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Fantasy ~Fire Emblem Reverence: The Insurrection of Etalus~

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Mentions: ThatGuyWithSouvlaki ThatGuyWithSouvlaki Yakov011001 Yakov011001 ThatWhichShouldBe ThatWhichShouldBe

Sephonia felt a sudden stop in the carriage pushing her momentum forward catching herself before she fell off the edge of the seat, how embarrassing would that be. Sephonia was glad that horrible bumpy narrow trip was over. Quickly she would give a hearty kick to the carriage door causing it to swing open stepping out gently opposite of the violent kick. She started to fix her royal blue officer that is attached to her left shoulder, it folded up on itself from the bumpy trip. This cape made her look more knight like, although it got in her way and admittedly looked very gaudy on her royal blue uniform. Once her outfit looked professional she fixed her hair as it was a traditional style that was famous on the archipelago, but was rather esoteric outside of archipelago. Fixed with strange braids and a side swept that leans on her left side. Once she looked perfect she would accompany the prince or that was the plan till her gaze fixed on a mask that looked familiar to her homeland.

Sephonia watched as the“welcoming party” introduce themselves, two retainers…well they expect no incident from us so we have light security what a privilege. She ignored the welcome as they were talking to the prince once they were through with the talking, Her eyes skimmed over Odette before skipping everything about her for the moment as her eyes draw towards Ichor. Her eyes lit up, sparkling like diamonds a giant stupid grin coming across her face as she shouted. “Kin! How ar-“ The light fading as fast as it came as her face scowled her eyes saying many things but she didn’t speak any of these insults instead defaulting to “thank you for having us this fine day, I must say your attire is very traditional.” Walking closer to the two retainers but far enough to address both. Sephonia grabbed her cape with her right hand putting a foot behind the other bending her knees and lifting her heels doing a curtsy the cape acting as holding the dress.

“I am Sephonia Grum retainer of Jussane birthplace of The Aechon Archipelago, Apologizes if I look frightening or make a face it’s a habit”

Sephonia had to make an excuse to make faces because couldn’t mask her emotions that easily. Turning to Ichor first Sephonia took off her right glove her soft white hand now exposed. She shook Ichor’s hand feeling his hands trying to get a good idea of grip and texture anything that could gleam anything about this masked figure. Sephonia although had a delicate grip but clear to anyone who’s ever wielded a weapon, she wasn’t using any grip strength making her seem more delicate, a charade she hated but her prince wanted her on her best behavior. Whatever he wanted he got, she pushed it to the back of her mind the thought about how this could possibly spoil him.

Sephonia cold eyes quickly switch their gaze to Odette, Seph trying her best with a weak smile that doesn’t reach her eyes at all while offering a hand. “I’m guessing you heard my introduction so I won’t repeat myself, but if you need assistance in anyway don’t bother to ask. Jussane prides themselves on manners so any customs we need to adhere to please let me know.” Sephonia examined Odette’s face and outfit. Odette face felt like she was more knowledgeable and deadly of the two, meanwhile she glanced over her attire…as expected from Ditanian. Sephonia liked looking at fashion from other nations as the culture spoke volumes so rich, so many of years of traditions. The morals although probably dead and buried unlike Jussane the best nation.

After the introductions Sephonia looked towards the gate past the retainers, thinking of her battle plan for the upcoming battle of wits. Sephonia mentally prepped herself hyping herself up. She couldn’t wait to measure up any competition she had around her while offering assistance, along with some offhanded insults if the prince would allow. Well the assistance was for Ditanians have to keep your friends close and enemy closer and she wants them as close as possible so any double cross would be met with steel. The offhanded insults was meant for everyone mostly for Sanghalo those warmongering locus.

The backstabber nation’s capital, Etalus odd no weakness to be seen even though there was a civil war not too long ago. She couldn’t judge if morale was low or high based on the behaviors of the people she sees. Her eyes scan the environment a little longer before a grin appeared on Sephonia’s face and evil grin. “So do you have any pegasi farms around here? or do they exclusively graze in plains.” Quickly she wanted to cross off one item from her list, a few more items being Rations, Gold, with a scratched out item being Bark.with a hastily scribbled word next to it being Revenge.

Once again she changed her gaze to Ichor while flipping her cape around her waist was a medium kanabo wrapped up. Slowly she unhooked it from her belt handing to Ichor her words cold and serious.“Pretender tell me do you know this weapon. Your katana tells me you do, but you’re a Ditanian so you confuse me…Half blood perhaps?.” Her eyes looked at him accusatorially but her movements showed no malice to them. Her mind racing her eyes darting back and forth between the two taking in as many details as possible.
 
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Odette raised an eyebrow at Ichor response, noting a sigh and the brief answer she got. She wondered if she had struck a nerve with the question, for once asked innocently by her without any ulterior motive behind it. Was it that the question implied he was not Datanian? An interesting pressure point to have if so. In this crucial time when they had an unknown enemy attacking them out of nowhere, someone like him was likely met with suspicions. Despite their call of support by the other nations there was no proof that none were involved with the mercenaries that attacked Etania region, she wondered if he faced some suspicion? Certainly the thought had crossed her own mind of the fact but though she was careful she was not one to fully give in to paranoia. He was a potential threat but she was fairly sure she was loyal to the Rosaline.

"I am merely... She went to ask before she noted something catch Ichor's eye as she looked at the direction he did, he noted the carriage as well. Show time indeed. She turned towards the gate and waived at the guards, signalling it was time for action, getting them ready in parade and heightened security for any trouble. "Ok... We should..." She went to say before Ichor spoke over her. She looked at him a little confused by his statement. Speak or dont? How was that helpful? She shook her head off the confusion and took a moment to take in the sight of the delegation.

The delegation was large and looked like they were equipped for battle. And was that wyvern? Impressive creature. She had read a lot about the creature's toughness and ferocity, to think such a creature could be tamed by anyone and written like horses. It seemed almost a shame to shackles such independent seeming creatures, they should reign the sky free as long as the did not harm any humans. Still, she needed to focus on the situation at hand, she stood straighter putting her hands behind her back with a proud bearing as she waited for the delegation to approach close enough to them.

She heard Ichor call out, a little sooner than she would have done but still it did not matter. It took a few moments after the carriage door swing open the delegates to step out respected in their blue colours of their nation. They made for an impressive sight, particularly the attractive blonde female knight though she seemed to have a wildness to her that made Odette raise an eyebrow. Regardless, she gave a quick bow of her head when she was mentioned by ichor and got a reply.

"Not a problem, lady Grum." She said with a courteous smile. "I swear, whatever your face is doing, it still very complimentary to your fine features." She complimented, a little flattery did help a little to break the ice of the two sides meeting. "I am afraid, my associate, had done my a little injustice with my introduction. Let me expand: Lady Odette Katherine Bauford, daughter of the late Duke Prospero Beauford, sister of the Duke of Aeldemear, tutor to the Lady Rosaline, Mage of Datania. It is an honour to welcome your delegation and escort you to my Lady." She introduced herself formally do the delegation.

With the introduction made, she guided the delegation into the town, though she was all smiles. Answering any question given, she studied is delegate closely. The lady Grum had an air of sizing up a pig for slaughter as she looked around, and she wondered what it meant regarding their intentions. "I am not involved the rising of the pegasi, but one of my lady is a rider, you will get to see one up close in due time." She replied to her question. She knew more than she let on, but was not sure exactly how much of their famed cavalry that was wise to say to the delegation.

ThatWhichShouldBe ThatWhichShouldBe DistractionAttack DistractionAttack Dante Verren Dante Verren Stickdom Stickdom Yakov011001 Yakov011001
 
vittorio salieri

nortalis retainer
A
nd 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," so said Nortalis' representative.

Calling the church humble was a bit of a stretch wasn't it? Of all the people who ought to be aware of the church's imperfections it ought to be De'Rovere.

An alumni and former speaker at his seminary, Vittorio followed his career in broad strokes. He was a man of humble beginnings who rose to prominence after becoming a cleric and later as a bishop--yet another path Vittorio couldn't walk. Not for nothing, he could appreciate De'Rouvere were it not for the lack of honest criticism.

Though he didn't display the same opulence as the Archbishop, this man still had a quiet luxury. Rather than robes embroidered in gold or gem encrusted accessories, De'Rovere kept to a few rings, embossed buttons, and an announcer for his arrival.

Were the rumors true, Vittorio was sure he had an entire staff to himself. Personally, he chose one of his father's military jacket and a cape, both old pieces his father bequeathed him when he still thought Vittorio could become a knight. With a bit of handiwork from a tailor, they'd restored the epaulets and added a cape to distinguish it from his brother's own coat.

Perhaps they were not so different.

But compared to Princess Rosaline and the Sanghelan representatives, they were no spendthrifts. Their elaborate garments, pristine armor, and proper forms spoke of luxury not present in the military nor their subjects. Was it a matter of practicality or presentation, he wondered.

Silence fell over the crowd as the princess of Ditania began her speech, allowing the missionary-turned-retainer to relax. Despite her neutral expression, Rosaline's words confirmed Vittorio instincts. She was still a child. Whether she knew it or not, a threat against not one-but two nations' armies did not bode well for the young girl.

He hid the mixture of pity and bewilderment in his eyes, shooting a quick glance to Bishop De'Rouvere and then Princess Valdis. Their expressions didn't offer much in way of proceeding so he stepped forward. Putting his hand over his chest, he looked towards both Jorrah and Rosaline.

"Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Highness, but I assure you we are reaching out in good faith. We have no need for such...
-he didn't want to call her hostile-
"accusations."


Vittorio could feel the Church's finest behind him, spears planted on the ground but firmly grasped. Whether she knew it or not, crusaders were a different breed of knight from Ditania or Jussane. A person who fought for their ideals was far braver than one who fought for coin or pride.

Using their dying words to wax on about their salvation was as close to divinity as one could achieve; for that he could respect the Aechon leaders he was forced to put down.

He hoped that Ditania would not meet the same fate.

/*
location:
Eastern Gate



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," so said Nortalis' representative.

Calling the church humble was a bit of a stretch wasn't it? Of all the people who ought to be aware of the church's imperfections it ought to be De'Rovere.

An alumni and former speaker at his seminary, Vittorio followed his career in broad strokes. He was a man of humble beginnings who rose to prominence after becoming a cleric and later as a bishop--yet another path Vittorio couldn't walk. Not for nothing, he could appreciate De'Rouvere were it not for the lack of honest criticism.

Though he didn't display the same opulence as the Archbishop, this man still had a quiet luxury. Rather than robes embroidered in gold or gem encrusted accessories, De'Rovere kept to a few rings, embossed buttons, and an announcer for his arrival.

Were the rumors true, Vittorio was sure he had an entire staff to himself. Personally, he chose one of his father's military jacket and a cape, both old pieces his father bequeathed him when he still thought Vittorio could become a knight. With a bit of handiwork from a tailor, they'd restored the epaulets and added a cape to distinguish it from his brother's own coat.

Perhaps they were not so different.

But compared to Princess Rosaline and the Sanghelan representatives, they were no spendthrifts. Their elaborate garments, pristine armor, and proper forms spoke of luxury not present in the military nor their subjects. Was it a matter of practicality or presentation, he wondered.

Silence fell over the crowd as the princess of Ditania began her speech, allowing the missionary-turned-retainer to relax. Despite her neutral expression, Rosaline's words confirmed Vittorio instincts. She was still a child. Whether she knew it or not, a threat against not one-but two nations' armies did not bode well for the young girl.

He hid the mixture of pity and bewilderment in his eyes, shooting a quick glance to Bishop De'Rouvere and then Princess Valdis. Their expressions didn't offer much in way of proceeding so he stepped forward. Putting his hand over his chest, he looked towards both Jorrah and Rosaline.

"Forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Highness, but I assure you we are reaching out in good faith. We have no need for such...
-he didn't want to call her hostile-"accusations."


Vittorio could feel the Church's finest behind him, spears planted on the ground but firmly grasped. Whether she knew it or not, crusaders were a different breed of knight from Ditania or Jussane. A person who fought for their ideals was far braver than one who fought for coin or pride.

Using their dying words to wax on about their salvation was as close to divinity as one could achieve; for that he could respect the Aechon leaders he was forced to put down.

He hoped that Ditania would not meet the same fate.
 
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The Bishop of Chatillon


“And a very fair morning to you as well, my dear delight.” The Bishop of Chatillon, dusting his hands off, graced her with a face splitting grin. It came off naturally, revealing the ambient positive energy reveling from the Archbishop’s creature. His steps were spring filled, as if the ground of Ditania were joyful to prod against.

Giuliano paused his encroachment onto the lordly daughter, his head cocked to the side as she requested he wait. His nose scrunched and his eyes fell from the bridge they traversed to the castle that lay just beyond their location, the home of their host. “Lady Rosaline, you are ever so kind to meet us at the gate. Let the Voice of the Archbishop sincerely thank you for your hospitality, your decision to personally meet with us… Is humbling.”

The blond man smiled, daggers behind those thin lips of his. It was odd enough for the daughter to be receiving them, De’Rovere oft found it that the clergy were used as middle men, in his dealings. It allowed them a good deal of strategems before meeting with a liege lord. Though what was odder, was the woman’s request that they patiently wait for yet another host to arrive.

This would not do, in normal circumstances. To ever assume the Church of Xios should wait for mortal continuations of her fallen champions was tantamount to heresy, in Giuliano’s eyes. One could not put the ever replaceable lords of this physical earth against the spiritual beacons that were those of the cloth. Unfortunate that the world found itself ruled by the aristocracy, rather than the enlightened few. De’Rovere shoved aside his discomfort, only a speck of it flashing on his practiced expression of paternal comfort.

“Indeed, my lady. Were you… Advised to meet with other delegations here?” De’Rovere checked his surroundings, his voice lifting with a sarcastic lilt. Eyes of a seafoam green found a man as tall as he, though darker in complexion. De’Rovere’s gaze lingered before a soft snort escaped his nose. “You must admonish your father’s men, my delight! No, lady’s and lordship’s do not wait at the threshold of their lands, they do not meet with dignitaries either, not as the doorman.”

The peasantborn clergy shook his head. “Should you wish, I may leave behind a missionary who can handle that for you. Then we can press forward, into more suited settings.”

Any suggestion to keep them moving, De’Rovere already missed the comforts of his inn from the night prior, eager to replace it with the finest that Ditania had to offer.

His offer would go unheeded, as the bishop spoke those words, those of Sanghala appeared at last. Their arrival was quick and with power, causing a few of De’Rovere’s men to curse as the Church’s convoy was forced to shift and move to accommodate the Sanghalans.

“My dear princess,” De’Rovere’s head craned, noticeably more than for Lady Rosaline. His eyes fell hard on the Princess of Sanghala, his lips quirking into a sweet smile. “Daughter of the great Damaron, it is a pleasure to be… Standing at such an august occassion, with you.”

Before the Bishop could lather on more flattery, it was the words of the lordling’s daughter that pricked the bishop’s attention. She beckoned them to join her into the village but only after she made yet another demand of him. An oath to not disturb either the land her father owned or the serfs her father owned, on punishment of banishment. A cold fury rose in his chest, an emotion bubbling from the importance of his position. Second to that came the raw shock, splayed across his features as he glanced at the missionary and princess next to him, as if to silently confirm that he heard their host’s daughter correctly. It was the youngster who spoke, an action that both impressed and annoyed De’Rovere—he did not need to be spoken for.

With a smile that hid his uncomfortableness with mixed results, De’Rovere nodded his head and allowed him to speak, his words were swift and to the point. De’Rovere nodded in return and lifted his palm at the youth.

‘Well spoken,’ De’Rovere thought with an arched eyebrow. ‘For his position at least. It seems as though I’ll have to pile on the logs to this pyre.’

“Wondrously put, my companion. He—” Giuliano shifted, his right shoulder bumping into the boys. “—Is one of the finest at the Church’s disposal. Quite the talented lad.”

De’Rovere complimented the young stranger, his nose scrunching as he smiled in a facsimile of genuine joy. “I must reiterate what he said, my lady. The Church of Xios did not come here for any purpose than the prospect of peace among all parties, with intentions to tend to your ill and wounded.” De’Rovere palmed his chest, an emerald ring glaring on his ring finger as he did. “We do not support this war of yours and we wish to reach the most Goddess chosen solution.”

Such a vow would be impossible to make. Not that De’Rovere would ever hesitate at going back on his word, should the reward prove large enough. But submitting to a mere child’s request, as the representative of the Archbishop herself?

Giuliano would rather see his innards split than allow such abject humiliation.

“I am sure your other guests feel the same—to arrive with the promise of help, only to be met with suspicion is quite… Discerning. I’m sure the Archbishop would not be pleased to learn of your lack of faith.” The Bishop paused, his words were viscous in the air as he looked around, his eyes on Damaron's daughter, if she would lower herself to Ditania's lesser and accept this vow.​
 
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| Lvl 5 Soldier |
Arcanist Arcanist High Moon High Moon Landsharks Landsharks ​
Of course, the Windemere Lancers’ Captain had a lance up his arse.

Morwen rolled his eyes underneath his helm at the brat’s barking, but at Millicent’s own words, he set his spear back down upon the ground. Better to work out the kinks of his new comrades now, rather than later…not that he expected himself to work all that closely with those types anyhow. Why, he doubted he even possessed the capacity for table manners to dine three halls across from them!

And thus, the Sunflare Knight trudged onwards, settling on the right hand side of Princess Beatrix, a barely inaudible tune upon his lips as the Sanghalan dignitaries marched down to meet the Duke’s daughter.

As first impressions went, Morwen supposed that he liked Rosaline. Such clear eyes, and such a direct, audacious directive! It stirred up the clergymen just fine, those zealots aghast that their reputation for murder without gain had put them on the same level as those horrendous, baby-eating Sanghalan career soldiers! Yup, the younger one looked more surprised than anything, while the older one looked like common church-stock: a born snake with honey lathered upon his rotten fangs.

“Lotta spearmen for a hospital on legs.” It was ostensibly meant to be a comment for Beatrix’s ears only, but Morwen’s voice had a habit of echoing and amplifying within his helmet. “Seems like the faithful have settled on one particular cure-all, Princess Beatrix.”
 
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Princess Valdis Gazam
​
Valdis could feel her teeth grind against each other as Bishop De’Rovere spoke. They were certainly not ‘mindless’ in their slaughter, but monsters of righteousness were hardly any better. And daring to speak of understanding. She had read the proceedings, she knew what kind of compassion he showed to— She took in a quiet breath. There was no reason to get twisted into knots so soon. It would serve her no good. Not now, not ever. It would be darkly amusing though, to watch the Bishop lie through his teeth as he vowed no ill will.

The vow itself was an interesting thing. A promise all parties knew they would not keep; An agreement supported by a threat of force that was wholly inadequate. Would she really dare face the army Sanghalo sent? Or risk making an enemy of the church? In these delicate circumstances, was a full rejection something Lady Proguer was truly willing to consider? Valdis hoped she was smarter than that.

And it seemed her fellows agreed. It had been too much to expect the Bishop to spout a gracious lie, she now realized. In an instant he had used Vittorio's words to launch into another one of his grand spiels. A laughable claim of pacifism considering the entourage that followed them. A point immediately expressed by a jovial sounding man in armor. Xios almighty, at this rate they were never going to make it into the gate.

“We, of course, understand your reservations, Lady Proguer.” Valdis said, choosing to ignore the errant comment. “But there is harm that can come from being overcautious.”

They had not even joined with the Jussane and still the games had begun. The posturing, and disparaging remarks, and implied threats she so despised. At least in this case it gave her a chance to endear herself to the Ditanians. After all, if one truly wished the best for Etalus, it was silly to fight so hard against what the duchess-to-be had asked for.

“That being said, I see no reason to refuse your request.” Valdis fixed Lady Proguer with a solemn gaze, and put a hand over her heart. “I, Princess Valdis Gazam of Nortalis, swear that I will not cause any harm to Etalus and its people. Whether that be by action or inaction.”
 
Beatrix Fortagon​

What a fine cavalcade of nonsense they'd already marched into! For the briefest instant, the intrusive thoughts within Beatrix's mind whispered at her to forget the plan and charge. The duke's daughter was right here to hold as leverage. Decapitating the Owls' command structure by eliminating their leader would have just been a bonus. Sanghalo could take everything they needed in one fell swoop.

Sanity then decided to reassert itself in Beatrix's mind. That would have been a short term gain for a massive long-term blunder. Acting in so rashly a manner would only ensure that every other nation would join forces. As powerful as Sanghalo was, she knew damned well it could not stand against the might of every other force on the continent at once. No, they had to play the game as it was presented to them for now. On their own terms, of course.

"This is an insult." Beatrix snarled through her helm from her place at Millicent's side, her armet and armor clearly marking her out as Damaron's fourth, infamous daughter. "You have no capability to expunge either of our forces, nor the luxury to. Else you would have dealt with this invasion on your own by now." Above all else, Beatrix would not swear an oath she had no intention of keeping. That was a due that even this fool girl deserved.

"All of Ditania ought to be counting their heaven-sent blessings and giving thanks to almighty Xios," Her helm tilted sardonically in the crusaders' direction. "That His Majesty deigned to send aid rather than seize your lands to open up a second front against Jussane."

Morwen's attempt at subtle commentary echoed across the meeting, to which Beatrix only nodded in agreement. The others could chastise him later, if they wished. For now, Sanghalo had to present a united front.

"Indeed, would it not be heresy to challenge Xios's servants on earth with suspicion and accusations? One does wonder how Nortalian crusaders are known to deal with such." The butcher cast her gaze over the other delegation, as if daring them to object. "I believe it tends to involve flames and crucifixion." The worst part was, she didn't sound disapproving.
 
Konrad Bar Kastellan
mentions: DistractionAttack DistractionAttack Yakov011001 Yakov011001 ThatGuyWithSouvlaki ThatGuyWithSouvlaki

Despite the hostility of which Sephonia showed him, Konrad couldn't help but laugh out loud at her own answer. There was many thing that Konrad wanted to say about resolve. What counted as resolve, if a man died did that mean that their resolve was not strength, does failure count against you? It was a noble answer of course but a surprisingly childish one, one that Konrad wouldn't have expected from someone who gave of as a fierce demeanor as Sephonia. As for his own he could not deny it was a more Sanghaloan response to her question, it had been drilled in to him for over 30 years. He had an easy and well rehearsed response, I'm from one of the many disputed regions so I can not deny that some of my mannerisms may lean toward one of or towards a bit both cultures. It was the the answer he had used since defecting and it hadn't failed him yet. Before he could reply and continue the engaging conversation he watched Sephonia fall forward slightly. As much as he wanted to chuckle again he knew it would be rude and held back.

After the carriage slid to it's halt Konrad grabbed his axe and followed Sephonia outside. Positing himself behind the prince and his more talkative companion. While his companions began the greetings he place the head of the axe on the ground and put his hands atop each other on the pommel of the axe. It was a guarded stance that let him whip his weapon up to the ready position at a moment notice, but did not outright convey aggression. He moved his gaze to the walls of the city, and then to the town guard, and finally to the Dittanian welcome party. He ran the simulations through his head of which one would be the most dangerous, the mysterious swordsman or the lighter geared one. Most likely the lighter geared woman was some sort of back line that would either support or enhance the swordsman, if their was to be a battle he would need to cleave her in half first. While his mind flashed through battle scenario after battle scenario he gave each of them a friendly nod and smile.​
 
Flinching a small bit from how fast he was set upon by this Aechon character, Ichor thanked the Dragons for his mask. Like that she wouldn't be able to see him throw up his eyebrows at her introduction.

“I am Sephonia Grum: retainer of Jussane, birthplace of The Aechon Archipelago. Apologizes if I look frightening or make a face it’s a habit.”

"So you have some self-awareness, do ya?" Ichor smirked smugly behind the mask, crossing his arms as he let Odette take over the conversation. Scoffing a bit at her remark on his introduction. "Injustice? I just knew you'd do a much better job of introducing yourself than I could."

His brows furrowed at Sephonia's eagerness, the speed at which she pushed the envelope on such a strange question about something that could be considered inconsequential. Still, those are state secrets that are so openly being asked about, and without intervention from the others. They've got a loose leash on this one, it'd be smart of them to tighten it. Thankfully Odette gave exactly the answer she should in this situation, and it gave him cause for a small bit of relief. That was until Grum rotated around to him again with a fervor.

“Pretender, tell me: do you know this weapon? Your katana tells me you do, but you’re a Ditanian so you confuse me… half-blood perhaps?”

Ichor's eye twitched a small bit at that. What the fuck did this bitch just call me? She revealed to them her kanabo, towards the top of its handle were carved the words 雷撃: "Lightning". What the hell was she getting at with this? Yeah, what if he did know, what does that change? If she's confused, she'll stay confused.

"You answered the question yourself, didn't you? My blade told you," Ichor's words bled with that same chill hers did. "But surely it's also told you something else," He closed the distance between them, slowly, uncomfortably. Less than a foot between them, he looked up at her. Towering over him as she did, he challenged her still with his arms crossed. "You'd best not test that tone with me, lass. You will call me Ichor, understood?"

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Jorrah Maidenshead

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Settling into his place alongside his liege, Jorrah nodded respectfully to the two delegates who had already arrived, whose introductions he had only caught the end of. From her dark skin and smart garb, he recognised the young woman as Princess Valdis Gazam, youngest daughter of the Nortalisse royal family. Even without her visual distinctiveness, he would have recognised her anyway - the Nortalisse correspondence had indicated that Auxis (or perhaps the Archbishop; Jorrah knew little of foreign affairs aside from the cynicism passed down by Claudio's senior advisors) intended on sending one of his progeny to the bargaining table, as if to make a statement of intent. The young, silver-haired man was unknown to him, his eyes searching and intelligent, his military outfit as equally opulent as his companions. So the rumours of the church's wealth haven't been overstated, Jorrah mused.

He'd barely had the chance to examine the two arrivals before his attention was drawn by a certain flambouyant bishop, who was arriving mid-proselytization, his voice echoing across the courtyard. Instinctually, Jorrah's spine straightened up slightly, a motion which only someone as acquainted with his mannerisms as Rosaline would understand. The bishop seamlessly turned his attention to them as his speech concluded with a gregarious offer of 'the brotherhood of a thousand years'. A brotherhood which will no doubt play heavily into Nortalisse hands, Jorrah mused cynically, veiling his disgust behind his usual serene gaze. The man's voice made his skin crawl, full of dangerous and imaginative grandeur. His presence - in fact the presence of Nortalisse clerics full stop - threatened to disrupt his steely visage with his own conflicting, angry religious thoughts. The Bishop of Chatillon, so he says. More like the bishop of charlatan. He dutifully held his tongue as the bishop met Rosaline's welcome with faux-humility and an attempt to undermine their personal presence as welcomers. Pay the fool no heed, milady, Jorrah thought, as if transmitting his emotions psychically to his ward, Our presence here is not the mistake he would have you believe.

Soon after, the Sanghalans arrived in great number, fronted by another royal, Princess Millicent Fortagon. A Fortagon, hmm? In stature and appearance she certainly felt like the descendent of the warrior hero himself, her griffon mount towering above the other steeds as if to enhance her power further. She was a far cry from the princess of the story books he read to Mahlah - hardy, rugged and strong, dressed in practical soldier's attire with little excess wealth to flaunt. After all, her power was statement enough. The warmth and propriety of her greetings weren't matched by her cold expression. Jorrah's lips curled into the minutest of smiles, appreciating her composure and her straightforward practicality. Warriors and soldiers he understood - strange bishops, less so. Still, it is only a fool who swears by first impressions. No doubt her tyrannical father has sent her here with some sort of secret agenda, which we shall have to be wise to.

With both lead envoys now present, Rosaline addressed them directly.

"Bishop De'Rovere, Princess Millicent. 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. 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."

A bold first move, milady, Jorrah mused. The content of her request was innocuous and straightforward enough: surely any foreign envoy arriving under the pretence of peace would have no qualms in agreeing to the very peaceable support they had so hurried to pledge in the first place. The subtext, however, was rich in power play, an attempt to stamp her authority as Etalus' leader from the very beginning. It made certain these foreigners would know that she is in charge, and that all bargains will be made on her terms. Reinforcing a call for peace at all would make clear that they were under no illusions that she was some naive young girl who would fall for whatever ploys or schemes they no doubt had in mind. The public nature of the proposal would serve to pressure even a proud delegation into subordination for fear of being undermined by their direct competitor, and in the face of the villagers watching on. After all, to refuse this vow would provide ample opportunity for another delegation to descend like a keen-eyed vulture, unopposed and able to secure whatever demands they so choose without opposition. Jorrah felt his heart swell with an almost fatherly pride. The nights of sneaking Rosaline out of the castle to train with his knights, the days watching with stifled laughter as she learnt to tame uncooperative pegasi, both felt like only yesterday. Now, before his very eyes, his little Rosaline was turning into a woman, playing proud Sanghalans and devious Nortalisse against each other in a gamble to consolidate her own fledgling power.

Except, of course, these veterans of courtly negotiations were well trained to see through her intent. No matter how Rosaline span things, the truth remained that they were in the position of weakness. They were the ones who needed aid - they were the ones who were dependant on at least one bargain to ensure the region's stability and survival. They had recognised her inexperience, and they were now weaponizing it against her.

One by one, the lead envoys began voicing their discontent - as they did so, Jorrah watched on silently and serenely, barely a flicker of emotion registering on his distinctive features. Internally, his mind was stewing with cynical frustration that these proud foreigners who knew nothing of propriety and customs spoke with such blatant disregard for public decorum. The young cleric was first to speak, branding the Dukelette's proposal as 'accusations'. A loaded term from a man more aptly dressed for the barracks than for the pulpit. Your loose lips have betrayed your guilt more than you might deign to notice. The snivelling bishop was next, gushing praise on his subordinate and accusing the young heir of faithlessness. Forgive us, o divine emissary, that we do not trust a man with a serpent's tongue. Princess Valdis, in spite of her allies, provided some stability by honouring the vow - for that, Jorrah narrowed his eyes in a miniscule expression of thankfulness. This stability was short-lived however, as the second Fortagon princess cut in, her words sharp and without filter, mocking both their depleted army and the Nortalisse delegation. Such a nasty, wild tongue, he scowled internally. No wonder King Damaron hadn't nominated this particular wench as his lead envoy, given her complete lack of decorum and her scandalous admission which would have been tantamount to an outright declaration of war if she was speaking with proper station. Yet, amusingly, lacking the station of lead envoy, this esteemed princess's venomous words held the same weight as his, a commoner. Besides, even if the Dukes had abandoned them for now, they would certainly not sit by idly should Sanghalo overstep their ambitions. Still, such sharpness was dangerous when paired with such a strong, battled-hardened frame, a giant of a woman who even put the seasoned captain slightly on edge. That the king had elected to send two daughters to Etalus was a troubling puzzle indeed.

Rosaline had given him permission to speak on her behalf - a move he appreciated and yet felt conflicted by. It was not a knight's place to undermine or overrule his mistress, no matter the circumstance. Still, what was intended as a simple opening agreement was beginning to spiral wildly out of hand, and his protective instinct soon overtook his concerns about proper order.

"Your Highnesses, esteemed clergymen, please forgive the offense caused by our cautiousness," Jorrah began, his voice calm and clear, "Truly, milady's intent was not to undermine your motives. Our caution is born out of the dark days our land is facing - as her highness has so astutely recognised we are indebted to your generous support for the sake of our very survival. Our people are short on hope and rich in troubles - the arrival of even benevolent foreign saviours like yourselves is likely to cause unrest if not handled with proper decorum. That is all milady is asking of you. She asks nothing of you that you have not already pledged. She vows to protect you from unrest, should there be unrest. In exchange, trusting as we do the earnestness of your intentions, milady trusts it will therefore prove no compromise for you to recommit to the promises of mutual cooperation and the aim of a peaceable, mutually beneficial solution outlined in your letters of introduction. Your cooperation in reaffirming the trust we already share solemnly, in the presence of the people and under the watchful gaze of the Divine Dragon - whose holy eyes see even the depths of our hearts - would be valued not just as a matter of formality, but as a source of comfort for the commonfolk."

I fear I have spoken too much, he mused internally. Yet, as ever, he had left far more unsaid. How he wished to tear into these proud, boastful mules, who presumed to defy any semblance of cooperation from the outset, and who dared put Rosaline through a baptism of fire on her first day as leader. Nevertheless, he had long learnt the art of holding his tongue. That he got to say anything at all to such esteemed visitors thanks to Rosaline's discretion was privilege enough.

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It didn’t take long for Sephonia feel the tension in the air, like a wire wrapped around her neck it was suffocating. So this is what it feels to have everything on the line, the air hangs heavy. Her moment of contemplation interrupted by Ichor’s voice taking a similar chilling tone to hers. “you’d best not test that tone with me, lass. You will call me Ichor, understood.” along with his abrupt appearance next to her. She was guessing it was his attempt to intimidate her, she knew he was dangerous and meant business so his attempt wasn’t a folly. “Understood Sir Ichor your city your rules” her tone was softer then before being complicit with his demands, her eyes being a dead giveaway she didn’t like it but would follow orders. Hoping the conversation ended there she turned her attention to the charming Odette. The little bit of flattery worked wonders for Sephonia’s ego. Making Sephonia bow in respect to Odette as they enter into Etalus through the gate.

Sephonia took her time watching the people as their group is escorted to their destination the cobblestone clicking off of Sephonia’s boots. The city looked lively, underneath it felt uneasy to even Sephonia. The horrors, the struggles, these people have faced something unimaginable. Yet they live scarred but not broken, though a thought like this can’t fester I must steel myself. Thinking of other kingdoms problems will only make our own worst. Sephonia heard Odette’s assurance about the Pegasus and gave a little smile toward Odette. “Thank you I look forward to meeting Lady Rosaline along with her steed.” Sephonia was smiling alongside Odette but her smile being more forced. Looking around she noticed that Odette doesn’t match any of the people or she matched them too much. Her happiness contrasted with those in a dour mood or being similar to those putting on a brave face. She is dangerous as well, she already caught me in her web without me notching…a mantis and a spider, a scary combo indeed.


Further and further Odette lead them to where Sephonia would be meeting her most loathed enemies. Just the mere thought of them is enough to make her blood boil, and to watch them parade around would be a sight that she would loathe even more. If her gaze even met one of them her dissatisfaction would be upmost apparent. Letting off a little steam she would give Konrad a playful nudge “I like your answer but…well nevermind. I just hope we can stand back to back without problems.” Her words quiet as she tried to keep her words unheard and her intentions vague so others wouldn’t understand what she was saying except Konrad. “Odette what is your opinion on the Sanghalo I am quite curious.” Sephonia spoke with a trying smile trying to match her energy with minimal accuracy.

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Current Status
img_4053-jpeg.1186886
LVL : 5
HP : 22
ATT : 12
MAG : 0
SKL : 8
SPD : 7
DEF : 9
RES : 2
(EXP: 20/20 )
Mentions:
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DistractionAttack DistractionAttack
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ThatGuyWithSouvlaki ThatGuyWithSouvlaki
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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
​
As they drew near to the city walls of Etalus, the caravan began to draw itself to a halt, and Sydia's companions began to disembark. Within moments, it seemed, the introductions devolved into a potential political catastrophe. Sydia was young, surely, but she had been at Lord Jussane's side through may long years and many engagements, both social and combative, and never had she seen such a meeting. From an almost embarrassing distance, the masked envoy of Ditania shouted a greeting to her Lord, calling him by name as if they were old companions, without title or respect; she felt the gall begin to sit in her stomach as a pit of nausea at the lack of decorum and etiquette. That was, until her own party began their introductions. Sephonia, a wild-woman of Grum, immediately began to verbally pry into the welcoming party with inquisitive talons, like a hawk attempting to skin a deer: messily and without much success. Meanwhile, the other two retainers, her fellow retainer of Jussane, Konrad, and the Ditanian Lady Odette, at least had a sense of decorum and decency; Konrad took his place by Lord Amadeus' side protectively, almost instinctually, and made himself known by his firm presence, while the Lady Odette received the party with at least a proper greeting. Meanwhile, the brash and mannerless masked one had approached Sephonia, who had stepped forward to address him, and he was staring her face to - well, breasts, owing to his height - and had declared himself to be Ichor, as if he was a name to be known. As far as Sydia was concerned, the only names that were of importance at this time were Lord Amadeus and the Lady Rosaline, the former who had been standing by awaiting an introduction, and the latter was presumably in the city awaiting their audience with her; one must not expect the ruler to make personal welcomes at the door like a common house-servant. Still, it seemed that if Lord Amadeus was to receive the recognition that he deserved, it fell to Sydia to make it so. "Worry not, my lord," she said quietly to Amadeus, as if assuring him, "I shall declare your audience." She nudged her heels into Belinde's scaled hide and walked him forward into the center of the meeting place. In a moment of amusement, she noted that her mount towered above both the rugged Sephonia and the brazen Ichor in the center of the meeting place, casting long shadows over them.

"Greetings, retainers of House Etalus!", Sydia called from atop her mount, voice booming out over those gathered, "Lady Odette, we thank you for your most..." she glanced from the Ditanian mage to look down almost accusingly down at Ichor, the touch of noted sarcasm sharp in her voice, "hospitable welcome." She truly hoped that what she was left unsaid was as clear as her words were, now is not the time for this manner of riff-raff. "We graciously present to you, Prince Amadeus Duncan Ignacio, Lord of Noble House Jussane, who has traveled far to seek council with the fair Lady Rosaline of House Etalus. May our meeting be one of peace," she emphasized their lord's title while staring down at both Ichor and Sephonia, "as well as goodwill, and mutual benefit." She kicked her heels once more, leading Belinde to the side of the party where she and her large mount would not obstruct the proceedings, then tugged the reins in a certain manner that signaled Belinde to kneel, which the great beast did. This allowed her to slide gracefully down his side, after unfastening her satchel of belongings and her weapons from the saddle, and she landed on his foreleg, stepping from there to the ground. She snapped her fingers above her head and pointed down to the ground, and the great winged lizard obediently lay down, tail tucked around its side and wings folded inward, and resting his bulky head on his front claws with an audible humph of contentment. Sydia stepped towards the party once more after fastening her equipment to herself, her sword-staff in hand, as long as a lance, and with a flowing, ribbon-like pennant of blue hanging down from the staff portion as a standard, a declaration of their allegiance to Lord Amadeus.
 
"Understood, Sir Ichor. Your city, your rules."

He kept his gaze upon her for a second longer than he needed to, the sharpness of it threatening to pierce her through. That is until it broke in an instant, his posture faltering and the breath he used to puff out his chest coming out like a tired sigh.

"Nothing that serious," He waved a hand dismissively. "Thank you, and I would rather not have to do that again, please." Even still, his thanks was genuine, strangely so. And his energy? Strangely low. Holding his temper was really draining. Claudio really picked the wrong guy for this. "'Sir' won't be necessary with me, though. I'm much less important than that. Ichor is enough." He stifled a yawn at that, backing up and starting towards the city while Odette took over for the more comprehensive welcome. So much for taking the lead. Not that he didn't catch that jab from the wyvern rider.

"Lady Odette, we thank you for your most... hospitable welcome."

It made his mood sharp again, but he couldn't find it in him to do anything but offer a backturned shrug as they entered the city.

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The clergymen, of course, were forced aside to make room for Millicent and her retinue, a fine example that was displayed across the continent in some past decades.

A pleasure, the Lady Rosaline said at her arrival, though, she caught the flicker of dissatisfaction at her winged mount. It was nothing like the wings they put on the sickly runts they called Pegasi. At least griffins were hardier and equipped to ride into battle. She would have felt like a child upon a wooden rocking horse on such creatures.

Millicent heard the Bishop’s greeting drip with flattery, smarming on charm like honey slathered on a roasted pig. It would take more than a sweet smile from a lavish man to charm her. If anything, his actions, doused in fire and vengeance, was more of an incentive to pay any such attention to him. He would very much like her father. She regarded him with a slight inclination of her head, nothing more extravagant than what she gave to the Lady Rosaline, who did not let the Bishop speak further before she asked something further of her delegates.

A vow. Do not disturb Etalus. Do not harm its citizenry. Otherwise, there would be consequences, apparently. If Millicent was one to laugh, she would have. But her lips twitched in defiance of the oath. Ironically, scripture came to mind in the presence of the Church; let those without judgement make the first blow. Or perhaps that was some strange lesson in Sanghalo. She did not care.

Rosaline openly defied her dignitaries, and they weren’t even through the bloody gates.

The Church voiced their dissent first. They voiced their reasoning, simply wanting the very best, the most peaceful solution to their problem. One swore the vow, but she might as well have claimed to be Xios. Words meant nothing. She noted the Bishop passing his astute judgement onto her, side-eyeing him as he claimed to speak for her, inviting him to lie down and take the vow.

She opened her mouth to answer.

Morwen made his comment to his sister. Then Beatrix erupted soon after, speaking truth in the most vehement manner. Rosaline was in no position to make such demands, to threaten and intimidate them. She had eyed Beatrix, her lips growing more twisted to signal to her to dial it back, but alas, she continued, and she had to covertly take a breath to steady her own rising tempers.

The girl’s dear knight tried to mend the situation, prostrating himself in his words for the most humblest of apologies and thanks for the answer to their call for aid. His pleas that they take the vow, for the sake of their people, to ensure mutual, peaceful cooperation.

Finally, Millicent opened her mouth to speak.

“Lady Rosaline, Sir Jorah. You must understand we take as much risk coming to your lands. My father has sent my sister and I on behalf of the people who starve and wither under the blight. He remains behind to deal a heavy and just hand to those would steal and pillage those who are already left wanting. I take much needed men from the war we fight in borders. I am sure my fellow dignitaries of the Church have sacrificed enough to be present here also.” Her hands tightened on the griffin’s reins. “Does the Duke present such a vow to the encroaching mercenaries on your borders? Does your father solemnly swear not to stab his fellow Dukes in the back at every meeting?”

Millicent inhaled, composed herself. And she started again. “I will not ask forgiveness for our trepidation. Ditania certainly has not in assuming we come with ill-intent. Accepting this vow will be accepting what my sister has rightly called it; an insult. Should Nortalis and ourselves not cast the same judgement back onto you as you do us?”
 
Rosaline didn't avert her eyes to the situation, nor did she balk at their refusal. Every action had its flaws, but could she consider this a mistake? Her bold response provoked a strong response from both Sanghalo and Nortalisse alike. Some simply rejected her vow, while others came to understand the reasoning behind it. There was one in particular that almost elicited a frown from Rosaline when the second princess of Sanghalo came hollering out her opinion on the matter. Why did King Damaron send this brute to take part in the negotiations? As for the princess of Nortalis, it was a nice gesture, but with the Bishop of Chatillon refusing, Rosaline couldn't take her word for it.

Sir Jorah gave her a brief reprieve as he spoke of his thoughts on the matter, though it was clear that he was uncomfortable speaking for her. Rosaline prayed that things were going better with Ichor and Odette. For now, she needed to think about what to say next. Her duty as the representative of her father was to negotiate with the dignitaries. Now that she grasped the environment, it was time to move on.

"Then let my vow be a plea. As the Duke's representative, it is my duty to fulfill the contract in the Duke's place." There was a tinge of disappointment in her voice. Whether or not they followed it was up to them. She eyed the bishop first. The discontent behind his words was heard loud and clear. If she had been her uncle, the lady of Etalus would have laughed at the man's farce. Coming here to provide aid out of the good of their hearts? War always comes at a price. A girl born during a war understood that much. "I will admit to fault, however. It is improper for a host to accuse rather than greet their guests. For that, I apologize." Her voice echoed in regret as she diverted her attention. She looked over to one of the guards stationed at the gate. He held a look similar to Jorah's, apprehensive and perhaps more nervous than him. With a simple gesture, he bowed before dashing down.

She looked over towards the leading princess of Sanghalo. No doubt, her words were of common thought not only to foreigners but also to the common people of Ditania. Still, if Millicent had brought this up with any other noble, they would've treated this slight as an insult. Rosaline didn't disagree with Milicent either, but she was vastly oversimplifying on the matter. "Regardless of my declaration, it is the will of the Duke to welcome you inside Etalus's gates." The gates began open wide to let the dignitaries and their forces in. "Let us discuss these matters within the Duke's walls. Your soldiers must be tired from the journey here." There wasn't much Rosaline could do at this point other than to let the dignitaries in.

Soon, Etalus would be flooded with strangers. There was no doubt that the townsfolk would complain about the matter, but Rosaline resolved to hear them out after everything was over. It was the only thing that she could offer to them. The Etalus Owls were their guardians after all, so it would be up to Jorah to handle it. Rosaline could pray that any disputes between Ditanian, Jussanian, Nortalisse, and Sanghalan would remain few in the foreseeable future.
 
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Konrad Bar Kastellan
Interaction: DistractionAttack DistractionAttack Stickdom Stickdom

Konrad watched the spat between Sephonia and this masked man Ichor with mild amusement. He had not expected such a confrontation from the get go but was entertained by it none the less. It was unlikely things would come to actual blows and if it did it would have most likely been a duel of honor or some other form of single contest, his time with the kingdom had taught him their obsession of honor, not that he himself put too much stock in it. Luckily the woman Odette managed to smooth things over with some diplomatic compliments. Flattery was an effective tool, one that Sephonia seemed to be rather weak to, well weak to as long as it came from another attractive woman.

Relaxing his grip on the hilt of his axe, Konrad looked to the prince, trying to discern any type of approval or disproval for how this conversation was going. Sydia was the one who stole the show instead. Moving her Wyvern forward the woman displayed the banner of the prince and finally introduced him, something that probably should have happened a while ago. His mind drifted to thoughts of Sanghalo, and if this scene had happened under Sanghalon watch they would all be hanging by the end of the day. He pushed the thought away, he was more of guard and an advisor when his advice was requested, not the princes squire or personal representative. If Sydia whished to have the glory of introducing her liege lord then the honor was all hers.

Seeing the group begin to move, Konrad hefted his axe over his shoulder, letting the smooth wood of the shaft rest on one of the grooves in his armored pauldron. He found Sephonia falling back to whisper to him. "I bear you no ill will, and swear that should it be required you will have a solid wall at your back. You just may need to be forgiving for a few of the bricks used to make that wall" he replied in an equally hushed tone.​
 
Amadeus
Yakov011001 Yakov011001 ThatGuyWithSouvlaki ThatGuyWithSouvlaki Stickdom Stickdom
Amadeus accepts the greetings of Etalus's courtiers with grace, sitting back and simply... observing. Assessing what manner of people that the young lady surrounded herself with, now that she had to make the decisions in matters of war. He notes down everything- the glances, the shifts in attitude... And he certainly notes to his annoyance, how his own retainers chafed and clashed. Yes, Ichor was an oddity. But it certainly wasn't their place, given the circumstances, to question him about his circumstances. They were not spies. Well, he supposed, it did stress-test the composure of these courtiers.

He does, however, make a mental note to reprimand Sephonia in private.

A thought passes through his mind. Nortalis and Sanghalo were not here. Surely, Rosaline couldn't be meeting with them, could she? It would suggest some snubbing of Jussane... However, Amadeus didn't mind that much. Sanghalo and Nortalis were bad enough alone. Together? There would be no better advertisement for Jussane's offer. He did not envy her to herd that particular junction of ego. He wondered what representatives Sanghalo would be sending. Hopefully one of the more obstinate princes or princesses. That would be truly fortunate for his designs.

"House Jussane thanks Etalus for receiving us. It is our understanding that Etalus is rather in need of... action, at the moment, rather than words, to receive us with such decorum does you credit in such times. Shall we proceed to meeting the Lady Rosaline? We have much to discuss, after all."
 
Jorrah Maidenshead
​
1728411121695.pngThough barely a muscle twitched on his statuesque visage, the unshakeable captain was internally shaking very much indeed.

Do not let her be weak. Claudio's parting words were stitched like a tapestry into his memory, resounding again and again. Within mere minutes of the foreign arrivals, his liege was being made to look very weak indeed. In a moment of short-sighted protective instinct, he had attempted to remedy the situation. Yet now Millicent finally found opportunity to speak, and she would not assent. If Sanghalo would not humble themselves, then Nortalis would certainly follow the same. His gamble had failed, his mission jeopardised at the earliest opportunity.

Behind his distant, narrow eyes, Jorrah's blood was boiling. Was decorum and propriety such an alien concept in Damaron's Sanghalo? Had these wildling royals never set foot in a proper court before? Had even this well-spoken princess not grasped that courtly negotiations had since time immemorial been rife with tradition and formality, the presence in itself far more important than the implied subtext of its contents? And why was the reaffirmation of the very aid they had already pledged proving such a fatal first hurdle to overcome? Her feral spawn of a sister had just informally declared war on Ditania, yet instead of apologising as she should, she had elected to mock the hosts who had come to welcome them. He'd never considered Claudio a particularly kind man, but nonetheless the Duke had given him much and rewarded his loyalty with the station and admiration he deserved. Even at that very minute, the Duke was out on the front lines to protect his people, displaying far more noble character than these snivelling, leering proud sanctimonious foreigners, who dared invoke the name of a brave and self-sacrificial man in protection of their own fragile egos. How pretty that smug little face of yours would appear lying in a pool of its own blood. Then we'll see how useful your pride is in the world beyond.

His vacant gaze flickered briefly over to Rosaline. In her eagerness to remember the scepticism she had been advised to keep, she had endangered the salvation of the entire region. Inexperience was no excuse when the lives of the people she was sworn by noble right to protect were at stake. His loyal men had not sacrificed themselves only for her to fumble so catastrophically at the very beginning.

Yet he could not remain angry at Rosaline for long before directing his frustrations back at himself. Her weaknesses were reflective of his failings as a tutor and as an advisor. Claudio had entrenched his power as her chief advisor with the sole aim of shielding her from the shallow ambitions of his other councillors. And here he was, rewarding his master's faith with ineffective words, powerless to protect her from the pride of the envoys, consumed with fury unbecoming of a proper knight. Worse, he had made her look weak himself in his eagerness to support her.

His gaze settled on Millicent once again. Your people are starving? Then let them starve. I am sure your people will respond kindly to the knowledge that their beloved princess refused a trade deal crying over simple formality. If your pride means we must fall, then let us fall together. Then, to Beatrix: If you think your hollow threats of invasion wouldn't be pounced upon by the combined might of the rest of the continent, then you are far more of a stupid beast than you look. A pause, and then to Rosaline: Milady, perceived weakness can be a powerful bargaining tool. Forgo the vow, swallow your pride, and humour them now. Let them think you are weak, that you may ultimately surprise them with your strength. Let them toy with you, that you might toy with them.

But Jorrah's lips did not part, and there were no venomous remonstrations nor whispered council. He had already risen above his station once and had failed to achieve results. He should have known well enough that those with great power offer no ear to a humble servant, even a humble servant granted special permissions. Anything he said now would only make things worse.

So the captain stayed silent, even his body language near impossible to read. Good luck, milady. The stage is yours now.

With an apology, a pledge and the opening of the gates at last, Rosaline managed to move the conversation past its rocky beginnings. Perhaps his advice had psychically transferred into her sub-consciousness - or perhaps more realistically she also had simply came to the same conclusion that they needed the negotiations to happen properly for the sake of the town. Perhaps it would indeed be considered weak to so quickly rescind an attempted vow, but that was a problem for tomorrow. No doubt some battered egos remained among their prospective allies, but Jorrah found it hard to empathise with those who had so readily pounced upon his liege.

Now that the gate had opened and the formalities had concluded, this was a moment that allowed him to speak again. "Allow me to guide you to your quarters," he announced, though his voice never boomed in proper exclamation. With that, he beckoned to the leaders of Rosaline's pegasus knights, who in turn took flight towards the top of the town, as if to signal that the formal addresses had now concluded. Pulling at the reins of his stubborn steed, the long-haired captain trotted steadily off into the town, as if to lead the foreigners. Inside the city gates, they would find a town abuzz with life and celebration, wilfully forgetful of the threat lingering on their doorstep. The journey from the lower levels up the mountain climb to the castle and knights barracks would provide opportunity for some informal conversations between the two arriving delegations.

He only hoped he could trust everybody involved to behave. Including the Etalian commonfolk, should that excitable young soldier's report of troublemakers rear its ugly head again...

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Beatrix Fortagon​

Yet more pointless back and forth from all parties involved. It had even gotten to the point where this incompetent girl daring to make demands of her saviors had to be bailed out by her own knight. And wasn't that just amusing? At least this one knew how to grovel. In the most technical sense, of course. As much as Beatrix didn't care for the underlying implications and turns of phrase used in diplomatic speech, even she could tell that the mouthy bastard was mocking them in his own way.

Perhaps he'd learn some respect for his betters when impaled on the end of her lance. And what a marvelous sight that would have been: blood dripping from a hole in his chest, recriminations and hatred still in his expression. But no, not unless the ungrateful Ditanians struck the first blow. Oh, how she wished they'd just invaded instead!

Millicent's displeased expression at Beatrix's words went no small way towards soothing her irritation with the situation, however. Beatrix offered her sister a brief, amused tilt of her helmet in response. Subtle mockery. After all, whatever could Millicent possibly be displeased about? After all, she was already expressing the same sentiment Beatrix had. Just with more tact.

The Duke of Etalus's idiot girl folded. Of course she did. It was a complete blunder to make such a demand in the first place. And now, her position at the bargaining table was weakened. Good for Sanghalo, but equally as good for any other vulture lying in wait. Beatrix glanced dryly in the crusaders' direction at that thought. How would they take her provocations? She hadn't made to offend them purely for her own amusement, of course. Though that was a very pleasing fringe benefit.

Etalus's gates opened, and Beatrix wasted no time in organizing her forces.

"Knights Partinax! Fall in, parade march! Safeguard Princess Millicent with your lives, and show the strength of Sanghalo!" She bellowed, her front-line captains quickly relaying the order to the ranks and the rear line. They would fall in line behind Millicent and march when she did, with Beatrix pulling her steed up near level with her sister's griffon. Heavy horse and foot knights began to march in lockstep, a standard bearer in front showing the symbol of their nation to all who beheld it.
 
vittorio salieri

nortalis retainer
V
ittorio hid his discomfort behind a cordial smile. Earning De'Rouvere's praise felt both comforting and unnerving; agreeing with a potential conman left a bad taste in his mouth. More disconcertingly, the Sanghelan were taking it as an opportunity to paint Nortalis as a bunch of violent zealots.

And they seemed happy with the prospect.

He should have expected backhanded praise, but decorum seemed lost on every nation except their own. Did they not bring clerics heal the ill and injured? Did they not stand tall despite the risk of shadow mercenaries? Vittorio could forgive Rosaline for her youthful folly, but he would regard her retainer with suspicion.

Though Vittorio was likely lesser nobility than the other man, he had the acuity to see through Jorrah--perhaps his intentions were pure, but his words were mean.

If he distilled the other man's words, the argument came down to one argument: if they had no intention fight, they would have no problem with bending the knee. Both politically and honestly, he should acquiesce to Rosaline; he had no plans to harm Ditania. If he had the avenues, he would extricate himself from the church entirely; however, he could not ignore the precedent that they were setting. Just as Xios did not render Nortalis immune from corruption, Ditania's plights did not erase their tumultuous history.

Vittorio cared for neither De'Rovere nor Princess Millicent, but the possibility of Lady Valdis' murder troubled him greatly; one wrong move would stain his hands with Nortalisse blood. You are too kind, Valdis, he thought as she accepted Rosaline's vow. The duke's name was nothing compared to that of a god--it would be vainglorious to pretend otherwise.

But are you not casting your own judgment? he could hear his former companion asking.

Perhaps, but it was better to trust the devil he knew than the one he didn't.

He followed De'Rovere and Princess Valdis through Etalus' gates, only slightly more relaxed now that Rosaline was brought to heel. The disagreement between Valdis and De'Rovere regarding the oath at best, could be overlooked, but he had a feeling that resentment would brew if he were not careful.

"Bishiop De'Rovere, Lady Valdis, would either of you fancy a trip to the church before we leave? I'm sure they would love to hear from us."

/*
location:
Eastern Gate

 
The West Gate
~14th of the Garland Moon, 454 RC. 6:05PM~

​
by ScampDung.jpgWhilst three proud nations bickered over a vow in the east of the town and two stubborn warriors argued in the west, whilst the eyes of the guards and the commonfolk alike were trained upon the friendly armies at their gates, a lone figure had entered the city through a more unglamorous means, as a certain rouge crawled like a rat through the dirt of a small opening on one of the outer walls. Though his tanned skin was mottled with scrapes and scars and his black cloaks caked in dust, nothing had dulled the brightness of his smile. After all, nothing satisfies like a good old sense of achievement - and nothing says 'worthy of a sense of achievement' like scaling up a rock face to enter covertly into a city! And given his old pal the Goddess had blessed him with a short stature, using it to his advantage was the least he could do.

The lone rogue took a moment to take a breather, his muscles bulging beneath his shirt sleaves as he ineffectively brushed off the grime he had gathered. That was the first part of his plan done and dusted. But let's be honest, Rufus mate, the man mused, it's a bit rich to call it a plan. Just good old winging it, like always. He'd have plenty of time to reflect later, but for now his next mission was clear. He needed to get the Duke's attention - with three different sets of foreign royals to entertain, what could he do to stand out?

Very quickly, an idea sprung to mind, and the rogue set off into the town. He strode with swagger in his step, his footsteps matching the rhythm of a festive ditty some bloke was playing further into the town centre. Chances are he'd find not only a fella with a lyre but a scene he'd be very comfortable in - a busy town square.

Soon, the back alley he was walking down opened into a broad courtyard, filled with market stalls and bustling with people. Bingo. Dunno what in Xios they're so happy for, Rufus thought, scratching his head. Was this yet another continent-wide celebration his Pops had neglected to install within him? Regardless, it was this joyful sight that made his grin falter, the sight of refugees from the villages huddling among their belongings in the courtyard corners drawing his attention. He wouldn't use them, even if it was the only option. Despite the number of people in the crowd, there only seemed to be a couple of proper knights or soldiers keeping watch, both who were young and visibly nervous. Poor kids. Admittedly, he was probably a similar age to them, but he at least looked like a proper adult, not some scared kid with an oversized fork put to duty! If you lose your job 'cause of me, no hard feelings, alright?

The Rite of Summer. A time of great celebration for most, but a time of enterprise and opportunity for those with a certain set of skills. Within the crowd, he'd soon spotted what he was looking for - after all, it takes one to know one. Thieves - a small, organised group of them by the looks of it. He watched them with almost a glint of admiration in his eye, as they weaved their way through the people traffic pickpocketing, distracting merchants with one person so that another could raid their carts. Not the sneakiest, are you though, buddies? What sorta thieving gang wear matching uniform by day! No matter - in fact, their inexperience was great news for him. Now all he had to do was to integrate himself and let himself 'clumsily' make a mistake.

Are you ready for a game of cat and mouse, boys? the rogue mused, his grin returning. How's yer warm up game? I just climbed a bloody mountain!

A couple of minutes later, the yells of a flustered merchant cut through the hubbub: "Stop, thief! Thieves!" He hadn't even reached the part where he got himself caught before one of the fools outed themselves anyway - what a treat! Their guilty consciences betraying them, the group of thieves froze like deer in the headlights, drawing the suspicion and further accusations of all around them. Soon, the commonfolk had naturally gravitated towards the edge of the courtyard, leaving the flustered thieves floundering in the open. Evidently they lacked a charismatic leader to tell them what to do next.

Noting that absence, Rufus raised his usually booming voice and commanded: "This way, guys! Follow me!" And with that, he took off at pace down a side alley. Leaderless, the thieves instinctually decided to follow this confident stranger, their racing footsteps plodding purposefully behind him. Of course, the young rogue hadn't a clue where he was going, but whether the young knights gave chase or not, it was a win win to him. Either he helps the good guy guards catch some nasty characters, or he makes himself some useful allies to secure a more definitive audience with the Duke.

After a minute or so's sprint, the group of criminals rounded an alley corner and found their path blocked by a group of strange yet richly dressed people, who were followed by what looked to be a small army. From the blues of their insignia, Rufus immediately recognised them as Jussanian soldiers. Damn, this ain't what I wanted. The young rogue turned and was preparing to bark out an instruction, when one of the thieves cried out: "There's no way back for us now, lads. We gotta keep on charging forward!"

Where was that charisma just now when I took control of your little gang, huh? Rufus shook his head. No doubt the two young knights had raced for back up which would pincer them in and prevent their escape, but surely facing the town's weakened guard was a better alternative than rushing to your deaths at the hands of the leaders of the Jussanian army? Adrenaline and fear make a potent combo, and these common crooks clearly weren't accustomed to either.

Suit yourself then - on your own heads, pals. Rufus wouldn't be so quick as to throw his life away. So the young rogue stayed back as the group of thieves rushed knives drawn towards Ichor, Odette and the Jussanian delegates, who would be forced to defend themselves from this desperate attack...


The First Encounter!
Odette, Ichor and the Jussanian contingent have barely set off back towards the castle when their progress is interrupted by thieves, who in the desperation of their escape decide to fight who they falsely assume to be the town guard. At the bare minimum, the group must fight off at least one thief for survival. Each character may also choose to fight more, either out of a sense of duty to the commonfolk (for Ichor/Odette) or perhaps in order to win favour with their new hosts (for the Jussanians).

As this is our first combat scenario, please remember the following:
1) Enemy stats can be found in the Stats Haven Google Sheet linked in the Discord.
2) Having fun being creative in playing out a combat scene is far more important than being tied to the stats. Use the stats as a forecast for how a fight might go, and then take whatever creative and descriptive liberties you so choose.
3) Enemy characters are entirely free for you to control here, apart from Rufus, who will be controlled like a player character by me. If your character wishes to engage in combat with Rufus, let's plan things out first in the Discord!
4) Your characters will gain experience dependant on their contribution to the fight.
5) Your characters can choose whether to kill or simply incapacitate the enemies here (with the obvious exception that Rufus will remain alive).

Yakov011001 Yakov011001 ThatGuyWithSouvlaki ThatGuyWithSouvlaki ThatWhichShouldBe ThatWhichShouldBe DistractionAttack DistractionAttack Dante Verren Dante Verren Stickdom Stickdom



The East Gate
~14th of the Garland Moon, 454 RC. 6:15PM~​

A few minutes into their journey towards the castle, Jorrah was approached by a young man on horseback, whose guard uniform was comically oversized. Jorrah recognised his face instantly - this boy had been the tailor's son and apprentice just one moon ago. Now, shortstaffed by the battles they had faced, the once might Owls had had to recruit whoever was willing to rise up to the task of defending their town. This was also the boy who had warned him about 'troublemakers' earlier, whose warning had so far yielded nothing.

"Captain, sir!" the boy stammered, bowing so enthusiastically that he nearly flung himself from his steed, who glared up at him unimpressed.

"Out with it, boy," Jorrah replied in his usual calm, level tone. It was needless to lecture the boy on the importance of 'a time and a place' when the fact that Rosaline and the lead envoys were all within earshot at the front of the combined armies was statement enough on its own.

"Those troublemakers I told you about before, sir, well they're right around this corner, sir, and they uh... they're not taking too kindly to all the new folks, I think."

"And by 'new folks', I take it you're referring to our foreign guests?"

"Aye sir, you could say that, I mean yes sir, that's right."

This day is rapidly turning into another piece of evidence that Xios isn't everything she's revered to be, Jorrah grumbled internally. Rosaline's vow to protect the newcomers from her own people would come into force earlier than both of them had anticipated. No doubt the ruffians intended to impede their progress towards the castle, though what they hoped to achieve against the combined might of both a Nortalisse and Sanghalan strikeforce, he didn't understand. Fear does strange things to man, he mused.

Jorrah didn't have time to mount his next query before his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the mob chanting ahead: "Glory to Ditania! Out with the foreigners!" A chant as hollow as it was inflammatory. Shortly afterwards, the mob appeared at the end of the street, a group of mostly male hooligans brandishing various weapons. Joy of joys, Jorrah mused, supressing the urge to roll his eyes even though there was no-one there to see him do it. Nothing bands a community together like some good old fashioned xenophobia. This kind of rabble was exactly the sort of mess he and his knights would have made mincemeat of under ordinary circumstances. But most of his reliable juniors had gone, either with Claudio earlier that day or to the world beyond in the preceding battles, replaced by stammering farmhands.

"Milady," Jorrah turned to Rosaline, "I shall endeavour to prevent this from escalating into violence, though I doubt men of this ilk will listen to reason." By now, the mob had formed a solid line in the street ahead, as to completely barricade the group's progress. At the front of the line were a pair of brothers in their early thirties - whilst almost facially indistinguishable, one was tall and wiry, and the other was stocky and portly. The shorter one matched his gaze defiantly as the captain rode up towards him.

"Well, well, well, well! If it ain't the Raven himself," the man spat, displaying his many missing teeth as he did so, "Playing lapdog to some dirty foreign royals now, are you? Traitor!"

"Good day, Jeremy, Myron," Jorrah replied courteously, "I trust your old mother knows how you've elected to spend the evening?"

"Don't talk down to us, pretty boy," Jeremy snarled, the shorter man squaring up to Jorrah's horse.

"Then demonstrate that your attitudes are worthy of respect," Jorrah replied. "Your national pride will be a great asset in the days to come, but I implore you, if you truly value your home and country, stand down, and do not so readily spit on the kindness Duke Claudio has secured for us." The group, ragtag as they were, clearly had some among them who were trained with the weapons they brandished. Such a shame that your nationalism extends only to hating outsiders, and not to standing in defence of your town, or answering the call to arms I gave before.

"Kindness?" the taller man, Myron, leered. "Thems are snakes and vultures, every one of them. They ain't here to help us, they're here to rob us. No good comes from keepin' their kind around."

"My friends, I implore you, do not make a mockery of yourselves and of our people. Your group is small - surely that is proof enough that the rest of the commonfolk don't share your ideology."

"Just because we're few in number, don't mean we're not right," said Myron, "If you and the Duke don't understand, then we'll have to make ya." By Xios' tail, Jorrah cursed internally, this is like reasoning with a bedpost.

"By doing what, exactly? Rushing to your deaths? You cannot face down two armies with pride alone."

"Who said anythin' about fighting two armies? Even a dragon is useless without a head."

Before Jorrah could say anything else, a loosed arrow embedded itself in the ground in front his steed, distracting the horse momentarily. Whilst the captain tugged at the reins to stay balanced, Jeremy muscled his way past and shouted out towards the lead envoys: "Princes and bishops! We may have lost our villages, we might even lose our Oak, but we'll never lick the boots of filth like you. Now taste the steel of Ditanian pride!"

With that, the thugs raised their weapons, cheered, and charged towards the foreign dignitaries. Whether they like it or not, the heads of both parties would be forced to fight to defend themselves, and both Jorrah and Rosaline would have a hard time supressing these ruffians alone...


The First Encounter!
Some ten minutes into their journey to the castle, the group find themselves under attack by a mob of thugs who are opposed to the idea of Etalus accepting foreign aid. Whilst Rosaline and Jorrah have a duty to protect the peace of the town, the Sanghalan and Nortalisse characters may wish to take this opportunity to demonstrate their strength and perhaps try to win favour with Rosaline. Alternatively, they may instead need only to defend themselves from the initial attacks of the incoming thugs, before leaving the fight to either their own soldiers, or to Jorrah and Rosaline.

As this is our first combat scenario, please remember the following:
1) Enemy stats can be found in the Stats Haven Google Sheet linked in the Discord.
2) Having fun being creative in playing out a combat scene is far more important than being tied to the stats. Use the stats as a forecast for how a fight might go, and then take whatever creative and descriptive liberties you so choose.
3) Enemy characters are entirely free for you to control here, including the two bosses (Jeremy and Myron). It would be polite to fight the weaker enemies first however just like in most FE fights - perhaps plan out in Discord
4) Your characters will gain experience dependant on their contribution to the fight.
5) Your characters can choose whether to kill or simply incapacitate the enemies here.

Misuteeku Misuteeku Arcanist Arcanist Landsharks Landsharks ERode ERode High Moon High Moon TAC TAC GamerKitty205 GamerKitty205 Steve Jobs Steve Jobs
 
Last edited:
Aw, now he felt bad for the Duke’s daughter!

Mayhaps it was just that his perspective was one of a common soldier who liked to see some guts, even when those guts were perhaps misguided, but Morwen quite appreciated Rosaline’s semi-fiery spirit…at least up to the point where two Princesses and a bunch of priests buried her into the dirt. His visor inclined briefly in the direction of the dark-skinned Nortalian Princess (who knew they even had princesses there?) as the slightest sign of agreement, before settling back into position as his betters had their turn forcing a child to concede in this particular battle of words.

Well, then again, those were just words. Morwen knew very well what Sanghalan soldiers respected, and it certainly wasn’t just pretty words and honorbound vows. Vows that would be broken in a heartbeat, if it were more advantageous to.

Vows, even, that would be tested immediately by the small, disorderly mob that had formed before them.

Inside his helmet, Morwen blinked. Once. Twice. Craned his head to the side. The man was utterly baffled at what exactly was happening before him. He could understand, of course, that there were young angry men running towards them, armed with axes and…just their hands? Yeah, no, that was the limit of his understanding. Did they not understand what the Knights Partinax were? Of course they didn’t. They were stupid. They were going to get killed. They ought to just lay down and beg for forgiveness, before their guts were strewn upon the grass and Rosaline had to grapple with the deaths of so many of her patriots.

The Sunflare Knight, after all, was in no position to advise the Princesses over how they ought to act. He had simply been given the directive: Safeguard Princess Millicent with his life and show the strength of Sanghalo.

Morwen staked his spear into the earth and met the charge. Iron gauntlets met gold, and the brawler was halted as if he had crashed into a sheer cliffside. He made a strange squealing noise as the masked knight looked up towards the taller man and let out a long, low hiss.

“That was rude of your leader. There are only princesses here.”

Crick-crack went every bone in the brawler’s hands, metal seeming to have warped beneath the pressure of Morwen’s grip, before the brawler was hurled like a sack of wheat into the cluster of archers further off.

And, considering the proclivities of the rest of the Sanghalan warriors, that lad likely got off the easiest.
 
Princess Valdis Gazam
​
Unsurprisingly her act didn’t inspire any sudden goodwill in the rest of the dignitaries. The stellar example of this being Princess Beatrix threatening Etalus and slandering Nortalis in the same breath. No, slander was the wrong word. What had been said was inflammatory, but not untrue. Valdis bit her tongue, and let the words wash over her. Nothing good would come of replying to the crass princess.

The duchess-to-be’s response to the rejection was pitiful to say the least, highlighting both the absence of the true head, and the uncertainty of its heir. A vulnerability laid bare, one neither envoy would be able to capitalize on. After such a verbal beating, it was doubtful Lady Proguer would ever trust the bishop or sanghalo’s princess. They had practically done Jussane’s work for them, assuming Prince Amadeus had some tact.

Valdis sighed and followed the rest into Etalus Town, taking a moment to admire the bustling streets. A pleasant change from the quiet wilderness that had graced their journey there. Admirable or foolish, the cheerful din of celebration was heartwarming. A show of resilience in dire times.

Valdis nodded at Vittorio’s suggestion. “It would do us well to visit our fellows here.” If they got the chance, of course. She had no doubt there would be little rest the next few days.

A thought that became laughable true as they were accosted by a gaggle of idiots. What did they hope to accomplish? Really? Even if they weren’t hilariously outmatched, what would killing them do? Valdis mumbled a quiet apology under her breath, not even an hour and already forced to raise arms against an Etalan.

One of the mob charged at the Nortalisse, an axe brandished above his head. Valdis pulled a tome from beneath her cloak, and loosed two dampened castings of Elwind. One was mostly blocked by the ruffian’s weapon, but the other was aimed lower. The gust of green magic swept the man off his feet, sending him sprawling across the cobblestones and knocking the weapon out of his hand.

Valdis strode over to her would-be assailant, a heavy heeled boot crushing the hand that flailed for its weapon. She couldn’t help the way her mouth stretched into a smile, the odd glint her eyes gained as she saw the fear in the ruffian’s eyes. She tried to assure herself, a bit of intimidation was kinder than what their soldiers or the Sanghalans would do. This wasn’t because she enjoyed it.

Valdis leaned down to look the brigand in the eye, green wisps of magic dancing across her fingers. “I suggest you run.”

The Princess lifted her foot, and watched the man scramble to his feet. The glee on her face didn’t fade as the ruffian disappeared into the nearby crowd. Hopefully his allies would follow suit.

( Steve Jobs Steve Jobs TAC TAC )
 
It had only been ten minutes after they allowed the dignitaries inside the gates that things were going on. The Young Lady of Etalus's eyes narrowed at the sight of a forming crowd from the skies. There was a rush of shame and embarrassment when she recognized some of the figures in the crowd. Her mount shuddered as if sharing in its rider's rage as Rosaline landed beside Jorah. Although her feelings raged within, her expression was as steel. "Do as you must, Sir Jorah," Both she and Jorah knew what was going to happen as her mentor hailed the troublemakers.

It was clear to her that her vassals didn't respect the Duke's wish. Rosaline bit her lip and took a deep breath. It seemed that it was time to raise her hand against her own people. The thought pained Rosaline. These people had reason to complain about their circumstances; Rosaline could sympathize with it. However, to form a mob and destabilize the peaceful town that her father tried so hard to cultivate?

Ignorance was bliss, but it will also prove to be a reminder. It was time to hold the sword in hand.

"You declare yourselves as advocates for Ditania's honor, but you prove only to sully it," Disappointment could be heard in Rosaline's voice. "Not only have you stained this joyous day with your riot, but you have also bit the hand that has nurtured you for the past decade. As the Duke's representative and heir of Etalus, I will personally see to your arrest." Rosaline's voice reached out to the people around her. For her people, it would declare her stance on the matter. For the dignitaries, she declared what she wanted at the end, whether or not they followed the implications behind her words remained to be seen.

Her mount cried as an arrow was shot at Jorah. It would seem her citizenry shared something in common with the dignitaries. Her eyes surveyed the area and quickly caught the offenders off in the distance. Archers, her mind supplied. Rosaline reined her pegasi back and spoke to Jorah. "Sir Jorah, mark those archers. I'll go around and rout them." Without a word, her pegasus began to take off. Directing her mount to shelter them from arrows, Rosaline tracked her targets.

Spars, lectures, and advice ran through her head as Rosaline waited for an opportunity. It was clear to anyone outside of the mob that she was the most inexperienced of them all. Although her sword was familiar to her, it felt strange in battle. It was sworn to protect her vassals, yet now it will be stained with their blood. Rosaline knew she shouldn't feel like this; they were causing chaos in an already fragile environment, and it was only right to stop them with force. Yet, she still found herself hesitating. It made her feel guilty. It made her feel weak.

Once Jorah or someone else had broken into the archers, Rosaline flew in at the opportunity. The feathers of pegasi fluttered as it landed in front one of the troublemakers. Without sparing a word, Rosaline swung her iron sword at him. The blade sliced through the man's arm, but resolve burned in his eyes. So, she swung again.

With the blunt of her sword, she forced the man to drop his bow. "Return home. Do not make me say it again." Despite her tone, the man only cursed at her and ran off somewhere else. Her mind couldn't linger on whatever he said as Jorah's lecture echoed in her head. She couldn't afford to be distracted. A man who tried to get behind her received a kick to the chest by her pegasi as Rosaline backed off from the fight. The last thing she needed was to embarrass herself and have her mount be skewered by arrows.
 
Mentions: ThatWhichShouldBe ThatWhichShouldBe Yakov011001 Yakov011001 Dante Verren Dante Verren SkyGinge SkyGinge

Cold it was Sephonia had a cold shiver send through her whole body, she knew she was in trouble after causing a little disturbance. Such was her nature, but also she couldn’t do it much or thus be seen as a liability. This was a future she wished to avoid so she will try her best to be on good behavior luckily for her, an opportunity to get her negative emotions in check was fast approaching unbeknownst to her.

Before responding to Ichor and his rather lax response she replied to Konrad first giving a rather soft laugh covered by her mouth. “A rather good answer again, care not for the material but rather if it does it’s purpose. You can rely on me as well, just as long as we fly blue flags.” her response was both. A reassurance and a jab as was typical response to outsiders. Her mannerisms changed harshly very rigid and polite now compared to before. Now carrying herself more as royalty rather than a commoner. Now that the prince has set foot on the field she already knew. Everyone both the enemy and allies are gonna be under a microscope. Though fiercely loyal to the prince she was also a bit terrified of him. She could never know nor understand the machinations of his mind, only it took only a little time to spot weaknesses and plan for their victory. His mind must be honed to a razors edge truly more terrifying then any blade.

Sephonia sped up to her pace to match Ichor and spoke politely uncharacteristically from before “Understood Ichor, I shall not cause anymore trouble until we get onto discussion with those wretched Nortalisse.” her eyes now soft seemingly not holding onto malice for the moment except when mentioning Nortalis. She gave a weak smile towards Ichor her calm being interrupted as her ears heard an unknown voice. Her eyes darted to it before seeing a brawler sprint at her and Ichor, Her calm face was short lived as a fierce scowl came across her face her eyes filled with rage as she grabbed the handle sticking out of the right side of her back. One swift motion later she sweeped the feet out from under the man knocking him to the ground for a second. In this short time frame Sephonia unclipped her cape fully revealing her back. Strapped across her back was a weapon wrapped with care and standing at about 5’7. Quickly she pulled the cloth off revealing a maul that looked like it’s seen it fair share of battles while also looking properly maintained. “Time to take out my anger on you unfortunate soul. My prince wants you alive, so I can’t kill you but I’ll hurt you real bad.” Sephonia spoke as she hoisted the maul over her shoulder standing in an intimidating pose showing off her true colors.
 
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