods, where did you find such a specimen? More than bestial intellect, to be sure, and burn my soul those arms could crush a Syl… .*
For a moment her eyes lose focus. Lost. A blink, she is present again, her right hand loses the somatic practice, drifts to the ruin of her left arm. Another blink. It jerks down to an inner pocket, hidden in the folds of the charcoal robe, emerges white knuckled, a drift of yellow powder trails, dusting her inner garments. A breath. The hand releases, stretches. The remainder dusts her skirt tails. The arm straightens. Fingers smoothing the skirts. Deeper breath.
*Control*
"Many centuries ago," the lord explained, "there were six Great Houses of Alloyren. . . .
* * *
The tiniest whisper of a grin graced the sylvari's alabaster features for a moment. "Recently, we have come to possess an ancient journal that speaks of desperate efforts to preserve some of those irreplaceable items . . . ."
*How, I wonder. The millennia have churned human cities to dust, their replacements risen and fallen twice over since we walked Sendria. Such a thing did not fall into your lap by luck. You have bent your will to this. Why? What do you gain? The blood of Lanalthir is too thin to bolster Isil’nari, even if you could resurrect some former glory with lost heirlooms. That can’t be it... If you have the resources to conjure this journal from the lost millennia, why not heirlooms too. You are hedging, perhaps searching. But what is in it for Isil’nari now… .*
She studies the bookshelves with a renewed focus, cataloging the rare volumes on her Uncle’s shelves.
*Quite the collection. What else is here? Your far flung collectors have gathered much of Lanalthir I’ll wager? What did they lose that might be regained for you…*
Lord Isil'nari sat up straight and steepled his fingers on top of the table. "This, naturally, is where you come in," he explained.
* * *
“. . . you would earn the gratitude of the empire... and more immediately, the favor of House Isil'nari. As I understand it, each of you could benefit greatly from such gratitude."
*Ha! Favor indeed. You know that is not why I will go. Nor loyalty to Isil’nari. Sendria holds many things. As does Felarin. I must write to Graystave tonight. He will prove a better source than you anyway.. This group should prove tractable enough to steer.*
* * *
"Naturally, I expect that you have questions, you may wish to converse a bit among yourselves and so forth. Be that as it may, I will need to know whether or not I can count on you to aid House Isil'nari."
“I’m in, Uncle.”
She turns and walks out of the library as the young bladesinger begins to speak.
Posted on 2024-10-16 at 23:09:33.
Edited on 2024-10-16 at 23:13:28 by alovet
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Eol Fefalas Lord of the Possums RDI Staff Karma: 475/28 8825 Posts
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Treasure, you say?
Dinner had been a delightfully curious affair. A feast fit for nobility had been laid before them, with an array of foods so vast that the little Cidal, who had introduced himself as Dak Whisperfoot, wasn’t entirely sure that he had sampled every dish, though he did manage to make repeated appraisals of the wonderful vintage of Sylvari wine that had been served up with it. As expected, most of the guests surrounding the table had been Syls of various stripes – two clerics (one an adherent of Vilathera, the other of Lysora), a rangy woodsman, a coldly aloof mage (or, at least, most of one), and even a bladesinger – each of whom Dak had some passing familiarity with, either by reputation or direct dealings (whether they remembered him or not). The true standout among the company, though, was the massive horned mountain of a creature that could only be a fabled Bofir. He had heard whisperings about the existence of these bovine folk, of course, but had never actually seen one in person and as a result, out of all the gathered guests, Dak was most fascinated by this one.
He was so captivated by the minotaur-man, in fact, that he had been sorely tempted to assail the creature with countless questions over the course of the meal. However, doing so would break his self-imposed rule of speaking only when spoken to in the presence of the Syls. It was much easier, he had learned in his years of service to House Mithethiel, to gather information from the fair-folk by simply listening to them speak rather than actively trying to engage them in conversation. So it was that, despite his abundant curiosity, Dak had forced himself to abide by that tenet and loosened his tongue only when it was requested or required. Even when dinner was finished and the party was escorted into the library, he maintained the imperative.
As they were ushered into Lord Isil’nari’s presence, Dak smoothed his scarlet tunic (the crest of House Mithethiel embroidered on the breast in gold thread), tugged at the braids that secured his topknot in place, and prowled through the forest of legs in search of a place where he could watch and listen in relative obscurity. Following the Syl Lord’s welcome and introduction (to which he had replied with a bow and a respectful “Diola lle, heru en amin,” ) the diminutive Cid faded to the periphery of the room as Tansathil proceeded with the briefing, absorbing the significance and specificities woven into each word and reaction.
Lord Isil’nari began with a seemingly bitter recounting of the fall of House Lanalthir and the loss of the once great city of Viastel. It was a tale with which Dak was already familiar. When Tansathil suggested that some of the city’s treasures had somehow been secreted away and secured under the crypts of House Lanalthir, though, the Cidal’s faintly pointed ears perked up and his attentiveness to the speech intensified all the more. When it was revealed that the people in attendance had been assembled in hopes of locating and retrieving whatever of those items they might find, his little fingers itched to touch some of those relics. An almost eager smile touched the corners of his lips and shone in his apple green eyes. He was loathe to speak up regarding his own concerns before any of the tall-folk had claimed the opportunity…. He was well aware of his place, here… but he certainly had thoughts.
All manner of thoughts…
When the both the disdainful one-armed mage and the dutiful bladesinger pledged their commitment to the task being presented, Dak nodded his assent, as well, his topknot bobbing with the enthusiasm of the gesture. “As a representative of House Mithethiel,” the Cidal squeaked, “It would be both an honor and a pleasure to participate in this undertaking, heru en amin.” He fell back into his attentive silence, then, eyes and ears keen on the others, gauging their answers and actions one after the other.
Posted on 2024-10-17 at 11:16:42.
Edited on 2024-10-19 at 09:11:37 by Eol Fefalas
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t_catt11 Fun is Mandatory RDI Staff Karma: 378/54 7124 Posts
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what are we looking for?
"Well, Lord Tansathil," Arathea introduced herself, "as you know, I am Arathea Ondolithe, loyal servant of Her Imperial Majesty and all Sylvaria."
The head of House Isil'nari nodded his head to the warrior in the fine blue dress. "Indeed do I know you, honored megilindar. My cousin, Galanien, is a member of your esteemed order. He speaks highly of your skills and exploits; you honor this House with your presence. I trust that your father is well," he added in ceremonial politeness to the bladesinger's father, an erestor of Maelamin.
Tansathil finished his story, laid out his need for secrecy, and pressed the attendees to indicate their willingness to take part after allowed them the boon of questions.
"I'm in, uncle," the one-armed robed woman declared icily before she stalked out of the room. Tansathil's mouth set itself into a thin line of displeasure, though he elected to not voice his emotion. Then, the bladesinger gave her own response.
"You can count upon my aid sir, it is my duty to bring glory to our great nation, and the return of these treasures is glorious indeed," Arathea replied elegantly, with a calm confidence. "But I am compelled to ask," she questioned, "what are these treasures, my lord? Given how Houses... know each other, and given how much study you seem to have given to House Lanalthir I would be inclined to believe you may know at least a little bit about what we may find."
A wry smile now played at the sylvari lord's lips. Clearly, this one was paying attention.
"You are correct, megilindar, I have studied the events around the loss of House Lanalthir quite dilligently for years." The lord paused, allowing his face to slip into an impassive mask. Truth be told, I cannot say with any certainty as to which of the treasures may have been preserved. One would hope that your efforts might reveal a cache of such items. The truly important item that I seek, however," he explained, "is this."
With his statement, the lord grasped the thin gold chain around his neck and pulled it free of his tunic. As he did so, the chain appeared to grow thicker, more substantial, more impressive. Once the end was pulled into view, a pendant of sorts became visible.
"This," he explained, "is the great seal of House Isil'nari." The pendant glittered with many small, yet exquitively faceted gems worked into a silvery metal. "The heads of each of the Great Houses bear similar amulets. These gems are tied to the souls of our ancestors, and are irreplacable in value. When a new cora assumes leadership of a House, they also assume the amulet."
Tansathil frowned. "When House Lanalthir was thrown down, we lost more than the numbers of our kin, more than their skills and knowledge and might. We lost our connection to the souls of their Great House, which forever weakened us as a people. The journal suggests that the body of Lord Beltolien Lanalthis, long believed to have been lost in battle, was recovered and returned to his family's crypt - along with the amulet of his House."
Lord Isil'nari allowed his gaze to sweep the room. "If it is as we hoped, and the k'goth did not despoil his crypt - instead allowing it to slip into forgotten memory - then the amulet of House Lanalthir still exists, and we may yet have an opportunity to connect with the lost souls of our people. Such a thing would potentially be a true boon to the Empire, and thus earn you much gratitude and favor."
When the cidal offered his own agreement, Tasnathil nodded his head in acknolwedgement. "You have our gratitude, Sir Whisperfoot."
Posted on 2024-10-18 at 10:52:14.
Edited on 2024-10-18 at 11:04:33 by t_catt11
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Chessicfayth Cheshire Cad Karma: 107/3 1201 Posts
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No small task
The food, Rainminainen thought to himself, was undersold. More used to game than anything else, the fare on display would have humbled him, if he'd put stock in such things. Still, it had been quite some time since he'd had a meal of this quality. At least the trip won't be a total waste.
It was a few years too early for meeting with Lord Tansathil again. While he understood the man's desire for knowledge and reach beyond the borders, he'd been, until now, somewhat reasonable about requesting the ranger's services. Giving Rainminainen ample time and space between each attempt. Rainminainen had initially thought this was to be an escalation, but present company seemed to imply something much bigger than his own history with the lord was afoot.
He glanced again at the others that had also been called. The other sylvari were interesting in there own right, but his attention was dominated by the bofir in their midst. Having run into only a few in his travels westward, he was shocked to see a bofir in Syl lands, let alone in a noble house. There was sure to be an interesting story there. His eyes nearly passed over the Cidal, before his gazed stopped and sharpened. He recognized that particular Cid. An odd grouping to be sure. His curiosity was starting to get the better of him.
* * *
"-brings a certain unique set of skills to the proverbial table."
There it was. He was to play guide then, if he were to accept. A job he'd done before, though not in a situation such as this. He had of course traveled through Sendria, but never lingered there. Too much bad blood meant that if spotted, he had little hope of things ending peacefully. Still, over the years, he'd crossed the country enough times to have a reasonable grasp on the details. Leading a group even this size through Sendria wouldn't be much of a problem. Leading them into Sendria, however, was an entirely different matter.
He had half a mind to turn the man down. Again. Just as he was about to do so however....
"-important item that I seek, however, is this."
Stopping to listen intently now that the supposed goal of the expedition was being revealed, Rainminainen found himself rapidly re-evaluating his position. He didn't know how much of what followed was flowery metaphor, and how much was literal. He also didn't know that it mattered. Rainminainen was not himself overly politically or historically minded, but one thing nearly all Sylvari agreed on was that they had, as a people, lost entirely too much. And here was a sudden chance to regain some of what was lost.
He did his best to keep the resignation off his face. His agreementw as all but assured now. Still, a few things to make clear. He waited for a suitable pause in converstion, then met Lord Tansathil's eyes and spoke in a low tone. "A single trip. Both ways. That is all I am offering, and that conditionally to your answering a question."
(OOC: Assuming assent here.)
He spoke slowly now, emphasizing each word.
"Do you know what you're sending us into?"
Posted on 2024-10-18 at 19:10:18.
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Eol Fefalas Lord of the Possums RDI Staff Karma: 475/28 8825 Posts
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Fluffity-fluff-fluff...
As the meeting drew on and, in its course, more information about both the mission and those tasked with completing it was revealed, Dak situated himself atop a plushily cushioned ottoman. Chewing on the stem of his pipe, he continued to scrutinize the expressions and engagements of those in attendance even as he mulled on his own thoughts.
So it’s to be a little graverobbing, then, he mused when Tansathil produced the glittering great seal of House Isil’nari and expressed his desire to have its Lanalthiri counterpart returned to Sylvaria. He shuddered at the thought of delving into any Sendrian tomb to retrieve the thing, though the idea of venturing into such a dark and evil place didn’t deter him. Not my typical forte but, for a prize the likes of that, I can make an exception… If an amulet of such import was expected to be found beneath the crypts, he could only imagine what other treasures might be procured (and possibly pocketed) from the depths of those tombs, and those imaginings alone warmed him against the chill that venturing into the demon lands induced.
Speaking of chill, he thought, his gaze drifting toward the door through which Seleniniel had taken her hasty leave, I can’t help but wonder if the Lord’s niece might not feel herself at home in such a place. Or, at least, pulled to the murky magics to be found there. The mage hadn’t seemed overly thrilled to have been summoned to this gathering, but she had accepted the task quickly and curtly enough to pique Dak’s curiosity.
His eyes ticked to where Rosariel stood, next, an entertained grin tugging at his lips as the antics of the rat hiding in the priestess’ hood. The woman hadn’t spoken much, as yet, but if he was reading her right, there was a glimmer of silent excitement in her eyes. She’ll be going, as well, he imagined, his head bobbing as if to affirm the thought, Well and good. We’ll need all the divine intervention we can get; I think.
The little Cid’s attention wandered to the dove-masked celebrant of Lysa, then. Much like the other cleric, Mae’rel had yet to express her intent to join the expedition and, hidden as her features were behind that mask, she wasn’t quite as easy to read as the others in the room. She’s sure to accept, though, Dak figured, finally producing a tobacco pouch and tamping a bit of its contents into the bowl of his pipe, Carrying Lysa’s light into a place like Sendria is likely irresistible to one like her.
That one considers it her duty to go, he snickered to himself, exchanging the pouch for a tinder-twig and sparking the pipe as he eyed Arathea, Bladesingers and their blind obligation… Puffing at the pipe, he gave a little shake of his head and blew a smoke ring toward the ceiling… So unwaveringly devoted.
“A single trip. Both ways,” the ranger’s blunt agreement to the undertaking drew Dak’s attention and amusement, “That is all I am offering, and that conditionally to your answering a question… Do you know what you’re sending us into?”
“Well, of course he does, friend Rain,” the little halfling tittered, “Surely Lord Islil’nari wouldn’t send us blindly into such a dreadful place, especially when he’s asked one of his own to attend us, would he? And, really, mellonamin? Just a single trip,” he grinned at the ranger, drawing a circle in the air with the stem of his pipe, “No roundabouts, scenic routes, or side trips to scout waterfalls? Tsk... Where’s your sense of adventure?”
Posted on 2024-10-19 at 10:42:10.
Edited on 2024-10-25 at 09:27:16 by Eol Fefalas
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Esther Suddeth Occasional Visitor Karma: 6/1 28 Posts
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A Most Unique Fellowship
"Thank you sir, I have met Galanien, he is a spectacular warrior himself." Arathea maintained a smile, she'd been in a situation like this multiple times before, be it when she was with her father or on duty. "Father is doing quite well, last I saw him he was in wonderful health." Arathea internally knew this was just a gesture, in fact she though Tansathil himself seemed to be a schemer concerned mainly with himself and his family. Arathea imagined he was at best indifferent to her father and his colleagues, at worst a political enemy working against them.
As Tansathil showed off the pendant he wore proudly Arathea's mind rushed through a manner of thoughts, the pendant was the main target? Not any other symbol of power or something the weighed more? It was symbolic yes, but she didn't believe that symbolism would be enough to inspire a seemingly recently born obsession, let alone a high risk mission with his own niece at stake. Arathea thought it could just be that the man was growing older and seeking one last hurrah, but she also speculated more may be at play.
Arathea noticed the display from the amputated mage. "Not as ladylike as I imagined," Arathea thought to herself. It became clear to her that this woman had no care for politics, she wondered if she had much care for the ideals of Sylvari ideals period. As Arathea observed she got the idea that this woman had one of three things, a heart of sorrow, a heart of hate, or a combination of the two.
The ranger was clearly a man who had seen more than his fair share of life and the world, he seemed to hold with him a look of experience and expertise. She believed he would prove perhaps the most useful in this mission, realizing they needed an expert on human lands and how to move through them.
The Cidal seemed himself to be different from the happy and go lucky halflings that she learned about before, this man seemed to be at least slightly cynical. She noticed his gaze, and felt it was rather condescending in a way, and the way he talked to the ranger seemed to validate suspicions Arathea held. "Dak, darling, I do believe it would be... rather dangerous to try anything very... adventurous in Sendria. I believe Rain is right to be cautious, I'm sure he knows well what danger awaits us." Arathea maintained a polite smile. "I'm also sure Tansathil knows what he's doing however, it is true he has his kinsmen intertwined in this."
Through this all the clerics remained quiet, the Lysoran Arathea figured was simply some kind of monk judging by the full body coverings, which would explain the complete silence. But something about Rosariel peaked Arathea's interest more than the others, she seemed just as isolated as the ranger but without the look of experience. And the creature crawling around on her both made Arathea want to giggle and made her feel totally grossed out. "Huntress, are you well?" Arathea asked gently as she turned her attention to the robed woman, nkt able to hold back her curiosity and longer.
Posted on 2024-10-19 at 18:48:46.
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alovet Occasional Visitor Karma: 11/0 36 Posts
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While the rest prattle on
She breathes, deeply. Eyes and mouth closed.
er, atta, nelde, kinta, lempe, enque, otso, tolto
Forcefully exhales, empties her lungs.
er, atta, nelde, kinta, lempe, enque, otso, tolto
In
er, atta, nelde….
Out
er, atta, nelde….
Steam pours from the copper tub, the room awash in heat and humidity despite the open window. Her eyes open for a moment, blink the water away, they flick to the flaming orb that dominates the room. It’s half as tall as she, a blazing ball hovering five feet off the ground, sounding more of wind than flame, surface swirling violently as if barely containing the maelstrom within. The heat pours off it, shimmering the room. She sees something in it, her look grows more intense, then quizzical, she looks to the window–past it, to the night sky.
A waning sickle, barely a thumbnail. Shouldn’t be this strong. A surge? maybe there is something to the Walker’s planar theory.
She stares out the window for another few moments, then returns her thoughts to the room. She leans over the rim of the copper tub, spits a viscous black liquid into an ornate ceramic planter resting on the table she’s shoved over by the tub, then plucks a leaf from the small plant within, nearly bare now. Black stemmed, veins of vibrant purple run through deep maroon. She chews vigorously for a moment, tucks it away in her cheek. Leans back, eyes drift closed, head resting on the rim.
What story’s he spinning, I wonder… It doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t be in that room if he wasn’t sure of their decisions. What’s House Mithethiel got in this though… Must be quite a debt Tansathil accumulated to allow the cidal.. Unless…
Sarigraamin… Focus. Don’t waste it. Open your mind.
She breathes in.
er, atta, neld . . .
Out
er, atta, neld . . .
In, then dunks her head
er, atta, neld . . .
Heat. Water. Gravity.
kinta, lempe . . .
Heartbeat–slow. Copper–hot. Air. Life–fragilely held. Master it.
enque, otso, tolto . . .
Heart. Lungs. Pain. In the mind alone. Embrace it. Use it.
*BM BM BM* The sound reverberates in the water. “Mistress Seleniniel?”
nerte, kainen, minque, ratse
Bubbles pepper the surface. “Mistress?”
er, atta, nelde, kinta, lempe, enque, otso, tolto
Emerges. Uncontrolled intake of breath. Glares towards the door.
“Enter”
A slim sylvari in her Uncle’s livery pushes the door open with her foot, steaming bucket held in both hands. The servant jolts, eyes wide as she sees the flaming sphere, feels the radiating heat. Only a few drops spill–a testament to her composure.. or training.
“Mistress… um…” Her eyes don’t leave the sphere, beads of sweat forming on her brow. “Your… your bath… will be getting… um...” She trails off, clearly trying to maintain propriety but utterly unsure of what to make of this.
“I handled it. Thank you.” The last, courteous enough, but a clear dismissal. The maid backs out, eyes remaining on the sphere.
“Wait. Master Whisperfoot. Which room?”
A blank expression.
Aikanaro. “The cid,” Seleniniel clarifies.
“Oh. He is not in this wing, my lady. Mistress Isil’nari put him on the lower floor, near the kitchen. There’s a small guest room.”
Ba-seldarine, a servant’s quarters. You’d think Meriliel and her staff have seen enough of the world to outgrow their parochial blind spots.
“Thank you.” The courtesy gone, just a dismissal. The maid gladly obliges.
Sarigraamin, what a waste.
The sphere winks out, penumbra lingering in her corneas. She angrily spits into the planter, shoves up from the bath, reaching for the thick robe. As she dresses, she refills a green glass goblet, worked with mithril filigree, from a starkly plain bottle, nearly empty now.
Gods, this wine must cost more than most syls see in a year.. Hmph.. If you could even get a price. Vineyard’s been razed for millennia, no doubt. She runs her finger along the bottle, layers of dust. How many houses decayed around you, how many wine cellars.. tucked away, waiting for me to pluck you from my Uncle’s kitchens? She sits, traces the engravings on the chair’s carved wooden arm, noting the distinct marbling of the wood, the unrepeating pattern. Virgin. Pre-Anathari. Maybe even before the Khords burned the Alloryan Straight. Then, the goblet in her hand. The old crest. Six… seven generations ago? Gods be damned, everything is too old here. What’s the point of these centuries of accumulated trinkets–mementos to lost glories? Is that why I’m here, Uncle? To grasp at the imagined boons of the past so you can tuck them away in your manor.. She throws back the priceless wine like common morimatra, picks up the bottle, begins pacing.
The eastern border will be bad enough, but Felarin’s kept the Blood Guard at bay this long… Plus… plenty of action. She smiles, the first time since coming to her Uncle’s. Hells, the Order might give us a detachment. Graystave’s too old, but the rest of those bloodthirsty bastards won’t miss the chance. She revels for another moment, smile remaining, then drinks from the bottle and moves to the sitting room and the monument of a desk that fills it. Atop it, a messy display of loose papers and books. Among them is one, particularly overstuffed, with cracked leather binding, different colored and textured pages sticking out at all angles, looking as if it’s been cobbled together from hundreds of others. She ignores it for now, fishing a half finished letter out of the pile of loose parchments and picks up where she left off.
. . .
Two months I’d guess, give or take. Please have the Curators pull any old records of Viastel, and House Lanalthir if you have them. And if there are still any readable maps from the seventeenth century or earlier, I’ll pay good coin for a transcription.
There’s also Sendria itself of course. I understand there’s still a sizable list of missing volumes from the Anathari collapse, despite our chipping away. If you’ll have the Bones compile their wish list, I’ll do what I can.
Finally, I’d be grateful for any help the Circle can lend. It appears we’ve a guide, but not much in the way of firepower. Our numbers must remain small, but if nothing else, intelligence on the location of Blood Guard outposts will aid our passage.
Please give Arfine my best.
Your humble servant, Seleniniel Isil’nari”
She folds the parchment, writes on the outer:
Master Tharandul Greystave Progenitor of the White City Archmagister of the Secret Storm Ambassador of Magic and Executor Regent to King Jarom Strongblade
Retrieves the tallow wax candle, tilts it onto the fold, and pulls a plain gold ring from the chain around her neck, presses it in. She leaves the ring to set, rummages in the desk for a moment, then produces a small bottle, applies a drop to her thumb, presses it too into the wax. Cursing, she jumps across the room and fishes in her charcoal traveling cloak for a moment, then briskly walks back to the desk. A shimmer of translucent dust falls from her hand onto the quickly drying seal. Apparently satisfied, she removes the ring and puts it back around her neck, picks up the letter and blows the seal dry, stuffs it into a drawer.
One more.
This one flows more swiftly.
8th Bre Taola
As expected, I’ll be gone half a year or more. West and South. No clear answers yet. Keep an eye on Mithethiel. My Uncle may need something from them, or they’re making another run at erestor. Regardless, I see no good for Galanren. Their spymaster may be out of pocket for a bit. Perhaps Elion can make headway. Tell Melana not to worry.
S
Seleniniel rummages in, then empties a small bag, cursing again before finding a simple jewelry box. She retrieves a ring, silver and onyx, the Isil’nari crest. Presses it into another wax dripping and returns the ring to the box, the box to the bag. She slips this letter into one of the inner pockets of her charcoal cloak as she dons it.
Now. The humble servant quarters by the kitchens. Surely he’s done in the library by now. She squints into the dusty bottle, takes a hopeful swig, tosses it, disappointed, on the floor.
But first, more of that.
Posted on 2024-10-19 at 23:45:28.
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t_catt11 Fun is Mandatory RDI Staff Karma: 378/54 7124 Posts
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do I know?
After allowing for a fair amount of back and forth, Rainminainen finally spoke up. The ranger was direct, blunt... honestly, "rude" would not have been an out of place descriptor, but Tansathil's expression did not waver a single iota.
"A single trip. Both ways. That is all I am offering, and that conditionally to your answering a question," the ranger declared.
The cora of House Isil'nari nodded his assent. "Ask your question," he stated.
Rainminainen spoke slowly now, emphasizing each word. "Do you know what you're sending us into?"
The cidal chirped up in support of the lord's request, and the bladesinger nattered back at the halfling.
Lord Tansathil angled his head ever so slightly. "Quite," he allowed at the interjection from the pair.
He then focused on an answer to the query. "In general? Certainly. I am sending you into Sendrian territory. It is a nation of violent, murderous humans who openly worship the dark gods, who hate us and our kind and would gladly torture each of you until your spirits beg to fly to the forests beyond. But you, ranger, surely you have more first hand knowledge of that truth than anyone else in the room, perhaps possibly the bófir."
He sighed softly. "In particular? No. I have ancient journals, I have testaments from those who fought and died in the area many long centuries past. I do not have recent intelligence to give you. By all accounts, the Lanalthir manor was razed when the Anathari killed our poeple so long ago. My hope is that they did not despoil the crypts, but I know nothing for certain - which is why I am sending you. If the crypts are whole, then there will possibly be wards or the like placed upon them, but will the wards still exist after this much time? Who can say?"
Lord Isil'nari shook his head slowly. "No, I know nothing for certain. There is no benefit to me attempting to deceive you. The way is dangerous, that I know - but I have freely told you as much. I asked the lot of you here, as I believed that you possessed the skills and resources to accomplish this important task. I will not pretend to advise you on the best path to take, nor the best methods to accomplish this task I ask of you."
A touch of wry amusement cross the lord's face. "As for the one trip? I do not recall asking you for more than that, taur'ohtar."
Posted on 2024-10-20 at 01:27:03.
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Eol Fefalas Lord of the Possums RDI Staff Karma: 475/28 8825 Posts
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A quick reply... and a bit of poking the bull...
"Dak, darling, I do believe it would be... rather dangerous to try anything very... adventurous in Sendria,” Arathea interjected, her tone mildly chastising but her smile congenial, “I believe Rain is right to be cautious, I'm sure he knows well what danger awaits us. I'm also sure Tansathil knows what he's doing however, it is true he has his kinsmen intertwined in this."
“Of course, he is,” Dak grinned in return, his head canting ever so slightly to one side as he regarded the bladesinger, “I was simply giving a bit of a ribbing to an old friend, Lady Ondolithe.” He puffed at his pipe again, and a small chuckle escaped his lips driving a slowly expanding smoke ring ahead of it; “You must forgive me, dear megilindar. Sometimes wine leads me to forget that my brand of humor often falls flat on Sylvari ears, hm?”
As Arathea went on to address the adherent of Vilathera, the Cid scooted himself off of the ottoman and padded across the floor toward the still silent Bofear. Standing at the creature’s hoof, he peered up at the literal ox of a man, unbridled curiosity and mildly mischievous mirth twinkling in his eyes. “What about you, tall, dark, and beefy,” Dak prodded, lifting a brow, “You’ve been as quiet as the clergy, here, and that has me curious as to whether you’ll be seeing fit to accompany us on this little expedition…” he raised his other brow and flashed a hopeful grin, “…and, if you are, please tell me that your kind’s sense of humor is, at least, a little less dry than our Sylvari friends.”
Posted on 2024-10-20 at 11:27:25.
Edited on 2024-10-20 at 11:30:55 by Eol Fefalas
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vibechecker628 Newbie Karma: 3/0 7 Posts
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An honored invitation..
A Lord had summoned Mae'rel. It was not on the list of things she had ever expected to accomplish, especially not so soon. Besides, she didn't seek to aid the rich and the powerful, those who did were exactly why she had nearly died as a younger Syl. Still, she wanted to hear why she had been summoned. Was this something to do with her parents, perhaps? What about the crimes she had committed decades ago? Surely it was neither, but then, what was it? She muttered a silent prayer as she stepped into the estate, anxiety filling her heart, but when brought to a luxurious dinner after a long journey, she asked permission to indulge just for now.
The meal itself was nothing short of extravagant, far better than anything she'd ever tasted, and it made her feel a bit guilty for the lack of manner she displayed by keeping her mask on. She had never once consumed alcohol, and yet, she had to admit she was curious about the wine served. A single sip was enough to make her dearly regret it, causing her to cough violently as it went down. The flavor was so sharp it was almost painful, and she knew she was certainly embarrassing herself at the table.
When they entered the chamber, Mae'rel stood upright, and she did not dare utter a word. Beneath the mask, her eyes traveled between the fellowship she was to travel with and the Lord, as well as his staff. There was a large creature that seemed almost a monster, though intelligence separated it from a standard beast, a woman who seemed to have.. things in her hood and hair, a Cidal who was, well, a Cidal, and yet another strange woman who seemed to be related to the Lord by her speech. The most standard member of their group wasn't even herself though, and she could recognize that instead, it was a woman in a fine dress, who seemed to have a relation of sorts to the Lord.
"Naturally, I expect that you have questions, you may wish to converse a bit among yourselves and so forth. Be that as it may, I will need to know whether or not I can count on you to aid House Isil'nari."
All Mae'rel offered was a nod, once the Lord asked, and she allowed the others to voice their concerns and questions, many of which asked the questions in her mind. Intelligence on what they would be facing, and the items they would be recovering. Not all of it was particularly.. useful conversation and she already suspected a few who would perhaps cause trouble in the group. Still, she withheld her judgment, as Her Lady would want her to, and allowed others to speak.
“You’ve been as quiet as the clergy, here, and that has me curious as to whether you’ll be seeing fit to accompany us on this little expedition…”
"My apologies. I did not wish to interrupt, I was simply listening."
She spoke simply to address the Cidal, just so he would know she was indeed present, and that she had not sworn a vow of silence. All that considered, she had a question she was certain no others would ask, and so, she did.
"My Lord, I can vow my hand guided by Lissentoria, and I will offer protection, and healing to those I will accompany and any who may need it along the road. However, I must ask if you are aware of the vow I have sworn to My Lady? Unless the individual threatens the life of others, I will not strike them down, I shall not kill. The others... they may, for it is their decision, so long as they are wise and just when they make these decisions. But, I must ask, would you have me on this journey despite this... what many may consider to be "a drawback"?
Mae'rel would hardly ever call it such. However, she was aware a Lord who was looking for arms absolutely would declare it exactly that.
Posted on 2024-10-20 at 16:00:02.
Edited on 2024-10-20 at 17:54:51 by vibechecker628
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breebles #1 Kibibi Karma: 58/1 1772 Posts
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Who... Me?
Rosariel watched as the steely-eyed Syl stalked out of the library, one arm and yet somehow still so intimidating. She reminded her of how fierce a wounded animal will fight their predators off with abandon. Perhaps not like a deer or some such that would flee at the first scent of an existential threat, but maybe a badger, or opossum, or…. Tubs found a place near the base of her neck to cozy in and she held back a smile. Yes, he had had much the same steely look in his eyes when she had rescued him as well.
Uncle, she had called him. Interesting he would send a loved one into such a dreadful place. Maybe he truly believed there would not be too much trouble afoot for their small troop marching into Sendria, or maybe he had every faith in his niece to overcome any trouble they all may find themselves in. But then, neither of them seemed too overwhelmed with familial love for the other, so perhaps he simply wanted to be rid of her.
The ominous words of the ranger brought her back to the conversation at hand, “Do you know what you’re sending us into?” To which the Cidal had his own blithe remarks. Rosariel had known very few Cids, having done some trading with them as their caravans passed through her home. They always seemed to have a mischievousness about them that she found amusing. She imagined this would prove alleviating at times on the dark trip ahead of them.
With the ranger and the Syl with the lovely sword’s queries resolved, the bladesinger suddenly turned her attention to Rosariel, catching her off-guard while deep in her ponderings, “Huntress, are you well?”
She blinked, doing a quick self-assessment. She felt fine, did she look unwell? Was this a customary question she was not aware of?
“Yes, bladesinger, I am well. Thank you for asking.” She paused, unsure if there was anything else she needed to add, “You may call me Rosariel,” she poked the bunched fabric at the back of her neck, “this is Tubs.” Another pause, “Are you well?”
((OOC: assuming she is, but I’ll edit as necessary))
“Very good, very good. I am looking forward to this hunt, and lending aid to you and the rest of our party as needed,” her hand drifted to the piece of a stag’s antler that hung from her neck and rested on her chest, the Cidal’s quip at the ranger about having a sense of adventure lingering in her ears.
Rosariel was young, she knew. She would live for several more centuries, with only 171 behind her for now. But she felt like she had lived a lifetime. A different lifetime. She had once thought that she would live and die in the arms of her home in Dor’ghen Loth. Taudor Salka had called to her in those woods and to those woods she was bound, or so she thought. She had never cared much to dream outside those woods yet here she was, and now there was nothing that could keep her from those adventures the Cidal teased about.
As the conversation died down and Lord Tansathil’s eyes rested on her expectantly, she nodded, “The Huntress bids me to answer your call, my lord. Her light and wrath shall bless our hunt and strike down those who would stand in our way.”
Posted on 2024-10-21 at 01:15:58.
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Octavia Newbie Karma: 5/0 15 Posts
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At first the bull was comfortable, feasting on the finest food he'd had in months - not paying attention to looks of shock or even disgust shot at him - but rather curious to see something familiar so far from home. After checking his map, Ruadhrí - a seasoned cartographer and wayfinder - saw that they were hundreds of miles from Goodlund. He regarded the shawlin with a small snort of curiosity, but then dinner was interrupted by a syl in fine clothes telling them to follow him.
Ruadhrí sat uncomfortably in a chair much too small for him listening to a sylvari in a bigger chair speak of a mission. Why does he have a bigger chair? He doesn't need it, and what does he mean by house? We are all in his house, and why do the others listen so closely? This land is rather strange. His thoughts were interrupted by a series of words that made his gourd hairs stand.
"The ruins of Viastel lay within the bounds of what is now known as Sendria" that was the only thing that the bull needed to hear to almost put a hole in the floor with all the weight he pushed into his chair. Over half of his colony, including Pathfinders, had fallen in Sendria. Smoke was almost coming out of his snout. We have to return to those wretched lands just for some dusty bits and baubles? The bull was furious, but he knew that if he rejected this mission, the colony would be denied, so he spoke.
"While I am anything but thrilled to be heading to a land that nearly turned my caravan into a giant graveyard," his voice was not nearly as deep as most of the room might have expected, but it did have a richer tone to it and a very thick lilting accent to it. "I am being called upon by the creator of this firm house and it would be disgraceful to object, so I'll come." The large bull thought this covered his feelings well - oblivious to the fact no one knew why he was talking about the house, the building and not the House, the family. Forgetting that he was eight feet tall and the doorways were not built for his size, he didn't pay attention and hit his head on the opening. A crack remained where he his head had hit.
The moment Ruadhrí left the room, he was furious. If this pompous asshole thinks I'm going to risk my neck for his precious baubles, he is dumber than the choice material for his chair! Once again his thoughts were interrupted, this time by a tap on his leg,
"What about you tall, dark and beefy?" At first, Ruadhrí didn't see or chose not to see who said it. "You've been as quiet as the clergy, here, and that has me curious as to whether you'll be seeing fit to accompany us on this little expedition."
The Loaven at his feet made the bull go from angry to curious, a cidal was one thing he had seen before so far from where he knew they belonged. He wondered if they were a common sight all over Antaron.
"And, if you are, please tell me that your kinds sense of humor is, at least, a little less dry than our sylvari friends."
Ruadhrí chuckled for the first time since entering. Finally, someone who isn't uptight.
"A fine question, little one. My kind's sense of humor is one of no filter and no hard feelings. For example, if your friend looks like hot manure on harvest feast, you say 'the ass in barn has a better chance than you' and you both laugh."
It had been too long since Ruadhrí had enjoyed good laugh with Andriv.
"Are we the only people in here that know how to laugh?" The Bofear never cared what anyone thought of him, which helped him ignore looks of disgust long before making it to the sylvari lands.
Posted on 2024-10-21 at 11:10:17.
Edited on 2024-10-21 at 11:10:32 by t_catt11
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