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 Begins Friday 19th September...
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[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 Aide
~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... ​

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[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.