Fantasy ~Fire Emblem Reverence: The Insurrection of Etalus~

[SkyGinge]

The year is 454 RC. On the continent of Reverus, five nations co-exist in a state of fragile peace, sustained by a complex web of treaties, trade agreements and political ties.

In the south, the land of Ditania is still rebuilding from a bitter civil war when inner turmoil once again bubbles to the surface. As the home of the Draconic Oak and site of one of the last battles against the Fell Dragon Khaima, Mount Etalus has long been admired with envious eyes by the other nations; whoever possesses the Draconic Oak possesses the flow and distribution of all magic tomes and staffs, making it not only a site of immense political value, but also of great religious, scientific and historical significance.

Now Etalus faces a violent insurrection, a shadowy faction of mercenaries arriving on its shores and taking control of the lower valley. Seizing the opportunity for political gain, the other nations hurry to pledge support, support the embattled Lord Claudio is in no position to refuse. As Claudio himself marches down to meet the rebel army in the valley below, his young daughter is left to play both host and chief negotiator as the arriving foreign dignitaries arrive– young nobles who, along with their trusted retainers, will attempt not only to quell this revolution but to do so in a way which ultimately furthers their own political, personal and national goals. Each arrives in Etalus with a plot of their own, and all plots revolve around the Draconic Oak. When it comes to such a precious resource, the young heir to Etalus is about to discover there is no such thing as unconditional kindness…

A tightening web of political schemes, of veiled intentions and secretive plots. A chain of events which threatens to disturb the fragile peace and plunge the continent back into bitter warfare. And a series of shocking revelations which challenge the known history of the continent. The Insurrection of Etalus is history in the making, and it is up to these young royals to ensure they profit the most from it…

Welcome to Fire Emblem Reverence: The Insurrection of Etalus!

Rules & OOC

Lore & Worldbuilding

Characters & Applications

The Adventure Has Now Begun...
​

 

[SkyGinge]

Prologue: Legends Stirring
~13th of the Garland Moon, 454RC~​

On a warm summer’s evening, an old man sat down at the base of the Draconic Oak, and looked out across the value. The stars were bright in the clear sky – he smiled, tracing familiar constellations with an outstretched hand. The same stars which he had dreamt of touching as a young boy were still his faithful witness, having watched over his life in all its joys and sorrows. Illuminated as they were by the ethereal glow of the great tree, which glowed a dim blue around him, it was difficult to stop his thoughts from wondering to the fantastical, to folklore and legend.

As a senior gardener, Shalam Anatos remembered the legends associated with the Oak in almost greater clarity than he could recall the events of his own life. He had spent over seventy years in service to the tree, organising its growth and harvest, tending to its garden, and sharing tales of its wonder and power. He may not have been blessed with the opportunity to travel, but he had enjoyed the privilege of having the world travel to him, experiencing the breadth of Reverus through the nobles and famous figures who would come to see one of the continent’s most famous natural landmarks. Whilst time had withered his once-strong muscles and wearied his old bones, he was still unmatched among the gardeners in his storytelling abilities, enchanting all who would deign to listen to his wandering yet wonderful tales.

He breathed in, enjoying the taste of the summer air. Things certainly weren’t as they used to be – each Duke delegated to govern Etalus brought with him new codes, ambitions and ways of doing thing. Even in the civil war, the gardeners and artisans had continued to work as diligently as ever. It was unusual to find the garden in as tranquil a state as this; with outward trade halted by the insurrection, all attention had been diverted to protecting the garden, with all able hands taking turns in keeping watch from the fortified ramparts. Shalam, sadly, was no longer ‘able hands’ – the hands that once swung a blade with grace and precision now quivered to even hold a quill. Still, he was confident that whatever the fate of Etalus, the Oak would live on as it had for centuries – this thought comforted him greatly. With an almighty sigh, the old man reclined, closing his eyes.

It was then that he heard it – a voice. Distant, muffled, strangely echoey, but definitively feminine. The man sat up with a jolt, squinting his tired eyes in the sunset dimness. There was still not another soul in sight. My oh my, the man chuckled to himself, has the time already come for me to join the realm of ghosts? There were legends of lone gardeners hearing voices in the garden, of strange spectres haunting empty caves, but they were mere fables. He knew that – he’d made many of them up to tease young gardeners. Perhaps his sleepy imagination was getting the better of him.

But no – again, that voice. From somewhere behind him. It couldn’t be… could it?

Shalam shuffled closer to the base of the Draconic Oak, which towered over the rest of the fortress, its leaves glittering in the moonlight. Carefully, as not to aggravate his aching back, the old man cupped his hand and pressed his head against the trunk. His eyes widened – now the voice was louder, echoing through his head as if it was coming from his own brain, its speech clearer, a single word repeated over and over:

…Hello?.... Hello?...

“I am listening, my lord,” Shalam replied instinctively, his lips moving before he had the chance to speak.

…A voice… Company at last… Thank you, faithful servant… Shalam Anatos…

“My lord, I am honoured that you recognise me – pray, elucidate me, that I might also recognise you.”

…Who am I… Hmm… Who I am… The answer which you seek is… Unclear, even to me… Still, if I search within myself… I am the source... I am the seal… I am they who was, who was not, and yet who remains… I am the blood of heaven, the law of power, and the seer of fate… If that clarifies matters…

“I see,” said Shalam, not seeing.

…I sense trepidation… The hearts of all are open to me… To be frank, this experience is novel for me too… These words… feel borrowed, somehow… No matter… I sense within the fabric of fate the reason for my awakening… You have served me loyally for many decades, o faithful gardener… Permit me to make one last request…

“Consider it done, my lord. What would you have me do?”

…Deliver the children of fate unto me…

---

Ever since the Age of Heroes, Vyre Island had stood uninhabited. Its rolling hills had once been a tapestry of verdant flowers, its dense forests teeming with life. Perhaps a hamlet of fisherman enjoyed a bountiful haul from the lake’s riches, settling down to watch the stars from atop their hilltop cabins, the nocturnal soundscape a poignant reminder of the beautiful, valuable multiplicity of existence.

Now, all that remained was ruin, so thick and palpable that one can almost taste it. As the site of the last, grandest battle between the three heroes and the Fell Dragon Khaima, the island had been bombarded by magical forces unlike the world had ever seen before, forces so powerful as to threaten the very fabric of the universe itself. Its scorched earth still smouldered with unquenchable flames. Skeletal trees coursed with electronic veins, their twisted branches gangly and deformed, stretched out like a desperate lepper begging for coin. And the stormclouds that hung over the island never dissipated or retreated, battering the barren soil with rain and thunder. Even the sky itself seemed a miserable shade of grey under the shadow of this grim, nightmarish landscape.

Whilst the watching world set their eyes on the plight of Etalus, a lone ship docked on the island’s stormy, desolate shores, its pilots grappling desperately for a place to anchor against the angry waves. Soon after, hundreds of cloaked figures emerged from within, scampering for cover from the relentless downpour. Finding no such immediate cover, the figures fell into rank, lining up in an unspoken order on the shingle beach, shivering and muttering among themselves. The last to disembark from the ship’s sodden deck were the captain, who was a burly bearded giant of a man, and a short, bespectacled woman who stood at just under half the man’s height, clutching a weighty book to her chest.

“That’s the last of ‘em, aye?” the captain asked, shielding his eyes from a flash of lightning which visibly spooked several of the figures. The woman did not respond, her eyes vigilantly examining the environment before her. The captain rolled his eyes, cleared his throat and tried again. “I said, that’s the last of ‘em, aye ma’am?”

“Affirmative,” the woman responded, distractedly.

“Arr, good. Now show me a leg an’ listen, missy. Me and me maties want away from this Xios-forsaken hellhole as soon as, ye hear?”

“I understand the agreement, yes. However,” the woman turned to the captain for the first time, “I estimate that our investigation may take a few days before we’re able to locate our target.”

“A few DAYS?!’ the captain roared with outrage, as if his peg leg had announced it was leaving him for another man. “Ye’ll be lucky if my ship isn’t visiting Davy Jones himself if the storm keeps up like this!”

Such ingratitude, the woman snorted dismissively. This was the finest ship ever put to sail on Loch Vyre – she’d engineered it herself. “Rest assured, captain, that we will move as quickly as we can. After all, I value efficiency above everything else.”

“Aye well, ye’d better make it worth my wait, lassie.’

“Of course, you will be paid above and beyond our contract.”

The woman waved him off dismissively, walking away towards the beach. The man’s monetary obsession was becoming boring – besides, it wasn’t her money she was throwing away. She passed in front of the assembled figures, examining their faces as she went. Many pairs of eyes were jolting all over the place, like scared rodents. Others, whilst still trepidatious, had a distinct hint of excitement. Such a primitive people, the woman thought. Fortunately, their small-mindedness made them very useful.

“Let us begin the search, mistress,” exclaimed a tall man at the front of the final group – the woman nodded in agreement.

Butterflies in her stomach – how curious, she thought. So I am capable of nerves. No matter, she would have to steel herself. They only had a short amount of time in which to achieve their mission, a mission no man had ever completed.

Somewhere, deep in the contorted caverns of the island’s darkest crater, the Fell Dragon Khaima awaited. And no nightmare landscape or ominous storm would deter her from her from claiming his power…

---

Chapter 1: Foreign Aid
~14th of the Garland Moon, 454 RC. 5:30PM.~
As the last flowers burst into bloom to drink from the warmth of the lingering sun, the people of Reverus thank the divine Xios for her bounty, and for the blessing of life. The Rite of Summer, marked across the continent, provides fractured families and quarrelling communities with a celebration within which to bury the disagreements of old and strive towards a happier, unified future.​

In the lower levels of Etalus Town, the spirit of celebration had overcome the commonfolk, who were out in great number on the streets, going about their business in their usual, energetic manner. Merchant stalls lined the cobbled main road, their owners shaking their heads and moaning to each other as townsfolk arrived to haggle with them. Men were clambering on the rooftops to hang up seasonal bunting, whilst wives and widows furnished their doorways with bouquets of flowers gathered from the mountainside. Kids chased each other down the alleyways, caught in a never-ending game of knights and princesses and heroes.

From atop his steed, Jorrah couldn’t help but smile at the scene before him, the mountain breeze toying with his flowing hair as he cantered down the road. It was important for a man of dignitary to always wear a smile, of course, but this was genuine amusement – he could hardly conceive a better encapsulation of Ditanian spirit than this. A battered people putting on a brave face. No doubt the people were scared, insecure, and probably a little bit hungry. Still, here they were, getting on with life as if nothing had changed, as if this wasn’t the same town which only a week earlier had nearly fallen to powerful unknown mercenaries. As if their brothers and sisters from the valleys below hadn’t been rendered homeless by these invaders. As if many brave knights hadn’t given their lives already to preserve this peace, no matter how shallow it was. Public decorum is ever the potent drug to the hopeless – and as the captain of the Etalus Owls, it was his job to ensure it was maintained.

Jorrah was exhausted. It wasn’t immediately obvious from his face – rarely anything was – but this past week had been particularly stressful. If he’d ever cursed the boredom of an ordinary day on the watch, he regretted it now. He’s take a lifetime of lazy days before he ever wanted to watch people he loved fall to the sword again. These commonfolk took their stability for granted – they spat on the freedom afforded to them by his troop’s sacrifice! But come now, sir knight, perish such a dark thought! When cynicism threatened to cloud his judgement, he closed his eyes and pictured his infant daughter, whose innocent smile could balm a thousand bruises. There was still so much to be thankful for, not least life itself. If the Rite of Summer allowed others to acknowledge that truth, then all the better.

For the young captain, there was always much to be done, never mind on a day like this. The Duke himself had decided to lead half of his remaining troops to fend off the advancing mercenaries long enough to buy his daughter enough time to negotiate proper support. This turn of events had somewhat surprised Jorrah, especially given the backseat role Claudio had taken in the conflict thus far. Still, his master’s intentions were murky even at the best of times, and the Duke’s presence on the front lines would no doubt give his men the morale boost they needed.

Though Claudio’s absence had elevated his workload for the day, he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of almost fatherly pride. This was to be the first proper test of character for his ward and student, Rosaline, whose new leadership he was to help guide and nurture. Though he had no doubts about the strength of her character, even the unflappable captain had to admit this was to be a baptism by fire for her, a fire he would have to immerse himself in too if he were to advise effectively.

Much of the planning had already been completed. The castle halls and quarters had already been prepared and repurposed to provide temporary accommodation to the hundreds of arriving soldiers, with the pantry’s storehouses rammed with food and supplies gathered from the wider town. They were to spare no quarter in being hospitable to the foreign arrivals.

Claudio’s parting wisdom echoed in his mind. The negotiation game starts the moment the foreigners arrive in the town, the Duke had cautioned. If you are weak, they will pounce upon you. She may be young and inexperienced, but she’s my daughter, a descendent of the proud Proguer line.

Don’t let her be weak, captain. Teach her to see through their traps. And most of all, keep her safe.

It was unusual for the Duke to express such sentimentality towards his daughter – in fact, much of his final words had the tone and feeling of an epitaph, perhaps the last goodbye of a man who knows he is not long for this world… but perish the thought again, sir knight. Such idle speculation is of no benefit when there is work to be done!

Perhaps to shield his daughter from the politics and scheming of his senior council, the departing Duke had decreed that it would be up to Rosaline’s trusted retainers to act as her main advisors. Between the three of them (and of course, Rosaline herself), they would share the responsibility for welcoming and receiving the foreign dignitaries. Ichor and Odette had been sent to the western gate to receive the Jussanian group. Meanwhile, Jorrah and Rosaline were to man the eastern gate and welcome the Sanghalan and Nortalisse arrivals.

Except Jorrah was late, delayed by his remaining business as captain of the watch. For now, Rosaline would have to handle the welcomes herself.

Hold tight, milady. I’ll be at your side soon enough. First, I must find these troublemakers…

The Adventure Begins! The three foreign delegations are all due to arrive in Etalus imminently – resultantly, the Ditanian characters have been delegated responsibilities in welcoming the esteemed guests. Odette and Ichor have been assigned to receive the Jussanian contingent, who are arriving from the west via the mountains. Yakov011001 ThatGuyWithSouvlaki ThatWhichShouldBe DistractionAttack Dante Verren Stickdom Rosaline and Jorrah will be receiving both the Sanghalan and Nortalisse delegations, who will both be arriving at the eastern gate, crossing the picturesque Scianti's Bridge in the process. Sanghalo’s forces are travelling from the north via griffon, landing in a skyport on the neighbouring mountain. The Nortalisse group will be travelling via the old clerical path to the west. Misuteeku Arcanist Landsharks ERode High Moon TAC GamerKitty205 Steve Jobs For now, there is no combat information to be aware of. However, that might soon change... ​

​

 

[Misuteeku]

To have nerves of steel, one must be able to face adversity firsthand. Facing the fear and overcoming was the truest mark of bravery that one could achieve. Yet despite the countless rehearsals and practice, the steeled resolve was still nervous at the end. With the crisis of her father joining the front lines against the unknown invaders, it was up to her to make the final decision on who to accept. Rosaline had run countless simulations in her head on how the negotiations would go, their outcomes, and the impacts of each. Though all those meant nothing when dealing with reality.

"My lady, Sir Jorah, will be arriving late." One of her pegasus knights had said.

The words snapped Rosaline out of her thoughts as she looked down to the ground. They were a flight on pegasi and approximately 100 ft from the ground. Rosaline had her father's soldiers patrol the area while securing the rest to welcome the dignitaries and ensure nothing went wrong. It is a display of strength, no matter how weak it came off as. Most of their force was sent to the front lines at the Village Gate along with her father.

"What of Ichor and Odette?"

"They've arrived at the western gate to welcome the Jussanians."

Good. While it may be improper not to welcome her close father's friend's forces, it was deemed that Rosaline needed to appear before Sanghalo and Nortalis. To send anyone else other than the Duke's Representative would be a matter of disrespect to them. House Etalus needed all options to ensure success on the waterfront. It would have been fortunate if Meridania had also come. Still, bordering Sanghalo and Nortalis seemed too difficult for them to move, not to mention the rumors from Meridanian merchants.

Her fists tightened on her mount's bridle. In the end, she needed to secure support from these three nations. No doubt they would ask for something in return, but for House Etalus, she needed her father alive. She wasn't mature, strong, or exceptionally gifted in anything. The only thing she could do was follow the instructions of someone older and more experienced than her. Just as Uncle had said, she could be crushed like a-

Rosaline spotted figures in the distance. One came from the direction of the mountains, and the other from a familiar route used by clerics who visited the area. Sanghalo and Nortalis had arrived as promised. Rosaline held her hand up high to signal to the other pegasi riders. Without Jorah here, she was responsible for them. "Etalus Owls! Let us greet our guests!" She called out with a voice that was clear as pure water.

Taking the lead, she took the reins of her mount and gracefully landed in front of the Eastern Gate, along with her pegasi riders, to greet the dignitaries. While her youth didn't make her imposing, Rosaline promised herself that from here on afterward, every action would command some amount of respect from the foreigners.

 

[ERode]

| Lvl 5 Soldier |​

“Eighteen years, and I’ve still no clue how to ride!”

A hearty voice boomed, as if an echo of the mountain, as Morwen Harkendale, the famed yet mysterious Sunflare Knight, half-stumbled his way off the griffon he had flown to reach Etalus…though flown was perhaps an exaggeration: he had done absolutely nothing other than held tight upon the saddle as the beast followed its brethren through clouds and open skies. It was a sight rarely seen by the landbound soldier, who never even had the benefit of a steed during campaigns and skirmishes, but while he was certainly glad for the views, his legs and back protested from the unique abuse endured.

Metal gauntlets thudded against knotted flesh as Morwen beat the pins and needles out of his legs, before he rolled his shoulder back and twisted his spine. Audible cracks and pops sounded, yet another legacy of a veteran soldier. Sanghalan army folk his age were either promoted to command or just carrion by now; it was a stroke of mixed fortune and misfortune that he had been brought up under King Damaran’s directive to serve as a retainer for such a politically-sensitive matter. His Majesty no doubt had his plans, but Morwen himself?

Surrounded by royalty and even petty nobility, he expected that he’d just be the big, threatening, silent guy. Which was fine for him!

While his betters offloaded their packs and arrangements were made for a carriage down the skyport itself, the golden knight stepped up to the edge of the platform instead. Through the sliver of vision afforded to him by his helmet, he swept across the lands of Ditania before coming across Elatus, distant yet within reach. Miniscule figures, at the gates. Winged steeds, stark against dour surroundings. He licked his lips, hefting up his spear.

“Princess Millicent,” Morwen spoke jovially, “Shall a message be sent before your arrival?”

It was a nonsensical distance, of course. Utterly unreasonable. Merely a jest.

Probably would cause things to get off on the wrong foot, even if by miracle it succeeded.

But shows of unnecessary force…well, was that not the Sanghalan way?

 

[DistractionAttack]

”Seph…Seph. How much wood did you chop.”

“All of it, are you proud mommy!”

“Of course my little Angel your so strong. Your dad didn’t have enough time he’s been working so hard, he’s really going to appreciate this.”

Sephonia felt herself blink her surroundings shift from a quiet cozy cottage to a craggy jagged pathway. She shook herself awake as she had been daydreaming of simpler times with her parents. The long ride offered her many opportunities to recount her happier days. The atmosphere was quiet with a constant click of hooves and a rock back and forth from the horses stride. She knocked herself back into another daydream.

This time she was playing hide and seek with some friends but the seeker wore a oni mask. Sephonia cracked a little smile shaking her head, her remembering that they used to be so weird as kids, but aren’t all kids just trying to have fun and please those around them. She shook away the thought snapping back to reality the ride still happening. Sephonia was unusually quiet this ride as normally she would make remarks here and there, but hey if it made for peace and quiet it’s a win win.

This was a special event for Jussane and Ditania, she was excited to see what Ditania was willing to offer them in return for Jussaian suppprt. She knew that if the Prince was the one talking he was bound to get something in return, and that made her giggle to herself with a greedy smile. This didn’t come without a price on Sephonia side, to keep the illusion that the Prince isn’t lugging a common crook around with him. She dressed in formal attire a blue officer uniform with white regal gloves. This covered her whole body except her head, feeling so unnatural to Sephonia due to her being somewhat of a country bumpkin.

Sephonia had a slouch while she rode not caring until they saw any Ditanian’s which it would quickly get replaced with proper riding posture. Same with her face when she’s lost in thought or putting on an act it is soft revealing a rather appealing facial features. Other than these rare situations she always has a scowl with mean eyes making her neigh unapproachable. “Your Majesty what’s your plan for this negotiation, if you don’t mind me asking.” Her tone soft and gentle being as elegant as possible in her speech, Atleast to The Prince her tongue is more loose when speaking to her co-workers for good or for ill.

“if we play our cards right this will be a major diplomatic success, although I’m not a fan of Ditanian’s and their love for in fighting. Getting access to a potential good would be amazing for us. After all they were just gonna waste it in some pointless war.”

 

[High Moon]

Emil zu Rittfort​

"Blessed Xios!" echoed a voice, filled with relief as the short captain managed to dismount from the beast of the South, trying to get away from it as fast as humanly possible. "... I..." but it was only a few steps before the young lancer crumpled forward, his knees down and with that, the last contents of yesterday's dinner were purged from his being. "... Hate flying." he finished with a grimace, it was one thing to ride across the Xios blessed lands of Reverus and another to rumble through the cursed skies, ever tricky and full of fright and danger. Oh, how he had missed the soil, he could care less about how it dirtied his fine clothes, it was just so overwhelmingly good to be back on his feet, or well knees.

Yet his moment of respite would be short as he could hear, snickering from his right, the riders of Windemere. All belonging to the finest sons that the ancient aristocracy of Windemere could afford... In other terms the younger sons and nephews that the Baron could get away with recruiting into his army's frontline units. Laughing at their Captain's misfortune and disheveled looks. "Shut it you curs." Emil cursed, spitting out the remains of the bile, but there was no hint of actual malice, if anything... "Especially you Welser, I've seen you retch your insides out plenty." He sounded somewhat amused if a bit annoyed. "Just having some fun, Captain." called back the younger rider, while managing to silence his snickering yet unable to wipe the smirk that followed it. "There'll be plenty of time to have your fun in Etalus." said the Blonde Captain, as he got up and started to dust off the earth from his clothes, the initial mess up seemed to be a thing of the past for him. "Wine of finest quality, a feast in our name, all funded by the generous coffers of poor old Duke in hopes of winning over the might of our invincible armies, the legends that brought down the Western mongrels who'd dare intrude upon our ancient and sacred rights! of us!" His final words were filled with passion. Evoking much the same in the Windemere's finest. "Now get ready, we need to make an impression." He ordered as he walked up to his man, and past them towards where their belongings were being sorted.

His eyes searched the make-shift camp arrangement. "Aivar!" he shouted, as he walked amongst the camp-aides, trying to find his most treasured belongings, and he finally did see it. A mighty steed, of the finest stock that the entire Barony could provide, if a bit on the shorter and lighter side as to not hinder the young captain. led on by a contrasting figure, dressed in simple clothes, with a frail build. Aivar, a serf from Emil's Lord Father's domain, graciously lent to him to serve as his servant through the Jussanian Campaign. The young lordling took the reins from the poor serf and began inspecting her. "You've taken good care of Lilli here." he finally commented, satisfied with his brief inspection "Always me'lord" answered Aivar, ever obedient "Good." was the simple answer that his lord deigned him with. "Aivar" Emil called as he mounted his steed. "Ya me'lord?" Aivar answered, a hint of dejection in his simple words. "Help the contingent with the baggage, then you can excuse yourself." His lord ordered, and he followed. "As ya say me'lord." Emil might have picked up on a weary sigh following the comment but decided to ignore it, for now. Time was of the essence and he and his man had dallied long enough.

The Captain rode forth to join up with his liege, he had feeling that this was certainly going to be more of an ad-hoc affair compared to the more grand military parades of Sanghalo proper but he had a feeling that they would still outdo the Jussanian's, ever defeated by the might of Sanghalo and the Nortalise, nothing but lapdogs of the Church who'd rather the blessed Dragon ordain them with magnificence than to ever work for it.

He found Millie on the farthest edge of their makeshift contingent, flanked by her royal sister and the so-called Knight Morwen, Princess Beatrix's pet yokel, who allegedly tore through swathes of blue. "Windemere Lancers! Present!" He called forth, both ordering his men and informing the royal contingent of their arrival. Standing at a respectable distance from the royal duo.

As Emil looked forward into the distance, he could see the Dittanian party assembled together. in a sense mirroring them, some of them mounted atop those chimeric beasts called the Pegasi, whose entire existence remained an affront against Emil and any self-respecting rider. At their head was no doubt the Duke's young heir, sent forth to greet the vultures that would soon be feasting upon her Duchy's carrion with a smiling, oh so courteous face. And for a glimmer of a moment, Emil felt pity, standing in front of ruins, waiting for the Lord's armies to restore order.

His brief spell was cut short when the peasant-knight decided to speak out of turn, breaking protocol all so casually, even worse with mirth in his voice. "Do not speak with her Royal Majesty unless you are spoken to, Knight Morwen." He uttered with restrained ire, bordering on a snarl, his golden eyes filled with contempt for the tin-man. Not at all helped by his already foul mood. "Her Royal Majesty will order us to do as she desires." he continued with the restrained tone, shifting his gaze towards the Princess in question, his heated gaze softening. Waiting for her approval.

 

[ThatGuyWithSouvlaki]

Scrape. A blade sharpened. Even in the mirky light of the dungeon, she could she is the dark figure sitting in front of her sharpening his blade. The scraping sound and the slight flash of the blade as the blade passed the light of a nearby fire. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. Grating in her head, both the noise and the use of her fear by making her wait for her fate. Scrape. Scrape. She tried to remain stone faced at it, to show no fear, however she was shivering in the cold damp of the dungeon. Her wrist sore as she hug from them from the chains hanging from the hooks on the ceiling, her bare toes barely scraping the ground. Scrape. Scrape. Scrape. She could not take it, too much, too much pain. Scrape. She just wanted to scream:

"Stop it!" She snapped as her mind cleared and she looked around. She was resting on the stone bricked that made up the western gate, looking out to her right where the Jussanian delegation would come. When she heard one of their assigned guardsman start working on the sword. The memory came quickly, almost like she had been back there. She felt the cold. The tugging of the chains on her hands. The nose cutting through her head. Her heart was racing, she was in sweat despite being in the relative cool of the mountain. Worse, she had called out for real and now had the guard nearby staring at her in surprise. Including the man sharpening his blade. It was mortifying, a dukes daughter acting so weak. She cleared her throat and tried to measure herself. "Excuse me... Could you please do that elsewhere?" She asked, smiling at the guard kindly. The guard simple noted and seethed his Blade. "Thanks you."

She closed her and took another deep breath to get herself together before moving towards Ichor and away from the judgemental eyes of others. She wanted to think of anything else and maybe there was some scholarly discussion she might have with him or at least discuss the matter at hand. She had mixed feeling about this. It had been the first time in a while she was not by the Rosaline's side and was slightly worried about what she will get up to. True, she was not one to intentionally get into trouble but the young heiress was young despite the strong front she put up, with a lot to learn. Was Jorrah enough security for her? He was skilled well enough, but she still was not sure of his political acumen to protect Rosaline on that front.

One the flip side, she was somewhat excited. She was keen to learn more about the various other nations that made up the continent and beyond. Of course she had some education on the matter but that was no substitute to genuinely experiencing it after all and speaking to its people. Particularly how they ran things differently from Ditania. Jussane especially. Despite being a monarchy, something a Dittanian is bred to despise as a matter of course, the democratic aspects were a great interest to her. Elected councilman rather than those ruling by war and automatic birthright and intrigue? It should be an anathema for a person like her born in ducal nobility but after the civil war... Her views have changed. Of course, she was not naive to think that the Jussane system was perfect, she had hard that it was corrupt as anywhere but still in understanding its strength and weaknesses are a great lesson to possible structure of a future Ditania if she had her way.

She paused and took a deep breath and clutched her side. A fractured rib that did not heal properly during the time in the dungeon. The cold maybe or something that happened during the flashback. She groaned, she knew she should have taken a coat with her to wear over her black and red leather armor. Too late now, to do anything about. She reached into the pocket and took out a vial, taking a sip of it before returning it to the back. She took another deep breath and regained her regular regal composure as she walked the rest of the way towards Ichor. "Any word?" She called out to him, hoping her troubles did not show on her.

Yakov011001

 

[Yakov011001]

Damn it all. Surely I'm not important enough to be handling this. Ichor whinged to himself at the prospect of being one of the welcoming parties for the foreign delegates of Jussane. He'd tried so hard to try and talk Claudio out of the whole situation, to take not one, but damn near all the other nations in like this so soon after the war when they should be focusing on themselves. Even more annoying that he was forced to welcome Jussanians, did Claudio think he would be of any use because of his Jussanian blood? Was Claudio racist, was he committing a micro-aggression against Ichor!? No, he was just bitching and complaining, less time in the gardens he could be using for study after all.

Not that Ichor wasn't taking advantage of the time he had, did he look like the kind of person to sit still for any more than ten seconds? He had harvested some Draconic Oak bark from his last posting into the gardens and had been carving into a small, palm-sized piece of one. He had been experimenting with alternate methods of spellcasting, the traditional tome reading of dedicated spellcasters wasn't quite at the speed he would need considering his role in combat nor was it really his style. Pulling the needle back from the bark, he placed it back on to the small tool patch mounted just underneath Hyouraitetsuken. Having finished the carving, Ichor crushed the bark in his hand where it flashed grew cold. Flicking his hand down from where he sat on top of the party's parked carriage, he loosed a dagger of ice that sunk itself into the ground in a most satisfying way before bursting on a short delay. It was the best he had managed in all his attempts to invoke magic from just such a small piece of oak, but it still needed a lot of work. And even then it wasn't particularly fuel efficient, only one dagger an the bark he used was consumed in its entirety already. Good thing I brought more.

"Any word?" Ichor's eyes snapped up to meet Odette on her approach.

His fellow retainer, if he could even say that much. How was it that they've been on the same team as long as they have and still not hardly interacted with each other? Well, it probably had something to do with how much more time he spent in the gardens compared to her or Jorrah. Even if that wasn't the case, you're looking at two people who prefer listening to talking; two people who speak when spoken to. Not much conversation to be had. He got on well with Rosaline, but that's because she made a point to go out of her way to talk to him. Still, not to say that he wasn't concerned for Odette, especially when her dumbass lets her pride get in the way of her wellbeing.

"I saw that," Ichor ignored her question. "I told you it would be cold. They're coming in from the mountains after all," Reaching down to into the carriage, he retrieved a coat he'd stashed away for her before tossing it down from on high. "Nothing yet. Come up here, have a moment for yourself and your nerves. I'll make the rounds in your stead."

ThatGuyWithSouvlaki

 

[Arcanist]

Millicent Fortagon



Mentions: High Moon Landsharks ERode​

The griffon touched down upon the sky port with ease, a landing made countless times even without the accompanying procession. Her rider, Princess Millicent Fortagon, remained comfortable upon the creature as most of her retinue scrambled off their mounts. One such soldier had approached to help Millicent down, though, she waved them off with a flick of her hand.

She did not need to explain as they disappeared from her sight once again. Millicent appreciated most here were lovers of the land, not made for the treacherous yet thrilling gales of the sky. For her, Paidia was as close to a throne as she was a loyal steed, and what heir discarded that show of power?

Her lip curled. Her standing was less than favoured by His Majesty, no less after the horlicks of that one reconnaissance mission, and her continued push against his boundaries. It was no secret she fell out of favour with King Damaron, and it was exacerbated even more so with her sister following along.

She glanced to Beatrix as if to ascertain if she still followed her, and found she did. Disappointing, but it was a bone she could contend with. She moved her gaze forward again, and pressed her plated legs against her griffon, who moved toward the edge of their landing spot.

Ditania’s geography was marked by valleys and surrounded by mountains like the one they landed on, a breathtaking sight she would admit, but it was not the scenery she sought. Her eyes narrowed on the Ditanian welcoming party, nought but a small contingency compared to the might of Sanghalo’s finest warriors. She pitied the girl left behind by the Duke to feel her way around these negotiations.

The princess acknowledged most of the noise around her, all commands to unload supplies and bring soldiers into formation, the sounding of presentation from the Windemere Lancers and the rest of Sanghalo’s soldiers. All common protocol and tradition she was well used to. The noise she could not ignore was the booming glee from the Sunflare Knight, whom she acknowledged in her peripheral vision. He suggested sending his spear down as a crude message. Though he addressed her by title, he spoke in a casual air that was afforded between friends, no doubt something afforded between him and Beatrix, but not with her.

She turned her head to Emil, Captain of the Windemere Lancers’s, scolding the knight. She gave a slight incline of her head, acknowledgement. “My thanks, Captain, for your reminder. A mistake to be made here, but not in court.” She warned. Emil was a stickler for protocol, loyal enough to face up against a man bigger than him and in even more armour to boot.

Or perhaps contemptuous enough against smallfolk.

Millicent turned back to Morwen. “Even if I am curious to see how far your message flies, Knight Morwen, it is ill-advised. My message comes in the procession of might we bring to the Duchy’s doorstep.” She turned her griffon to all they had brought. Her squadron of Griffon Knights. The famed Windemere Lancers. Beatrix’s Cavaliers. Soldiers to spare, all but a few of whom King Damaron commanded she bring. The Duke’s daughter could decide if her retinue would their allies or their enemies, simple.

“Do not forget,” she addressed the retainers closest to her, the shields at her back, “we must be the girl’s only hope of driving out the mercenaries that plague this land, else our people starve and our land withers further.” Millicent looked to her sister. “I intend to every method all we have at our disposal to ensure that, but it will be at my discretion. We must know who sits at our table.”

Even if things turn malicious, she would fulfil her end of the deal for Damaron. But they needed to assess the other nations and what they brought to the table. Only then could Sanghalo disrupt proceedings that didn't benefit them.

 

[Dante Verren]

Konrad Bar Kastellan
Mentions: DistractionAttack

"Oak and Iron serve me well, or else I'm dead and doomed to fail." Konrad quietly recited the small prayer to himself as his burly thumb brushed over the small tree sculpture shaped in the form of a shield. The trinket was a remnant of a time long past. A time where a young man still dreamed he could make a difference and serve with honor despite his status,. Sadly that young man was gone, and instead the much older and wise Konrad now held it. The trinket was rather old and clearly worn down, the coat of paint that once had decorated it with the arms of Faust now rubbed away, yet if a keen eye squinted they might just be able to see the outline. Movement from one of the other individuals in the carriage caught his attention and he tucked the sculpture away into a pocket.

With his ever present smile on his face, Konrad looked up to see which of his traveling companions had stirred and found it was Sephonia. While he would not go as far as to say he trusted the woman, her position did put him more at ease then others. He did not know much about her, but he was aware that she was no knight, and as he himself was not a knight it made him feel less out of place. Although the question and comment were not directed to him Konrad still chuckled and added his two sense, "Is conflict in the defense of your home ever pointless? Perhaps ill-advised, but I would imagine there is a reason for all of Ditania's strife." While it was true that much of Ditania's conflicts were due to it's... unique way of rule, Konrad being Konrad had a softspot for civil conflicts.

Despite his belief that these conflicts were not pointless, he couldn't help but let his mind drift to the larger conflict that had now befallen the haggard nation of Ditania. Sitting in the carriage and acting as a retainer for the youngest prince of Jussane, Konrad was of course aware that the other nations would send representatives of their own. The thought alone made Konrad's hand twitch. While some of his companions had dressed in finery, he had insisted upon being allowed to done his armor. If they were to be caught in any form of foul play he was to be ready to fight them back their attackers in the name of Amadeus Duncan Ignacio Jussane​

 

[Steve Jobs]

vittorio salieri

nortalis retainer

D

espite Vittorio's best efforts, he could not enjoy the trip to Etalus. Though the path was smooth the caravan spacious, and the view beautiful, his mind strayed elsewhere. Aside from the aristocrats he met during schooling, he'd never met true royalty. Knowing that folk as decorated as Amadeus Duncan Ignacio Jussane and as fearsome as Millicent Fortagon made his legs twitch in unease. His fingers fidgeted with the annotated enchiridion in his hands, opening and closing it before glancing at the woman across from him.

"Lady Valdis, how is Etalus holding up to your estimations?"

She was Princess Valdis Gazam: the youngest daughter of of King Auxis and one of his few companions. Having studied at the same seminary, he found her to be pleasant company and the most trustworthy within their cohort. Prior to their journey, he confessed his doubts to her regarding the Archbishop and the church in general. Unlike De'Rovere and the others, she wasn't nearly as attached to the Archbishop so he felt confident that she wouldn't reveal his dissidence.

Many of the knights disturbed him. He wouldn't think to call them demons; however, meeting alleged heretics reframed his view of of all the crusades from the past few years. His brother always sung praises their cleanses but Vittorio could no longer stomach the detail with which the knights' feats were relayed.

That's why you never made it as a warrior, he could hear father sneering from the back of the caravan. He gripped his knee to stop the shaking, his eyes drooping towards the floor. Yes, even if he lacked battlefield experience, the Archbishop clearly thought of him as a worthy replacement for his brother. He ought to act like it.

Xios guide me as I enter Ditania. Grant me the acuity to discern what is pure from what is mean and the courage to overcome adversity.

When the coachman announced their arrival, Vittorio shut his book and stood; his back straightened as he gestured for everyone to go ahead. The last to exit the caravan, he took a moment to survey the scenery that he ignored earlier. Having never spent an extended period of time in Ditania, the lush greenery, auspicious skies, and architecture made for a good distraction. Curiosity replaced fear as the pegasi of Etalus descended upon them.

For all the discussion of the princess he never expected her to be so...young. Rosaline had the visage of a teenager which made more apparent by the other Pegasus Riders accompanying her for this meeting. Though he knew not to take her lightly, he found it difficult not to regard her in the same way he would an apprentice or younger sister. Gold eyes met silver as he approached her, seemingly ignorant of the other dignitaries in the area.

"Greetings, Your Royal Highness,"

Vittorio said, giving Rosaline a deep bow.

/*

location:

Eastern Gate

tags:

SkyGinge TAC GamerKitty205 Misuteeku

Spoiler: uncoded version

Despite Vittorio's best efforts, he could not enjoy the trip to Etalus. Though the path was smooth the caravan spacious, and the view beautiful, his mind strayed elsewhere. Aside from the aristocrats he met during schooling, he'd never met true royalty. Knowing that folk as decorated as Amadeus Duncan Ignacio Jussane and as fearsome as Millicent Fortagon made his legs twitch in unease. His fingers fidgeted with the annotated enchiridion in his hands, opening and closing it before glancing at the woman across from him.

"Lady Valdis, how is Etalus holding up to your estimations?"

She was Princess Valdis Gazam: the youngest daughter of of King Auxis and one of his few companions. Having studied at the same seminary, he found her to be pleasant company and the most trustworthy within their cohort. Prior to their journey, he confessed his doubts to her regarding the Archbishop and the church in general. Unlike De'Rovere and the others, she wasn't nearly as attached to the Archbishop so he felt confident that she wouldn't reveal his dissidence.

Many of the knights disturbed him. He wouldn't think to call them demons; however, meeting alleged heretics reframed his view of of all the crusades from the past few years. His brother always sung praises their cleanses but Vittorio could no longer stomach the detail with which the knights' feats were relayed.

That's why you never made it as a warrior, he could hear father sneering from the back of the caravan. He gripped his knee to stop the shaking, his eyes drooping towards the floor. Yes, even if he lacked battlefield experience, the Archbishop clearly thought of him as a worthy replacement for his brother. He ought to act like it.

Xios guide me as I enter Ditania. Grant me the acuity to discern what is pure from what is mean and the courage to overcome adversity.

When the coachman announced their arrival, Vittorio shut his book and stood; his back straightened as he gestured for everyone to go ahead. The last to exit the caravan, he took a moment to survey the scenery that he ignored earlier. Having never spent an extended period of time in Ditania, the lush greenery, auspicious skies, and architecture made for a good distraction. Curiosity replaced fear as the pegasi of Etalus descended upon them.

For all the discussion of the princess he never expected her to be so...young. Rosaline had the visage of a teenager which made more apparent by the other Pegasus Riders accompanying her for this meeting. Though he knew not to take her lightly, he found it difficult not to regard her in the same way he would an apprentice or younger sister. Gold eyes met silver as he approached her, seemingly ignorant of the other dignitaries in the area.

"Greetings, Your Royal Highness," Vittorio said, giving Rosaline a deep bow.

 

[Landsharks]

Beatrix Fortagon​

Though she would never admit this weakness out loud, Beatrix detested flying. Unlike a horse, one couldn't feel the ground beneath them as hooves thundered. Only the emptiness of the sky. Others might prattle on about freedom of movement, but what was that compared to the surety of the earth under your steed? Unfortunate that necessity dictated they take the fastest possible method.

Millicent, Beatrix, and their entourage reached the skyport at last, and Beatrix resisted the urge to dismount as quickly as possible, instead taking her time. She would show no weakness, not in a foreign land and certainly not in front of her sister. Her sister that their father dictated lead this expedition. Beatrix allowed herself a quick frown from beneath the full visor of her helmet before composing herself. Their escort arrived just in time for their captain to overhear Sir Morwen's little jest. And of course both her sister and the Windemere captain sought to bite his head off for it.

"Merely an offer made in leal service, honored sister. Captain." Sir Morwen didn't need defending. But Beatrix felt like being as difficult today as she could get away with. "I would advise to forgive his trespass, but none was made. As you say, dear sister, we are not among the parasites of the court."

Millicent continued on, and Beatrix nodded. This, at least, was something she wasn't going to challenge. It was a direct imperative from their lord father, and even if she disagreed with his choice in who was subordinate to whom on this venture, Beatrix would see his will done.

"I hear and obey." Beatrix banged her fist against her chestplate in salute. A man bearing the colors of her own unit, the Knights Partinax, approached leading a warhorse by the reins and with her favored lance in hand, both of Beatrix seized before mounting up. "Do you wish me at your side, or at the head of my men?"

To merely arrive with the butcher of Ashreicht in Millicent's retinue was one thing. To have her as one's right hand was another. One was merely a gentle threat. The other, a mailed fist ready to strike.

Arcanist High Moon ERode​

 

[GamerKitty205]

Princess Valdis Gazam
​

Valdis had spent the entire journey to Etalus trying not to think. About the negotiations with Lady Proguer, about the company she would be keeping these next few weeks, about her own delicate machinations and— of course— how easy it could all be. There would be no holy “reclamation” of the Draconic Oak if the Nortalisse delegation never arrived at the valley gates. Valdis’ mind had been more than happy to supply her with lurid depictions of how to make such a thing into reality. Reason hadn't been able to quiet such thoughts, and so she had found another solution.

Drowning them out.

She wouldn't say the flora and fauna they had passed on their trip was particularly interesting, but it was still something to focus on. Writing down every flower and creature she recognized was a fine enough distraction. Her pen stuttered as Vittorio idly asked her a question. She appreciated having a friend with her on this endeavor, someone she could trust. Still, it was strange to see him in person again now that he carried an all too familiar weariness with him.

“It's as I expected,” Valdis replied. “Pleasant. A good place to spend the Rite of Summer.” And entirely undeserving of what had befallen it.

Valdis sighed and put away her journal as the coach slowly came to a stop at Scianti Bridge. She straightened her collar and stood from her seat. Fingers found the symbol of Xios around her neck and she whispered under her breath. Mumbled words praying for success and the wellbeing of those around her— no matter how misguided.

She exited the coach, boots clacking against the stone and cape billowing as she came to stand beside Bishop De’Rovere. Her eyes turned skyward as the sound of wings filled the air, and her heart filled with a giddy thrill. A childish excitement at seeing the noble steeds descend that was squashed as quickly as it arose. There was no time to marvel at the sights, not now.

When Lady Proguer finally landed, Valdis could not help the wave of pity that washed over her. It was an unenviable position the future duchess had found her in. To feign poise and perfection as she decided which flock of vultures was preferable. Which didn’t look upon her as a dying animal— future carrion to feast upon.

Valdis stiffly curtsied. “It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Lady Proguer,” She droned.

( Steve Jobs TAC Misuteeku )

 

[Stickdom]

Current Status

LVL : 5
HP : 22
ATT : 12
MAG : 0
SKL : 8
SPD : 7
DEF : 9
RES : 2
(EXP: 20/20 )
Mentions: ThatWhichShouldBe

Status: Healthy
Inventory:

• Sword-Spear: MT 9/10, Acc 70/60
• Javelin: MT 5, Acc 60
• Pure Water: Uses 3/3 (Res +7, -1 per turn)

Supports:

• None.

Sydia Mercedes Galeinne
​

Sat astride the cool-scaled back of her ever-faithful wyvern, Sydia rode alongside her lord Amadeus, who in turn rode between her and the carriage that carried the rest of their retinue. I pity them, such cramped traveling quarters are surely no comfort on these long roads. Belinde chuffed as if he had heard her thoughts, his head low to ground, puffing a cloud of dirt around the hooves of Amadeus' mount, and her armor clinking softly as the massive lizard laggardly kept pace with the proud stallion he rode. The border walls of Etalus Town loomed ahead, a blend of ancient stone and vibrant banners fluttering in the crisp breeze. Sydia could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her; this meeting with the Ditanian delegation would surely shape the future of their kingdoms. Lord Amadeus’ steady demeanor offered her a sense of calm, even as she internally rehearsed the words she hoped would convey their intentions for peace, or at least cooperation.

As they approached the grand gates, Sydia took a moment to observe the guards standing vigilant, their armor glinting with the same determination she felt within herself. Her scouting skills, honed from years of patrols and reconnaissance flights in her beloved Jussanian skies, took hold of her senses as she analyzed, and admittedly, admired their formation, noting the mix of apprehension and anticipation in the air. "They seem well ready to welcome us, my lord," she remarked aloud, "I was to think this was a rendezvous, not a war-council." Her tone turned grim, reflexively noting that it could be both given the right, or wrong, circumstances. and she felt her resolve strengthening. This was not merely a duty; it was a chance to prove her worth as a knight and a representative of her kingdom, as well as bring glory to both Jussane and her family which she had fled so many years ago.

Awaiting her lord's words, either a response to her attempt to make conversation, or else an order to prepare for their arrival, Sydia remained vigilant, her sharp eyes and ears intent on their surroundings, awaiting even the slightest hint that there might be deceit or foul play at hand. While Jussane had mostly been on good terms with the Ditanians, and this was meant to be a peaceful delegation, the events surrounding the cause of this meeting gave her cause to be hesitant. They had been forced to make a wide berth of the Sanghalan border to avoid an accidental incursion, such an armed force lead by a Jussanian nobleman would no doubt attract unwanted attention. And there had been some disturbing rumours in the scouts' tents, that Sanghalo was mustering its own force to march on Etalus, though the exact reason for doing so was unknown, some said it was an invasion force, while others claimed it may have been another delegation also invited to join the round table at Etalus. In either case, it had Sydia on edge, and she had specifically assembled a small team of fellow knights whom she knew she could trust implicitly for Lord Amadeus' guard detail. Her, along with her two other fellow retainers, capable, if a little unpredictable in temperament, thay would do all in their power to ensure their liege's safety and ensure the success of this mission. "By your leave, my Lord," she spoke as they began the final approach.

 

[ThatGuyWithSouvlaki]

Odette paused in front of Ichor placing a hand on her hip and on her tome, like a soldier while hold on to the pommel of his sword when at rest. She did not bother doing her usual thing, which was studying the person she was talking too. Ichor was nearly impossible to read and get a beat on. Everything about him to his chose of clothing, manner and of course the mask, seemed designed to obscure everything about it. That did not make for great first impressions on the suspicious ducal daughter. For a couple of weeks of meeting Ichor, he was the biggest threat to Rosaline at least in Odette eyes. Since though her opinion about him has ease, true the pair did not interact any more than necessary to get their job done but as they say acts usually spoke louder than words.

She gave him an impression of an awkward teenage boy. Smart, maybe in intelligence but maybe not wisdom, and powerful in his own way, but still innocent in some ways, or at least lacking in enough confidence to impose his will. Intimidating in appearance but softy in the centre, a little to much for her liking, but at least not a threat and loyal to Rosaline. Whether he was mailable to her guidance remains to be seen and likely a threat if Odette decided on more drastic actions to get her way to Rosaline but luckily that was not the case for the foreseeable future.

She smirked when he ignored his question and called her out on the fact that he was cold. Intimidating outside but softy on the inside, innocent and yet observant. A lot of contradictions that she was not sure whether to like or find concerning. "I don't know what you are talking about there. What ever you saw was likely your imagination." She said pointedly though she's accepting the coat, draping into over both her hands where she felt the cold the most, but her pride did not let her wear it just get. "Nah,i have enough of my own thought for now, and any more rounds seems pointless at this stage." She said with a sigh, allowing herself to reveal her boredom and impatience.

She looked over at him curiously. "You are part Jassanian right? You have any insights that might help?" She asked.

Yakov011001

 

[DistractionAttack]

Interactions: Dante Verren

The long ride was about to come to a close as Galeinne spoke how the Ditanian retainers were waiting for them. She envy that Galeinne rode a wyvern how free it must have felt, though if Sephonia were to ride something it would be a Pegasus too bad they only graze in Ditania…How Lucky for them. Sephonia mentally jotted down Pegasi on a list of thing to keep an eye out for in her brief stay at Ditania. She would be happy if she even got the chance to pet one, knowing that she might be too heavy for the poor horse and that was ok. Her mind wandered a bit thinking about how soft a Pegasus’s mane might feel and how it would feel to brush it. Slowly a small smile crept on her face before she snapped back to reality. Her noticing how quiet the outside was without her thoughts filling the empty space.

Sephonia hated the silence as her mind was now empty no more memories to replay in her head. She now turns her attention to Konrad, admittedly she didn’t know much about him other than choice of weapon. When Konrad spoke in response to Sephonia’s Question.

"Is conflict in the defense of your home ever pointless? Perhaps ill-advised, but I would imagine there is a reason for all of Ditania's strife."

She shifted her head thinking of a reply, before she spoke her face contorted into a scowl. “Conflict in your homeland is always pointless, fighting over resources that you already own is childish at best. I’m surprised Ditania is still standing it’s like the saying goes United we stand divided we fall.” Her scowl still remaining as she looked away from Konrad. Sephonia didn’t care much for Ditanians that much she made abundantly clear. Though she didn’t care for any nation that wasn’t Jussane, and even then if it came down to Jussane or the archipelago she would choose the archipelago everytime. Her nation above all her blood above her nation, but she would not a soul know that. Only her kin know that she would choose them above all else, her saving grace under her leathery exterior mixed with sandpaper.

Sephonia lost herself amidst her sea of thoughts thinking about how she will get to meet representatives of Sanghalo The Power Hungry Monarchy that consumes all in its wake, Nortalis The Cult That Brainwashes the Masses, and of course Ditania The Backstabbing nation where the council is willing to torture their own people for monetary gain. Now she will be able to put a face for each nation a shrouded evil no more atleast to her. While in deep though crossed her arms her body language being very closed her eyes suddenly dart towards Konrad and with a sudden cut through the silence she bellowed “Konrad a weapon tells me a lot about a person so I ask. What do you believe strength is?” Judging from his attire she already knew his answer, but wanted to indulge her curiosity for a mere moment. She needed to know exactly who she was in the company of in case negotiations go sideways.

 

[SkyGinge]

Jorrah Maidenshead​

So much for those so-called troublemakers. What had been reported to him directly as a matter of urgency had turned out to be nothing more than a petty quarrel between desperate merchants. The captain might have chalked off this argument sympathetically as a consequence of the region's perilous position, were not those same merchants always at each other's throats, and always seeking to gain additional coin through whatever dirty means necessary. Would they profane even this special festival by indulging in their self-interested vices? Was nothing sacred any more? Perhaps they saw the Duke's absence meant they'd get away with a slice of extra villainy. No matter - it had only taken one look at his glimmering armour and a calm yet firm word to frighten them into subordination, for now at least.

That such a trivial matter had prevented him from standing at his lady's side was aggravating, to say the least. He made a mental note to talk to the young knight who'd asked him to investigate about the importance of proper tone and discretion, especially when one's time and resources are a finite material. Were any of his trusted Owls still there, he doubted a request as small as that would have reached his ears. Marco, Dario, Justin, Andrea... their absence was felt now, even off the battlefield. It'd take years to rebuild and reshape his guard into the reliable, solid company he needed. He was being expected to do the job of ten men, never mind also fulfilling his additional responsibilities to the now-leading Dukelette herself.

Now relieved and free to focus on the matter at hand, Jorrah rode through the streets apace, navigating the ambling commoners with ease, his long hair lashing against his back like a cape. The beating of wings drew his attention skywards - the young lady's retinue of Pegasus Knights were flying in formation, a formal announcement of the arriving dignitaries to the common folk, which would certainly ease their worries by showing that a solution to their precarious situation was at hand. This sight brought an extra tinge of warmth to his ever-present smile. It was comforting at least that the young lady still had the majority of the soldiers he had taught her with to serve at her side, and the sight of a pegasus formation was always enough to make him swell with national pride. He could almost picture Mahlah pointing out of the window and jumping up and down with excitement. He could almost hear her giddy joy: 'Daddy, daddy, look! Flying horsies!' He recalled a conversation some months ago where his imaginative young daughter had told him that when she grew up, she'd ride not a flying horse, but a flying sheep. He'd never been able to look at a cloud the same way since.

After what felt like an eternity - but was most assuredly not - Jorrah arrived at the eastern gate, slowing his gallop down to a steady canter as he approached his liege, who was herself still mounted on her own flying steed. A wise decision already, Jorrah noted. Remaining at a raised height would help give her an air of power and authority which would immediately demonstrate that she wasn't here to be toyed around with. His horse, a black stallion called Jeffrey, stood out among the crowd of white pegasi, the horse looking around sheepishly as if aware it was out of place. A small crowd of onlookers were already gathering like moths to a flame at the street corners, eager to catch a glimpse of their foreign saviours. He had half the mind to ride up and disperse them, but to hell with it, it was practically the Rite of Summer, they deserved at least something concrete to hope in.

"Milady," he greeted abruptly with a customary bow of the head, arriving quite suddenly and without prewarning by her side, speaking with the casual calm of somebody who hadn't just rode across half the town in a few minutes. His gaze then immediately shifted to the armies arriving across the bridge, who would be upon them shortly. No doubt his mistress had a plan in mind, but he dared not undermine her fledgling rule by supposing to instruct her here. She knew he would silently follow her lead - and should she seek reflection on any errors at a later time, he would be happy to provide feedback. He belonged at her side. The image of a unified, organised Etalus was a valuable tool to uphold indeed, especially as he had no doubt there were those at the front of the approaching dignitaries who would be keen to obliterate that image rather promptly.

( Misuteeku )

 

[Dante Verren]

Konrad Bar Kastellan
Interaction: DistractionAttack


Konrad's gaze shifted to the window as the voice of Sydia the parties other notable member spoke. A wave of tension ran though his body as she gave her report, and his left hand tightened into a fist. He let himself relax and flexed his fingers as they uncurled from the fist. It was unlikely they would face combat upon their arrival especially with a Dittanian party coming to meet them. That being said they could never be sure they were truly safe from attack in these foreign lands. Considering they were likely to run into another nations delegates who were on their own missions it could turn into a fight at any given moment.

He turned his gaze towards Sephonia and gave her a good natured chuckle when she responded to his question. He did not expect her to understand. If the world was good most would never know the conflict one's soul must go through when their home, their true home had it's neck placed firmly under another's. They would not know the pain of subjugation or the humiliation of a rope around their neck. It was a blissful ignorance not to know. Konrad wished that they would never have to know.

Assuming the exchange was over Konrad leaned back and was ready to await his orders, but was pleasantly surprised when Sephonia asked him an intriguing question. He chuckled again "Strength is such a subjective thing that there is no one correct answer, but if I must pick one thing then my answer is what ever keeps you alive." he could have said a hundred different things. Honor was a strength but could also be a weakness that got you killed. Money was power, but money wasn't infinite, fear was strength, but if the people don't fear you then that strength is gone. For Konrad a man that had always walked on a knife's edge strength had that all together different meaning.​

 

[TAC]

The Bishop of Chatillon​

Giuliano De’Rovere arose that morning like all others—to the exalted sound of a soft muttering choir. Water trickling down the faintest slopes, crashing on well worn rocks. The breeze of the softest candor, brushing against trees and making leaves quiver in their fleeting caress.

The sweet singing of the youthful devout would aid his lingering mind into the ardent dreams, reserved for Xios’ most devout. And so shall they awake him, as three girls rang a simple hymn out for the bishop. His sleeping arrangements were not to his standard, composed of as many goose plucked, feather filled pillows they could reasonably bring along—stretching the definition of the world reasonable—the Bishop of Chatillon shifted awake.

It would be today, then.

He shoo’d off his attendants with a confused but accepting smile, not yet comprehending the waking world as he rose. A flood of servants replaced the children, older teenagers and a few decrepits from some forgotten monetstary, all prodding his person. The routine lasted the first hour of his day, when the Sun was only peaking into the morning sky. He was stripped and cleaned carefully, his face shaved to his liking, before a powder of ground up minerals was smeared on his face, neck and portions of his body. The mineral soup gave lively color to the otherwise ghastly pale figure, a mirage of a man who was galant and always out in the fields, with his flock.

The caravan to Ditania was, overall, a total of 2 hours late into the day before the Bishop allowed them to advance. His schedule ever demanding, included an ad hoc prayer circle, where he would pontificate the greatness of Xios, the Archbishop, and of course Regal Nortalis as well. Gentle humming broke out among his followers, so naturally De’Rovere relaxed his throat and sang.

And sang he did—forcing his voice upon the caravan like an unwavering wave against shore. Ten minutes of his tenore spreading through the circle of devout, and De’Rovere paused in exhaustion. A happy smile upon his lips.

“Tis a plenty day.” De’Rovere would say, later as he rode his steed, Christopher. “We are to make it very soon.” He spoke to no one inparticular, shrouded by shadows of Church officiates. From missionaries and the scholarly who revered the Bishop, to priests and the skeptical knights of Regal Nortalis who held him in less regard, petty reasons each, De’Rovere was ever their attentive figure head.

“They say the fighting is horrific, my lord.” Came a voice from a fair faced missionary. De’Rovere did not know this one’s name, though the close companionship he kept to an older monk gave brief insight to their relationship. “What will we really be able to do?”

De’Rovere pursed his lips, that knife of a beard jutting down as he took those words in. “Pray, my ever attendant son, we shall pray for Xios’ humility to fall upon these errant warmongers.”

The youth nodded, head shifting in an attempt to break down the Bishop’s words, as if gleaming them for hidden wisdom.

“Can such reason make itself known to sell swords?”

The Bishop of Chatillon ran a hand down the smooth side of his cheek. “Worry too much for the mercenary and you forget that it makes two to cause war.”

The young missionary blinked.

“It is not only the valley rebels that must be made to drop their swords.” With the lightest of nudges, the Bishop led Christopher alongside the ornate bridge, Scianti, his eyes going to its mesmerizing sights. “It is human nature to point the finger and accuse another of wrongdoings. The Church did not send me on this pilgrimage to root out the greed in the hearts of rebels alone, but to stay the hands that have swayed from the Church.”

By now, the Bishop was addressing all around him. Critics and followers alike giving him a listen, reluctant in some cases more than others.

“We are not warriors of mindless violence, but those who absolve evil from this world. Should we find it in our power, we must always strive to bring others together through understanding.” The Bishop droned on, Christopher clacking against the bridge.

Green eyes poisoned brown spied the front of the caravan, where the Princess of his homeland was stepping out. In front of them, it appeared that their hosts were making themselves presentable. His voice raised louder, to draw the attention of all those around him.

“And it is in the name of the Flame of Humility, the Archbishop herself, that the Church of Xios has found itself in these hallowed fields. We seek not solutions from a liar’s hatchet, but the brotherhood of a hundred generations.” His eyes fell to his hosts, a challenging expression dancing in them. His head bowed only slightly to his hosts, the Bishop of Chatillon staying atop his mount, Christopher, as the Princess and another left their carriage.

“For in me, is the will of the Archbishop, who wishes nothing more than to see brothers in the Faith bloom. For no man who slays a true believer of Xios, shall ever receive her salvation.” His impromptu lecture ended at long last, before the lanky man caressed Christopher’s mane and slipped from his horse.

“Bishop of Chatillon, Giuliano De’Rovere, my lords and ladies.”

 

[Misuteeku]

Two of the Nortalisse had approached Rosaline by the time Jorrah had rode up to her. She eyed them from her perch on top of the imbecile that was her mount. A reserved smile graced her lips as she made eye contact with the two. The first was a handsome man with dashing white hair and a soft smile. Pale skin that seemingly never had been touched by the sun, accompanied by golden eyes that disguised the wariness that concerned his surroundings. To his side was a woman, the second princess of Nortalis, with dark skin and endless streams of dark locks. Unlike the gentleman beside her, she carried an aura of authority and slight awe when the woman turned to look at her. Though was she truly looking at her? Surely, it couldn't be her pegasi.

"The same could be said of me. It a pleasure to be of your acquaintance." A short response to two short prompts in return. Her tone was spoken with the utmost care, and attentiveness was needed for the situation. While the second princess of Nortalis deserved more attention, Princess Valdi wasn't the representative of Nortalis like Prince Amadeus was for Jussane. That would belong to the Bishop, who Rosaline could see was exiting out of his caravan.

Finally, the sound of hooves and a familiar voice caught her voice. She turned her head to meet her father's Captain of the Guard and Leader of the Etalus Owls. If it had been any other interaction, Rosaline would've greeted him more warmly rather than given him an acknowledgment of his presence. "Sir Jorah," Rosaline spoke as she nodded her head towards her mentor. She would've asked why he was so delayed in meeting her at this promised time, but that could be reserved for later. If it was so important he'd be late, then Rosaline would trust his judgment and not question her father's vassal.

What now concerned her was that one of the people of importance had finally strode up on his horse to the interaction. With a big, rousing speech, he preached the holy words of his homeland. If this was meant to persuade her, then Rosaline wasn't inclined in the slightest. Unlike the two people who had walked up to her, the Bishop's retainers Rosaline assumed, the Bishop De'Rovere was much older than the both of them with a sophsicated look that made him seem more mature. His hair that seemed to fade like the wilting of daffodils and sacred robes of the Church told of his experience and service. He was not someone Rosaline should take lightly; he was someone she knew was obvious.

"Greetings, Bishop De'Rovere and blessing to Xios and her endless compassion," Addressing the Bishop in a tone suitable to a host, "My name is Rosaline Proguer Etalus, Daughter of Claudio Proguer Etalus, and Heir Apparent to House Etalus. It is an honor to receive you in my father's place." Rosaline thought quickly on her next move. If she let the Nortalissians in before the Sanghalans, the Sanghalans may take offense to that. However, welcoming both at the same time would no doubt crowd the village's gate. She motioned one of her pegasus knights over and whispered an order to her. With a nod, the Pegasus Knight took off to clear the area for soon-to-be entrants.

"I am sure your journey has been long and tough on you and your people. Clerics often retail their pilgrimages to here and the difficulties they faced during it. As much as I want to welcome you inside Etalus." Rosaline's were taken off of the Bishop and laid eyes somewhere far and distant. The Sanghalans steadily approached them as they spoke. "I'd like to request for your patience. The Sanghalans are approaching, and I have an announcement to make before formally welcoming you all in." Yes, she would need to say something formally before welcoming all in. A common procedure, but it's commonality was what it made it so important.

 

[DistractionAttack]

Interactions: Dante Verren

Sephonia felt her breathing becoming uneasy as they approached closer, finally the time for first impressions was upon them. Any little reaction, any weakness will be observed and exploited. Although this conversation isn’t deadly, it’s still a spar this whole trip was going to be a long fight. Nobody giving an inch of their rope cause it would cause them to be closer to hanging, what a dilemma to be faced with. Recently she caught wind that Nortalis churches are more numerous on her archipelago. Part of her wishes she culled their numbers before she left alas, she couldn’t bring herself to do so— a decision she regretted in time. For now Sephonia will grit her teeth with rage and add fuel to her fire, though Nortalis isn’t her only enemy. The nation that takes and takes like a swarm of Locus…Sanghalo. Power, Power is all they care for. Understandable as Sephonia thinks power is a tool to get what she wants, but any alliance with them would never last. Why would anyone in their right mind make a deal with someone who gets rewarded for breaking a deal.

Sephonia recounted the time she fought a Sanghalan once and she could remark they were tough as nails, not the easiest foe that’s for sure. She even had to retreat or she would lose her advantage. That’s the past if just one soldier was like that, a whole army of that sounds like a pain.

She heard Konrad begin to speak her eyes looking into his giving her full attention.

"Strength is such a subjective thing that there is no one correct answer, but if I must pick one thing then my answer is what ever keeps you alive."

Sephonia after hearing his answer her face contorted more to an evil scowl. No joy in her face as she looks hard at him studying his face in detail. Her gaze feeling like a raging fire despite her cool eye color. “Huh…Your strength is what ever keeps you alive…I thought wrong, but your answer sounds very Sanghalan. Where are you from? I never asked.” Her words cold as winds from Northwall, meanwhile she adjusted herself leaning forward invading his space a bit applying more pressure to his answer. it probably foolish to do this, questioning an ally before going into a battlefield but better to put her mind at ease than worry about dagger in the dark.

“Strength, True Strength is the resolve to push forward no matter what challenge your up against. No matter the odds you must steel yourself and push forward. That is how I see things.” Sephonia spoke gently a calm fury while waiting for Konrad to come up with a reply. Her posture not changing, her eyes staying locked with Konrad. “This isn’t anything personal I just need to be cautious in these uncertain times, you understand with your strength being alive and everything” This moment in time she had knew Konrad for a little bit and he was rather kind dealing with Seph’s Antics so Seph felt bad for applying pressure like this. Well that’s if he was a Jussanian although she has a sneaking feeling that he isn’t, clearing the doubt and guilt in her mind. Everyone is loyal to blood cause no matter what it always flows through you it can be broken or let go. This is how Sephonia perceives loyalty anyone not born in Jussane has less and less reason to defend it. Problematic for Sephonia with political tensions that could shake everything, a sway in someone’s decision the wrong way could spell disaster for all Jussanians. The risk was far too great to take any chances better now then later when foreign delegation can see them.

 

[ThatWhichShouldBe]

Amadeus
In another time, in another place, it would have been a pleasant ride. The mountain road from Jussane to Etalus was well maintained- his Father had seen to it that diplomatic connections were jealously guarded. This was a path that many an envoy had tread before. But there was no time to sight-see, no time to enjoy the journey. Amadeus had the men on alert, and rode dressed in lighter, more fashionable armor- anything heavier would slow his horse down. This was a matter of war and politics, thrones and blood and gold. And from what he'd heard, treachery was in the air.

Amadeus's eyes are calm as they enter the gates of the town, tilting his head slightly as Sydia speakings. He clicks his tongue, shrugging.

"The young lady has never been to war, and she is young. I would find it strange if she was familiar with running a war-council."

They'd made it here, and that meant that Amadeus could relax. Just a little. They were among witnesses- any attempt to silence the Jussanian delegation would find it difficult indeed. Even the appearance of Sanghalans would not be so much of an issue. It'd mean they could take the measure of their enemy, figure out how to outplay them. It was the Sanghalans he *couldn't* see that were all the more troublesome.

"The Sanghalans will want to milk her of everything she has. Which means that all we need to do is to seem like a more reliable option. So be polite. No matter what the Sanghalans do."

Amadeus shrugs.

"They are brutes, and we mustn't sink to their level."

 

[Arcanist]

Millicent Fortagon

View attachment 1186378

Mentions: High Moon Landsharks ERode Misuteeku​

Millicent hummed in response to Beatrix's defense of the knight's commitment, though whether it was in agreement or displeasure, she did not make clear. The people of Sanghalo had a warped sense of humour, and plenty outside of their country regarded it with strained laughter or horror.

It was not the first time her sister stirred the pot, and certainly not the last time either.
Nonetheless, her sister signified her agreement to Millicent's clause, even after her request for Morwen's 'pardon'. She could only hope, no, rather, ensure such agreement stands. She needed these negotiations to succeed for Damaron to give up his end of the bargain, if he even would. But she was in too deep to consider if she would get what she wanted in the end.

As her sister mounted her steed, she posed the question of her position in the retinue. Millicent considered it. “With me, sister. The Knights Partinax will follow behind me and my squadron, and the rest will follow suit.” She was the Butcher, but she was still a princess, wasn't she? An extension of Sanghalo's might and will.

An invitation for the others to challenge them.

Millicent moved off, assuming Beatrix would follow. Her voice carried over those present with the order to move into formation. The shadows of Sanghalo’s forces soon spilled down the mountain from the skyport, a steady thump of armoured footsteps and hooves sounding their arrival from far before Scianti’s Bridge. If Ditania didn’t know any better, one would think their march to the eastern gate was a warning to prepare for battle.

Or perhaps they did, Millicent thought in her bemusement. Their numbers were plenty even for a delegation, she realised. But it was might, steel, and vigour that would yield results.

Arriving at the eastern gate, the princess’s eyes caught the colours of the Church of Xios. Their delegation had arrived before theirs, it was noted, but not cause for concern. Faith was not a weapon Millicent wielded nor had any desire to. It held little relevance in the wastelands of Sanghalo.

The princess arrived as she had wanted, chin held high, soldiers strong at her back as she regarded the young woman on her own steed who would be hosting them. She held up a fist as she slowed, the rest of her retinue slowing in their waves. Soon, the steady heartbeat of stamping feet silenced, and Millicent's griffon had edged further forward. She regarded Rosaline in that moment of silence before she spoke.

“Good day to you, Lady Rosaline. I am Princess Millicent Fortagon, here on behalf of my father, King Damaron. Might I extend my thanks for your invitation to Etalus for these negotiations.” Millicent offered a curt nod, her greeting at odds with the cold look on her face.

 

[Misuteeku]

Compared with the Nortalisse's forces, the Sanghalans spelled a more forceful aura. Harden soldiers that brandished sharp blades with their reputations as bloody butchers on the battlefield. In her brief meeting with Jussane's prince a few years ago, he seemed quite irritated by a mere mention of them. While he was in his own right to feel the way, considering Jussane and Sanghalo were warring with each other, Rosaline looked upon Princess Millicent without any biases in mind. She had seen very few Sanghalans up until now, but if they were to help her father on the war front, she'd indulge in listening to their demands.

To bring these many soldiers to support Etalus was quite a sign. Were the Sanghalans that desperate for Ditania's abundance? Rosaline had heard of their most recent blights and ailing crops. While their citizenry exploited their land, it had never fallen to the point that they suffered from food shortages. Or was there some sort of other motive? Rosaline tightened the reins of her pegasi before it did anything outlandish. She would need to keep a close eye on them.

"It is a pleasure to meet you as well, Princess Millicent," Rosaline responded, not taking any offense to her serious expression. Princess Millicent seemed more militant when standing beside Bishop De'Rovere. Her cold expression contrasted with the almost jovial bishop, making it puzzling to see. Not to mention the chimeric beast that they called a griffin that they served as the Princess's mount; it was as if some sick alchemist had merged an eagle and a lion to make an amalgamation of a beast. However, such thoughts shouldn't be entertained at the moment.

Thankfully, it seemed that Princess Millicent knew of her name, so she wouldn't need to repeat it. Still, there was much to be done. With the Nortalisse and Sanghalan dignitaries here, she now must make her announcement.

"Bishop De'Rovere, Princess Millicent." Addressing the two dignitaries, Rosaline met their eyes without fear in her heart. "I would like you two to swear that you will not disturb Etalus or its citizenry. As the representative of their lord, I will not hesitate to expunge you from Etalus's premises if, at this moment, a conflict occurs between my people and yours." As she continued, the young lady of Etalus's voice could reach the ends of each army. "Likewise, I will uphold judgment against my people if they have wronged you in turn. That I swear upon my father's name and as heiress to House Etalus." She extended her arm to the side, gesturing to her father's most trusted guard.

"To my side is the captain of our guard, the Etalus Owls, Sir Jorrah Maidenstead. If there are any immediate disputes, then he serves as my voice in such occasions." Rosaline stated. It was a way to delegate some power to Jorrah over the foreign forces. Rosaline would need Jorrah's eyes if she were to complete these negotiations successfully.

"Will you swear to this vow?" Rosaline asked. It wasn't like they had much of a choice to begin with. While they knew her father needed reinforcements, they, too, must have something at stake to take such a long journey to Etalus. For Sanghalan, it was the crops, and for Nortalisse, it must be something related to their religion. Even Jussane, who claims to be fair and just, was like the dignitaries before her. After all, they were the ones who intercepted her father's missives and put Rosaline in the positions she was now in.

After their response, she would nod her head. "Very well." Looking over to Sir Jorah, she motioned for him. "Sir Jorah, if you would." In a beat of wings, Rosaline's pegasus would take off from the ground along with her Pegasus Knights. They needed to clear the way for the armies to enter inside the village gate. Above, Rosaline would call out, "As heir to House Etalus, I welcome you." She eyed the seas of soldiers that were to march inside through the village gate.

"Now the negotiations begin," Rosaline muttered under her breath. "Father... Am I doing the right thing?"

 

[Yakov011001]

"I am, aren't I?" Ichor sighed at the question. "My mother was from the Aechon Archipelago, which is very different from the rest of Jussane. Undoubtedly the parts of Jussane that the delegates will be coming from."

It gave him pause as he tried to wrack his brain for what reasons he was asked to do this for Claudio. For what reasons anyone of them were, other than Jorrah: this did seem much more his speed. Odette and himself specifically were more useful to Claudio for their blades than anything, and that made Ichor nervous. Could that be the reason the were part of the reception? He hoped that wouldn't be an issue. The anxiety came to a head when he saw the Jussanians cresting the hill. Fuck. He clicked his tongue.

"Shit, show time. I'll take lead here," Ichor hopped of the top of the carriage, offering to do the talking for her sake more than anything. Understanding she prefer to know more of a given situation before weighing in. Honestly he wants the same, but someone needs to do the talking needed to get that grasp. "Stay your tongue or loose your words, whichever you feel you need."

On the approach, Ichor scanned the envoy for the most standout faces. At its head was who he could only assume to be the Jussanian prince: Amadeus, wasn't it? His vassals kept close, and were in turn pretty easy to pick out. Well, the one in the black armor was sort of understated compared to the others, but there was one thing that made Ichor uneasy: he was the only one there smiling. Yeah, fuck that. By their side was a wyvern rider. Oh yeah, they're definitely important, right? Still, there was some level of interest he gained from the idea that she didn't opt for a horse in the journey. At least to keep the idea of their access to wyverns away from their minds in case things got... squirrely. But the person who held Ichor's gaze most strongly was the last. Her garb, the kanabo she carried. This one was Aechon, no doubt about it. He felt there was some other thing just floating under the surface, some other thing that kept him from looking away as well. Why can I not put my finger on it though? Just under his mask, his brows were furrowed so tight that his forehead might cramp from it. Shaking the thoughts away, he stepped forward to address them.

"Amadeus Duncan Ignacio Jussane!" He had to basically shout over the wind coming down from the mountain, combined from the distance at which they were still at when he started. Fuck, I should've waited for them to get closer. "I offer greetings from House Etalus. It is my honor to be the one to meet you and your people at the end of their journey." He placed a hand over his chest, but made no effort for any other expected gesture of respect like a bow or otherwise. His tone grew softer on their approach, as they would hopefully be able to hear him better. "My sincerest apologies, I understand that perhaps you were expecting Duke Proguer or his daughter Rosaline. But as you may also know, you aren't the only delegates who arrive today. I hope that myself, and my partner here—Odette—will suffice for the moment."

ThatWhichShouldBe DistractionAttack Dante Verren Stickdom ThatGuyWithSouvlaki