Fantasy The Heroes Of Whitespire

[S n o w]

King Abner Of Whitespire​

Queen Cecily Of Whitespire​

 

[S n o w]

Princess Juliana Of Whitespire​

Julianna took a second to look at each of the Heroes in front of her. Katriel The Phantom, Kat The Shifter, Ludmilla The Faithful, Alistair The Vehement, Gabriel The Light, Annelia The Knight-Noble, and finally, her sister, kneeling like a soldier, her head down. She lingered on Illya, but her sister didn't look up. These were the people with too much on their shoulders, the "saviors of Falith", as some had taken to calling them.

Behind her sat King Abner and Queen Cecily on their thrones a few steps above her, watching, but saying nothing. It was up to her to send them off. It was good for them to see her, for her to be the one to talk to them one last time, since she would be their Queen one day. That was if her mother didn't succeed in convincing her father to marry her off. If a prince wasn't born before then, as unlikely as that was. Only those who attended to the Queen knew why they hadn't tried for another child in all these years. She wouldn't survive another child. To her father, a proper heir wasn't worth her life. It was her greatest shame, second only to Illya becoming a Hero.

Julianna took a deep breath, her hands folded in front of her. She had stalled long enough. Having an audience with the King was rare, and he wouldn't sit in silence for much longer if she didn't speak. "Heroes, Falith needs you to save it. The beasts that roam the land, the war with Miricien, they are all nothing in the face of the darkness. The other kingdoms may not see it now, but you are the only hope any of us has of surviving this. Our crests, our beliefs, our weapons," She shook her head.

"We are all people of Falith, and you are the only ones who can make them realize this. We cannot penetrate this darkness with steel, nor do we have any other means of fighting it. This is why you were born. This is why you trained. This is your destiny." She took a step closer. "You are the hope of Whitespire, and the Heroes of Falith. We will be awaiting your return."

Julianna turned away, dismissing them to prepare for the journey ahead. She hoped she inspired them.

Age - 26

Location - Throne Room

marshmarrow Prayforthewickedeveryday CatJones PeanutLemur August _Line 213

 

[_Line 213]

Annelia Lastelle du Lema
The Throne Room
Open for interaction
​

Even in the closed, private meeting, the tension in the room was palpable. And yet, for each within the throne room, the flavor of said tension was as different as they.

For Annelia, head and leg bowed as she knelt before the kingdom's royalty, this tension came in the form of seeing the outside world for the first time. It was a strange state of being; though the castle had been her home, her source of protection and sustenance, those who provided it all to her--the king and queen--felt far and away all the same. Even now, with both sitting before her, along with their heir, the royal family seemed nothing if not alien. The Knight-Noble did all she could to avoid flicking her lone eye up at them, her will compelling her to remain kneeling out of respect, head down in reverence. She would simply have to knit their faces into her memory when they were given leave.

She had many questions, all burnt into her mind for the ages she had waited for this day. And yet, when the time had finally come, she found herself unable to ask them, listening to the crown's heir with as much attention as she could muster, forced into a state of respectful silence. How many of her questions would be answered over the course of the journey itself? What would happen if they were to fail, or never to return?

No, they would return. There was reason to worry about many things, but not that. They were too well trained. Too well managed. They had cultivated skills that the population at large could only dream of. This was merely the first step toward being written into history alongside the many other valorous tales. It was a time that would pass once, never to be relived again. A fleeting period in-between bell tolls that would pass quietly for the rest, but be the marker of a great story for the heroes themselves. Yes, there was her resolve; this was the beginning, and beginnings are not times for worries or questions. They are times of wonder, of expectation, and anticipation.

Relish this moment, Annelia.

The knight maintained her silence for the entity of the heir's brief send-off, rising with smooth, precise control to her feet, flicking her uncovered eye back and forth at those around her, both sizing them up, as well as waiting for one of them to take the lead in terms of leaving the king and queen behind. Then, she looked toward the rulers themselves, the family above all families, eye and mind embedding their appearances as memory. Of the heroes, she was the largest, something which surprised even her; her trainers had said that her entire family was of similar height, tall, willowy, and pale, due to their generations spent in the mountains. As a result of her training, however, she had filled out to a far greater degree than her house-bound family would have ever been able to, whilst her armor created quite the formidable silhouette. Even so, there was something strange about being the tallest among them. She would attract attention, whether warranted or wanted, or not.

No matter. Such is the case for all within the valorous tales. A hero is nothing if not noticeable.

 

[CatJones]

Ludmilla was enraptured by the short speech, unwilling to open her eyes as she bathed in the Princess' words. She had never heard an honest-to-goodness speech from a royal, so this occasion, as dire as it's intention were, was still amazing. Her hands were clasped in front of her chest, the dark blue, almost black, dress ruffled around her thin frame from the position. The tension in the air was thick as smoke, though why the others were anxious was a mystery to her. Her own reason was far simpler, at least as far as she could tell.

Without her armor on, Ludmilla felt smaller then the assembled host. She had chosen to kneel before royal presence, resting on her knees and averting her eyes, as her father had taught her when speaking to a liege lord. Her humble beginnings in life left with her an odd feeling around them, as if she was an outsider in their court. They had never tried to make her feel unwelcome, it was always just a gut feeling. She wasn't a knight or warrior like those assembled around her, and that too made her feel tiny. An ant surrounded by wolves.

There was no denying the importance of the event. It was the end of the proverbial bridge, leading to the vast fields of destiny. Anything that happened next would be the footprints of their journey, to be reflected on for centuries to come. Or possible, none. She shook the thought from her mind, almost literally. She rose once the Princess had finished, her head still hung low, but her eyes scanned those around her, noticing one of the knights in their ill fated squad doing something similar. Another, a knight, was doing something similar, scanning their new bedfellows in this fated journey.

Had they been somewhere else, she would have spoken directly to her. As it stood at the moment, she kept her focus on the royals before them. The only questions she had were the ones that only those in the Afterlife could answer.

 

[Prayforthewickedeveryday]

Kat looked down in respect as she listened to the Royals speak. She admired them so much for their courage and their ability to lead when there was so much trouble in the world. Kat loved Whitespire and it's beautiful landscape, but couldn't wait to go out and see the world.

As Kat listened to the Royals, she made sure to take in every last word, as she knew it would be important. She especially made sure to take in the Princess's words. It would be important to take all of this in so that she would have the knowledge to look back on. Almost as if I'm studying for a test. She thinks, cracking a small smile. The warriors around her were quite intimidating, but Kat was sure they'd all fit together like family after a while.

Open for interaction

 

[August]

Gabriel,
The Throne Room

Lowering himself into an elegant bow, similar to the others to respect the royal presence before him, Gabriel listened to every word of the princess. Keeping up appearances, not a single ounce of fear etched it's way on his face. Slowly he lifted his head, his masked eye glimmering slightly as the crystals reflected off the light in the room. He smiled politely at the older princess, then glanced over at the others with him. Similarly to him, the giant of the group was also noted to be sizing them up and he could wonder what notes she had made of him.
He clasped his hands over his staff, wanting to lean over on it but refraining from doing so in front of the others. After waiting a few seconds in silence after the speech, he figured there was nothing left to be said, and all that that could do was prepare themselves.
"I suppose we should prepare ourselves now?" He addressed the others softly, trying to break the ice as he gave a light wave over his shoulder, already turning to leave. "We can't keep Falith waiting." He wanted to sound bold, so he limited his speech in fear that his true feelings would leak out. He was nervous, incredibly so. This whole thing was a big burden being placed on their shoulders, and only because they all just so happened to be born with powers. Gabriel took a deep breath and began to walk away, whether or not the others followed to prepare themselves wasn't really on his mind. If they followed his leave, great, but what he was really thinking about was the weight that had been placed on their shoulders. Could they really handle it?

​

Interactions: Briefly addressing the group , open for interactions

 

[marshmarrow]

For a covert meeting, there was a steady stream of servants through the great hall, some on honest errands, but most inventing a reason to get a glimpse at the assembled heroes. The hearth was fed its fill of wood, clean tables were wiped clean again, and there was competition to replace torches and refill the King's wine goblet. An old man bashfully swept his way around the edge of the room and back to the kitchen doorway, to where his wife was waiting to quiz him about their meeting. Whatever she wanted to know he must not have been able to answer, because a moment later he and his broom were making their way around the great hall again, this time taking a better look. There were always guards on the outer walls of Whitespire Castle and at the gate, but now the Captain of the Guards himself and three of his knights flanked the inside of the doors of the hall. The kitchen and the base of the stairway was guarded as well, the large, battle-scared, stone-faced men in red tunics covertly observing because, like the old man with his broom, their wives would expect a full report.

Katriel looked around, silently taking in the quiet hum of activity, only half-listening to the Princess's lecture. She glanced up at the huge timbers that braced the roof, at the knights guarding the doorways, and then at the dais across the room, where the royal family dined and the peasants came to stand and seek an audience. Centered between the grand windows hung the Whitespire coat of arms and the standard of Falith, and on the dais was a long table and three elaborately carved wooden chairs, all occupied.

She looked at them for a while, then returned her gaze to the Princess, but her eyes narrowed as they were given their mission. By the time the monologue was over, the strategist within her had already carefully weighed the implications of spending Whitespire's resources on an impenetrable shade than on the very penetrable defenses of Miricen. She kept her doubts hidden, and when dismissed, brushed past the other warriors and pushed open the heavy wooden doors to exit the hall. She wasn't going to waste time with a leisurely chat if she was to gather her belongings, tack her horse, and have time to spare to strop her weapons.

S n o w

 

[PeanutLemur]

Alistair the Vehement
Location: Throne Room | Interactions: S n o w August Prayforthewickedeveryday CatJones _Line 213 ​

That which gives light also endures burning.​

The certainty that lodged itself in Alistair's chest was marrow-deep. His breath, once steady and calm, stuttered upon his lips; his ears, formerly awash with the princess' voice, rang in the silence. Dread - or perhaps anticipation, for such emotions oft came hand in hand - trailed the length of his spine the way a spider trails its silken thread. Destiny had reared its head and tribulation was its name. After this moment, after this instance, there was no turning back. Indeed, it was change that laced the air and tickled his nape - change he could fight no more than the coming dawn or the raging tides. For it mattered little whether he wanted it or not, mattered little whether he was ready or not: Fate had played her hand. The cards were set. Now the future of a land and of hundreds of lives sat within the palms of his - of their - hands.

Alistair kept his head bowed and his hand fisted over his heart as the heroes around him began to stir. The blood in his veins quaked with the knowledge that pervaded his person even as his eyes memorized the grains in the floor beneath his feet. In many ways this was the test he had been yearning for: a chance to put the culmination of years of dedication and a near lifelong push for improvement on the line. Yet, there remained within the male a note of hesitance. Training within the walls of the castle, while viable in helping him grow accustomed to his magic, could not prepare a person for the conflict that lay beyond. Alistair knew this. Such knowledge, however, would not keep him from his duty. Or so he vowed.

Nevertheless, it was the other male's voice and the clamor of the door that pulled Alistair from the spiral of his thoughts. He straightened with a practiced coiling of muscles, back uncurling and legs adjusting even as his mouth pressed thin. When he regained his feet he offered the royal family an inclination of his head, eyes dipping to the floor, before turning to those by his side. There were six heroes left within the room, each favoring silence save one. Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. "Seeing as one of us has already departed," his eyes flickered to the door, "I find no reason to prolong the inevitable." He offered those that remained a dip of his head - "Ladies." - and turned to follow in the steps of those who'd made leave before him.

 

[_Line 213]

Annelia Lastelle du Lema
The Throne Room
Interacting with: marshmarrow
​

Annelia steeled herself. Never had she spoken before the king and queen, and now, it seemed that her only words would be in parting, and not even toward the two rulers and their daughters.

"I concur," she offered in agreement, her voice hushed in order to respect the sanctity of the throne room, yet patently firm all the same. Following a nod toward Alistair, the knight turned to the king and queen proper, offering them an impeccable, practiced formal salute in parting. With that, she turned briskly, cloak flourishing behind her as she stepped toward the entryway, the metal of her armor clinking lightly as she paced along the tight stonework. Though it was solely for ceremony, she had taken the time to have her armor fitted anyway; it was only just to look one's best in front of the king and queen, and as far as Annelia was concerned, she looked best in her armor. As she was to depart, so she would be remembered by Whitespire's crown.

As the large doors closed behind her, Annelia flicked her lone eye down the corridor, attention snapping immediately to the sound of retreating footsteps. Katriel had left just before her, so it was only natural that she hadn't gotten all that far. Though Annelia herself had lived in the castle for far longer, her fellow swordsman surpassed her in years lived; not by much, but by enough for respect to become a factor. And respect her she did; though her build was more slight than many would expect from one versed in blade-work, she had taken down more squires and trainers with less effort than most others she knew, even without her use of magic.

That, alone, was something to be respected, regardless of age and station.

And yet, Annelia still found it somewhat difficult to speak with her; whether that was due to her own social issues, or Katriel's colder demeanor, was anyone's guess. The woman clicked along quickly, but Annelia's longer strides carried her farther with each step. She quickly found herself close to her fellow duelist, and offered a light smile as she spoke.

"Phantom Katriel. You are excited for what lies ahead, one hopes?" She flashed a smile, her armored steps far heavier next to the light-footed duelist.

 

[marshmarrow]

Katriel had only taken a few steps before one of her "companions" had decided to catch up with her, and she suppressed a frown, careful to keep her face neutral. Judging by the metallic clinking of armored shoes against stone, it could only be the one true knight among them. She found the faintest of smiles to plaster on instead, turning to face Annelia somewhat shyly, as was fitting for the role of a humble hero. Her gaze roved the armored woman before her, having long ago deeming her to be useful to her in combat and even to be a potential ally, if Katriel pushed her in the right direction. She never quite looked at anything, but scanned wanting to know everything about her surroundings without wasting precious time.

"Just Katriel, please, Annelia," Katriel reminded her lightly, making sure to include a light chuckle as assurance. It was bad enough that the townspeople have taken her to calling her that awful title, it sounded worse coming from the Princess's mouth, and now the people living in the castle, who she could only describe as distant acquaintances, had picked it up too. Katriel tended to call those she trained with by their surnames only, but Annelia was different. She wanted to establish trust between them.

Shrugging her shoulders, she looked out of one of the arched windows that lined the hall to the throne room, looking out to see the familiar wild landscape beyond the outer bailey and castle walls. She was looking forward to returning to it, if only to pass it by on their quest, but that wouldn't be the correct answer. "I'm relieved I, no, we will all be put to some use," she replied casually, stretching. That groveling position she had to assume in front of the royal family wreaked no little hell on her knees, lower back, and neck. Nodding to the younger woman as a farewell, she began walking briskly towards the wing of the castle where her chambers lie, having lost so much time by answering useless questions.

_Line 213

 

[S n o w]

Illya kept her head down, her eyes closed as her sister spoke to them. She could hear her voice, strong and clear as a princess' should be, but the words were lost on Illya. She knew what she had to do. What they had to do. Illya wasn't alone. She could hear the armor of her fellow Heroes clanking as they stood up, their soft footsteps and even softer words as they left the room, but it felt like she was.

She felt like her sister had been speaking for her and her alone, with the weight of the world on her back. Illya only had one way left to prove herself to her family and her kingdom. She could never be heir, nor could she be as graceful and refined as Juliana. She was a princess, but she had outgrown that title long ago. She couldn't be Annelia either, and consider herself a Knight. She was a warrior. No more, no less. But she could be more. She could be a Hero.

I will not fail, Illya thought, over and over until she could stand with no doubts. The Queen avoided her gaze, while the King stared her dead on, but he looked at all the Heroes that way, like they were worthy of his gaze. Illya did not look at Juliana. She glanced at Ludmilla as she passed, wondering briefly if she was going to take the chance to speak to the royals while she still could. But if she was, it was none of her concern.

Her eyes sought out the only one in their party who was younger than her, The Light Of Whitespire, Gabriel. "After you've finished preparing your things, I want you to train with me," she said once she caught up to him. Illya wanted him to show her why she should consider him one of them. The other Heroes were older, had more years and experience. She didn't question any of their abilities. But for someone so young to be sent on such a journey... She would not fail because of him.

Illya Tancred​

Location - Outer Hallway

August CatJones

 

[CatJones]

There was no longer a reason to stay in the throne room, Ludmilla discerned. After a humble bow to her hosts, she set out after her fellow adventurers, an eagerness rising in her chest at the brief wondering of how they would prepare. She had already sorted that out for herself, she would retire to the chapel after preparing a bag of essentials. Her small collection of religious works and icons would be left behind in the care of the castles church, with the obvious inclination of donation if she did not return. For the time being she approached Lady Illya and Gabriel the Light.

Illya had mentioned training with the younger man, and she assumed that her presence could be of some use, to them and herself. Injuries were best treated quickly, and having her magic on standby would surely be a boon. And she could see more advanced swordplay at work, which could only help her improve her own lacking skills. She approached slowly, keeping her hands clasped firmly in front of her stomach. Without her armor on, she moved quietly, the soft hose and cloth shoes making almost no sound in the castle hallways.

“If I may, Lady Illya, I would very much like to accompany the two of you during your training. If that pleases you both, of course.” Ludmilla spoke softly, with a slight bow of her head. Yet she held no deference for Illya. A member of the royal family, but at the time she figured that her station in their small group overrode her social status. She was ready to apologize if her intention was wrong, of course. Ludmilla also had a brief curiosity of whether they would at least receive an escort to the border, wondering if Illya might know more, but deciding that was topic for later.

S n o w August

 

[_Line 213]

Annelia Lastelle du Lema
The Throne Room
Interacting with: marshmarrow
​

"More than use, one thinks," Annelia replied, her own smile widening in response, "It is our first duty, our first challenge, even. It will be interesting to see how things progress, and I have faith in us all." She gave a nod to the woman as she moved to part, having reached the hallway where the two tended to separate. "A pity we've no real time for a proper round of spars!" she called down the hallway as the duelist started on her way, "I have a need to pay you back for the prior thrashing you gave me!" She flashed a grin the woman's way, then continued down her own length of hallway, the click of her armored boots carrying her past her quarters and towards the armory and sparring circles instead. There was an odd comfort to be found there, at least for Annelia, and though perhaps even she herself did not realize it, she was in something of a need for comfort.

She moved alone through the hallways, steps slowing as she passed the various weapon racks, lone eye watching the ever-changing glint of the bared blades as the angle of her viewing changed. Her attention flicked upward as she finally came to a pause, standing quietly as the hanging banners, swaying ever so slightly thanks to the light breeze flowing from the hall, captured her attention. There were so many small details to be taken in--it felt as if she found something new every day, even after living in these very halls for nineteen years. She wasn't the oldest out of all those now set to embark on their first outing, yet all the same, she vividly remembered the days when each came. Regardless of what they thought of her, she could not help but feel a strange sort of kinship for that reason alone.

I wonder, what do they think of me?

Such a question was ultimately to go unanswered; if they were going to be leaving in the morning, then there were other things to attend to. No more drills, no more lessons, well, at least for a little while, at the very least. Annelia let out a light sigh--something which she found herself hating, after the fact--then shook her head as she glanced to the armory door. Then, she spun, heading back through the hallway for her room. There was no need to keep her armor weighing on her any longer.

 

[PeanutLemur]

Alistair the Vehement
Location: Personal Quaters, en route to Palace Gardens | Interactions: None​

That which gives light also endures burning.​

Alistair had not known what to bring with him those many years ago, back when he was but a boy plucked from the shelter of his home and thrust behind the walls of a castle. The few trousers, handful of shirts, and small assortments of snacks his past-self shoved into his bag may have lasted him the trip - but not the years to come. If not for his mother, her fair face smiling despite her tears, he'd have been woefully unprepared. Indeed, now that he was older, Alistar could see - and appreciate - the wisdom behind his parent's actions. That appreciation did not, however, mean that he'd come to possess her knowledge. He hadn't. Within the walls of his room, with his pack and future spread out and waiting before him, the Hero felt twelve years old once more. Only this time there was no mother to aid him.

And yet, her words echoed still. "To be frugal is to be generous. We leave this world with what we owned upon entering it: nothing. Take what you need to survive - body, mind, and soul." So that is what he did. Clothes and armor were packed for the body; for the mind, a well worn book. The soul, however, required something more - a memory made physical. Thus, Alistair ventured from his quarters with a singular destination in mind: the gardens. Training could wait for now; he who bade the voice of his spirit to compete with life's stimuli heard nothing.