L'Empire des Ombres (Empire of Shadows)

[Oberons Veil]

Welcome the Imperium!

Since the dawn of the First Era the Imperium has stood as a bulwark against the darkness of the world, fighting for the betterment of the people and the security therein. However centuries of complacency, the lack of a real external threat and the corruption of the political offices by the nobility, the nation has been torn asunder from within.

The cracks have only revealed themselves to the public in the last decade and now we are faced with a difficult situation.

The Imperium is on the verge of Civil War, and the Emperor has died suddenly and his heir is but a fourteen year old boy. His uncle, the Lord Regent has consolidated most of the Crown's Authority alienating the Privy Council and only further dividing the nation. Now is the time for action, for change and will you be apart of that?

OPEN TO APPLICATIONS
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[Oberons Veil]

Hyperia, Queen of Valais

Imperia, also known as the Imperial City was large, much like Val Calais, noisy just like Val Calais but lacked the same homely feel. The buzz in the air of hope and friendship. Imperia felt cold, calculated and above all else hostile to everyone, citizen or not. For Hyperia this was her least favorite place in all of the Imperium and Viridium as a whole. The sad thing was that this was the Imperial Capital, the most important city in all the Imperium and one she dreaded every moment she had to spend in. Though now was not the time to show such a thing, the Emperor-Ascendant had called to her and the other provincial rulers for some various matters or another. The conference had just ended and it was in fact going to end in Civil War. Sure, none of the leaders had dared say such a thing present and wouldn't until they were safe back in their own keeps, but it was clearly written all over their faces.

For Hyperia that meant war was a guarantee and with Valais being the strongest of the southern Imperium it would no doubt be courted by Loyalists and Rebels. Not necessarily something she wanted, but not something she would be able to really avoid. Her step quickened as she came to the docks boarding her ship for home. It was a dangerous time to be in the Capital and there would be no time to lose getting away from here. Once on board she greeted her Spymaster, Azazel who had served her well over the past year in several capacities.

"We make for home, and the moment we are back I want you to discover what our neighbors plans are. Valais will not be caught in a dangerous position, not again." She said her face darkening at this last bit as she went into her quarters. Time would tell what was to come and for Hyperia that was a dangerous gamble. Her father had been in a dangerous position such as this nearly four decades prior, during the last rebellion. That had ended with the leaders being executed and the traitorous provinces facing near impossible taxes, something Valais would never forget, and never forgive the Imperial Throne for. Revenge would be their's even if it meant sitting on the sidelines and watching others do the dirty work.

@Reddrection
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[Reddrection]

Azazel


The Silver Tongued Sinner



​

Azazel wasn't one for these types of sessions. As much fun as it was to get out and about, doing so on 'political requirement' wasn't an enjoyable way to spend his time. He didn't get as far as he did to sit on a boat and wait things out. Which is exactly why he wasn't on the boat waiting things out. Azazel followed Hyperia until she was out of safe following distance, typical. He could have easily infiltrated and listened in to the whole dealings, maybe killed one or two at the motion of the woman he found himself in dealing with. All done with ease. Easy was boring. Azazel took to the streets, out of the eyes of guards of course, and made his own fun.





Fun was apparently hard to come by in a city like this. So what if an emperor or two died? Anarchy for the people, civil war to claim the throne, glorious show of the art of battle. Come now, I can't be the only one into the idea of a little stabby stabby, viva revolution, yeah? Sadly that was the case. These ingrains filled the air with chill, and remorse. Nothing like the actual chill and remorse of his adopted homeland. That at least was nature's way of telling you Congrats! You didn't die yet! Like a mother training her child to keep their hand from the fire. Even Val Calais was somewhat homey to the Wandering Devil. Azazel found himself bored by the city, and he was forbidden from preforming his tricks during the trip. Annoying to say the least.


A slight tug at his waist grabbed his attention. A small boy, hardly old enough to carry a bucket of feathers stared up at him with an infantile curiosity. Azazel one had that; He used it to make minors like this one worth something to him. "Why is your skin so dark and funny looking mister?" Azazel pictured the little insignificance as moronic, which wasn't far from the truth it appeared. Azazel maintained his persona, smiling rather wickedly down at the child. "Because, my bite-sized boy, I am special." Azazel pretended to look around for anyone listening in, bending down to be eye level with the child. "I'm really the manifestation of a god. If I didn't darken myself, my pure radiance would have burned out your puny eyes." "Wow! Really mister?! You're a god!" Azazel grinned. The minds of the young remained... impressionable. "Oh yes, yes dear human mortal. You stand before Azazel, The God of Words. I will grant you one wish for your bright mind." "I want to be as smart as the gods!" "Very well!" Azazel produced a thin needle from his cloak. He handed it to the boy gingerly. "Don't prick yourself with that now. In order to prove yourself to me, place this within the arm of your most loved one with this and you both shall be enlightened my the truth of this world." Azazel smiled, spinning the poison vial in his fingers. "Thank you Lord Azazel! I'll be sure to tell the church of you and have them help me pray!" "Oh they know my name well dear boy!" Azazel smiled and waved as the child ran off. He found fun after all.


Azazel looked to the slowly orange-tinting sky. Hyperia would be done soon. He sped back to their ship in port, making sure to keep out of sight. As he made it aboard, leaning on the railing of the ship. He caught Hyperia make way back to the ship. Azazel ginned, sensing her shared distaste for this place. That was probably the only reason he accepted striking up a deal in the first place. The two didn't think so unalike as a first glance would presume. "I take it that ordeal went horribly well, yeah?" "We make for home, and the moment we are back I want you to discover what our neighbors plans are. Valais will not be caught in a dangerous position, not again."


Azazel laughed, which brought about unsettling air whenever he did so. "Finally, I get to do something productive. I won't fail you, Hyperia. I keep my deals." Azazel tried to lighten her darkening face. What? He wasn't a complete heartless bastard. Hyperia was one of the few people he respected. His utmost best performance was the least he could do. Azazel walked until he was balancing on the foremast, watching the waves as they sailed back home. Azazel keeled, to keep from falling off. This civil war was going to be the most fun he'd had in a long time.

@Maven

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[Oberons Veil]

The Council

Val Calais, Valais, The Imperium

"So we wait for her return." Trystan looked to the faces of the others gathered in the Council Chamber. It was a large circular room with a large circular stone table. the room was atop a tower in Val Calais, capital of the province of Valais. Trystan was relatively young, only about twenty-three and already he had mastered the game as it was called. Professional Politicking. The stakes of the game were power, wealthy and above all else, one's life and that of their family. If you made a mistake it could cost you everything and so the children of Valais were taught from a young age that they had to be careful, and not to overstep or show their hand. So he played, even now as his mentor was in the Capital.

"Yes, though the conference will be ending today or tomorrow." Another voice this time, one much older and experienced than Trystan. The woman sat in fine armor, with a sword at her hip. Her weathered face and white hair spoke of the countless wars she had been in, the battles the killing. All of it weighed on her, while she was awake and while she slept, she would never be able to move past the horrors that had consumed most of her life. The ranks insignia displayed was that of the Legate-Marshal, the most influential military figure in this region of the Imperium, she commanded two legions herself and had another two at her disposal and she had chosen to make Valais her primary concern. Sure she reported to the Capital but her loyalties were very clearly to Valais and its Queen. Elise Celaarian had grown up in Val Calais, and as a young girl enlisted in the military, back then it had been rare and over her career she had formed an entire cohort of her primary legion as just women. "I think it best that we prepare for the worst, like she had ordered before her departure." Legate-Marshal Celaarian said. Met with nods from Trystan and some other figures in the room.

"We are adjourned," Trystan added banging the gavel, watching as the room emptied of the six or so individuals that made up the Privy Council. Tryst sat there, watching as the others all left, doubt things would be the same once Hyperia returned to Valais. Everyone throughout the Imperium knew that war was coming, the Emperor-Ascendant had a regent, one who was family but was corrupt and self-serving. The Regent was cruel, he was ruthless and he was ambitious, many nobles assumed he would sooner or later replace the Emperor-Ascendant and take the Falcon Throne for himself, it had happened before and this was another of those times.

Finally though Trystan stood and exited the chamber, making his way down the stairs of the tower and out into the quiet streets of the Silver District, which held the University, the homes o the most wealthy, the government buildings and a couple gardens. A rather beautiful sight and a very clear indication at the wealth of Valais. The capital, Val Calais was unique in the sense that slums were non-existent. This was mainly due to the charity of the people, the hard work and determination, coupled with the fact that Val Calais was built as the capital nearly two centuries earlier, replacing the old capital, Val Tellier which did in fact house a hefty amount of slums. Val Calais enjoyed prosperity due to the trade routes, it's position as the southern Imperium's largest and wealthiest city, second only to Imperia in size and wealth in all the Imperium. He made his way slowly back to his home, which sat upon one of the five hills and looked out to the sea, wondering how long it would be till warships sailed and fires burned. Soon... soon the dark clouds will come.


The Ascendant

Imperia, The Imperial Heartlands, The Imperium

Caden watched as the delegations departed, most by ship and a few by land. It had been a failure, his failure. This conference aimed at stemming the flow of time and prevent a civil war that would threaten not just the Imperial City or the Government but the very foundation of the Imperium itself, possibly sounding the death toll.

The young man was the youngest Prelate in the history of the Imperial Capital, the Heartlands or the Imperium. Just twenty-four years old and already in one of the most powerful positions in the entirety of the Imperium. How? Mostly merit, though his many family and family friend connections may have also led to his appointment two years prior. As Prelate he oversaw the military defense of the Capital City, the command of the City Guard, Sacellum Guard and Imperial Guard. Ensuring that festivals and other public events went off without a hitch. It was a job that Caden took seriously and since his rise to power in the government, he had ensured that no assassinations had taken place, and fortunately for him his network of spies, assassins, the muscle of the Guard and his wits he had pulled it off. Two years and no assassinations of significance, that weren't on his orders, had happened inside the City. The Emperor had been killed on his estate some ways north, fortunately for Caden it hadn't been in the city.

"Bring me the dispatches on the movements in the south." He said dismissively from his office. A page darted out of the room with grace as he went to fetch the reports on the networks in the south and those that were likely to be of great interest. Soon the boy returned with a rather large stack as the south always had such intrigue that piqued the interest of the Prelate. "You may go," He said shooing the boy out of the office and shutting the door, plopping down into his chair and reading through.

He scanned the dispatches, and a name continued to come up as suggesting a rather extensive network, clearly second to the Prelate's but still formidable. "Azazel" The man's name was consistent, though there were not clear indications of whom he worked for. No indications of which entity, province or private person wielded this network and that piqued the interest of Caden, more investigation would be necessary. The Prelate would need to pay a visit to the south soon, and his network would bring them under a lens. The shadows would be brought to light, sooner than later if necessary.

​

 

[EmperorConnor]

Johan





Jarl of Arnarhvall


Johan didn’t like Avenhall one bit. He could almost smell the scheming in the streets, and that reminded him of his father. Good riddance, he thought. Arnarhvall, and by extension Avinter, was now a far more stable place now that there was a certain lack of grand and fantastical visions and plans for the future. Or at least the stability was for now. The Asmund had been on about turmoil in the Imperial Heartlands just a short while ago, something that the Jarl of Arnarhvall here believed did not concern him or his wider province. It was not in the duties of the North to meddle with whatever happened in the South (well, pretty much everywhere was south of here, even if it was still northern), and vice versa, and in fact it was not truly his role or job to meddle with affairs even in his homeland, if all was well and nothing needed fixing, and this frustrated him at length. Undoubtedly upon his return to Arnesen Hold he’d be quizzed by his mother on what had happened whilst he was away, and whilst he appreciated her kind heart and well intentions, she would worry for him unnecessarily and silently criticise his ways. As soon as she would be done fussing over him, it would be time for destressing - perhaps a short stroll and daydreaming of the pretty girl with braided hair was in order.


But often, the best laid plans were foiled, and such happened as he made his way through the door of the imposing yet warm and homely building after what seemed like forever. As a small boy his home had somewhat intimidated him, especially in the darker evenings and nights where anything could be hiding in the murky obscurity where the tendrils of the light did not reach. Now, Johan was a man - but still made sure to search the darkness, if only as a precautionary measure. How he would have loved to retire to the warm comfort of his bed if not for the persistent curiosity of the woman who had brought him into this world, although he did manage to negotiate a deal that she would spare him the effort of making dinner the next morrow. Johan admittedly struggled to detail what exactly had been said, he had not found it to be the most gripping of topics and as a result had neglected to listen fully and focus his undivided attention upon the political affairs. Nonetheless, however, it would have taken a fool to at least not understand the gist of what was being discussed and a few of their potential implications on consequences. Civil war appeared to be cresting the horizon, even if none would directly admit it. Was forthrightness a relic of a bygone age?


“You need to be careful, my son.” she warned, almost ominously, her piercing and serious brown eyes seemingly making an effort to burrow into his very soul itself. She waved off his dismissive remark and barely considered a request to have this conversation at a later date whenever he was well rested. It was of the utmost importance to talk now as far as she was concerned, and wisdom was not an area that Astrid Arnesen thought herself to be particularly lacking. “I know you couldn’t care less about the situation at hand.” she said quietly. “But others who do will likely look to our area for support. And they will see you as a young inexperienced Jarl who can be bent to their will or easily crushed if not. If you wish for any semblance of personal choice in the near future, the least you can do is pick a side, my boy. To make it out of the coming storm alive…” she continued, still stern “... we must consolidate your authority and have a plan of action.”

 

[Reddrection]

Azazel


The Silver Tongued Sinner
​

Azazel hung from the rigging high above the deck, watching over all below him. The sun peered over the horizon, stretching before fully arising into the sky. Azazel has spent his nights in the crow's nest. He had been assigned a room, though he refused to use it for more than the occasional use of it's privacy. Azazel much preferred the open air and veil of the night upon his skin than that of the stuffy tinderbox they rode the waves upon. That and no once could say he was beneath them; a joke he kept to himself. Azazel's trained eyes scanned the deck and the waters for anomaly. If anything happened that had no reason to be happening, Azazel would respond with whatever was required of him. Healthy paranoia, minus the healthy portion, had kept him from disaster's grasp many a time. No need to surrender to their eternal game of hide and seek yet.


A smile came to Azazel's face, as the coastline of Valais came forward to view. Two weeks he had been trapped on this vessel, and while he had no ill memory with the sea, remaining constrained to it's confines was less than enjoyable. "Never thought I would say it aloud, but I have never been more happy to see that shoreline in my life." Azazel gathered his few belongings, various equipment and tools of his trade, and made his way down to the deck. Azazel traversed the web of ropes and masts as if they were the stairways of his own home. Every finger finding it's place. Every placed step never slipping. As he neared the deck, he got bored of his decent and jumped down the last couple meters. He landed with a gentle thud, immediately starting out walking towards the quarters.


Azazel made his way to where he remembered Hyperia's room to be, stopping just before her door. He slipped one of his bigger blades out of it's sheath and knocked on the door using it's pommel. Smirking, Azazel mimicked the captain's voice with enough accuracy, he managed to impress himself. "Lady Vaulan, I've personally come to inform you that we'll be arriving within the hour. I would see to it that yourself and your companion make it to dry land with all your belongings in order. That is all." Azazel quickly moved out of sight, heading back up to the wheel. Azazel changed his composure to that of a serious, stoic one. Passing the captain, he put a hand on his shoulder. "Captain, the Queen was asking of your presence, I'd hurry if I were you sir. You know how women can get during this time of the month, yeah?" Azazel resisted breaking out into laughter at the sight of the captain's expression, continuing calmly towards the wheel.


Once at his destination, Azazel awaited Hyperia. He talked with the helmsmen steering the ship, sharing jokes and stories, all while rifling through his pockets and fiddling with the wheel. Azazel was more than prepared to leave this glorified piece of driftwood behind him. Besides, Hyperia was asking him to begin his work unraveling the plots of their neighboring nations. He surely couldn't achieve that from here. That, and Azazel had a few plans of his own he wished to enact whilst he worked, should all go well of course. Civil war, for Azazel, it was like playing chess with both sides and favoring one colour over the other. Azazel knew one key step in this game. White always moves first.

@Maven

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[Demonsoul]

Sabrina rode quickly on horse back through the Imperial Heartlands. She had already visited a number of villages and helped people withd be seen simple task. The last destination she was heading towards at this time was the capital Imperia. Trees flew past two quickly to see them well as she rode. She moved quickly but she was in no hurry. Her stomach growled and she signaled the horse to stop. The horse was a dark brown with white dots along the flank with a mane of much brighter brown. Sabrina slid off the saddle and moved reached into one of the bags strapped on the the horse. Inside was some bread and a skin of water, which she gladly devoured. She pulled out some wheat from a separate bag and fed it to the horse who delighted in a snack after some much running.


The wanderer pulled out a map and started looking it over plotting how long it will take to arrive. She decides it would be possible to arrive at the gates by nightfall. So she gave some water to the horse and whispered, "I'm sorry for pushing you like this." as she jumped on the saddle and proceeded to continue moving. The horses hooves slammed against the ground as she road and she flew past a caravan of traders heading the opposite way.


At last as the sun was vanishing in the west she saw the city coming into view and she slowed down as she approached. Sabrina hopped off the horse to walk the rest of the way. Her broad sword was sheathed on her back and the slimmer sword was at her right hip. Her blue eyes couldn't been seen from the shading of her hair and the vanishing light behind her. She appeared combat ready as she walked towards the gate but she seemed to not be hostile at all.

 

[Oberons Veil]

The Gilded Queen

The knock on the door interrupted Hyperia from her various notes and letters she had been writing to occupy her time, and the voice of the captain while convincing was dismissed as he only addressed her as Your Grace regardless of the times she had told him to refer to her as Lady Vaulan. Though it was only compounded when he left without actually be dismissed, a man of his stature wouldn't do such a thing though she couldn't help but wonder if this was Azazel or someone else playing a joke on her. She decided it best to just feign ignorance, meant the entertainment might now end. She returned back to her work only to be interrupted as the actual captain knocked on her door. "Your Grace," and there he said it again, causing Hyperia to offer a silent frown and sigh. "Lord Azazel said you needed to speak with me," he said hesitating to enter though it was not a matter of importance, she needed to take fresh air anyhow.

"Ah, Captain yes, when we make port be sure to sail to Lyrium, a friend of mine will need to be brought here to Val Calais, can you manage that?" She said with a smile, straightening her simple dress. It was simple in most regards, a very deep crimson that accentuated her delicately tanned skin. She was thin, and upon her auburn hair sat the Crown of Stars, aptly named for the diamonds that shimmered like stars upon a night's sky. He nodded before departing once again, clearly understanding she wished to be alone. Hyperia made her way up and out of the stuffy compartments and onto the deck, reveling as the sea breeze graced her skin and the sun warmed her. It was a beautiful day with great wind for sailing and then she noticed in the distance the shoreline. Least that part wasn't a joke.

She walked to the helm and noticed the helmsman and Azazel talking as if they were old companions, though she couldn't hear what was being said she offered a curt nod to the pair before walking to the front of the vessel and sitting on a sofa that had been brought out for her. She didn't want to stand though that was probably more to being slightly sea sick, thus far she had yet to let anyone know and her color was sufficient to prevent it from being obvious. It was nice to be returning home after a week in the capital, that horrid place always made Hyperia's skin crawl. Soon this journey would be over and she would be back in the home she loved and in her province, the place that she adored so much.

@Reddrection
​

 

[Reddrection]

Azazel


The Silver Tongued Sinner
​

"...and then, the man says, 'That's not how that's supposed to look lass." The helmsmen burst out into laughter. Azazel faked a well enough laugh. So far, keeping this fool distracted while he toyed with the wheel's mechanisms proved child's play. He had no quarrel with the ship, other than it's presence annoyed him since they started this trip. Besides, Azazel much preferred his design to the wheel to it's original intent. Should be fun to see what effect it has once he finishes. As he made the last adjustments, the ship slid into port, the sights and sounds of Val Calais taking over Azazel's senses. As much as he preferred being out and about working for Hyperia, Val Calais had become a home to him. It was like that annoying family member you couldn't help but love in the end. Azazel made his last adjustment to the wheel, rigging it to start when the wheel was next turned. Hopefully it didn't trigger any cannons or other less preferable outcomes. Azazel had his reasoning for slowing the departure of the vessel to it's next destination. If he was to scout the other nations, then he wanted nothing more than to be two steps ahead of every one else. Even Lady Vaulan when necessary. As they departed the ship for Val Calais, Azazel sparked a fistful of gunpowder he swiped out of the storage hold, grinning smugly to Hyperia as she and anyone else noticed the small plume of flame. Azazel watched a quick blur of one of his trained Infiltrators stowed itself away into the ship. Two steps ahead of you Lady Vaulan.





As the two made their way to the inner parts of Val Calais, Azazel conversed with Hyperia on the matters of her meeting. Mostly his annoyance that it took so long and left him bored out of his skull. Leaving out his meeting with that child of course. "I get we're on the brink of war Hyperia, but it really takes most of a day plus the time on that tinderbox to talk of the inevitable, yeah?" Azazel walked with his hands behind his head. Much like his far different appearance than that of most in the Impiruim, he found himself far from the norm. He never called any nobility by title or any other form of identification other than name. He bent the rules and orders he was given to match his suiting. He even took his job of Spymaster far less seriously than was required of him. From his appearance to his persona, Azazel was an outcast. An outcast that delivered results. He figured some slack was being cut because of it. Azazel was the best there ever was going to be at his job, that was undeniable. "Speakin' of this conversement of ours, did you actually manage progress in our trip?" Azazel looked to Hyperia with a faked quizzical expression. He already knew the answer. He just wanted to prove a point and hear it from her. Azazel had been foreshadowing his prediction the events to come since he came into Valais' service and even before then. "My offer to take those officials out ahead of time doesn't sound so bad now does it, yeah?" Azazel laughed his somewhat unnerving chuckle. He didn't try to make it sound that way. It appeared he had a knack for unhinging people from that little safe spot in their skull.


As they came upon the Estate of Law, Azazel making various joking salutes and waves to the guards he passed, he began to remember why he had a liking for this place, other than it's strange acceptance of him. The fact that the bigger places like this left him so much opportunity to make lives living hell. Most of the time, that meant the lives of most in the Estate of Law, and Val Calais as an extension. For the most part, he outranked just about everyone in Val Calais in his position working for Hyperia. So, whenever he pulled a fast one on anyone, they had to put up with it. It made his life rather enjoyable knowing he suffered little to no punishment for his tricks. His excuse whenever it did bear consequence was simply doing his job and making sure everyone one was, as he put it, 'on their toes.' The city was one of the few playgrounds Azazel had his own form of control over. That being said, he still had his duties to attend to when he wasn't keeping his 'Wandering Devil' title in check. "Now then, Hyperia. If you have any tasks for me, speak now or forever hold your peace, else I'll be off with our little 'Azazel-lings,' yeah. " Azazel bowed jokingly, ignoring the rolling eyes of nearby guards. The Azazel-lings, Azazel-lings being what he called the rest of the spy network, still needed to be trained and sent of to do their jobs. Though he did also want to get to scouting the other nations. Or killing them. Either or.

@Maven

​

 

[EmperorConnor]

Johan





Jarl of Arnarhvall





Coming up with a way to assert one’s power and influence was more difficult in practice than in theory, but that was always the case. Theory was a realm of perfection and idealism ; concepts which had no place in the real world. Perhaps that was why dreams could be so satisfying, but in any case, however, they were a far superior alternative to nightmares or not sleeping at all.


Even if the young man had not been struggling to find a method of letting everyone know who this land belonged to, he was still undecided as to whether it was a good idea. Drawing attention to himself would make him a target, and it’d be following in the footsteps of his damn father. Johan didn’t know for himself whether he found self determination particularly important, and so he did whatever he did when he was at a mental impasse - he took a walk through the hillsides and valleys that gradually gave way to mountains (although avoiding the snow-capped peaks, for he was no climber), not allowing himself to return back through the front door to toasty fires until he’d committed to a decision. It was often mightily effective. He didn’t truly mind being completely under the thumb of another - as long as he liked his superordinate, but this was more about his taste in women more than anything remotely political. He wondered why he bothered, and why his mother, so organised and headstrong, couldn’t do all this. But oh no, his father had to die and he had to inherit all this.


Then so be it. Johan could not choose which cards he was dealt, but he could choose whether to play the game or not and he could choose to pick the best possible hand. Even inaction was a choice, albeit a weaker one. Realistically there was nothing drastic he could do that fell short of doing what his father did - plotting - and ultimately, provocation. No-one really had ever believed that malicious foul play had been absent from his father's death, and now he had a perverse interest in uncovering the truth. If he acted and believed that he wielded power, then it could conceivably be something he had. He wasn't the most charismatic man around, but convincing others was a job he was up to.


Of course, who truly knew whether the most whimsical man in potentially the entirety of the Imperium would change his mind before the sun set and the day was over?

 

[Oberons Veil]

The Gilded Queen

They stepped off the ship and behold Azazel was up to his usual schemes, handling affairs as they were order. Hyperia was willing to admit that he had been one of the, if not the very best choice for Master of Whispers. He knew how to predict what she was going to ask and prepare them so that when her order finally did come down, he was prepared and it would be carried out swiftly and without a hitch. His skills were desired by many others, and it was no secret that some in higher positions or more wealthy than Hyperia had been prepared to seek him out... they had been silenced.

"Brink of war yes," she said looking at him and then towards the guards that walked with them through the beautifully clean streets of Val Calais. "Though I'm sure you will just enjoy yourself." She said with a smile before looking at the people who lined the streets. She offered some coins to those who she wanted to be charitable to this day. She was well known throughout her Kingdom for her grace, compassion and charity to the common and noble citizens alike. She truly was a devout woman when it came to following the Tenets of Aurea, the goddess she had chosen as her patron years ago. Charity was one of Aurea's major tenets and as a woman that could afford to give, Hyperia did so.

They parted ways as the Assembly hall while she proceeded to go about her daily business and she knew full well that Azazel would be training with the spies and assassins that Valais used with extreme prejudice throughout the Southern Imperium. Valais was the wealthiest southern province, the largest southern province and the most well armed of the southern provinces, adding to these accolades Valais also commanded the most formidable network of spies and assassins in the south, far out pacing that of the Imperium itself here in the south. So it was no secret that Valais was always given high levels of autonomy, for should the Lions of Valais choose to, they could rally the south and throw off the yoke of Imperial Rule, and while some southern provinces such as Astanor had attempted this in the past, Valais knew the security and the wealth that being apart of the Imperium brought, and so they were content to play second best when they could have been first among equals.

Hyperia made her way to her study and there waited Trystan, her Steward and Elise Celaarian, the Legate-Marshal of the Sixth and Seventh Legions. "Your Grace," They both said in unison, standing and bowing. The pair took their seat as Hyperia sat across from them in her chair behind her desk. Her look of frustration as she recalled the events of the Conference were more than enough to stop either of her council from pursuing what had happened in the Capital any further. "Raise the Legions, prepare our soldiers and understand this is in defense of our border with Astanor... make something up about some disputes with them." She said looking at Legate-Marshal Celaarian.

Trystan chimed in, "Milady we do have border issues with Astanor." He added with wry smile as he made it clear to all present that this was a brilliant plan the Capital couldn't do anything about. The provinces, especially those in the south had the luxury of laxed Imperial Rule to the point they could wage internal wars with one another and redraw the lines of the borders. With a nod and a boy, Legate-Marshal Celaarian departed at once to make sure the Legions were ready. It would take a couple weeks to bring them to full standing order, thankfully such preparations had already been started.

Trystan and Hyperia continued to talk for a couple hours before he too departed to handle some affairs of state. Mostly getting the Assembly together and summoning all the Dukes and Duchesses beneath Hyperia. He also summoned up all the Legates and Generals in Valais, everyone was to come to Val Calais for a meeting and this was to be the beginning of the Valaisian response to the potential for Civil War. Things were to be handled, and fortunately for the South, Hyperia was prepared to be the bulwark.

@Ahzek Ahriman @Reddrection
​

 

[Ahzek Ahriman]

Jean-Luc stood in his normal bright red tunic bound to him by a simplistic leather belt around his midriff, he'd been working on the planning and drawing up of an canal five miles out of Arveignon with a group of about forty architects and scribes. He'd run his hand along his thin goatee before taking up his stylus again and continues to work on the vellum plans, sitting among the architects within a loose circle of easels with the various scribes assisting in gathering ink, vellum and information from the assortment of other architects and surveyors up and down the canals planned location. As time progressed in the mid spring crisp air, Jean-Luc stands, walking around and comparing his work along with the other architects before clearing his throat and standing within the circle before speaking calmly "Gentlemen! I believe we've got our main work finished here today, as such I say we should pack up our tools and head back to the city and then continue to work on this within the comfort of our own homes!" He'd smile as the various architects nod, standing and beginning to gather up their things and head back to the awaiting wagons and carriages, Jean-Luc climbing up himself and sitting down inside his own carriage, his two guards sitting up in the riders seats and beginning to lead the procession back towards the city, they'd arrive easily just after nightfall as such he'd have another late night of comparing notes with his workers.


About forty-five minutes later they'd ride within the walls of the city, the guards manning the outside checkpoint of the wall nodding and bowing to him and then waving and greeting the other riders of the wagons and carriages. making their way up towards the Anastos villa, dropping off the vellum covered in the various plans and mathematics of the surveyors for him to compare and look over within his office. The household workers moving forward after being called forth from the villa to assist in carrying in the vellum scrolls and other workings and carrying them into the villa's main study. Jean-Luc stands within his office as the workers leave him alone within the study, Jean-Luc sitting down and cracking his fingers "Well, this is going to be a long night, better get started now."

 

[General Deth Glitch]

The Stone King

​

He was swiftly out of the meeting once it was adjourned and found his was through the cold streets to his boat. While his men were not all ready for him to be wanting to leave so soon they had also kept close to the ship and, upon seeing their lord in a foul mood, saw no reason to risk his wrath. "We sail fast and home, if I don not see Callidum in no more then two weeks, someone will pay!" He roared to them, striding upon the deck. Their respect for the man was matched only by their fear of his anger. Now Valiorus was not an inherently violent man but he was most certainly one when he was angry which, again, was not often. He had held a calm collected appearance as he left the other provincial lords but now that he was among his own men he let his fury fly, though he was not going to tell anyone why he was so upset, no reason to make them worried.. not yet at least. War he thought we shall be caught in the midst of war, likely from the greed of a single man. He looked to one of his men who was not currently busy with rowing and was instead watching his lord with anxiety. Valiorus grabbed a shield from the deck and threw it at the man, before grabbing on himself and, as the ship made its way swiftly out of port, he quelled the fires of anger by fighting one of his more skilled men, Vintor, effectively the captain of his guard. It was a worthy battle but Valiorus was, as expected by all, the victor. He ended the battle by knocking the man to deck with the flat of his blade. He then took a deep breath and held out a palm for the man, helping him up. Vintor was used to this, it was one of the quirks of the job but to be able to fight with such a man on a consistent basis was valued to him, indeed it was almost payment in itself, but Vintor had a family to feed, so he accepted actual payment too. "So, Valor, what disheartens you so?"


"I will explain it when we arrive, but it will likely be of little surprise to the Jarls.."





Valiorus spent most the journey sleeping, much to the joy of the crew, for it was nearly three weeks before they arrived in Callidum and, wrapped up in his cloak after the harsh weather they faced heading home, he stood on the prow of the ship, holding onto the Griffon head at the bow as he looked at his beautiful city, by far his most favored place in the Imperium. As the ship glided into the underground bay that served as the port of Callidum but not before Valiorus jumped from the starboard side of the ship to the exposed part of the city, exposed to both the sea breeze and, indeed, the suns light. The river Callidus stretching away before him, off down the valley and into the mountains beyond, Callidum was in perhaps the most remarkable part of the Callidus coastline for it had a large flat area, nearly two miles wide, where buildings could be constructed with moderate ease. On either side of the exposed city two cliffs rose sharply up into the sky, the eastern cliff being filled with homes, more city and, more importantly, some of the Mines the province is famous for. Now those mines are not its more profitable, though they once were, now largely stripped of valuable resources they simply serve as a place to work for the many citizens of the capital and, for the more influencial and wealthy, a place to mine for enjoyment, a thought alien to those outside of Callidus. Mining was more then a way of life in was in their blood. To the west, this was the powerhouse of the city. The cliff face was dominated with two great statues, the one to the north being that of the first High King, the man who united the Jarls of Callidus before the Imperium and the other was of another High King, both men are steeped in myth and legend and no ones truly knows what parts of their legend are true and which are not. Within this mountain was the military nexus of the province, the political hub of the region, the financial and marketing center and, facing out of the cliff into the sea itself, the Palace of the High King. The majority of the son drenched buildings of Callidum were built of stone, much in the design of those built into the stone itself, filled with ornate carvings and rich designs. Towards the edge of the exposed city were some made of wood, but not dull planks like lesser folk would be satisfied with, no even these were braced with the trunks of mighty pines trees and floored with stone. Valiorus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, taking it all in, with the sun setting it was truly a beautiful sight to behold, especially for the homesick king.


As his men were under the western innercity, mooring his boat, he strode quickly to the great hall. Marching past guards and servants as he made his way there, hoping to catch some Jarl's meeting, as those who spent significant time in the capital often chose to do. Once he arrived in the large hall, about 30 meters across and edged with a fine stone table covered in a beautiful green cloth, edged with blue. In the center lay a fire pit, itself 6 meters in diameter and constantly burning, a chimney leading swiftly out the cliffside, he found it largely empty, with the sons of a couple Jarls chatting quietly in the corner of the warm room. They looked up to see their King striding toward them. "Have message sent to all the Jarls in Callidum, I wish to meet with them on the morrow, a matter of extreme urgency." he said to them before turning away and heading out toward the training halls, training was going to be increased, as far as he was concerned he was at war, he had not picked a side and might not even do so, but he was at war with someone.. and Callidus was not going to suffer from the greed of another, not while he stood atop its throne.

 

[Reddrection]

Azazel


The Silver Tongued Sinner

​

Azazel traversed the underground of the city of Val Calais. If the the rooftops and alleyways above were his playground, then this was his kingdom. Azazel knew the various sewer ways, tunnels, and passages the city harbored as if they were his own home. To most, it seems nothing more than a mess of stone paths to nowhere. To Azazel, it was the perfect place for swift travel in, out, and about Valais. An even better place to conduct his line of work. There were places where his halls converged, large open areas he had converted to his own outposts. The biggest and where all the hidden alcoves eventually met acted as Azazel-ling home base, aptly named Clandestine. There Val Calais' network of assassin's and spies and any of the rebellious nature found their haven under the guide of Azazel. The city that ran within the city. Clandestine was his personal empire, founded from right under the noses of Val Calais. Hyperia, and Hyperia alone knew of his personal city of course, but to the rest of the nation, they were nothing more than shadows in the depths. The useless nobles had their equally useless militia, the guards and soldiers of Valais. Azazel had his own, much more useful forces. Azazel came upon the hidden entrance to Clandestine. He slipped a thin blade from within his apparel. The thin piece of metal could hardly be used as a weapon, but it had it's uses. He poked around where he remembered the trigger to be, before the blade slid into a crack in the stone and a quiet click echoed from the wall. Azazel pushed the wall, watching it slide open. Azazel strode in, replacing the entrance and continuing down into Clandestine.


The main hall of Clandestine harbored little more than torches to keep the way lit and few doors to other facilities. No, the fun was further down. As Azazel walked, more of a skip really, a hand took his shoulder from the shadow of a doorway. "Master Azazel." The deep, ragged voice echoed about the stonework. " It is a blessing for your presence to grace us." A rather aged man stepped out into the torchlight, smiling with a yellowed grin. One of his faded eyes lazied away from Azazel, the other darted about Azazel's image. "Sojourn! My good little servant! Oh how I have missed you!" Azazel hugged the old man, lifting him off his feet. Sojourn had been an a acquaintance ever since he had ventured into Val Calais for the first time. He was quickly furthered into Azazel's personal hand for the newly formed Clandestine. "It is good to see your grace is pleased by my presence. Your travel to the Imperial Heartlands took much longer than expected." "And so much more boring than expected. We have new Azazel-lings, yeah?" "Oh yes of course Lord Azazel, your highness. I had Deacon fetch promising applicants from the surface population, as lady Hyperia requested." Azazel pounded a hearty thanks on Sojourn's back, an action Sojourn had become used to and rather durable to. "I suppose then they'll be awaiting a speech from their guardian king, yeah?" "Oh Master Azazel, I do love your speeches!"





The two made their way to a court-like room filled with a group of conversing recruits. Azazel could pick out promising applicants. He was surprised Deacon found so many willing to make their way down here at once. He'd have to reward him later. Azazel took to a side pathway high above the group. He observed the unknowing group. Most would make for decent citizens, a small portion even better suited for training to become agents under his command. Azazel hovered over a stage like area, and upon said stage sat his throne. It wasn't a glamorous thing. Nothing was in Clandestine. It was made of iron and put together in a crude sort of way that made it appear ominous. None the less, it was a throne for the ruler of Clandestine. Azazel grinned. Time to show the people who they work for. Azazel walked off the ledge above and landed just before the throne. The suddenly appearing man startled most of the crowd, Sojourn cackling in the back. Azazel rose and looked over the crowd. He spotted Deacon glaring down at the crowd from another ledge above him, watching for anything out of the ordinary. Everything was in place. Azazel threw his head back in laughter, sending a shiver down the spines of all in his presence.





"You, people of Val Calais. You've entered what you know to be the sting and filth of your kingdom above. This, is my kingdom, and I am it's king. I'll forgive you this once for not bowing. I am Azazel." A whisper began throughout the crowd. The name Azazel was an echo that prophesied dark omens. Some backed away to avoid harm while some, the promising ones, drew closer in interest or maybe even admiration. "You stand in the empire that is Clandestine. My agent asked of you to come here for a new life, and you came of your own free will, be it curiosity or the chance of prosperity, yeah? I can tell you now, here, you will find a place with more freedom than anywhere above ground. This is the home of the rebellious, your home. Do your part here, and you will live as well off as the fat and greedy nobles that plague the land above. How about it then? You came here to serve a greater kingdom, yeah? I give it to you. Will you take it? There was a moment of quiet, before Deacon like a ghost rose from the crowd. "For Lord Azazel! For Lord Azazel!" Like a rallying cry, the crowd followed Deacon's lead, until the whole group was cheering his name. "For lord Azazel!" Azazel grinned at their work. Above ground Azazel might have been known as many things, a deceiver, a murderer, and a deal maker. But here, he felt he made up for that. Under the orders of forming a spy network, Azazel had made himself a kingdom that he protected and aided in prospering. For all his sins, he had made something he could call 'good' in this world. "You have made your choice. You are the people of Clandestine now. Master Sojourn will escort you deeper into the city. I expect to see all of you doing your part for your new home." Azazel fell back into his throne. Politics bored him, but there was something exhilarating in rallying more to his cause. Maybe it was because none opposed him to even create political problems.





"Once again, you manage to amaze me Azazel. You've kept your place in this game well." Deacon appeared by his side, the two watching as Sojourn herded the excited group further into their underground citadel. "None of it would be possible without Sojourn and yourself. I simply make my name heard above ground and use my name to protect Clandestine." "Actions none here could preform." Azazel chuckled. Deacon shifted slightly. Was his laugh really all that ominous? "Go, find me the one's we can use for bolstering our network." Deacon nodded and proceeded down a different hall. He turned back to Azazel before continuing on his way. "You almost look like you deserve to sit upon a throne Azazel. I should have a crown fashioned in your name." Azazel opened his mouth to argue but Deacon simply disappeared further into the city. Azazel forced down a smile. Azazel slouched in his seat, closing his eyes. For the longest time he had no home to truly call his own. Clandestine was the result of striving for one. The Silver Tongued Sinner had done some good in this world. That was enough for him.

 

[Yennefer]

"Look Mary!" Irisviel beckoned.


It was the tenth time she pointed at a golden statue, and for some unknown reason, she grew brighter with each discovery. She pointed at another one as the pair, along with their cohorts, exited the meeting hall that stood in the city of Imperia. Mara Sov was the last of the province leaders to leave. Unlike the rest, she was in no haste to crawl back into her home and plan for war. What she was planning to do instead, was to survey the land she knew will someday fall into ruin. "Hmmm..." She replied back, paying no heed to her younger sister who gleamed as bright as the sun every time she came upon some marvel foreign to her. Irisviel turned around, a slight frown on her gentle face as she eyed her sister with disappointment. "You're not paying attention Marian..." She scolded using her sisters real name, finally breaking her from her reverie. Mara glared teasingly at her sister then smiled mockingly. "I stopped paying ages ago, Iré." The smiling woman replied as she moved past her disgruntled little sister. "If I continue to pay anymore of my attention, the city might grow fat and large with their new peculiar form of currency." Irisviel rolled her eyes and snickered as well as the guards that circled around them. She skipped nearer towards her sister then replied. "Well aren't they blessed with such a generous donation from thee Mara Sov. They should make me ambassador for procuring such a generosity from the iron lady." The Northern queen glanced at her younger sister from the corner of her eye, snickering at her little reply. "Touché my little snowflake, Touché." The silvered hair lass then placed her hand near her heart and gasped jokingly as she followed her older sister. "It seems I have lived to see this day... Mara Sov actually paying respect to her opponent in bantering... My, my, my, it seems the world is truly coming to an end. First a civil war and then the Icy queen finally thawing... whats next? A gentlemen asking for my hand in marriage?" The large group chuckled and Irisviel curtsied to show her thanks. "Thank you, thank you!" Mara rolled her eyes teasingly at her younger sister's display and then bit back. "Well, hopefully some courageous chap might just take on such a daring quest. Finally I'll be able to rid myself of an annoying pest once in for all." Irisviel peered back as she stuck her tongue out childishly. "Parish the thought, Mary. You know you'll miss me." The iron queen did not reply but in the corner of her mouth, a hint of a smile tugged. Irisviel giggled, knowing that was the only answer she'll get from her hardened sister.


The group then walked quietly for a short moment, but something in the back of the young girl's mind edged its way to the forefront. "What now Mary...? A war is coming..." The lass questioned, her humor slowly disappearing. Mara ignored her sister once more and looked out yonder at the Imperial Palace. "Look, Iré." She pointed out as she halted in her tracks, prompting others to do the same. Irisviel followed her gaze and then looked back at her sister with a teasing look. "I thought you stopped paying ages ago, Mary." She snickered, mimicking her older sister's voice as her light humor resurfaced. Mara ignored her again and continued on. "The first time I came to the Imperial Palace, I was only eighteen. I was dazzled, just like you, at the rich hangings, the splendid marble columns, and the golden statues that dotted the palatial building... It's all still here, still bright, but I no longer see that same palace." Irisviel crossed her arms as she stared at her sister quizzically. "And how does it answer my question?" She sarcastically replied though sadness clumped itself in her throat. Mara turned her cold gaze and fixed it on her sister. Irisviel jumped slightly but in seconds warmth began to fill Mara's icy stare.


"It is easier on the heart to see gilding... Now..." She paused to look at the golden palace then continued. "Now all I see are the hands rubbed raw to make gold gleam, the tears shed in the night over silk embroidery. Others often overlook them but what happens when war does come? What will happen to these outcasts? Will they still be ignored?"


"Well, I don't kno-"


"They will not. Instead, they will be used as kindle to fuel the growing flame..." Mara tore her gaze from her sister and walked on. "What we will do now is wait. We must survey the battleground and hope that the gods will intervene on the mess their creations have begotten. But at the same time, we must take into account on who will suffer under this war."


"We?" Irisviel questioned, following her sister as she stared at her back. "Of course little sister. Its high time you start playing the Game these southerners adore so much." Irisviel looked down, frightened at the prospect but at the same time excited by the fact that her sister acknowledged her worth. She looked back up as she heard a word she only knew rumors of. "The game? You know how to play it?" She questioned innocently. Mara huffed and a cloud of pride hovered around her. "Oh I know how to play, my little snowflake. The second good thing father actually did for me was to train me in such an abhorrent political tool." Irisviel gawked and blushed, knowing the first good thing that her father did in her older sister's opinion was conceiving her, but she shook her head and asked more. "


"But these southerners... They probably use it so often I pale in comparison to their tenacity..."


"Place your worries elsewhere, Iré. I will teach you everything I know. You will rival even the greatest of their players."


Irisviel blushed. Her sister always had high hopes for her. "How long have you played it?"


From the day I was born. Mara cleared her throat and then answered her sister. "When I came to court, silly girl."


"But aren't you afraid?"


Mara paused to laugh. It was a laugh filled with humor though it was mocking to say the least. "I once turned a woman of fine character into a monstrous power hungry tyrant then, into sniveling buffoon whilst transforming her victim into a saint of some country. Mara Sov is afraid of no one."


Irisviel smiled in agreement. "I can attest to that."


"Surely. Now, let us go home, we have a lot to discuss about. And I long to see my little Dragen." She turned to face her Captain. "We will set sail to Davennor, I will speak to their Duke, and from there-" She turned to face Irisviel. "You will take a carriage along with some men to Coras. If war is surely coming, they will become a battlefield."


"M- me?!"


"Yes you! And stop that look. First lesson of the Game, never appear weak. You will become the mask of the High Marches. If an ounce of weakness is sensed by our enemies emanating from you, they will attack you like a hungry dog. Do not give them that pleasure."


"Of course your highness." Irisviel bowed, knowing her sister was no longer in the mood to jest.


"We will discuss this further in the safety of our ship. Eyes linger in these parts..." She scanned to look around. "Let us depart." Followed by a chorus of "Yes M'lady", the group went off to the docks.

 

[Oberons Veil]

The Ascendant

Several weeks had passed and the tension throughout the capital could be felt if not seen. Those wealthy enough to depart to country estates or to the courts of other noble lords did so. Those who were unfortunate remained in the city, biding their time as they all knew the walls would eventually be besieged thanks to the Regent's failure to prevent the grumblings of civil war from spreading. Yes, the city was loyal to the young Emperor Ascendant, but not necessarily to his Regent. He was cold, calculating and to the people's knowledge, more than willing to sacrifice them if it meant retaining or gaining power. They were but pawns in his grand scheme and the citizens of Imperia knew this.

The walls of the city were being updated with some new towers and some additional wall defenses to help should the city find itself besieged. The First and Second Legions were being recalled to their fortresses close to Imperia rather than on the borders of the Heartlands. This had angered a couple nobles who counted on the First and Second Legions for the commerce in their towns and for extra security, but they were quelled when they were given compensation.

Food supplies and that of war material were being stockpiled in the second of the four tiers of the city. The massive workshops of the Capital were churning out the weapons of war necessary to defend the city and take the battle to an enemy's keep. The sea gate was being closed at sun down to prevent enemies from easily slipping in aboard vessels at night and then wreaking havoc throughout the city.

Caden walked from his home upon the Castarian Hill to the Judicium near the central forum. The streets were packed with citizens most of whom were scurring about their days as if nothing was wrong, as if the dark clouds of civil war weren't ever present on the horizon. It was interesting how one of such a simple birth had risen so quickly through the ranks of the Imperial hierarchy, as of by the will of the Divines, Caden was to watch over these people, be their protector when their actual titled one was too young to do so.

The young man recalled how three weeks prior he had exited the conference hall and noted how two women surrounded by guards had talked, laughed and chided one another, he had recognized them from the meeting as the High Queen of the High Marches and her sister. A formidable pair, though their province was usually neutral if not opportunistic. They would be watched closely by agents of the Imperium for some time, likely until they returned to their home but the spies had been ordered to keep their distance, not to remain unseen but more to just stay out of their way.

Finally Caden rounded the corner of one of the many white stone buildings that adorned the city. The bulk of the buildings were carved from the stone upon which Imperia once sat, large structures, apartments and other houses all carved out of one single mountain. It gave a uniformity rarely found elsewhere in the Imperium, and it gave a strangely warm and inviting feeling among the lower quarters. Graffiti was not uncommon in this area of the city, though it was usually comical or political in nature, so the city watch rarely dealt with it unless citizens complained enough about it. Coming into view was the largest temple in Imperia, the Temple of the Lady of Light, a temple to Aurea.

A large golden statue stood upon the steps to the structure, the statue being nearly two and a half stories in height while the Temple was easily four. It was a typical temple in terms of architecture, with columns, carved reliefs, mosaics and other decorative designs inlaid during construction. It was a testament to the Goddess herself, though it served as a place of rest. Inside the atrium stood a very large brazier in which the Eternal Light of Aurea burned at all times. It was said that should the flame go out, the entirety of the Imperium would be shaken to the core, and never had the flame been snuffed in living memory.

"Good evening Your Grace," a woman said as she bowed to him, instinctively he returned the bow before continuing on into the chambers of the Temple, making his way to some stairs and then down for what seemed like ten minutes until he came to a deep underground section of the temple. He continued down some more hallways and a couple more flights of steps before coming to a pair of very large and very ornate stone carved doors that had nearly a dozen Inquisitorial Guardsmen stationed outside them, all of whom snapped to attention when he approached, the doors made a dull noise as they were opened for him and then shut once he was inside.

The large chamber carved from the stone but appeared to have been built above ground, the room was lit with several torches, a chandelier and several small braziers all adding to the warm glow that engulfed the room and seemed to put the mind at ease. A very large stone table sat in the center of the room, it was circular and had carvings all around it, decorative symbols adorned it, drawing the eyes away from the center towards each of the dozen or so chairs that sat around it. All of stone as well with pillows on them to make sitting more comfortable for those with less padded clothing.

Around the table sat figures of varying stature. All dignified and all were here for a simple reason, prevent the Civil War by any means necessary. In myth this body was called the Shadow Council which typically held high ranking officials from all areas of expertise throughout the Imperium. Not all were directly under the employ of the Imperial Court and not all were necessarily the most loyal to the throne or otherwise. The Shadow Council opperated on a single creed, "To keep the peace of the Gods." So it was no secret that they were all believers and believed that it was the will of the Gods to avoid wars, and other matters of grave importance throughout history that threatened to destroy what those above had created.

"Apologies for being late," Caden said bowing to the group before taking his seat. At the head of his seat and etched into the back of the seat as well were crossed daggers for he was simply known as Shadow Blade here. They each had a nickname for their position so as to hopefully keep their true identities shrouded. They also wore robes all light colors to help hide their identity further, Caden's was a light grey. The others simply nodded their heads slightly in recognition of his apologies and the person wearing an all black robe, that of the Master of the Council, stood and looked out to the others. Inside the hoods were thin veils to only further hide their faces.

"The Summit failed three weeks ago, war looms." The voice said, "The Regent is a threat to the stability of the Imperium." She added to grunts and nods of agreement from around the table. It was abundantly clear to Caden where this was going, and of course it was his job, his head that the result of their decision today would be upon. "He must be eliminated, Blade" She said turning her figure to where Caden sat. "Deal with him," She said her voice cold and distant. This was not a request, not a inquiry as to whether he could or could not handle this assignment, this was a demand, an ultimatum on his life that if he failed he would be killed by the Shadow Council and if he succeeded and was found out to have been a part of the scheme he would be killed by the successor Regent so it would be a bitter sweet victory or a terrible defeat.

"Yes Master of Shadows," He said politely and with great humility as he bowed his head to her. She took her seat again and the Council fell silent as everyone pondered what would happen if Blade were to fail and be discovered, or even should he be lucky enough to succeed. Now as Master of Whispers for the Imperium he had the fortune of having a vast network of spies and assassins at his disposal, which without a doubt was why the Council Master had given this to him above the others. The silence continued for some time, only interrupted by the occasional crackle from one of the torches or braziers.

"Adjourned," The Master said, her voice commanding all present to leave at once and not linger. They had business to attend too. Caden would be briefed later by the Master's personal page as to what had transpired prior to his arrival though he would be chided at some point for not being prompt, to which he would simply state that he was attending to his station's duties. As far as outsiders were concerned this was just a group of the devout offering prayers to the Goddess Aurea at her most holy temple. A fine cover as the Faith was above question throughout the Imperium from the cold peaks of the Northern Mountains to the sweeping dunes of the Great Southern Desert.

Caden departed the Temple and made his way back to his offices where he began pouring over reports from around the Imperium and other matters of state that had come to his desk. It was going to be a long night.


The Gilded Queen

Hyperia watched from the steps of the Assembly Hall, as the various Dukes and Duchesses of her Kingdom made their way to her from the various corners of Valais. It was always deeply satisfying to the young queen when these men and women of influence came at her beck and call as they were her vassals and she their overlord. Sure, she wasn't on the best terms with all of them but fortunately for her they all knew their place, unlike some nobles throughout the Imperium. It had been nearly six days since she had arrived back from Imperia and sent out the missives requesting the presence of her nobility for an extraordinary conference on the matters of the Imperium that were surely on everyone's collective conscience.

Fortunately for the Ducal vassals, she had told Azazel to not be in the capital proper but either in his Clandestine or somewhere else dealing with the matters she had instructed him on. He was loyal to her, well maybe not entirely to her, but he was efficient at what he did so she gave him a very long leash. Yes, if she wanted to reign him in she had the wealth, the influence the power needed to attempt such a fate, but it would cost her more than it would be worth, so she let her Master of Whispers deal his own deck and share with her what was necessary. She tried to provide him with what he requested, making sure that Valais would be some semblance of home for him.

They made their way into the Assembly Hall and sat at the long dark oak wood table that had carvings of leaf patters around the outside edges leaving the majority to be plain without decoration save for the natural look of the wood. Once those who had arrived had all been greeted by their Queen she motioned for them to sit and she took her seat at the head of the table atop a slightly more ornate chair.

"Welcome to Val Calais," She said her voice even and calm. "It is a pleasure to see you all again and we have only a couple matters to discuss." Hyperia said looking at those before her and wondering if any would give her trouble for what she was about to announce. It was clear in the past that some of the nobles of Valais had a dislike for her father and she wondered how deeply those dislikes ran for her. Tension wasn't really present but that would change, though the matters at hand were of great importance and it was imperative that Valais stay united in the troubled times ahead. "The first being that the Conference in Imperial failed, those wishing to depose the regent walked out." She said much to the sighs of the Dukes and Duchesses. It had honestly been expected that the faction wishing to remove the Regent would stage such a high profile boycott in Imperia. It only added to the weakening of the Regent's authority as it was so very public. "I have called up the Legions by our Legate-Marshal to stand ready to meet any threats that may arise." She said and a look of relief spread through the room. She took a few breaths and looked from one of her vassals to next, nodding a few who she regarded as friends and respectfully held the gaze of those she regarded as friendly rivals.

"And the second matter your majesty?" The voice was strong, the man it belonged too was aged well past his prime but his stature was not that of an elderly man but that of someone thirty years his junior. His white hair, and piercing blue eyes only added to his broad shouldered appearance that gave him much of an advantage against lesser people. He was the Duke of Valmontagne, the Duchy which directly bordered Astanor and stood high in the Guardian Mountains, aptly named as there stood the ever vigilant Western Watch, which was sworn to alert Valmontagne of any threat from the west and thus warn all of Valais. His position was one of prominence and of great respect for the years of service he and his Duchy had guarded the province.

Hyperia looked at Duke Valmontagne and smiled respectfully, "The second will be that I am departing for Lyrias to discuss some matters of importance with their ruler, and I am dispatching my cousin Atlas north to find us some similarly minded states as well." She said folding her hands on the table and waiting for responses from those present.

@Akyrah @Ahzek Ahriman @Reddrection
​

 

[Jabroni]

The Duke of Davennor


Three weeks passed since the delegations at the Imperial City; why they were called delegations he did not know, for there was little talk and much theatrics. He rolled the gold coin between his fingers, admiring the glimmer as it touched daylight. Fifty fifty, he thought to himself. Those were the odds of civil war.


Artamo could feel the blood rushing through his veins. How could those with everything want more? They had their little fiefdoms, their towns and castle walls, yet the thought of a regent - not even a king in the purest sense of the word - was too much for these detractors.


His mind wandered and as it did, the coin flopped against the stained wood. Tails. The Eagle seal shown brightly from the sun's rays. Artamo was not a particularly pious man, but most commoners considered that a sign...a sign of Aurea's favor toward the Imperium and all it's might.


"I'll show you a sign," he muttered to himself. He knew what he would do. He would continue conscription through to the new year, and those of strategic importance required contact including Callidus, Val Calais, and the High Marches among others.


A knocking began at the door to the atrium. "Yesss!" he exhaled with full volume. "My lord, I bear news for your ears only," replied a stern and confident voice. "By the mists of Avinter, come in then if you must." Artamos' patience was wearing thin. He instructed the household not to disturb him today.


A Remalian guardsman, so named after the late duke, entered the airy circular marble room. They made capable soldiers, composing the core of Danthiva's veteran cohorts. He bowed humbly before presenting a sealed scroll. The Duke of Davennor stripped it out of the soldier's hands, reading the stamp. The High Marches.


"Mara Sov, Queen of the North..." he laughed on the inside. I suppose she forgot about the half dozen other kingdoms mulling about. Still, the High Marches commanded the word of many companies, and perhaps entire legions. He could not joke about that. "Why was I not informed sooner?"


"Your Grace requested not to be dist-" the guard began before being cut off. "Disturbed, I know. Very well, inform Master Vitelus to make the necessary arrangements for her party's arrival." He bowed once again before departing to the steward's quarters with due haste.


@Nateorious

 

[Yennefer]

The scent of sea salt permeated the air as the ornate ship anchored itself in the docks of the capitol city of Danthiva. The two ladies departed their vassal with an atmosphere so cool, that the ocean winds, in response, danced around them in submission. They were surrounded with an army of guards, donned with the traditional attire of the High Marcher cavalry, as the group strode towards the carriages in unison. The everyday citizens of Davennor gawked at the sight of the iron lady and her younger sister. It was clear that the pair were not natives to the land, but instead, were important figures of some distant province. They held an aura of importance, an aura of power and intimidation that contained hints of perpetuating fear that distinguished them from such, especially the infamous Queen of the North. Her face said it all, her stoic countenance as she peered at the city with caution and vigilance. She was there only for one thing, and that was to see how far the reagent's influence stretched. She knew little of the man who ruled these parts and cared somewhat for the role he played in the grand scheme of life. Coming into the meeting, she only knew who they flew their flag for, the Crown. She was curios to say the least, on what action they would take. Whispers through the grape vine say they would support the Reagent, loyalists to the core, but however naive, if true. Hopefully Mara could convince them otherwise, or lest she would add another enemy to her list.


As the carriage made its way through the bustling heart of the capital city, Mara Sov grew more apprehensive on what was to come. Not at the prospects of meeting the Duke, but the idea of an actual civil war. She knew deep in her heart that her province would be thrusted into action. She had the forces, she had the connections, loyalists and rebels would vie for her allegiance for she and her armies would surely be a great asset for either of them. She knew of this. If she could play her cards right then-


"Mary, we're here." Irisviel whispered softly, tugging at the golden seams of her older sister. The Northern Queen, stared back at her smiling companion then at the open door that prompted for her to exit the golden shaped faberge carriage. Her thoughts ran rampart again, taking over her since she barely noticed that they arrived at the home of the Duke. "Hmmm... You're right." She replied. She stepped out as she scanned her surroundings. A disgruntled look here and there as she confirmed the rumors for herself. "The tips of a greedy kingdom is always withered and worn, but yet the house of its ruler, always adorned with golden paint." She whispered to herself. She had heard of the Duke's recent activities as of late. Though the capital was quite a city to behold, the outskirts of his province might be said otherwise. It was whispered he had overlooked the impoverished state of his little kingdom, though done purposefully, she knew not. The pair however ignored this and continued to meet with the Duke.


"I might be going crazy, but I think I just saw a wolf... and a leopard." Irisviel whispered towards her sister. Mara ignored this and waited to be greeted.





@Jabroni

 

[General Deth Glitch]

The Jarls of Callidum

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They came in, slowly but surely, their daily lives of doing what they would had to be interrupted, words akin to "This better be important" were on many lips. While this did indeed retract from their day and halt their plans, they were not sour, they were annoyed but not at anyone or anything, so they drank a little and talked a lot. The fire burning brightly and the.. well.. servants would not be an appropriate term, for they were not bound to their 'masters' like servants would be and were paid and treated well because of their choice to work as 'servants' to their Jarls, however we shall use the term, the servants were keeping food readily available and glasses filled. Now it should be noted that not all Jarls were wealthy, and wealth was not the gateway to becoming a Jarl, to become a Jarl of Callidus you must prove your strength and loyalty and, above all else, own land in the name of the High King. Some Jarls had no wealth to their name, but they still had a name, indeed some hold land that is utterly worthless but they hold it and the protect it and they fight more fierce then dogs to protect it. However Jarls do not judge one another by wealth, they judge by strength and skill, In callidus you will here non of the Vale's nonsence about strong pens, the sword is mightier then any pen, no its often the tongues you have to watch out for, they can stab you in the back and watch you die for a year before you even feel the pain. Most Jarls relied on Strength to maintain their position and only a few made use of their tongues as political tools. So when their High King walked in it was their swords they raised in respect and their tongues they hid from view, to be used respectfully later, no doubt.


"Jarls of the realm, I call you here and meet with you to bring news of great importance, I fear we cannot harry and wait for our more distant bretherin to heed the call and ride to Callidum to meet with us, though they have been informed, I sent word of this news with trusted soldiers with the rising of the sun. It is with a heavy heart that I ask you to look to the borders" He said, slowly walking around the large stone table that dominated the room, making his way to the three foot wide gap that was at the far end, so that speakers could stand in the center of the table (and the fire could be tended) "I ask you to look to our borders, not just with Maridus, Terys Pythia and the like, but with Vintervinden and Verentide. No doubt the news I am about to share with you shall reach them as it has reached the other Kings and Queens of the Imperium, when it does, as the rest of the lands distract themselves with their petty dispute, it shall be to us whom the nations borders are held. What I am to tell you should come as no suprise." This brought forth murmurings, this was what made the Jarls near certain he was talking about the growing tensions and likely start of Civil War "My loyal Jarls, Brothers! The Imperium is soon to be at war, not with the Arakesh Geshkhanate, nor Hallan, it is to be at war with itself." The assembled men, mostly Jarls but some had brought their sons or, in some cases, daughters, burst into a ruckus, voicing their opinions as loudly as they could to the nearest living thing, even if that was another houses servant. "I know opinions run strong among you, many here wanting to dispose of the Regent, more of you wanting to defend the Eagle Throne and rise to its aid, repay its kindness. BUT I SAY THIS!" He roared the last part, ensuring anyone left gossiping would desist "How can we support this regent? A man filled with his own greed with no care for his people however, we dont know what could come of rebellion, who ever dethrones this dictator could prove yet worse, perhaps dragging the Imperium into a greater power-struggle then we have ever seen, for I KNOW that should a man sit on that throne and claim the role of my sovereign, with no loyalty, respect or claim to the throne, then I would ride to dissect him myself. No doubt others would too, How could the Imperium survive if all of Provinces made a bid for the Throne? If they all claimed the title of Emperor? Well we would surely all fall to our neighbors until we are nothing but the legends of a once great nation." He sat, he was done, they would argue and fight, perhaps some challanges would even be issued and new Jarls might make way for new ones. But Valiorus knew that in the end, all would stay the same and all would side with him, be it with the Throne or against it. He smiled to a servant and she handed him a refreshing drink that warmed him from the inside as he let his mind wander, the serving girl was attractive.. perhaps he would have some fun tonight, should the young maiden let him, but then he thought about sleep and, that sounded like a much more interesting proposal, especially if he knew how busy the capital was about to become.

 

[Ahzek Ahriman]

Duke Jean-Luc


It'd been simple at first, he'd traveled to the capital to meet with Her Majesty for approval of his new irrigation canal which he'd been relatively sure she'd do so out of hand after reviewing his work and the prices for said works. What he'd not expected from the normally peaceful travel to the capital upon the winding lovely roads of the Valais was to be greeted by a rider from the capital with a letter from Her Majesty summoning him to the capital to attend a rather important meeting of the dukes of the land, at-least that's what he'd assumed from how she worded her summons letter.


At a now quicker pace Jean-Luc made his way within his carriage mulling over what could possibly be the cause of such an out of the blue summons of the nobility of the realm. The only real reasoning behind it is either a royal tragedy or word on the current state of the Imperial Court, something he was quite happy to not have to deal with like Her Majesty. He could never imagine having to deal with such stuffy treacherous old men as the member of the Imperial Council, at-least that's what he thought of them of course Jean-Luc couldn't say for sure they were some old stuffy men in the capital, they could be wonderful people sure he mused. But all the same, that ridiculous game politics was not for him, he was a simple man, no need for the hustle and bustle of the cress game currently running them like a herd of stampeding cattle towards a cliff.


Jean-Luc was jerked out of his musing by the sudden stopping of the carriage, hearing his men up upon the riders seat shouting about something Jean-Luc popped his head out of the small window of the carriage, glancing to see, ironically enough, a small herd of about forty or so cattle being herded across the highway by a very flustered looking elderly gentleman, waving his walking stick and hat at the cattle trying to drive them on with two other herd hands. Jean-Luc quickly tugged his head back inside and put on his hat and stepped out of the carriage, his bodyguard looking down from the top of the carriage rider position and speaking gruffly "Terribly sorry Your Grace, but it looks like some subjects just can't raise a damn fence to keep their herds off the highway." Jean-Luc sighs, raising his hand and walking up next to the left horse patting his neck and calling out to the elderly man "Sir, it appears that you've lost control of your herds, may I be of any assistance to you with myself and my men?" The elderly man simply waved his hat at him, obviously not taking the time to bother to look at whom he was speaking too in his attempt to gather his cattle to some form of marching order to lead them back to whatever pasture they came from, speaking up in a old horse voice "No, I don't need any help! It's bad enough that this happens to me! I'd not want to have some charity from some highway goers!" For the first time he bothered to glance over and look at him, suddenly doing a double take and looking at him, mouth agape before bowing and stuttering out. "Y-your Grace! Forgive me for my insolent and disrespectful tone! M-my cattle broke through one of the weaker spots in my pasture fenc-" He'd stop after glancing up to see Jean-Luc's hand held up and a slight smile on his face as he says calmly "Though disrespectful indeed dear man, I can understand your anger at this....Turn of events with your cattle, have no fear simply get your cattle off the road and we will put any disrespect behind us and chalk it up to your current situation." The older man bowed a few times, repeating "Thank you sir, thank you so much!" Making Jean-Luc smile warmer now as he returned to the carriage to and wait the short fifteen minutes while the rest of the cattle were moved across the road and they were able to continue upon their way.


Finally without any more hold ups they made it to the capital of Valais and stood before it, finally making their way down to the gates and entering the great city, quickly making their way up to the inn he normally frequented when entering the city. After a few days of relaxation within the city waiting for the rest of the dukes and duchesses of the other ducal lands to arrive he finally made his way up towards the Assembly Hall, entering he still was the first within the hall and bowed to Her Majesty, smiling warmly at her as she greeted him and standing with her while waiting for the other dukes and duchesses to enter, broaching to her during that time about the new irrigation canal he planned to build, and that if she wished he'd be able to give her the information on the matter at a less formal time. in about ten minutes the various dukes and duchesses of the lands had all been greeted by Her Majesty and were offered to sit, waiting for Her Majesty to sit he then took his seat, watching Her Majesty speak, and what she said sent chills down his spine. Jean-Luc glanced around at the others sighing and shook his head remaining silent as His Grace, the Duke of Valmontagne spoke up, awaiting the response of Her Majesty and again nodding his head, speaking up at last in his normal quiet, clipped and gentlemanly tone "On the first issue, I find it quite deplorable that these folks would do such a thing, I fear that there might be little time to try and talk this out, much less if the sides of this matter refuse to hold a steady peaceful debate of ideas. I fully agree that the Legate-Marshal should be ready, I will be fully willing to commit the raising of any troops and or funds you require Your Majesty." He then fell silent, waiting quietly for the rest of the Dukes and Duchesses to speak their piece.

 

[Reddrection]

Sojourn


Servant of the Devil God
​

Sojourn shuffled towards one of the many cisterns Clandestine used as outer entry points or simply just to breath surface air. The population below was beginning to mass. The Master's plan that began nearly a year ago was beginning to bear fruit. The "city in the shadows" was becoming a useful force. A railroad for the rebellious. A force that truly was honored to be protected by their patron, their Lord Azazel. The Master was truly a gift by whatever gods controlled this existence. A herald... no... a champion of their will. Ending the lives of both the weak and useless, as well as the great and mighty that stand in his way. Surely there was no better to grace them with his talent and ingenuity. Any who would say so otherwise mutter utter nonsense to deter the Lord Azazel. Such petty squabble would only ensure death by the Master's hand. If they were so lucky.

​

As Sojourn came to entrance to the cistern, warm air pouring in from the rain wells, he hastily fixed his robes and retrieving the message and a bundle of pouches from his belt. Deacon paced about the perimeter of the room, awaiting the old man. Deacon's dark eyes scanned for anything of threat. The Master was as to be expected wise in his decision to use Deacon for the tasks too menial for his attention. Deacon was deserving of remaining alive. "Ah Deacon, so pleased to see you are prepared for the Master's task! He speaks highly of your..." "Sojourn. You have what I need?" "Ah, yes Deacon. Here you are. Lord Azazel made great assurance to see that I got this to you. I am honored by his trust in me..." "Good. I shall do as our leader demands of me." Deacon grabbed the message and pouch out of Sojourn's shaky grasp. He attached them to his bandoleer and nodded. "Yes, well, I shall inform the Master that you have departed. He will be most please..." Sojourn turned for only a moment, and already Deacon had disappeared. The elderly man huffed, not our of annoyance but rather approval. Sojourn turned to return to Lord Azazel's quarters. Deacon would preform his task to it's fullest. Why else would the Master assign him to it? His cunning far surpassed any other that participated in his game. He always knew where to place his pieces, where he should strike, and where to sacrifice his pawns. Lord Azazel, would of course be a victor when the board would undoubtedly be plagued by war and conflict. Lord Azazel would take his throne built out of the bones and rubble of the world set ablaze. Lambs for the slaughter, all of them. The Master would be their butcher.

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{~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}

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Deacon


Iron Glory


Deacon dashed from rooftop to rooftop. He would have taken a more subtle rout through the bowels of the city if he wasn't ordered to take a different approach. Master Azazel might have been asked to remain distant but that order had no meaning to Deacon. He was ordered to deliver Azazel's message to all present in the Assembly Hall, as well as a specific one to Lady Hyperia. The bitch... Why Master Azazel took orders from someone as lowly as the rest of the 'noble' scum that polluted the streets of an otherwise decent nation eluded him. Still, he always had his plans, his reasons. There was some higher purpose to the deal he struck with the queen. Be it for his entertainment, or otherwise. Deacon eagerly awaited the time when her usefulness was expended and Master Azazel would end her annoying existence, as well as all the other powers that robbed him of control in this world.


As he neared the Assembly Hall, he prepared Master's Azazel's massages, tying each to the hilt of rather decorative throwing blades. The reasoning behind giving them more to add to their greedy hoards was missed by Deacon. He spit on the one he stabbed into Lady Hyperia's message. Deacon entered the assembly hall through one of the higher windows, making his way until he was above the conversing group. He listened carefully to what was being said, occasionally jotting down matters of importance. Should this go as planned, Azazel should know most everything he'd need to in order to dismiss agents accordingly. Deacon tied the messages to a release above each seated member. As soon as the council ended, he'd cut the main tie and deliver them all. Deacon made sure to tie Lady Hyperia's closer to where a hand, or if he had is way, her head. He had no intent of killing her, merely showing his personal distaste. Rather passive aggressive for his usual display, but she was more than deserving of such treatment.


Deacon had no love for these supposedly 'higher ups' in their hierarchy. None the less, he would preform his master's will without fail. These worthless worms would receive Azazel's message, as tasked of him. Deacon waited for their conversation to end before dropping the messages. As soon as his task was done, he made sure that Hyperia knew it was him and not Master Azazel, so he should not receive her wrath. before retreating back to the rooftops, and back to Clandestine.



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@Maven

@Ahzek Ahriman


Respond accordingly after the conversation in the Assembly Hall concludes


Message to the Dukes/Duchesses, as well as a blood red ruby shaped into a crude cross

Clandestine Watches Over You

Message to the Queen Hyperia

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Lady Hyperia,​

Master Azazel would like your confirmation on his current targets, as per your request.


The High Marches, Astanor, Caridas, and Roven.


He will begin his investigations as soon as you respond with confirmation, as well as dispatch agents to the rest of the south. Please direct and and all anger towards Sojourn.


~The Iron Glory
​

​

 

[Oberons Veil]

The uproar was immediate and predictable as the daggers landed on the table, each of the various Dukes and Duchesses letting out various noises. The Duchess Avaline Tessier of the Dark Coast let out a wail of a screech as she careened in her chair falling over as the dagger smashed into the table. Hyperia and some of the other Lords and Ladies had to hide their pleasure at the sight of one of their own being made a fool of. However, once that moment was over and the notes, read outrage became vocal. "Something must be done about these vagrants!" Shouted one of the Dukes. "Immediately" came the voice of another Duchess.

Hyperia frowned as she had very clear distaste for her own nobility. They were stuffy and lived in their palaces, enjoying their stations while their people toiled and died to serve them. However as much as Hyperia wished the daggers had struck home rather than landing on the table as was no doubt the plan, she had little overall choice in the matter. Complaints from the city watch, the Royal Guard, the Imperial Ambassador, and many other figures of prominence and common person alike had been demanding that the Queen eliminate this City of Shadows.

Thus far she had avoided doing so simply because it was Azazel's project and he was a man she preferred not to trifle with. He could rather easily kill her, and those dear to her. For someone of his caliber he likely had made plans of such things long before this time, but the time to eliminate his project had come as her authority was being shredded by the mere existence of Clandestine and now this which was no doubt meant to soothe her mind and that of the nobility had been taken as an insult and if she didn't act against the City of Shadows she may find herself in the middle of her very own civil war.

As she stood there contemplating what to do, she frowned and bid her farewell to the flustered nobles. They would be escorted out of the city and back to their Holds for the time being as the nation prepared itself for defense. Hyperia made her way a man clad in uniform, his iron armor shining in the light of the day and he turned saluting her with his arm crossed over his chest, horizontally parallel to his body. "Gather The Watch, meet here in two hours time." She said looking at him with an iron glare that spoke of her anger. He bowed and departed.

Hyperia passed the time by looking over some additional irrigation canals the Duke of Anterrie had submitted her upon his arrival. They were good plans and those which fortunately Valais could afford. She signed it and stamped it with her seal sending a courier to find the Duke and deliver his notes back to him so he could begin whenever he saw fit.

The time came and the Watch assembled, they waited for a very brief time before the Queen stood in front of them. "We go to Clandestine!" She roared, her anger returning as she marched at the head of the group. If the people below in the City of Shadows had any semblance of loyalty they would likely attempt to kill her and the Watch, Hyperia was counting on Azazel having a reign on them. If he didn't things could easily... get out of hand. She heard murmors throughout the Watch but they were silenced when the Legate-Marshal and a group of Legionnaires formed up around the Queen and the proceeded to one of the entries into the Under City that Hyperia knew of.

It was dark and torches were fashioned, several soldiers stepped in front of Hyperia and she knew there was a good chance she would lose men, and a really good chance she would be killed. Hopefully that wouldn't happen and this entire situation could be dealt with swiftly. She turned and faced the Legate-Marshal, "Bring the Legion into the city, seal off the upper ward and hold it at all costs. If I am not back by the morning assume the worst and take command." Hyperia said looking at her friend. The two shared a moment before the Queen escorted by the Legionnaires and followed by the Watch proceeded down the tunnel and into the dark abyss that would lead to Clandestine. The Queen was furious and her nobles more so. This had to be dealt with and she was not prepared to order others to do what she herself would not. Clandestine's reckoning was upon the scrolls of fate.

@Ahzek Ahriman @Reddrection
​

 

[MarkNorbert]

The sun was shining bright upon the big, clear, blue sky over the city of Nerevine in the Filis disputed lands. For the past few years, the Imperium has been struggling on securing and annexing the land within the Imperium. It is a formidable challenge, but rather rewarding as well. Or so, the young general Belisarius believes. And hopes. That his service and struggles will be rewarded, after being tossed into these lands after a mistake he has made when he was but a hopeless romantic. A mistake that has nearly cost his military career, or worse, his own life. But, to his enjoyable surprise, he has managed rather well within the Fifteenth Legion, rising throughout the ranks quick and rewarding. He stands now as a general, a young one at that matter. His body is covered in the trophies of war and the filth of the enemy, his experience has harden him and made him the man he is today. No longer a small, barely noticed, unimportant legionnaire, but a general. An important general? That would be a subject to be discussed from a vast range of point of views.


The young man stormed the halls of the palace of Nerevine, rushing from one hallway towards the other, constantly attempting to avoid the man who has been following him ever since the morning. It was one of his father's messengers, the fifth he sent this month, to bother his son with petty disputed and politics Belisarius was never interested in, not even from his teenage years. But that did not mean that his father will not attempt to convince his oldest son to play by his cards. From what Belisarius could gather, his father intended on convincing his son to marry a woman, early in her twenties, to form an alliance with a less influential house in the Vale. However, Belisarius's sense of duty and his displeasure to marry on command made it impossible for his father to continue with his plans. Gifts, promises of power and influence did not appease the young man. Instead, it encouraged him to remain where he was, to continue a war that seemed to never end.


'My lord, please allow me to give you the message your fa-' the messenger said, following Belisarius before being interrupted.


'I said no! I have no interest on hearing out anything. Leave me be, this is but a friendly warning, disturb me more and I will have my guards take care of you.' Belisarius exclaimed, standing close to the messenger, pointing his index finger towards him, slightly pointed towards the man's chin. The messenger did not seemed impressed however.


'Hmph. Your fath-' he spoke, but never had the chance to continue. Without hesitation, and with anger in his heart, the man unsheathed his sword and buried it deep into the messenger stomach. The man's shock was heard as he gasped, blood flowing out of his mouth from the corners of his lips. The blood slowly painted the floor in its redness, a dark, unmistakable red. As Belisarius pulled his sword out, the messenger fell down to his knees, followed by more blood touching the ground. He looked into Belisarius's eyes before his soul faded away from its body, falling flat down onto the ground. Grabbing the messenger's clothing, he wiped the blood from his sword before returning it back into the blackness of his sheath. A guard nearby stared at Belisarius, but not with surprised eyes, but with bothered ones, as he knew what would happen next. And assuming correctly, Belisarius turned towards the guard and told him to dispose of the body and take care of the blood.


Belisarius left the palace and walked towards the barracks, followed by some guards. On the palace's stairs waited a young man, late in his twenties. He was nearly as tall as Beliarius, with deep brown hair and hazel eyes, with a long, thin scar covering his left cheek, left eye and left side of his forehead. He was dressed in an Imperial uniform, almost similar to Belisarius's. It was his Deputy General. And his friend. Marcus. With a nod from both men and an embrace, the two of them bid their good mornings to each other and walked together.


'News reached to us, Belisarius.' Marcus spoke, breaking the temporary silence between the two lads.


'What kind of news?' he asked, stopping for a moment, staring at his friend.


'Bandit raids. Everywhere. Nothing new. Now they are asking us to increase the defenses since they do not feel safe anymore. The enemy hasn't made any moves lately either. They are struggling with bandits as well. However, the news are that we found a small bandit camp not far away from a recent raid. Perhaps we could gain some information from there.' Marcus explained, crossing his arms around his chest.


'Good. We'll see to it. As soon as possible.' Belisarius nodded, then continued towards the barracks.

 

[Jabroni]

The Duke of Davennor


The Queen's arrival caused quite a stir amidst the Temple District. High society types made way for her entourage, lest they be stampeded by a sea of hooves and ironclad protectors. They stood, mouths gaping, at the gilded carriage and its grand procession as it neared the Duke's estate. This was certainly not a social call.


Davennor's wealth was unmistakable, yet its age showed. Years of rain and soot created a dull finish to the structures, and some columns featured wild ivy shimmying down. The estate itself loosely reflected Imperial culture with its sporadic use of light-colored marble and limestone.


About twenty steps separated the entrance and the ground below, and a roaring leopard could be heard off to the side, bellowing at its handlers, and vice versa. The handlers were dark-skinned nomads from the southern reaches of Neermar. Incidentally, they were the only ones who came forward for the job..


Master Vitellus, the household steward, awaited Queen Mara and her sister on the steps. Vitellus served the court for decades, first under Artamo's father Remalio. He was an older man of six and ten; his long, wavy sandy hair creased toward the sides. Complementing his simplistic white cloth with embroidered bands leading down from the shoulders.


"Your Grace," he muttered and bowed solemnly to the Queen and her sister. "We've awaited your arrival with great anticipation. You must be tired so...what with the journey. Please, allow my retinue to unload the baggage train." He clapped twice, sparking a cadre of neatly groomed attendants. He would then usher the duo up the steps.

 

[Yennefer]

Mara Sov gave a small nod towards the man and to those that followed after he had summoned them. Her trust for the group will surely be tested knowing that they would handle her belongings when she is away, though her curt nod was also made towards her men to carefully watch them during the whole process. "Do what you must but we won't stay here for long." She said. "We simply came here to stop by in greeting and to humbly ask for a request." She continued, giving a short glance towards her sister. Irisviel paid no heed towards her sister's subtle gaze for she was entranced yet again by another thing, the leopard's roar that reverberated around the estate. "I wasn't wrong..." She whispered, more so to herself. Mara gave her a quizzical look as a response than shortly fixed her gaze back at the man.


As he led them to whom Mara guessed to be the Duke, the ladies trailed behind from a safe distance as they whispered with one another on what was to come, mainly Irisviel. "You think he will be handsome, Mara? Like a dashing duke from a far away land?" She questioned, laced with sarcasm knowing that her older sister has taken interest in soapy romance novels as of late. "Take your head out of the skies, Iré. We have business to attend to." The iron lady stoically replied though a hint of red was seen but only for a second. "Mhm." Irisviel quipped sing-song like, feigning ignorance at her sisters reaction. "Silence! We are almost there. When this is over, you shall follow the plan accordingly. Do I make myself clear?" Irisviel bowed slightly, and replied "Of course." The two ladies shortly closed their distance between the man, following him in silence.





@Jabroni