L'Empire des Ombres (Empire of Shadows)
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							<h1 class="p-title-value">L'Empire des Ombres (Empire of Shadows)
	
	

	

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<br>
Welcome the Imperium!<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
The cracks have only revealed themselves to the public in the last decade and now we are faced with a difficult situation.<br>
<br>
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?<br>
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<b>OPEN TO APPLICATIONS</b><br>​</div></div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #5900b3">Hyperia, Queen of Valais</span></span></span><br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #5900b3">"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."</span> 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.<br>
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-4285079" data-lb-caption-desc="Reddrection · Nov 9, 2015 at 11:53 PM">

		

		
	


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<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>Azazel</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><br>
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>The Silver Tongued Sinner</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><br>
</span></span></span><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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. </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(64,64,64)">Fun was apparently hard to come by in a city like this. So what if an emperor</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040"> or two died? Anarchy for the people, civil war to claim the throne, glorious show of the art of battle. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><i><span style="color: rgb(179,0,0)">Come now, I can't be the only one into the idea of a little stabby stabby, viva revolution, yeah? </span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">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 </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040"><i>Congrats! You didn't die yet!</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040"> 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.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040"><br>
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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #00b3b3">"Why is your skin so dark and funny looking mister?" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"Because, my bite-sized boy, I am special." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Azazel pretended to look around for anyone listening in, bending down to be eye level with the child. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"I'm really the manifestation of a god. If I didn't darken myself, my pure radiance would have burned out your puny eyes." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #00b3b3">"Wow! Really mister?! You're a god!" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Azazel grinned. The minds of the young remained... impressionable. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"Oh yes, yes dear human mortal. You stand before Azazel, The God of Words. I will grant you one wish for your bright mind." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #00b3b3">"I want to be as smart as the gods!" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"Very well!" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Azazel produced a thin needle from his cloak. He handed it to the boy gingerly. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"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." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Azazel smiled, spinning the poison vial in his fingers. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #00b3b3">"Thank you Lord Azazel! I'll be sure to tell the church of you and have them help me pray!" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"Oh they know my name well dear boy!" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Azazel smiled and waved as the child ran off. He found fun after all.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040"><br>
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. "</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">I take it that ordeal went horribly well, yeah?" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #330066">"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."</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Azazel laughed, which brought about unsettling air whenever he did so. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"Finally, I get to do something productive. I won't fail you, Hyperia. I keep my deals." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">@Maven<br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #A38BAB">The Council</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #796F96">Val Calais, Valais, The Imperium</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #00b300">"So we wait for her return." </span>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 <i>the game</i> as it was called. Professional Politicking. The stakes of <i>the game</i> 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.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #00b3b3">"Yes, though the conference will be ending today or tomorrow."</span> 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. <span style="color: #00b3b3">"I think it best that we prepare for the worst, like she had ordered before her departure."</span> Legate-Marshal Celaarian said. Met with nods from Trystan and some other figures in the room.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #00b300">"We are adjourned,"</span> 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.<br>
<br>
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. <i>Soon... soon the dark clouds will come.</i><br>
<br>
<span class="horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule- "></span><br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #8B2323">The Ascendant</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #963838">Imperia, The Imperial Heartlands, The Imperium</span></span></span><br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #994747">"Bring me the dispatches on the movements in the south."</span> 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. <span style="color: #994747">"You may go," </span>He said shooing the boy out of the office and shutting the door, plopping down into his chair and reading through.<br>
<br>
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. <i><span style="color: #994747">"Azazel"</span></i> 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.<br>
<br>​</div></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #00b3b3">Johan</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #00b3b3"><br>
Jarl of Arnarhvall</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<br>
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?<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #b300b3">“You need to be careful, my son.”</span> 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. <span style="color: #b300b3">“I know you couldn’t care less about the situation at hand.”</span> she said quietly. <span style="color: #b300b3">“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…”</span> she continued, still stern<span style="color: #b300b3"> “... we must consolidate your authority and have a plan of action.”</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><br>
 <span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>Azazel</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><br>
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>The Silver Tongued Sinner </b></span></span></span><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Never thought I would say it aloud, but I have never been more happy to see that shoreline in my life." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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. </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #ff0000"><span style="font-size: 14px">"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." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"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?" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Azazel resisted breaking out into laughter at the sight of the captain's expression, continuing calmly towards the wheel.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040"><br>
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.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">@Maven<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">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.<br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
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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.</div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #5900b3">The Gilded Queen</span></span></span><br>
<br>
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 <span style="color: #000000"><i>Your Grace</i></span> regardless of the times she had told him to refer to her as <i>Lady Vaulan</i>. 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.<span style="color: #7DB77D"> "Your Grace," </span>and there he said it again, causing Hyperia to offer a silent frown and sigh. <span style="color: #7DB77D">"Lord Azazel said you needed to speak with me,"</span> he said hesitating to enter though it was not a matter of importance, she needed to take fresh air anyhow.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #5900b3">"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?"</span> 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 <i>Crown of Stars</i>, 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. <i>Least that part wasn't a joke.</i><br>
<br>
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.<br>
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 <span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>Azazel</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><br>
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>The Silver Tongued Sinner </b></span></span></span><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 14px">"...and then, the man says, 'That's not how that's supposed to look lass." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(64,64,64)">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 </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><i> Two steps ahead of you Lady Vaulan. </i></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 14px">"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?" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Speakin' of this conversement of ours, did you actually manage progress in our trip?" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 14px"> "My offer to take those officials out ahead of time doesn't sound so bad now does it, yeah?" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
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. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 14px">"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. " </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px">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.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">@Maven </span><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #0080ff"><span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';">Johan</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #0080ff"><span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><br>
</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="color: #0080ff"><span style="font-size: 24px">Jarl of Arnarhvall</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #0080ff"><span style="font-size: 24px"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<br>
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?</div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #5900b3">The Gilded Queen</span></span></span><br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #5900b3">"Brink of war yes,"</span> she said looking at him and then towards the guards that walked with them through the beautifully clean streets of Val Calais. <span style="color: #5900b3">"Though I'm sure you will just enjoy yourself."</span> 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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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. <span style="color: #006633">"Your Grace,"</span> 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. <span style="color: #5900b3">"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."</span> She said looking at Legate-Marshal Celaarian.<br>
<br>
Trystan chimed in, <span style="color: #00b300">"Milady we do have border issues with Astanor."</span> 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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper">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 "<span style="color: #ff0000">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!" </span><span style="color: #404040">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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><br>
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 "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">Well, this is going to be a long night, better get started now.</span><span style="color: #404040">"</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 6px ridge #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #E9967A;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 4px double #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: GhostWhite;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: #000000"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"></div></div></span><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-family: 'Lobster Two';"><span style="font-size: 36px">The Stone King</span></span></span></div></div><br>
<br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
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. <span style="color: #660000">"We sail fast and home, if I don not see Callidum in no more then two weeks, someone will pay!"</span> 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. <i>War </i>he thought <i>we shall be caught in the midst of war, likely from the greed of a single man. </i>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. <span style="color: #b30000">"So, Valor, what disheartens you so?"</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #660000">"I will explain it when we arrive, but it will likely be of little surprise to the Jarls.."</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #660000"><br>
</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #000000">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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #000000"><br>
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. </span><span style="color: #660000">"Have message sent to all the Jarls in Callidum, I wish to meet with them on the morrow, a matter of extreme urgency." </span><span style="color: #000000">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.</span></div></div></div></div></div></div><br>
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<span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';">Azazel</span></b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><br>
</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><b>The Silver Tongued Sinner</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px">Azazel traversed the underground of the city of Val Calais. If the the rooftops and </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">alleyways</span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"> above were his playground, then this was his kingdom. Azazel knew the various </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
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. </span><span style="color: #006600"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">"Master Azazel." </span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">The deep, ragged voice echoed about the stonework. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: rgb(0,102,0)">" It is a blessing for your </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">presence to grace us." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">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. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Sojourn! My good little servant! Oh how I have missed you!" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">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. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"It is good to see your grace is pleased by my presence. Your travel to the Imperial Heartlands took much longer than expected." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"And so much more boring than expected. We have new Azazel-lings, yeah?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"Oh yes of course Lord Azazel, your highness. I had Deacon fetch promising applicants from the surface population, as lady Hyperia requested." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel pounded a hearty thanks on Sojourn's back, an action Sojourn had become used to and rather durable to. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"I suppose then they'll be awaiting a speech from their guardian king, yeah?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"Oh Master Azazel, I do love your speeches!"</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">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. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000"><i>Time to show the people who they work for. </i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">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.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"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." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">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. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"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? </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">There was a moment of quiet, before Deacon like a ghost rose from the crowd. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"For Lord Azazel! For Lord Azazel!"</span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Like a rallying cry, the crowd followed Deacon's lead, until the whole group was cheering his name. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #5900b3">"For lord Azazel!" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">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. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"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." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">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.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"Once again, you manage to amaze me Azazel. You've kept your place in this game well." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Deacon appeared by his side, the two watching as Sojourn herded the excited group further into their underground citadel. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"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." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"Actions none here could preform." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel chuckled. Deacon shifted slightly. Was his laugh really all that ominous? </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Go, find me the one's we can use for bolstering our network." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Deacon nodded and proceeded down  a different hall. He turned back to Azazel before continuing on his way. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"You almost look like you deserve to sit upon a throne Azazel. I should have a crown fashioned in your name." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">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.</span></span></div>
				
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	<div class="message-userContent lbContainer js-lbContainer " data-lb-id="post-4383788" data-lb-caption-desc="Yennefer · Nov 26, 2015 at 1:13 AM">

		

		
	


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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Look Mary!"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Irisviel beckoned.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Hmmm..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"You're not paying attention Marian..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She scolded using her sisters real name, finally breaking her from her reverie. Mara glared teasingly at her sister then smiled mockingly.</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff"> "I stopped paying ages ago, Iré."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> The smiling woman replied as she moved past her disgruntled little sister. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"If I continue to pay anymore of my attention, the city might grow fat and large with their new peculiar form of currency."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Irisviel rolled her eyes and snickered as well as the guards that circled around them. She skipped nearer towards her sister then replied. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Well aren't they blessed with such a generous donation from </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300"><i>thee</i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300"> Mara Sov. They should make me ambassador for procuring such a generosity from the iron lady."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> The Northern queen glanced at her younger sister from the corner of her eye, snickering at her little reply. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Touché my little snowflake, Touché." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">The silvered hair lass then placed her hand near her heart and gasped jokingly as she followed her older sister. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"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?"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> The large group chuckled and Irisviel curtsied to show her thanks. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Thank you, thank you!"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Mara rolled her eyes teasingly at her younger sister's display and then bit back. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"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."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Irisviel peered back as she stuck her tongue out childishly. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Parish the thought, Mary. You know you'll miss me."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"What now Mary...? A war is coming..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> The lass questioned, her humor slowly disappearing. Mara ignored her sister once more and looked out yonder at the Imperial Palace. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Look, Iré."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"I thought you </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300"><i>stopped paying ages ago</i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">, Mary."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She snickered, mimicking her older sister's voice as her light humor resurfaced. Mara ignored her again and continued on. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"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."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Irisviel crossed her arms as she stared at her sister quizzically. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"And how does it answer my question?"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"It is easier on the heart to see gilding... Now..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She paused to look at the golden palace then continued. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"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?" </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Well, I don't kno-"</span></span> <br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"They will not. Instead, they will be used as kindle to fuel the growing flame..." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">Mara tore her gaze from her sister and walked on. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"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."</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"We?"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Irisviel questioned, following her sister as she stared at her back. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Of course little sister. Its high time you start playing the Game these southerners adore so much." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"The game? You know how to play it?"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She questioned innocently. Mara huffed and a cloud of pride hovered around her. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"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."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 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. "</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"But these southerners... They probably use it so often I pale in comparison to their tenacity..." </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Place your worries elsewhere, Iré. I will teach you everything I know. You will rival even the greatest of their players." </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
Irisviel blushed. Her sister always had high hopes for her. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"How long have you played it?" </span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><i>From the day I was born.</i></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Mara cleared her throat and then answered her sister. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"When I came to court, silly girl."</span></span> <br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"But aren't you afraid?" </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
Mara paused to laugh. It was a laugh filled with humor though it was mocking to say the least. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"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."</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
Irisviel smiled in agreement. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"I can attest to that."</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Surely. Now, let us go home, we have a lot to discuss about. And I long to see my little Dragen." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">She turned to face her Captain. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"We will set sail to Davennor, I will speak to their Duke, and from there-" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">She turned to face Irisviel. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"You will take a carriage along with some men to Coras. If war is surely coming, they will become a battlefield."</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"M- me?!"</span></span> <br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"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."</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Of course your highness."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Irisviel bowed, knowing her sister was no longer in the mood to jest. </span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"We will discuss this further in the safety of our ship. Eyes linger in these parts..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She scanned to look around.</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff"> "Let us depart."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Followed by a chorus of "Yes M'lady", the group went off to the docks.</span></div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #8B2323">The Ascendant</span></span></span><br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #b300b3">"Good evening Your Grace,"</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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 <i>Shadow Council</i> 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, <i>"To keep the peace of the Gods." </i>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.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #b30000">"Apologies for being late,"</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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 </span><i><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)">Shadow Blade </span></i><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)">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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #006600">"The Summit failed three weeks ago, war looms."</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> The voice said, </span><span style="color: #006600">"The Regent is a threat to the stability of the Imperium."</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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. </span><span style="color: #006600">"He must be eliminated, </span><span style="color: #006600"><i>Blade</i></span><span style="color: #006600">"</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> She said turning her figure to where Caden sat. </span><span style="color: #006600">"Deal with him,"</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #b30000">"Yes Master of Shadows," </span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)">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 </span><i><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)">Blade</span></i><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #006600">"Adjourned,"</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<span class="horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule- "></span><br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #5900b3">The Gilded Queen</span></span></span><br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #5900b3">"Welcome to Val Calais,"</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> She said her voice even and calm. </span><span style="color: #5900b3">"It is a pleasure to see you all again and we have only a couple matters to discuss."</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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. </span><span style="color: #5900b3">"The first being that the Conference in Imperial failed, those wishing to depose the regent walked out." </span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)">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.</span><span style="color: #5900b3"> "I have called up the Legions by our Legate-Marshal to stand ready to meet any threats that may arise."</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #0080ff">"And the second matter your majesty?"</span><span style="color: rgb(25,25,25)"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
Hyperia looked at Duke Valmontagne and smiled respectfully, <span style="color: #5900b3">"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." </span>She said folding her hands on the table and waiting for responses from those present.<br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>The Duke of Davennor</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
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. <i>Fifty fifty</i>, he thought to himself. Those were the odds of civil war.<br>
<br>
<br>
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 <i>regent</i> - not even a king in the purest sense of the word - was too much for these detractors.<br>
<br>
<br>
His mind wandered and as it did, the coin flopped against the stained wood. <i>Tails</i>. 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.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #b30000">"I'll show you a sign,"</span> 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.<br>
<br>
<br>
A knocking began at the door to the atrium. <span style="color: #b30000">"Yesss!"</span> he exhaled with full volume. <span style="color: #404040">"My lord, I bear news for your ears only,"</span> replied a stern and confident voice. <span style="color: #b30000">"By the mists of Avinter, come in then if you must."</span> Artamos' patience was wearing thin. He instructed the household not to disturb him today.<br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #b30000">"Mara Sov, Queen of the North..."</span> he laughed on the inside. <i>I suppose she forgot about the half dozen other kingdoms mulling about.</i> Still, the High Marches commanded the word of many companies, and perhaps entire legions. He could not joke about that. <span style="color: #b30000">"Why was I not informed sooner?"</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040">"Your Grace requested not to be dist-"</span> the guard began before being cut off. <span style="color: #b30000">"Disturbed, I know. Very well, inform Master Vitelus to make the necessary arrangements for her party's arrival."</span> He bowed once again before departing to the steward's quarters with due haste.<br>
<br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">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. </span><br>
<br>
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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-</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Mary, we're here."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Hmmm... You're right."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She replied. She stepped out as she scanned her surroundings. A disgruntled look here and there as she confirmed the rumors for herself. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"The tips of a greedy kingdom is always withered and worn, but yet the house of its ruler, always adorned with golden paint."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"I might be going crazy, but I think I just saw a wolf... and a leopard." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">Irisviel whispered towards her sister. Mara ignored this and waited to be greeted.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 6px ridge #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #E9967A;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 4px double #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: GhostWhite;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><br>
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<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: #000000"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"></div></div></span><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-family: 'Lobster Two';"><span style="font-size: 36px">The Jarls of Callidum</span></span></span></div></div><br>
<br>​</div><br>
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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.<br>
<br>
<br>
"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.</div></div></div></div></div></div></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #ff0000">                               Duke Jean-Luc</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
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 </span></span><span style="color: #404040">relatively</span><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px"> 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. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
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 </span></span><span style="color: #404040">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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><br>
 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 "</span><span style="color: #660000">Terribly sorry  Your Grace, but it looks like some subjects just can't raise a damn fence to keep their herds off the highway.</span><span style="color: #404040">" Jean-Luc sighs, raising his hand and walking up next to the left horse patting his neck and calling out to the elderly man "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">Sir, it appears that you've lost control of your herds, may I be of any assistance to you with myself and my men?</span><span style="color: #404040">" 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 "</span><span style="color: #b35900">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!</span><span style="color: #404040">" 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. "</span><span style="color: #b35900">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-</span><span style="color: #404040">" 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 "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">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.</span><span style="color: #404040">" The older man bowed a few times, repeating "</span><span style="color: #b35900">Thank you sir, thank you so much!</span><span style="color: #404040">" 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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><br>
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 "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">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.</span><span style="color: #404040">" He then fell silent, waiting quietly for the rest of the Dukes and Duchesses to speak their piece.</span><br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Mountains of Christmas';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #006600"><b> Sojourn</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Mountains of Christmas';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Mountains of Christmas';"><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="color: #006600"><b>Servant of the Devil God</b></span></span></span><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">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.</span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: left"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #006600">"Ah Deacon, so pleased to see you are prepared for the Master's task! He speaks highly of your..." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #003366">"Sojourn. You have what I need?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #006600">"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..." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #003366">"Good. I shall do as our leader demands of me." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #000000">Deacon grabbed the message and pouch out of Sojourn's shaky grasp. He attached them to his bandoleer and nodded. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #006600">"Yes, well, I shall inform the Master that you have departed. He will be most please..." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #000000">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.</span></span><br>
<br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #000000">{~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}</span></span><br>
<br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: right"><br>
 <span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #003366">Deacon </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span>  <span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #003366"> Iron Glory</span></span></span> <br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><br>​</div><br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">@Maven </span><br>
<br>
<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/profile/9346-ahzek-ahriman/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fprofile%2F9346-ahzek-ahriman%2F&amp;hash=6e91bf98542b73b5068aa02c258b4ec2"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">@Ahzek Ahriman</span></a><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><b><span style="font-size: 12px">Respond accordingly after the conversation in the Assembly Hall concludes</span></b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Message to the Dukes/Duchesses, as well as a blood red ruby shaped into a crude cross</span></b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><div class="bbcode-print print bbcode-print-Paper Type"><div class="bbcode-print-top-tear"></div><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"> Clandestine Watches Over You </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span><div class="bbcode-print-bottom-tear"></div></div><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><b>Message to the Queen Hyperia</b></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span><div class="bbcode-print print bbcode-print-Paper Type"><div class="bbcode-print-top-tear"></div><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span> <br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span><div class="bbcode-print-bottom-tear"></div></div><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><br>​</div><div style="text-align: left"><br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px">Lady Hyperia,</span></span>​</div></div><div style="text-align: center"><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Master Azazel would like your confirmation on his current targets, as per your request.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
The High Marches, Astanor, Caridas, and Roven.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
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.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
~The Iron Glory</span></span><br>​</div><div style="text-align: center">​</div></div>
				
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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. <span style="color: #0000b3">"Something must be done about these vagrants!"</span> Shouted one of the Dukes. <span style="color: #4da6ff">"Immediately"</span> came the voice of another Duchess.<br>
<br>
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 <i>City of Shadows</i>.<br>
<br>
Thus far she had avoided doing so simply because it was Azazel's <i>project</i> 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 <i>Clandestine</i> 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.<br>
<br>
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.<span style="color: #5900b3"> "Gather The Watch, meet here in two hours time."</span> She said looking at him with an iron glare that spoke of her anger. He bowed and departed.<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
The time came and the Watch assembled, they waited for a very brief time before the Queen stood in front of them. <span style="color: #5900b3">"We go to Clandestine!"</span> 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.<br>
<br>
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, <span style="color: #5900b3">"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." </span>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.<br>
<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'courier new'">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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'My lord, please allow me to give you the message your fa-' the messenger said, following Belisarius before being interrupted.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'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. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'News reached to us, Belisarius.' Marcus spoke, breaking the temporary silence between the two lads. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'What kind of news?' he asked, stopping for a moment, staring at his friend.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'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.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'Good. We'll see to it. As soon as possible.' Belisarius nodded, then continued towards the barracks. </span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>The Duke of Davennor</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<br>
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..<br>
<br>
<br>
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.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #b35900">"Your Grace,"</span> he muttered and bowed solemnly to the Queen and her sister. <span style="color: #b35900">"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."</span> He clapped twice, sparking a cadre of neatly groomed attendants. He would then usher the duo up the steps.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">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.</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff"> "Do what you must but we won't stay here for long."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She said. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"We simply came here to stop by in greeting and to humbly ask for a request."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"I wasn't wrong..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She whispered, more so to herself. Mara gave her a quizzical look as a response than shortly fixed her gaze back at the man.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
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. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"You think he will be handsome, Mara? Like a dashing duke from a far away land?"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She questioned, laced with sarcasm knowing that her older sister has taken interest in soapy romance novels as of late. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Take your head out of the skies, Iré. We have business to attend to." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">The iron lady stoically replied though a hint of red was seen but only for a second. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300"><i>"Mhm."</i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Irisviel quipped sing-song like, feigning ignorance at her sisters reaction. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff">"Silence! We are almost there. When this is over, you shall follow the plan accordingly. Do I make myself clear?"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> Irisviel bowed slightly, and replied </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Of course."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> The two ladies shortly closed their distance between the man, following him in silence. </span><br>
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<a href="https://www.rpnation.com/profile/15034-jabroni/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fprofile%2F15034-jabroni%2F&amp;hash=a2edba6c5e6ba79bae4fca7eb2f738a6">@Jabroni</a></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #ff0000">Duke Jean-Luc</span></span><br>
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<span style="color: #404040">Dear gods...It's like being next too an angry chicken coop when sitting near these dammed childish fools, Jean-Luc groaned softly, putting his head into his hands as the eruption of various untamed and un-thought-out emotion tore through the room, it pulse within his ear drums rattling around his head. Looking up he decided he finally had enough of the utter disrespect and childish behavior, he'd put up with this squabbling for two years, it </span><span style="color: #404040"><b>needed</b></span><span style="color: #404040"> to end, with a voice almost nobody had ever heard booming from him, Jean-Luc stood and bellowed. "</span><b><span style="color: rgb(255,0,0)">Please will you all be quiet!</span></b><span style="color: #404040">" Glaring about the room at the various dukes and duchesses all now staring at him he'd huff, fixing the collar of his coat before continuing in a firm authoritative voice. "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">Now, are we actually going to have a good discussion on that matter or are you going to keep on making utter fools out of the titles and you families? We need to have a plan about this matter, not just to throw our arms in the air and go insane!</span><span style="color: #404040">" He'd taking a deep breath and turning to Her Majesty before bowing slightly and saying calmly. "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">I'm terribly sorry, please, continue Your Majesty</span><span style="color: #404040">" After bowing he'd sit, rubbing his temples gently.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><br>
As the meeting came to an end, Jean-Luc was last to leave the room, remaining there gathering his things and simply enjoying the growing silence that was filling the room, walking over and bowing to Her Majesty and smiling apologetically and speaking in a kind tone " </span><span style="color: #ff0000">I will have my levy ready to support you at a moments notice Your Majesty, I'd rather not be caught out in the open in this terribly turbulent time.</span><span style="color: #404040">" He'd put his simplistic cap onto his head, bowing calmly as he leaves "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">Good day Your Majesty!</span><span style="color: #404040">"</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><br>
Upon making it back to the Inn he was staying at with his guards and entourage, Jean-Luc collasped into one of the wooden chairs by the fireside, rubbing his eyes and groaning, his bodyguard walking over and putting one of his large hands onto his shoulder, patting him lightly and speaking in his normal deep thunderous like voice "</span><span style="color: #b35900">Long meeting Your Grace?</span><span style="color: #404040">" Jean-Luc shook his head, chuckling weakly before replying in a tired tone "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">If it was long I'd handle it, my fellow dukes seem to act more like angry needy children rather then people who assist in leading a nation. I...Can't believe that I honestly talked like that, I never shout Marc, but there I was, bellowing over the screaming and wailing idiots. But it needed to be done, they were like some angry rabble..In-front of Her Majesty non the less!</span><span style="color: #404040">" He'd shake his head again, looking at the fire as he feels the large hand of Marc leave his shoulder and the old bear as he called him move away, returning a few seconds later with a glass of ale, handing it too him and saying kindly. "</span><span style="color: #b35900">Here Your Grace, sounds like you need this sir.</span><span style="color: #404040">" Taking the glass and looking up at Marc Jean-Luc smiles, nodding to him calmly, "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">Thanks Marc, cheers my friend.</span><span style="color: #404040">" He'd take a sip from the ale, sitting in-front of the fire for a good few hours, before heading up for bed. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><br>
Early next morning Jean-Luc and his entourage set out back home from the capital,</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><br>
passing the large gatherings of city watch and the legion, Jean-Luc shaking his head as they ride along out of the city. He'd sigh, saying quietly to himself. "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">Gods forbid we actually have a civil war...That's the last thing this Empire needs.</span><span style="color: #404040">" After riding for about twelve hours, they'd stop along the road in one of the small villages for the night utterly surprising the village inn-keeper, normally someone like that would never see a noble up-close, much less have one stay at their inn and generally be helpful around the inn, Jean-Luc going so far as assisting in sweeping out the fireplace and the common room, the innkeeper standing flabbergasted at the duke within his common room, in his tunic with a broom in his hand cleaning up the floor, the innkeeper speaking in a worried tone "</span><span style="color: #336600">Your Grace! Y-you don't need to do that at all! I can handle it there is no need to clean my floor!</span><span style="color: #404040">" Jean-Luc simply smiled and shook his head, eventually finishing up and placing the broom back up against the wall, running a hand along his hair and saying kindly "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">Well, to be honest I've always got along best with simple workers, and I feel obligated to give a hand around an inn, there is no need to worry about feeling like I'm forcing myself to do this, cleaning I've always found is meditative you know? allows me to clear my mind and relax.</span><span style="color: #404040">" The innkeeper nods dumbly, checking to make sure his mouth wasn't slightly agape, shaking his head and chuckling lightly before nodding to him and bowing lightly "</span><span style="color: #336600">I am retiring for the night M'lord, may the Gods bless you sir!</span><span style="color: #404040">" Nodding and replying with a happy, "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">And may they bless you too sir!</span><span style="color: #404040">" Jean-Luc retired upstairs, heading into his bedchambers.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040"><br>
Upon waking early on the morning Jean-Luc glanced out the slightly cloudy glass window at the mild spring rain, standing and stretching with a yawn, before scratching his head and walking over to his small traveling chest and opening it, grabbing his leggings and red tunic, dressing quietly and slipping outside of the room, heading down to the common and waiting for the rest of his group to wake up, waiting for about an hour before everyone was up and had eaten. With a final farewell too the elderly innkeeper he'd walk out now in a heavier coat and hat, getting with his carriage and making the final leg of his way home, after about a seven hour ride, the sky had cleared and it'd turned into a generally pleasant spring afternoon, making Jean-Luc open the small windows within the carriage and lean his head outside the window, looking at the passing scenery along the highway. As they finally pull over the rolling hills and spot the city, Jean-Luc smiles brightly, pulling his head back inside and shutting his eyes, speaking happily to himself "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">Home, far away from those dammed fools and sillyness of the capital, Gods I don't know how Her Majesty handles that, I guess I like the simple life more then the politicking of the capital..But for now, I'm home.</span><span style="color: #404040">"</span><br>
<br>
<br>
@Maven</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">The inside of the barracks was as any typical Imperial barracks. Filled with men, all dressed up in their uniforms, some eating, some chatting and others on duty. When Belisarius and Marcus entered the barracks, everybody saluted the two leaders. In response, the two men nodded towards everybody and continued their journey within the barracks underground, through a wooden door, that lead towards the basement, where the prison cells were kept. And the torture chambers. The stairs made out of cold stone gently shined, lit by the multitude of torches carefully placed upon both sides of the walls. The walk was long and cold, not by temperature, but by atmosphere. At a first glance and at the first moment you lay foot on the first step, you hear nothing but the chatting of the common soldier and laughter. But as you venture deeper into the abyss, the chatting fades away and is slowly replaced by the screams of the dammed and the moans of the unfortunate. A place where no one would ever wish to get himself or herself into. A place of horror and brutality, where the violent, tainted core of the Empire lies.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
Belisarius knew of this place very well. Most of his information came from here, information about bandits, at that matter. As he approached the end of the staircase, he walked towards the long hallway filled with barred doors and some iron ones too. Both Belisarius and Marcus walked the hallway until they stopped in front of an iron door, which two guards stood on the sides. From within, the groans of a man were heard, followed by yelling. Within the room were three men. One tied up to a wooden chair, dressed up in a ragged tunic, covered in dirt and mud, accompanied by blood and two Imperial officers, one standing behind the chair and the other in front of it, gently caring for the prisoner. The prisoner was filled with blood. His chin was covered in blood, his eye sockets were purple and his body was weak. Weak of so many days without food and water, without a proper rest, without a bed, without a time to think peacefully.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'I swear, I don't know anything else!' the prisoner yelled, from the bottom of his lungs, his voice cracking. He was answered with a powerful fist in his stomach, making him groan in pain. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'Come on friend. Do we have to be like this. Friends don't keep secrets from each other.' the violent officer exclaimed, preparing his fist for a second reunion with the prisoner's stomach.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'I told you,' the prisoner stopped, taking a deep breath, 'everything I know.' he continued. 'Please, I beg of you, stop.' But the officer didn't stopped. Another blow was given, followed by another and another.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'I am sick and tired of your courage boy. Speak up and all this will end. Stop wasting our time and yours!' the officer yelled loud and clear. But the prisoner sat in silence, in a silent sob. 'Fine. Have it your way.' the violent officer motioned to the other officer, who has been quiet and observant of the horror happening in front of him. He approached and untied the prisoner. He grabbed him forcefully and both officers moved the prisoner towards the table that laid in front of them. The prisoner's attempts to break free were in vain. He was too weak to resist two powerful, young, dominant males. They moved him to the table violently. The violent officer sighed angrily, holding the prisoner down, alongside with his companion. 'I'm only going to ask one more time, what else do you know about the bandit camp?'</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'N-nothing! I swear! Please sir, please!' the prisoner screamed.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
With an unsatisfied groan, the officer continued with the torture until the prisoner's will broke.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'I'll talk! I'll talk! Please, no more!'</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'What do you know!?' the officer yelled.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'It's an outpost! An outpost! The camp is further away! the prisoner yelled.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'How many are defending it!? Where is the main camp!?'</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'Fifty! Fifty!'</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'The camp! Where is it!?' the officer exclaimed.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'I don't know! I don't know! They never showed it to me! Only the outpost! It serves as a checkpoint! Like one of those for caravans! That's all I know! I swear!'</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
Releasing the prisoner, the prisoner fell upon the chair and the officer sighed happily  and looked at his comrade. The prisoner stood scared upon the chair, afraid of making a wrong move.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
'Now, that wasn't so difficult, wasn't it?' the violent officer laughed before leaving the room with the other, only to be greeted by Belisarius and Marcus, who were patiently waiting for them. Both the officers saluted them.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">'Impressive.' Belisarius commented, followed by a </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><i>thank you sir.</i></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> 'Anything new?' he asked.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">'A small outpost towards the south east of the location of the last raid. Bandits made an outpost out of an ancient fortress, or what remains of it, poorly upgraded with wooden structures. Apparently, it serves as a re-supply unit. Perhaps the camp is far away from the outpost, that's why they need.' the violent officer answered.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">'Good. I heard there were fifty defending that outpost. Easy task. But, make sure their leader survives and some of them. They are to be sucked out of information as best as possible.' Belisarius said.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">'If we strike this outpost, it will render the bandits considerably. They will lose some of their supplies. making their travels throughout the desert more difficult, which will give the Empire more control over the region.' Marcus exclaimed.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">'I want at least three hundred soldiers prepared. Make sure cavalry is prepared as well, to ensure that no on escapes. Don't want those bandits to warn the others. Marcus, find me a capable man to lead this operation. It is time to give someone the opportunity of promotion.' Belisarius told Marcus, before dismissing the two officers, allowing them to continue with their duties, while both Marcus and Belisarius made ready to leave the barracks, back into the palace. </span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #00b3b3">Johan</span></span></span><br>
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</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #00b3b3"><br>
Jarl of Arnarhvall</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
Johan didn’t really know why he called the Thanes together to meet. They were the people who he had direct control over, his few subordinates. It was perhaps formality that had motivated him to initiate this meeting, for the Gods knew that they never talked about any matters of use. This was Avinter ; and Arnarhvall no less - things just didn’t really happen in this part of the Imperium. Although judging by what was happening in other places, that could easily soon change, or at least they were the words of Harald, Thane of Hvelheimr. Always anxious, he was. Paranoid was a term preferred by several of his equals present. Johan had learned quickly to never trust and take whatever he said too seriously,  but with recent circumstances it was enticing to buy into his tales.<br>
<br>
<br>
Like they always had and likely always would, no real progress, conflict or proper conclusion had came with it all, bar petty grumbling over taxes. Or at least that was what they thought.<br>
<br>
<br>
It was several days later that Harald unexpectedly turned up at Arnesen Hold. He had come alone, and informed Johan that he had done his utmost best to try and ensure he hadn’t been followed. It provoked an ominous feeling in the young Jarl’s gut and he would always trust whatever that feeling told him, except he was unsure whether it was because he didn’t trust the Thane at all and felt like this was an elaborate ploy or because he did trust the Thane that there was danger afoot. Johan invited him in, and they sat by the fire. It was warm there, enough to thaw even the iciest of hearts.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #00b3b3">“What brings you here?”</span> queried Johan. In truth, he did wish to speak with Harald one on one, for if anyone had a hint of semblance of current affairs it could have been him. Harald was tall, intimidatingly so, and his unkempt wild beard added to that. Rumour had it, especially on part of Johan’s mother Astrid, that the Thane was a close associate and confidant of his father, but that was not obviously good or bad, Harald not instinctively trustworthy as such.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #ff0000">“I bear news. I have little time to explain, but your - in fact, our - lives are under threat, by the same people who took your father…”</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #00b3b3">“I demand an explanation!”</span> roared the young man, standing up furiously as he interrupted. But he would not get one, for now. As if on cue, he looked up and out the window, and subsequently thanked the Gods that at least his mother wasn’t home as he drew his sword in anticipation of the coming clash.<br>
<br>
<br>
The men now gathered outside taking up positions around his home didn’t come across as the friendly and compassionate type. Johan imagined they would have a small chat before it came down to a decision over whether this would end peacefully or not.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>The Duke of Davennor</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
Vitellus seemed to glide over the smooth mosaic murals scattered across the main hall. They eventually reached the atrium, and a pair of guards pulled open two large, rectangular doors in unison. The Duke sat at an ornate mahogany desk in the center of the room. Artamo was a slightly older male of four and ten, still very much in his prime. He had short, jet black hair and was clean-shaven like most provincials of status. He wore Danthivan burgundy robes with gold trim at the seams and collar. Quite the fit for an eligible bachelor.<br>
<br>
<br>
His head jerked up to see who had entered with a long look on his face and he quickly corrected himself, forming a half-pronounced smile. <i>Time to play the part</i>. Rising from the chair to greet the duo, Artamo held his arms wide open. <span style="color: #b30000">"Ah, Queen Mara! What a treat it is to have you here."</span> If offered, he would take her palm and give it a gentle peck. <span style="color: #b30000">"I must admit it has been quite some time since we've last received a visit from the Marches."</span> He turned his gaze toward Irisviel. <span style="color: #b30000">"So the stories </span><span style="color: #b30000"><i>are</i></span><span style="color: #b30000"> true...the ice holds untold beauty witnessed only by a lucky few. I should consider myself as such,"</span> he said, winking. <span style="color: #b30000">"Wouldn't you agree, Vitellus?"</span><br>
<br>
<br>
The old steward simply nodded. It was not his place to comment on such things, nor did he feel privy to this conversation. He merely lingered only to be excused, which typically occurred after these initial formalities. Artamo would await their responses before continuing, <span style="color: #b30000">"I trust we have business today."</span> He wrinkled his forehead in absent curiosity. <span style="color: #b30000">"Instruct the guards so as not to be disturbed. They may wait idly in the main hall."</span> Vitellus swiftly departed, his gown hovering behind as those same rectangular doors began to shut. Surely, the Queen would not object. What had yet to transpire concerned only those directly involved, and nothing could tempt the Duke to try something sinister here. <span style="color: #b30000">"Please..be seated,"</span> he motioned toward a comfortable lounge off to the corner of the atrium with fruit baskets and olives. There would also be several jars of wine and cups made from glazed pottery.<br>
<br>
<br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Macondo Swash Caps';"><span style="color: #A47AB9"><span style="font-size: 36px">The Gilded Queen</span></span></span><br>
<br>
Hyperia and her Legionnaire guards, accompanied by the City Watch moved through the sewers and tunnels beneath Val Calais. It took probably the better part of an hour to finally reach the makeshift gate that was the unofficial official entrance to <i>Clandestine the City of Shadows</i> as it were. Before they could even stop to bang on the gate it opened and a man moved out. Hyperia recalled him as someone Azazel had as an adviser of some sort or another though she wasn't too sure about that.<br>
<br>
"Majesty," He said bowing, showing his respect to the Queen of Valais. His voice however nice seemed to ooze a practiced and placating tone that made Hyperia feel mocked almost. "Welcome to Lord Azazel's humble city. His guiding hand ever graces us, and may your rule continue on." He said continuing with the tone that the Queen believed to be unsettling.<br>
<br>
She nodded and motioned for the Legionnaires to proceed. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"Thank you, however Clandestine is no more."</span> She said moving past him and under the gate. The Legionnaires stopped in a small open area and formed a strong defensive circle around Hyperia. The City Watch moved in as well and begin dispersing throughout Clandestine. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"By order of the Queen Clandestine is to be vacated within three months of this day. All citizens of Clandestine will be moved into new housing outside Val Calais' southern gate. The housing will be constructed by the Fifth Imperial Legion under the command of General Titus Lexius. The City Watch are to begin patrolling Clandestine during this interim period. Citizens who have things they cannot move to new housing will be compensated at a fair market price. Good evening."</span> She said moving away and back with the Legionnaires to the gate once more. The City Watch went about informing the citizens of Clandestine that they would now maintain a strong presence here. Hopefully this would not erupt into something that spilled onto the streets.<br>
<br>
Hyperia departed Clandestine with the guards and exited back to the city proper. Clandestine was... poor and properly bordering squalor. To be fair though Val Calais was the wealthiest city in the Imperium. It didn't have slums as they remained in Valais' old capital and Val Calais had strict laws stating that you had to meet a minimum wage in order to reside in the city. As such living standards were high and the the large amount of gold that went into the upkeep and city infrastructure kept it in good repair. It was also a crown jewel for the Imperium and not one it would likely look kindly upon should Hyperia join the rebels.<br>
<br>
The Queen proceeded to return to the Government Quarter to work out some plans with the Legate-Marshall and other military minds from all over Valais, along with the Generals of the other four Imperial Legions in Valais, coupled with the Archons of the Provincial Legions that Valais could raise should the need arise. It was to be a long night and Hyperia feared there would be many more like this.<br>
<br>
<span class="horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule- "></span><br>
<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><span style="color: #BD4D58"><span style="font-size: 36px">Shards of Aristhenes</span></span></span><br>
<br>
The storm clouds rolled in from The Veil. Dark as black smoke rising from burned homes, the spontaneous bolt of lightning and the crash of thunder that seemed to shake the very foundation of the Citadel. The White flags bearing the Red Insignia of Aristhenes, synonymous with Vale, fluttered furiously in the strong winds the ushered in the storm. <i>The Winds of Change... How quaint.</i> Arrelous thought to himself as he watched the wind blow the flags in the direction of Imperia, <i>Very auspicious</i> he thought once more to himself. Arrelous stepped away from the window and moved back to the large mahogany table that stood in the center of the room. The other figures sat around it, watching one another and none dared to speak and another roar of thunder seemed to shake the room.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #BD4D58">"Interesting. The Priests believed the foul weather to not come for some time."</span> Arrelous said looking at those gathered. Arrelous was the High Inquisitor of Vale, a Province run by the Military Order of the Rosen Blades. An Order that stretched back over a millennium in history. Since before the Imperium's Golden Age in what is known to the world now as the <i>Age of Expansion</i> when the Imperium began to truly be more than just the Heartlands and Danthiva. The Knights made there home on the island of Verin which they aptly renamed Vale after the great mists that shrouded the island's approach most of the year, it was known colloquially as <i>the Veil of Mists</i> or just <i>the Veil</i>. Arrelous himself was old, nearly in his sixties now with a finely trimmed full facial beard and mustache that were grey with white beginning to poke through. His hair was kept short, short enough to fit in his helmet. He had broad shoulders and a deep voice, most called him <i>the Elder</i> though his title was High Inquisitor.<br>
<br>
The man cared little for titles and pleasantries and much preferred to talk about business and deal with matters of actual importance. He had been the most outspoken critic of Lord Regent Ocato Remanti and the man's moves to consolidate power. Arrelous had been the Imperium's Master of War prior to the Lord Regent's appointment, but since he was a political rival of Ocato Remanti he had to be... dismissed. Some said he was lucky to leave Imperia with his life as some of the other Privy Councillors had not been so fortunate and had been killed on false charges of Treason. Others said Arrelous was too powerful to remain in the Capital at such a time and it was this latter group that believed the Lord Regent needed replacing.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #BD4D58">"I have two Legions, and many ships we can use. I assume the rest of you have already begun calling up your Legions as well?"</span> He asked looking at the others, they nodded in response. The man to Arrelous' left was quite large, very tall and broad shouldered. He appeared to be in his thirties, his prime, and was hailed as the King of Delenar. He was naturally their strongest warrior and thus he had earned his position through the <i>Right of Challenge</i> rather than being born to a noble family. King Maximus Atreus and High Inquisitor Arrelous Picon were natural friends. Both lead martial societies that valued similar things. They were going to be natural allies in this war.<br>
<br>
Next to the King was Archduke Harold Vintaris, he was the Provincial Leader of Mirevia. It was the Province which sat directly across the Howling Straight from Vale and was their closest neighbor and trading partner. The Archduke was young, as his mother the late Archduchess Cassia, had perished at sea on the return journey from the Conference in Imperia. A storm is what was said but many had their suspicions that she had been killed by Imperial Agents as she was another very vocal critic of the Lord Regent, she also happened to be cousin to the Emperor-Ascendant and thus an heir to the throne. The young Archduke was the Archduchess' son. He was only but twenty-two years of age and already thrust into a situation that might very well cost him not only his seat but his head should the Rebellion fail.<br>
<br>
Some other less notables were present, such as Ambassadors from Xenara, Astanor, Neermar, and Ganthen. Others had been invited but were holding a similar conference elsewhere. It was assumed that nearly half the provinces of the Imperium were prepared to raise arms against the Throne if the Lord Regent Ocato Remanti didn't resign his post. This would be the first of many such meetings and the Lord Regent knew he had to bide his time lest he stir the dragon before he was ready to fight. Overreaction from the Throne now would turn the undecided Provinces against, of which there were many, including Valais, strongest of the Southern Imperial Provinces, Coraspia the Breadbasket of the North and Pythia the Religious Center of the Imperium. Much to be seen and much to do.​</div></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 6px ridge #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #E9967A;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 4px double #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: GhostWhite;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: #000000"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"></div></div></span><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-family: 'Lobster Two';"><span style="font-size: 36px">The Stone King</span></span></span></div></div><br>
<br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
"Send word to Maridus, inform them I will be passing through in a few days on my way to Avinter to discuss current events, ask them to send word to Avinter should they wish to discuss such things with myself as I return to Callidus" He said to the men sitting around him, one being the equivalent of his secretary, a man to whom the Kings business was intimately known but fiercely safe. "I shall follow the messenger with my men on the morrow, though I will need funds to reimburse local lords for the hunting of game on their land. I shall be traveling on horseback with my guards, you are to act in my stead, though the Jarls will make any nessisary decisions, you just need to maintain order"<br>
<br>
<br>
"I know the Drill, It is hardly the first time I have stood in your shoes, though I would advise traveling with more men and by sea I know you will not listen, the necessary arraignments will be made."<br>
<br>
<br>
"Good, now we have matters of the province to discuss." The King replied, "leave us, please." and so the rest in the room made busy and found more impertinent things to do "Any Jarls who arrive while I am away, which should be most, have them all informed personally. I wish to avoid the scare mongering that other Jarls partake in and make sure they know we hold a neutral stance." The two men kept talking, largely about matters of state but also about more personal matters for one could not know so much about the King without him knowing at least the same and the two growing close. As the two men prepared to part for the night Valiorus said "Have some willing woman sent my way, I shall consider the brides you have selected but I am a free man until then and I shall have my fun. Try to keep it discreet, I am sure many suspect I am looking for a political alliance but should we announce it then we will have all the Jarls shoving their daughters down my throat." With that he left, weeks of riding awaited him and he still had yet to recover from the journey to and from the capital of the Imperium.<br>
<br>
<br>
When he awoke in the morning he quickly made his way to breakfast and gorged himself on the leg of an elk. As he washed it down with some beer he got ready to leave, putting on his fur cloak and making his way to the meeting room, where he guards would likely be waiting, having already eaten and prepared before he awoke. "We Ride to Avinter, Maridus have been made aware of our tplans to travel through their lands, hopefully our relations remain friendly despite resent events, I myself see no reason for them to betray us so let us ride!" He said as the headed out of the ornate room, down widning passages and through large halls, all ornately carved from centuries of expansion and renovation, making space for more people and more power as the province grew. Eventually they found there way to a large cove on the cliffs edge, grazing pasture for the kings horses and that of many regional Jarls. The Mounted on the power horses, bred for resilience and strength, not speed, better suited for war then travel and even better suited for work then war. They soon rode through a relatively short tunnel through the cliff and the subsequent mountain, before emerging out of the rock into the barely hospitable lands of Callidus, where even trees feared to grow. "We will ride to my hall of Vallidus, we should arrive there the day after this, we shall rest, refill water and other such supplies then continue on through Maridus." The Hall of Vallidus was perhaps the hall closest to the border with Maridus, however it was not the one most trusted with the defence of the western border, that fell to a more coastal Jarl. Vallidus largely got its name from the fact that it looks onto a lush valley, a rare sight in Callidus, and is also the source of one of the many rivers feeding the capital of Callidum its water.<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text">Will continue the journey in another post, please tell me if I need change the info about Vallidus</div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #ff0000">Duke Jean-Luc</span></span><br>
<br>
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</span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Arriving back home within his carriage, Jean-Luc was greeted right away by a gathering of his personal guard and mother, his mother looking at him quietly as he steps from the carriage and moves forward, hugging him warmly and patting him on the back, saying in her quiet melodious voice. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff9999">Jean my boy, how did the meeting go? How was the Queen? It's been so long since I last saw her.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Jean smiles, kissing his mother on the cheek and returning her embrace while replying, "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff0000">Her Majesty is quite well, I feel saddened by the sore state of her fellow nobility in our land and the Imperial court. I'll tell you more over some food in the parlor, how about that?</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Jean's mother looked at him knowingly, before nodding and turning and walking in with him while his house servants began to unload his and his guards suitcases and personal travel effects and lead the carriage away.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040"><br>
Upon  settling down within the parlor with some warm spiced ale and bread from a local baker his mother always loved to buy from, Jean began to explain the meeting and how it went. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(255,0,0)">Well mother, it turned out that they were sending a messanger to gather me and all the other ducal Lords and Ladies to the capital to discuss with Her Majesty the current state of the </span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff0000">deliberations within the Imperial Court. It turns out deliberations have broken down it appears that we are on the verge of a civil war for the Imperial throne.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" His mother sighs, setting down her glass and shakes her head, speaking in a rueful tone as she always did when something upset her. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff9999">Those fools, they'd have this entire nation torn asunder over their selfish monetary and land based gains. They will be the end of this nation, not some outside force my son, but the rotten core of the Empire.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Jean nods with her, sighing lightly as she continues on her mini rant. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff9999">And what of the Queen? Doesn't the poor girl have enough to deal with? Surely she's gotten the support of the ducal Lords?</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Jean lets out a small groan at this, shaking his head while smiling as he replies in a kind tone. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff0000">Mother, Her Majesty is hardly a little girl anymore, she's a proven leader and a strong woman. My fellow Dukes and Duchesses are...A bit frightened by the whole thing, but I'd hope that they have gave their support.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" His mother shook her head, chuckling lightly and taking a sip of her ale and eating a bit, giving a nice silence for about three minutes before continuing. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff9999">And what of you Luc? Don't you think it's time to get married? You are almost thirty after-all, I want to be able to see my grandchildren before I pass away!</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Jean coughs into his drink, taking his handkerchief out and coughing into it, looking at her with wide eyes. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff0000">Mother! That was something to drop onto my lap out of nowhere! I've..Simply not found a woman from the nobility that suits my personality, that's all!</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" She'd chuckle at her sons reaction, patting his forearm while saying calmly, "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff9999">Well, Her Majesties your age? Why not start from the top and work your way down if it doesn't work out. If it does I can have royal grand-babies, a true honor for your poor old mother hmm?</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Once again Jean's eyes widen, a faint blush coloring his cheeks while he sputters out. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff0000">M-mother! She is my sovereign, I hardly could have the nerve to do that to her, to worry her with some courting while this whole insanity is going on in the Imperial court!</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" He'd pick up his drink, taking a sip of it again, shaking his head before </span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #404040">standing. "</span><span style="color: #ff0000">I...Must excuse myself, I have work to do! I...Will take your suggestion into mind mother.</span><span style="color: #404040">" His mother chuckles, nodding as he moves away quickly, heading back upstairs to his study, sitting down and beginning to compose various messages to send out to his counts and council.</span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 6px ridge #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #E9967A;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><div class="bbcode-border" style="border: 4px double #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: GhostWhite;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><br>
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<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: #000000"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"></div></div></span><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-family: 'Lobster Two';"><span style="font-size: 36px">The Stone King</span></span></span></div></div><br>
<br>​</div><br>
The King spent a good day checking on his lands, making sure his people were in good health and no one was trying to steal from him. After finding everything was in order he held a small feast for his party and they enjoyed some strong ale and a good bit to eat too. They then stayed to night there to freshen them all up before their long journey across Maridus.<br>
<br>
<br>
As the sun rose the men rode, getting an early start to travel as far as they could before it set once more. They had supplies to last them the day in food and most the trip in water so they stopped little on this first day, hoping to cover as much ground as they possibly could as they passed through the trees. It is well known that the lands to the east and north of the Imperium are fairly devoid of roads like the rest of the lands are, making travel by human or horse much more arduous as, for example in Maridus, you had to navigate forests that were often dense with foliage and trees as you passed from the lands of each man. In Callidus traveling was easier but hunting was your difficulty, in its barren landscape nothing could really grow. They soon found themselves tiring as the sun began to set, but kept on for a fair distance more. Eventually they made camp and set a small fire to gather around. Normally they would talk and laugh into the night but all were too tired this evening and so swiftly all made their way to bed with one keeping a watch and taking his rest every few hours to swap with another. These men feared no ambush of man, for they had good relations with Maridus and there was little reason for bandits to set up this far away from the coast, but the beasts here we strong and wolves could catch and unwary traveler before they opened their eyes to figure out what the fuss was all about. The men set off early again the next day, making way just after the sun had risen and riding until mid afternoon, however on this occasion and most of those following, they mad camp while the sun was still safely in sight and half the party went off hunting. They eventually returned with an elk and monetary reparations were sent to the nearest lord. This night many stories were told and spirits high with jovial merriment.<br>
<br>
<br>
As they were beginning to exit the lands of Maridus, the king himself saw fit to go hunting with the group that were off to forage their food and came across a boar. Deep in the forest. Now the way most people hunt a boar is almost safe and is by far more logical then the way of the Stone Men. Most would have long spears or pikes and would force to boar to skewer itself upon them. However Stone men carried no spears, only sword, shield and axe. Valiorus bashed his sword lightly against his shield to anger the boar and have it rush at him. As it did he dropped low the ground and trapped its snout, lightly cutting his arm on its long tusks. As he did this the other men of the hunting party surrounded it and, with a few axe strikes to its neck, it fell dead. Valiorus was slighty annoyed by his wounds, more so that they would probably stain his fur cloak then that he was wounded. However he was thankful for the rush and the opportunity to be like a normal man, fighting alongside his brothers rather then mollycoddled by his council of Jarls and hoards of guards trying to cocoon him from the 'dangers' of the world. <i>I am the Dangers of the world! </i>he thought as he returned to camp and the hunting party told the short tale of how they took out the boar, adding some falsehoods as is their way.<br>
<br>
<br>
As they entered Avinter, they began to make their way northwest, toward both Avenheim and the coast. Their days continued much like they had in Maridus, with early starts and early endings followed by some hunting and story telling. The only difference being the terrain, especially as they got closer and closer to the coast. Soon, atleast sooner then it felt it would take for Avinter is a large province, at least compared with Maridus, they had crossed a fair way into the province.<br>
<br>
<br>
<div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><span style="color: #ffffff">This is your chance </span><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/profile/24365-emperorconnor/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fprofile%2F24365-emperorconnor%2F&amp;hash=3ec5c1cf5691b534b290ccc99c7e09e9"><span style="color: #ffffff">@EmperorConnor</span></a><span style="color: #ffffff"> for us to end up interfering if you would like, or perhaps for you to run into me after you have succeeded, if not I shall arrive at Avenheim in my next post, but it shall be in IC2 (since interacting will be occurring)</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><span style="color: #A47AB9"><span style="font-size: 36px">The Gilded Queen</span></span></span><br>
<br>
Hyperia put her hand to her temples rubbing them gently as she listened to those before her bicker.<span style="color: #00b3b3"> "Valais must support the removal of th-"</span> the man's voice was cut off by another, <span style="color: #b30000">"If they don't support the throne the might of the Imperial Legions will end them!"</span> They had been going at it for some time and the Queen was close to snapping. First she had to deal with Clandestine, then with reports that dignitaries had arrived without sending words, only to find out they weren't dignitaries but heads of surrounding Provinces come to convince the Queen to take sides in the conflict. The matter was aggravating and it was only further exacerbated by the lack of respect these people showed the Queen of the most powerful province in the South.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #A47AB9">"Enough!"</span> She roared standing and stepping off of her throne. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"You come to my home and dare to lecture me about what my people need do in this conflict!"</span> She continued. Her eyes narrowed at those gathered before her, as several took hesitant steps back. The King of Delenar was present following his trip to Vale. Across from him, arguing for the support of the Throne was none other than the Imperial Prelate. The pair made for good sparring partners in the ways of debate, and yes their arguments were valid but their complete lack of understanding of Valais was enough to piss off anyone.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #A47AB9">"The decision rests with myself and my people, not with some faraway power."</span> She said holding up her hands and very clearly wanting this finished. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"King Atreus, you need to return to Delenar at once. Should my Province remain loyal to the Throne you will be apprehended. Tell your leaders that we will at least consider addressing them properly."</span> She said now turning her attention to the Imperial Prelate. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"You should return to the Heartlands as well, but since you have business here you are given a couple weeks to handle these matters."</span> She said bidding them farewell and departing for her own study to pour over information gathered and figuring out what to do.<br>
<br>
-The next morning-<br>
<br>
Following a night of contemplation, Hyperia settled on where to start. She needed to discuss this matter with someone of relative mind and departed at once towards Coraspia. The largest of the Agrarian Provinces, and home of the Imperium's war horses, they had traditionally been neutral in conflicts of the Throne unless they were attacked. They were populous but few knew the way of the sword. Their wealth rarely left their province as their lords put it back into the land to only reap greater benefits in time. This would be her goal, to talk to their Lords and figure out how best to handle the coming conflict.<br>
<br>
<span class="horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule- "></span><br>
<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><span style="color: #AD895C"><span style="font-size: 36px">Children of the Dunes</span></span></span><br>
<br>
The dunes were calm as the wind had died down following the sandstorm. The banners fluttered in the gentle breeze as the army watched their destination come into view. It had been a long journey and now was the time to strike. The Imperium had been occupied by the Geshkhanate's proxy state of Bethraan in the Filis Disputed Lands. Now the Geshkhanate itself was prepared, the time was upon them to begin their holy war against the Imperium. Now in the Imperium's greatest moment of weakness their greatest rival would be brought to their knees.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #AD895C">"Cross when ready,"</span> the voice was smooth. It was strong and authoritative and yet held the grace that came with the Grand Vizier of the Geshkhanate. Sarine Araan, the youngest Grand Vizier in the history of the Geshkhanate and the closest advisor to the Khagan's ear. Her black hair and rich golden eyes were symbol of her great affluence in society. Her tanned milk colored skin bore some scars from early conflicts. The scar marking her right shoulder up the right side of her kneck was from a failed assassination attempt on her life. For decades the Imperium had been fighting a proxy conflict in the Filis Disputed Lands over Bethaan and the Imperium's claims to ownership. The province had been completely wrecked and its people driven to desperation. Seven Imperial Legions had been permanently stationed there to maintain Imperial control, but that meant they were pulled from other areas. The Geshkhanate had been playing the long game to weaken a specific area on the border of the Imperium and now that it was prepared they would strike.<br>
<br>
<span class="horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule- "></span><br>
<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><span style="color: #5CAD89"><span style="font-size: 36px">Vth Legion, Border of Lyria and Delenar</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #5CAD89">"Move up the reserves!"</span> Legate Daven Illorien bellowed to his officers. The Vth Legion was engaged in a fighting retreat from their fortress. They had been besieged for nearly five days before Legate Illorien had decided it best to withdraw across the border into Lyria where another two Imperial Legions would meet up with the Vth and make a retreat across the sea to Coraspia. They hadn't been recalled but since Delenar and several others had openly declared their opposition for the Throne had made these Legion's positions untenable. Now they moved to safer lands but the tide of war was against them.The battle was long and nearly a quarter of the Legion perished in the retreat and provisions were stretched thin but it wouldn't be long before they withdrew to safer lands. Legate Illorien knew that this first battle would be the beginning of something more. Time would only tell what would come.<br>
<br>
<span class="horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule bbcode-horizontal-rule- "></span><br>
Okay so we have the <b>First Battle</b> of the Civil War.<br>
<br>
<b>Invasion </b>by the Geshkhanate into Neermar.<br>
<br>
These two events will become common knowledge <b>after</b> my next post. If you are a character in the Northern half of the Imperium you are oblivious to this information right now, please don't make mention of it until Queen Hyperia arrives in Coraspia. Thank you!​</div></div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #006600"><b><i>Asger Nantz</i></b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #006600"><br>
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #006600"><b><i>Tribune of the XV. Imperial Legion</i></b></span></span></span><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)"><span style="font-family: 'arial'">A gentle breeze swept through the lands of the Filis Disputed Lands as Asger stared the marching Cohort from atop of his horse. It has been quite a time since he got the order to travel there and reinforce the Imperial Legion that suffered losses due to bandit attacks. He also got promoted to the Tribune of that Legion. It was a great responsibility, whilst a great honor and an even bigger opportunity to regain the old fame of his family. Asger hoped that this opportunity will raise him higher than any of his ancestors could get, thus proving that he is superior to those in the past. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
To prove himself in battle was one of his aims in life and may be the biggest one as well. The knowledge of the family was passed down, but loosing his father so soon, there were plenty of questions about the family's ideology that Asger had to find all by himself. He was aware that the answers found by him may not be the ones he would get from his father, but he convinced himself that it is through this way that he could master The Way of War. He has always been leading his men according to it. The conditions of the rewards and punishments were always clear, Asger did his best to solve every conflict between his men in a just way and it was resulting. His men respected him even in spite of him being so young, they liked serving under him and yet they feared him. The connection between him and his men could hardly be any stronger.</span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000">These men now were marching to join forces with the Imperial Legion led by General Belisarius and to defeat the bandits threatening the people and the interests of the Empire. Their equipment was well maintained, the shields were were protected with a leather cover, hung up to the Y-shaped rod borne on their left shoulder. Their heavy equipment on their backs, the soldiers were marching confidently without any sweat. No wonder, Asger did not let them lay back back in Vale like some other Fist Centurions. They had constant training be it a snow covered, cold night or a scorching noon. Sleeping, showering, eating, training, maintaining their equipment and even relaxing, they did everything together and it was not rare to see Asger joining his men and spending some time among them. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
It's due to these methods that this Cohort became a second family to everyone in it. Each of them trained hard to become stronger and after all that training they are a true Imperial Cohort.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">As Asger stared at the far horizon, he noticed one of his scouts approaching with high speed. He calmly waited for the scout's arrival who got off of his horse and saluted before Asger.</span></span> <span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="color: #808080">"Reporting: Our forces shall arrive to the destination in six hours with the current pace."</span></span> <span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">Asger looked at the marching Cohort and replied: </span></span><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="color: #006600">"Well done soldier. Now join the scouting circle around the Cohort and report any movement to me."</span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-family: 'arial'"> By saying that Asger galloped back to his men and as he got from the back to the front he yelled the information for the soldiers:</span></span><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="color: #006600">"Prepare for full pace! We are eating lunch in the barracks!" </span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">The order was followed by the legionaries whispering something that Asger did not bother trying to hear. As he got to the front his centurions saluted. "Sir! May I ask why are we changing to full pace?" Asger took his place in the middle front of his Cohort and answered with a grin on his face </span></span><span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="color: #006600">"I want to arrive in three hours."</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
...</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'georgia'"><span style="color: #006600">"Sixth, Fifth, Fourth and Third Centurions! I want you to move in to the barracks. We are staying for a while so make sure to talk with the other officers. Second and First Centurions! You shall move in too, but I want both centurias to be ready for departure in full combat gear in one hour if I give the order."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)"> With that, Asger rode his horse forward as he wanted to report to General Belisarius as soon as possible. He headed to the barracks hoping that an office could tell him where the General was to be found but fortunately enough  as he found the General with a companion, preparing to leave the barracks.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><br>
</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
Asger got off and walked up to the General. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #006600">"General Belisarius! I am Tribune Asger Nantz, and I got the order to reinforce the Fifteenth Imperial Legion with my Cohort as well as serve you as you new second-in-command officer."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"> After saluting to the general, Asger pulled out the written order with the Imperial Stamp on the bottom side of the letter, and showed it to the General.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
@NorbertM<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'arial'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
</span></span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper">Duke Jean-Luc<br>
<br>
<br>
Within the span of a week and a half around five-thousand levies raised and began to gather at the local capital where hastily erected tent and palisades city surrounded by another, smaller city based upon gathering the large number of levies and be able to train them a bit more then the average peasant armed with a pitchfork and rags. Currently Jean-Luc was sitting within a large vaulted building within the center of the capital of his Duchy, sitting at a large maple table in high backed leather-bound chairs with his commanders and economic advisers discussing the effects of raising the troops within his Duchy and the further cost of equipping and training the levy. Currently speaking was the chief steward Estienne Aliker, awised man of about seventy-eight who'd served Jean-Luc's family as far back as his grandfather. "Gentlemen and ladies, I have provided the necessary information packets of velum to you all so that you are able to be on the same situation as myself when it comes to the economics of this situation since the Crown has permitted us to use the current funds if a war arises that we give them per that year to fund our own levies and train them, they are being diverted to that. I will not bore all of you with the direct details please read them at your leisure"<br>
<br>
<br>
He'd bow gently, before sitting back down and his Marshal Gaetan Delon stands, a tall fair haired man, very well built for his age of forty-five. Clad in his formal armor with it's precious metal inlays, Gaetan had never really gotten along well with Jean-Luc, due to his happiness to show off his wealth and failure to give back a reasonable sum to the population that works in his barony to gather it. "Gentlemen, I feel that we must raise all of the levy, all fifteen-thousand of them. We cannot simply get shown up by the larger duchies! So what if we lose some money we are the richest within the Empire and we should be proud of it!" A few nod in agreement with him, though the majority of the council seems to not be so easily convinced by his militarist speech. Countess Oliva Bourbeau standing and looking at Gaetan while speaking in her firm, authoritative voice that made most men within the council find that it was much better to not look at her but at the table then face her ire. "If we do as <b>you</b> say, we will be without any money within our coffers within a year, we won't have to care about this war because we will be too busy starving without the manpower to generate any currency or supplies. <b>If</b> we are to raise levy and we should in my opinion, we must raise the normal rate and do it as we always have, it's worked for the Anastos family for the five hundred years they've reigned within this Duchy and it should be able to handle it now!" She'd look around the table, meeting the looks of those defiant, those in agreement, and those with a healthy dose of fear and respect for the tiger of Arveignon.<br>
<br>
<br>
Finally Jean-Luc stands, looking at them all as he raps his gavel upon the table. "I understand your wish Sir Gaetan, to go and show off our loyalty to Her Majesty in this dire time. But I also must take the best wishes of my people into account and so I cannot simply send everyone off to war, no matter how patriotic the cause. For what good is it for us to win this war and return home coin less, without food, and without tended fields and ways of gaining money?" Siting down again, Jean-Luc glances about at the council, before sighing and speaking in a less formal voice. "All of you have served both myself and my father well, and I count many among you as respected allies and friends, you have your orders and my blessing all of you. Go forth and bring victory to this nation!" He'd stand, bowing and saying goodbye to each in turn as they left the council chambers, before heading upstairs in his villa to pack his things, say goodbye to his mother, and then embark on his journey towards the capital again. This time though he took only one guard and rode on horse to make it in as quick time possible, rather then being slowed down by the normal five to ten men and carriage with supplies and all that.<br>
<br>
<br>
After a day and a half of riding they make their way towards the last stretch of the journey, glancing about at the countryside riding by them as they ride on at a quick pace, Jean-Luc's face a mask of concern and worry, constantly thinking about the possibilities of the damage of a full blown civil war on this nation as a whole, and that the wolves outside the gates may take this time to invade and regain lands they've lost or take more...But currently he couldn't do anything about that until he met with Her Majesty and received his orders, and to do that he needed to meet with her in person. Looking forward he finally saw the city coming into focus on the distant horizon, riding towards what he feared would be the last time he saw Her Majesties homelands in peacetime.</div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: rgb(0,179,179)">Johan</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Grand Hotel';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: rgb(0,179,179)"><br>
Jarl of Arnarhvall</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
The knock on the door was loud and swift, authoritatively so.<span style="color: #ff0000"> “If you open the door unarmed, my employer says he will guarantee that no harm will come to you if you wish to settle this with your life.”</span> came the gravelly growl that Johan did not recognize. Of course he did not, he thought to himself. Whoever his opposition was was not stupid enough to place themselves so close to a door that one could not see behind. Who knew whether the young Jarl (or anyone else, for that matter) would come barrelling straight through it, sword in hand? And clever opponents were not preferable. For an intelligent man or woman always knows that in conflict, the situation is fair, then you were doing it wrong. Ideally one would have the odds stacked in their favor and leave any enemy with serious disadvantages. Johan couldn’t help but think that the very fact that he wasn’t objectively aware of who was behind all this put him on the back foot.<br>
<br>
<br>
The door opened slowly and silently, words being beyond a fuming and ashamed young man. He valued his life above his personal internal rhetoric but that did not make him proud, nor happy or content. <span style="color: #ff0000">“Anyone else in there?” </span>the same voice asked him, revealing itself as belonging to a herculean who looked as strong as an ox. That prompted Harald to reveal himself, sparing Johan the dilemma of being honest against the Thane’s wishes or possibly selling him out.<br>
<br>
<br>
Johan merely scowled at the person before him. <span style="color: #ff0000">“Come with me.”</span> the man told him, not suggesting, but ordering. And the Jarl was in no position to negotiate right about now. He need not tempt fate by not watching his mouth and making a stupid throwaway comment. <span style="color: #ff0000">“And your </span><span style="color: #ff0000"><i>friend</i></span><span style="color: #ff0000">.”</span> he added quickly. All sides were covered by other grunts, but none were quite the size of the one they were primarily dealing with and speaking with. But Johan had never been overly agile and making a run or dash for it was not an option. It would likely have repercussions even if by some miracle he got away. Harald, and certainly those he cared about, would feel the consequences.<br>
<br>
<br>
His eyes remained vigilant, searching for whoever could be the mastermind behind all of this. But they never perceived the blow which swept his legs from underneath him before a sack went over his head and it was clubbed by some blunt object, the identity of which would forever remain unclear.<br>
<br>
<br>
The next thing he knew of, he still couldn’t see anything ; for his head was still covered. But he recognised who was talking to him, for it was Bjorn of Odinligr. The smugness was unmistakeable and doubly more annoying than usual now that the young man had yet another thing to dislike about him. True, he or his father had never got on with Bjorn but they had always had a handful of opponents to pick from. This just put him at the very top of the list of people whom he despised and solidified the position too, as the sack preventing Johan from observing his ugly face was roughly taken off. Bjorn turned around and stopped his sinister pacing around the room to make eye contact, presumably in order to deliver some witty statement, the man loved to humour himself. It was definitely not amusing on the other end of it all though. But the Gods had smiled on him by making sure his mother wasn’t here when things took this turn, and they did so again by sparing him the torture of having to put up with it, for the Thane got straight to the point.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #ff8000">“The fact that you’re right here before me now with your hands tied behind your back tells me that you’re probably willing to listen to reason and that you value your life. So therefore I have a proposition for you.”</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #00b3b3">“Aren’t you so clever for working that one out?”</span> Johan teased. It was met nigh immediately with a punch to the face and cold hands around his neck.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #ff8000">“Listen to me, you worthless dreg.”</span> he hissed. <span style="color: #ff8000">“Because if you don’t, I could torture you for days. And that would be after I force you to watch me doing things to your whore of a mother and other such people you hold so dear. How about the pretty girl you always seem so keen on trading with every Sunday? You get my point?”</span><br>
<br>
<br>
Johan nodded, not enlightening him on how it’d be a preferential alternative to having to pretend that he didn’t hate Bjorn or listening to him talk for more than a minute at a time.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #ff8000">“Everything you do, little boy, will be watched by someone who works for me. And if you dare do something without my express permission, I shall personally ensure that you will get dragged back here. You’re my puppet from this moment onwards, but you won’t betray my trust. You’re far too much of a coward to do that.”</span> he concluded, pausing as if expecting a remark as an answer. <span style="color: #ff8000">“Now I don’t want you to know where we are so I’m going to put this sack back over your head in a second or two. I’ll make sure you get home fine. Now, I shall repeat it one final time - should you run too far or disobey, I’ll destroy you and everything you know.”</span><br>
<br>
<br>
And Fate being the exceedingly cruel mistress she often was, the literal moment he found himself opening the door to Arnesen Hold a couple of hours later, which no longer felt like the safe and secure family home it once had, his input was required already. A rider came swift like lightning, cresting the hill at such a speed that one could blink and miss it.<br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #00b300">“Your Grace, I have spotted a group of horsemen in nearby territory. They fly an unfamiliar banner, it is Callidus, I believe? Have you received prior word concerning their passage?”</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #00b3b3">“I have not.” </span>the Jarl stated. He didn’t give any reason as to why that might have been the case. Those closer to him would not even be moderately surprised about how he had gone mysteriously. It was not out of character for him to go out and not return for a day or two, but in truth he couldn’t honestly recall how long it had been since <i>that </i>encounter. <span style="color: #00b3b3">“Gather horsemen of our own. I shall meet you in the centre of town on horseback soon.”</span><br>
<br>
<br>
What did one have to do to get a decent break and a bit of rest around here?</div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><b><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000">Azazel</span></span></b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><b><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000">The Silver Tongued Sinner </span></span></b></span><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">Azazel cleaned his blades as he walked towards Val Calais. His contract went surprisingly well, despite it's time consuming nature. Everything in his plan went smoothly, clean kills, clean escape, clean scene. Azazel got his pay for the work and went on his way without a hitch. His day was going almost too well. Azazel wiped the last of his knives, before quickly sheathing it along with all the others as he approached the main entrance to the city. He bowed in jest to the guards on watch he passed. Something told him they didn't appreciate the tongue-in-cheek form of respect he gave them. Not like they could do much about it. All the more reason! He chuckled to himself has he worked his way through the city. Usually, he'd use the rooftops or use one of Clandestine's tunnels, but today was a good enough day to stroll about the streets. Azazel's good day slowly started to fade as he came upon Clandestine's entrance actually under watch by the guards.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"Master Azazel! Oh my master..." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Sojourn shuffled towards Azazel. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"The queen, she has turned us from Clandestine, master. Her guards fill it's walls and have removed everyone." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"What?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel hissed, his good mood quickly turning to that of seething anger. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Why, and where then are the resident's of Clandestine?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Sojourn slowly backed away from his fuming master to avoid any of his relent. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"The.. The lady Hyperia came to inform us of our departure after Deacon delivered our message. They've been moving us to a housing, closer to a slums really.. Everyone has been moved there, including the agents." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel paced in a small circle, barely containing himself from going into Clandestine and ending the lives of any and all involved in this, the removal of his work. Azazel cursed, in a manner that even Sojourn was taken aback by, and he was used to Azazel's swearing habits. Azazel vented enough to not snap the necks of the entire guard force before making up his mind. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600"> "W.. what do we do Master Azazel?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Where is this housing?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"It's located near the southern gate, being built by the fifth legion under the watch of one General Titus Lexius." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Go there, and fetch me Esmerée and Salem. I'll deal with Deacon after we sort this mess out. I have a feeling he didn't undertake his task as planned. Go." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel climbed to the roof tops and raced to the southern gate. Rare was it that his temper was cut short. This was one such rarity. As he made his way to an overlooking rooftop, the sight disgusted him. Not solely from the fact his people of Clandestine had been made to live in a ramshackle of a living space, more to the fact Hyperia would allow for what was slowly becoming a slums to form in the city of Val Calais. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"This won't stand. There is a manner of tolerance a people must attain to. Clearly they have failed to retain it." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel lost himself in staring at his people of Clandestine chained to this horrid corner of Val Calais they called 'housing'. The longer he looked the more his rage grew. </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #a64dff"><br>
"You asked for us Master Azazel?"</span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Two women, both in light black armor Azazel's Azazel-lings used in combat and in recon, walked from behind him. The one who called to him stood prominent, her dark hair and dark eyes standing out in the light of day. Azazel's gaze remain fixed upon the sight before him. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Yes, Salem, and I see Sojourn had preformed in retrieving you two." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">"Oh, we'll always come to the call of our Master Azazel. Especially after all you've done for us." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Your loyalty is appreciated." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #a64dff">"There is an anger in your voice Master. Have we done you wrong?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">"Master Azazel, please do not be mad at us. We will do everything in our power to correct our wrong!" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Esmerée clung to Azazel's arm, her blonde hair falling on him. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #a64dff">"Contain yourself Esmerée." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: rgb(179,89,0)">"I </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">apologize for my actions Master Azazel." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">Salem sighed in </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">annoyance</span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">. Azazel was used to Esmerée's rather </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">intoxicating persona. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: rgb(179,0,0)">"It isn't your actions I am </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">infuriated by, rather the actions of others. Neither of you have done anything to make me ill tempered." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Salem walked to Azazel's side, Esmerée still holding his arm, though standing upright. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #a64dff">"Who has angered you? They will see a quick death." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">"Or a painfully tortured one. I like those better." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"No one needs to be brought down, yet. Deacon and our Queen Hyperia are the one's who have my attention. They are why I have called for you both." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">"I hate that bitch of a woman! She took our home from us!" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #a64dff">"The feeling is mutual. What has Deacon done however?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: rgb(179,0,0)">"I figure, he was the starting point for this, yeah. Never the less, we have work to do if we are to fix this situation. Esmerée, you are to accompany me to go visit our queen. I have a feeling she has more  on this situation to discuss with me. Salem, find Deacon. I doubt it will be hard. Bring him to me after Esmerée and I return. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">Unarmed." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #a64dff">"Yes, Lord Azazel. It will be done." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Come Esmerée, we've our lady Hyperia to meet with, yeah." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">"Just tell me when I get to kill, master."</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">The two made their way to the Estate of Law, and up to Hyperia's study. Esmerée took to the rafters in hiding. Azazel stood in wait. Esmerée was simply here for Azazel's sake. Should his temper reach a point of danger, Esmerée would be his 'reminder' to settle down. It was the waiting game until Hyperia arrived. Azazel could feel the heat of his anger radiating throughout the room. His difficulty controlling his anger was concerning, but less of the matter at hand. His will and patience were stronger than that of other emotions. Control was key. Esmerée was the backup. This meeting would go smoothly. Most likely.</span></span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">@Maven<br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><span style="color: #A47AB9"><span style="font-size: 36px">The Gilded Queen</span></span></span><br>
<br>
The horses thundered on the highway of Valais, fine roads built long ago during the Golden Age and still sturdy as ever. Hyperia had abandoned her dress for armor. The walls of Val Calais came into view and a sigh of relief was let out from the group of dogged riders. All present were all that was left. An ambush, a meeting, a battle and an invasion. War had come not just to Valais but to the entire Imperium It would not be long before this spiraled, that is if the fighting continued unchecked. A horn sounded from one of the men beside Hyperia, it was signalling the the southern gate to open and for the streets could be cleared so the riders could make haste. This kind of action was rare, though it was exceptionally rare that Queen Hyperia donned her armor. They passed through the housing that had been constructed by the Vth for the citizens of Clandestine. It was far more of a slums than Hyperia wished to admit, but that would change soon. This was only temporary afterall.<br>
<br>
The riders thundered into the streets of Val Calais, making haste to the Estate of Law. The horn sounded again, this time to make sure the Estate's gates were indeed open for her arrival. The group of about two dozen came to a halt, their faces told of horror. At least one steed collapsed in its dying throes from exhaustion. <i>Darkness was coming.</i><br>
<br>
As Hyperia made her way to her study, she was flanked by figures of great note, some of which were the Legate-Marshal Celaarian, Steward Cormor and Legate Arsonius. Some members from important Guilds or representatives of her duchies were also present. The group drew weapons when they entered her study, caught off guard by the presence of a lone figure. <i>Azazel</i>, Hyperia thought to herself. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"Leave us at once,"</span> she said raising her hand to stop any kind of rebuttal. The doors closed behind them and Hyperia sighed looking at the man before her. He was not one for pleasantries and though they had known eachother for a short time, Hyperia had come to understand this about him and make sure to just dispatch with the pleasantries and get to the point of the matter.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #A47AB9">"Temporary housing Azazel,"</span> she said knowing that her Master of Whispers would have already seen the sorry state of housing his people had been moved into following the closure of Clandestine. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"Deacon I believe is what he is called,"</span> Hyperia said inquisitively. Her tone was even, not condescending or submissive. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"He dropped daggers from a height inside the Grand Hall, and while none came closer than the one that hit the table before me, he started a Duchess half to death."</span> She said not being able to hide the entertainment at the thought of recalling how the Duchess had been sent careening backwards in her chair before toppling over. Much to the amusement of those present. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"I am however, Queen of Valais, and with that comes the responsibility to not let my authority be so blatantly undermined, as such action was taken and Clandestine had to be removed from the equation."</span> She stood before walking and looking out the window to the city below. Her thoughts changed from the situation at hand to that which she had learned of. The first battle of the Civil War had occurred, and adding salt to the wound, the Geshkhanate had chosen now to strike at the Imperium.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #A47AB9">"I'm naming you a Duke."</span> She held up her hand much like she had done to those before, stopping Azazel and making sure he knew this was not up for debate. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"You care about these people more than I, not because I see them as less but because I have to weigh them against all of Valais. For you they are like family, like children. So as a parent I am giving you the power to protect them. You are being given lands that will be carved from two other Duchies. The Dukes were not as willing but their Queen asked and so then had little choice. It's in the Haven Mountains, in the center of Valais. There is a rather rundown Citadel in those mountains, with large sections built inside one of the mountains. The valleys are fertile and while most of the mines have been stripped, I'm sure you would find uses for them nonetheless. Perfect for you to restore, and a strong place should you need to make a stand."</span> She said looking at him and then back at the table between them.<br>
<br>
A piece of parchment was rolled up and she handed it to him. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"This is the decree stating you are the Duke of these new lands, and it also guarantees you the resources along with financing to rebuild the Citadel to a more livable state. All those you wish to have from the remnants of Clandestine are welcome to go with you, we will also provide carts for their belongings. The Vth Legion under Titus Lexius will go with you as well, they will provide security in these times but will also be the manpower you will need to rebuild with. Their commander, Lexius will take orders from me, you will act as my Proxy meaning he will take orders from you."</span> A smile crept onto her face as she wondered how much he was either cursing her or blessing her for all this. This was far more of an anchor for Azazel than he was likely to want. "How you determine to lead your duchy, which laws you plan to implement and how your successor is ultimately chosen is up to you. Just do not infringe on the laws of Valais or the Imperium and I will not be forced to intervene." She said looking at him again. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"Oh, and you will be expected to remain on the Privy Council as Master of Whispers, I will also allow you the same freedoms you currently have."</span> She said alluding to the independent contracts he was allowed to take up. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"Best not to rattle one's foundation too much."</span> She said with a smile.<br>
<br>
Her face grew dark now, as the information she had to tell him was grave, <span style="color: #A47AB9">"The Geshkhanate has crossed the Imperium's border at Neermar. Initial reports suggest soldiers as far as the eye can see, hundreds of thousands."</span> She said looking at him. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"I was boarding the ship to Coraspia when I was told, and to add onto this the Legions in Delenar had to fight there way out of their fortresses and seek shelter in Lyria for the time being."</span> She watched her mysterious Master of Whispers. Now more than ever her trip to Coraspia was necessary. She had to make sure that food would be supplied to the Northern half of the Imperium because Valais was about to have to withhold its supplies to support its own war effort. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"I'm leaving at once for Coraspia to talk to their Duke. I will return soon, until I do Legate-Marshal Celaarian will take command of the Kingdom. Listen to her Azazel, I really don't want to have to handle something when I get back."</span> She said looking at him and turning to leave. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"Rebuild that Citadel, make a home for yourself and your people."</span> She said finally leaving and making her way to the docks of Val Calais. The ship departed at once and Azazel was left <i>alone</i> in the Estate of Law.<br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>Azazel</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><br>
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000"><b>The Silver Tongued Sinner</b></span></span></span><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">The Master of Whispers and his agent sat in wait. It was a game they had learned to take fun in while participating. Azazel had become </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">rather adept at games such as these as he had grown. He mastered the rules of the game while the kids of his age played the games of children. He had also learned that there was never simply one game going on at once. The horns reminded Azazel of this rule. Azazel straightened and looked to Esmerée, hiding in the shadows of the rafters. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"Something is wrong. Ready yourself." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b35900">"The fun seems to have started without us, Master Azazel." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Esmerée slipped a thin blade from her waist. Azazel returned his stare to the door of the study. The horns sounded once more, much closer. Signaling to the Estate of Law. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><i><span style="color: rgb(179,0,0)">What in the world are you such a rush for? </span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">Azazel remained motionless, staring in wait for the next person to go through that door. Footsteps grouped up outside the door. The sounds of metal being unsheathed muffled through the door. Esmerée shifted in her position, only to be called off by the raise of Azazel's hand. The small group entered the study weapons at the ready. If they were a threat, they could have been easily dispatched. The fact his singular presence seemed to miff them also would have made the task all the easier. Azazel </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">r</span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px">ecognized</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000"> a few faces, not that he cared enough about each one to put a name to them. Hyperia, among them, and in armor no less. This was becoming a stranger and stranger as time passed. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #cc99ff">"Leave us at once." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel glared down each one that left, his gaze finally locking with Hyperia's. He wasn't here with hidden intent. He made his disliking of the matter of his people of Clandestine clear. </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">He remained still and silent as Hyperia spoke. Deacon's </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">method</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)"> of delivery was one Azazel should have </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">expected</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">, none the less the one he wanted to avoid. A matter he would no doubt bring up with him later. Due to Deacon's failure to restrain himself, Clandestine as he knew it was no more. As Hyperia moved to the window, the change in her thinking managed to catch Azazel slightly off guard. Azazel hated that. Not the matter she managed to </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">catch him off guard, but that because the matter she was thinking of did.  Ill news was coming. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #cc99ff">"I'm naming you a Duke."</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"> Azazel gritted his teeth. He maintained his calm while Hyperia explained more on the matter. The old citadel. She was giving him the power to restore a home to the people of Clandestine. It's central location would be useful, as well as the magnitude of opportunities it's construction allowed him. As she handed him the rolled up parchment, he simply tossed it into the shadows where Esmerée hid, his gaze unmoved from Hyperia. The use of the Vth Legion sweetened the deal. Their long term uses seemed minimal, but the manpower would be of use to him. Titus being placed under his thumb didn't seem so bad either. All of it Azazel was wary of and annoyed by. Hyperia's smile wasn't helping. Her calculating look, to see his either appreciation or damnation of this gift. He gave her no indication of either. If anything Azazel was </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">cautions</span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"> of everything he was just handed. Remaining Master of Whispers was one of the few things that brought him comfort in this dealing. This whole thing gave off an aura of deeper meaning. Clearing Clandestine's tunnels, giving someone of Azazel's... stature... reign over a duchy. There were variables to this he wasn't being given, and it was starting to pester him. This was a matter he would tread carefully.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">As Hyperia's face grew dark, Azazel managed to stifle a small smile. Now they were getting into the matter that required the horns, armed entrances, and armor. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #cc99ff">"The Geshkhanate has crossed the Imperium's border at Neermar. Initial reports suggest soldiers as far as the eye can see, hundreds of thousands." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel lifted a brow. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><i><span style="color: rgb(179,0,0)">This wasn't the war I was expecting. </span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">The Geshkhanate was a curious combatant to try and attack Imperium. The large number of attackers was also something that peak his interest. This oncoming conflict was one Azazel could get behind. So many lives to put down. Azazel assumed, with what else he knew was going on, he'd be reaping the lives of both men of Geshkhanate, and men of Imperium. Oh, how much fun poets and storytellers would have recalling the events of these times. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><i><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">The War of Crowns, </span></i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">as any who bore them would have a blood red target painted upon it, and the head it sat upon. Azazel's thoughts quickly faded at the mention of Legate-Marshal Celaarian's temporary command. He was in dealing with Hyperia, not some Legate-Marshal from the likes of which Azazel would have offed if they annoyed him or he was getting payed well enough. Azazel respected command, but not when it was below him. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #cc99ff">"Listen to her Azazel, I really don't want to have to handle something when I get back." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel grudgingly nodded. He at least respected the fact there were bigger matters at hand than listening to the orders of someone below him. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #cc99ff">"Rebuild that Citadel, make a home for yourself and your people." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">As she turned to leave him, Azazel finally spoke, his voice calm, but it's impact commanding and without debate. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"Never call me Duke, you and everyone else who would know me as such." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel watched her turn and leave.</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000"> "And take that damned armor off. It isn't fitting of you." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">And Azazel was left alone in the Estate of Law.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><br>
</span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b35900">"You can be sure none of us will call you that, Master Azazel." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px">Esmeree made sure to mention, dropping from the rafters and landing just behind him. She looked over the parchment, again and </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">again</span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px">, </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px">confirming everything it mentioned. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b35900">"At least we have a new home to call ours. And you've got a shiny new position of power." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"One that grounds me to the law of this place, especially now that war is breaking out." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"I want you to recreate that document, yeah. Only sign it under Sojourn's name." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Esmerée blinked at him. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b35900">"Master Azazel, why would you eventually give up such a position?" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(179,0,0)">"I won't be held in one place by anyone. I have my ties and I keep them few for a reason. We only keep a second form of this document </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">encase I need to be free of all such a title binds me to. Sojourn is the least... active in our dealings. He has a strong son he can pass down to, not to mention he follows our ideals like a religion." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Esmerée nodded slowly as he spoke, starting to understand Azazel's reasoning. If his plans were to go with as minimal hitches as possible, he would need as few anchors as possible. She smiled and cocked her head at him. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b35900">"Don't worry Master, I'll always follow your word. I'll recreate it to your specifications. Now then, we have a lot of work ahead of us." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"That we do. Come, I believe we have our people to relocate and a slums to remove." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b35900">"Aaaand, we have to punish Deacon, remember?" </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000">"Punish.. and reward him." </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000">Esmerée giggled maniacally as they departed. Azazel slid one of his daggers out of it's sheath and planted it into the doorway as the two left. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #b30000"><i>Fine, I'll play along for now Lady Hyperia. In the end, I'll put a knife in this war with the Geshkhanate and off anyone who stand in your way. I always keep my deals to the very end. </i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000"> War, a game the children of this world still played to this day. Azazel always came out on top against his piers. Now the playing field was much more to a size of Azazel's liking, the players much more experienced than before. None, however, were as practiced as Azazel. None, knew how he played. Azazel was the grey piece in the battle board of white and black pawns. White had moved first against black. Black would soon retaliate. And Azazel would soon take out the kings. A War of Crowns, and Azazel bore none upon his head. Yet.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center">@Maven<br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: rgb(255,0,0)">Duke Jean-Luc</span></span><br>
<br>
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</span></span><br>
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<br>
<span style="color: rgb(64,64,64)">The hard riding had left both rider and horse exhausted, finally making their way within the city, Jean and his guard Emmanuel had finally managed to head up to the inn. Emmanuel being given the relief of being able to head upstairs and pass out from riding all day. Jean instead assisted the stable hands at making sure his horse and his guards horse were taken care of and properly housed before quickly changing into his formal garb and make his way up-to the main gates of the Estate of Law.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: rgb(64,64,64)"><br>
Being stopped by the two guards at the gates, Jean would glance at the two, frowning slightly before saying calmly. "</span><span style="color: rgb(255,0,0)">Hail good sirs, I am here to meet with Her Majesty, Queen Hyperia</span><span style="color: rgb(64,64,64)">" The two guards would glance at each other, before the higher ranked of the two in a gruff voice. "</span><span style="color: rgb(179,179,0)">Sorry You're Grace, Her Majesty just left this early morning, Legate-Marshal Celaarian is currently in charge and residing within Imperial Embassy.</span><span style="color: rgb(64,64,64)">" Jean sighs, running a hand through his hair before looking at the officer again before replying in a tired voice, "</span><span style="color: rgb(255,0,0)">I will see her instead, if I am allowed to pass?</span><span style="color: rgb(64,64,64)">" the guards quickly nod, stepping aside and opening the gates and allowing him to hurry within and head to the Imperial Embassy, walking up the steps and entering within the Embassy. Making his way inside, Jean-Luc would be lead to meet with Legate-Marshal Celaarian.</span></div>
				
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The large hulking vessel was flanking by three smaller but still formidable ships. This large vessel was different than the smaller one she took to the Imperial Capital. It was a warship through and through. One that was meant to ward off any would be attackers. It mattered little at this point though, Coras was coming into sight and a sigh of general relief escaped the Queen's lips. It had been stormy for most of the voyage and under most circumstances they would have sought port, but with the Imperium in Civil War, a friendly port might not be easy to find. Fortunately for Valais they were still neutral, and would likely remain so in the foreseeable future. They had no reason to enter a Civil War and divide their forces when they would be the ones coordinating in the Southern Imperium against the Geshkhanate.<br>
<br>
The ship pulled into port and some people gathered on the docks and throughout the cliffs to see the hulking ship and her escorts. Coras was building into and around a natural cove. It's deep water port had been important to the north-western Imperium for a very long time as one of the few deep water ports in this region. The city was large, nearly as large as Val Calais and just as formidable in defenses. The Dukes of Coraspia were among the wealthiest in all the Imperium and due to the humble communities the lived in, that wealth made its way down through the ranks to even the common citizen. Life in Coraspia was simple, and besides their grains, their horses were much sought after. It was Coraspian Chargers that the Valaisan Chevaliers used.<br>
<br>
As Hyperia stepped off the boat a smiled graced her lips as an elderly gentlemen in fine robes but not overly opulent stood waiting at the docks for her. He was flanked by a couple guards, but again nothing over the top. His white beard was well kept and trimmed, his green eyes looks warn but inviting. Everything about this man gave an air of general contentment and appreciation, much like a grandfather's would. <i>Uriel Coraan</i>, the Duke of Coras, ruler of Coraspia. He was flanked by an aged woman whom Hyperia knew to be the Duke's wife, Alexia Coraan. The elderly woman was the daughter of a Valaisan Merchant family that moved to Coraspia some time ago.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #C593AC">"Such a lovely sight, don't you think Uriel?"</span> Alexia said as Hyperia approached and bowed to the pair. <span style="color: #72B372">"I would yes my darling dove."</span> Uriel said back to his wife, gently unhitching his arm from her's. He bowed and she curtsied, both flawless, especially considering their age. They were true nobility, effortless in execution, beloved by their people, respected by what few foes they had and immensely influential without expending any of their time to do so. <span style="color: #C593AC">"It is such a pleasure to see you again my dear,"</span> Alexia said coming up to Hyperia and taking a hand in her's.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #A47AB9">"Yes, too long."</span> Hyperia said to the older woman, who reminded her of her own grandmother. The trio made their way to the palace that overlooked the harbor from high on the cliff side. Once they had arrived, they made their way to one of the balconies overlooking the harbor and jutting out just a bit over the side of the cliff. it was pure stone and seemed ethereal in the soft light of the sun. The crashing of the waves was soothing and seemed to lull Hyperia into a calm as it reminded her of home.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #C593AC">"So my dear, what do we own the pleasure of your arrival here to?"</span> Alexia said a smile on her face. Hyperia cursed herself that she had to be the harbinger of bad news, devastating news really, but it was necessary as she was going to need to ensure the grain supply for the Imperium and to pretty much buy every steed that Coraspia had. The Chevaliers and other soldiers needed horses for war, and Valais needed them sooner than later, lest they face a grave situation like Neermar.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #A47AB9">"The Geshkhanate has crossed into Neermar with a million men, or there abouts."</span> She said. The Duchess' face paled and the Duke started coughing a bit because he had been sipping some water when she said that. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"I'm here to ensure that your state will remain neutral in the Civil War and to ask if I could purchase all your steeds except those needed for breeding."</span> Hyperia added. She watched the pair share a look of concern and without a word, Duchess Alexia stood and with a curtsie that was again flawless departed to the depths of the palace to take care of business.<br>
<br>
Recovering the Duke stood and looked out over his city, his lands and then the ocean. <span style="color: #72B372">"I guess it was only a matter of time."</span> he said turning back to Hyperia and offering a nod. <span style="color: #72B372">"Neutrality is where we were going to remain anyhow. No need to drag my people into a civil war when I haven't done that over the course of my reign. As for the steeds, I can give you what we have, we will need compensation at a later date."</span> He said sitting back down and smiling as his wife returned with a scrolls. The Duke looked it over and affixed his seal to it after signing it. He handed it to Hyperia. <span style="color: #72B372">"The contract."</span> He stated and smiled. Duchess Alexia was quick with her writing and it looked effortless.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #A47AB9">"Thank you your grace,"</span> Hyperia said with a smile. <span style="color: #A47AB9">"I would like to remain her for a few days before returning home."</span> She asked warranting a nod from the Duke and the Duchess smiled. This would be a much needed rest period for her now that her mission had succeeded with relative ease.<br>
<br>
@Nateorious<br>
<br>
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<br>
The air was thick with the smell of burning oil, flesh and wood. The sun seemed blotted out from how dark and thick the smoke was. At least the smoke covered sky made it a bit cooler than it was normally at this time of day, though the group didn't really find it very amusing. The Geshkhanate's forces had moved through this area only a few days prior, and these scouts were part of the various parties out to survey their enemy. No real fight had occurred, the only Legion on the border had been wiped out overnight. The cities nearest to the entry point had all been burned and destroyed. Their forts occupied and their castles dismantled. The enemy was not here to occupy land, more to destroy than to take.<br>
<br>
Neermar was at war with an enemy of the Imperium, at the same time the Imperium was tearing itself apart from within. Rather desperate times, and sure this would make its way into the history books. <i>How the Imperium nearly fell</i>. Least that's what it would read if the Imperium some how pulled a victory out of a hat. At this point, all that would likely do is halt the advance of the Geshkhanate, not end the war like it had in the past. Initial reports had suggested two hundred and fifty thousand men. That was wrong, and the scouts had only been able to give an estimate as the true number would not be known. One million Geshkhanate soldiers had crossed into Neermar. An Imperial Province which had only four Legions at it's disposal, all but one of which had been recalled to Imperia weeks ago. Now Ullrian Fannos, the King of Neermar, with General Varin Settani made ready the defenses of Neermar's capital, the formidable Citadel of Malred. Yes, rising out of the dunes of Neermar stood Malred, situated on seven fresh water springs, with three tiered walls each sixty-feet high, with defensive siege weapons and other engines atop them to ward off attackers. It would fall without reinforcements, but would hold off the enemy for some time.<br>
<br>
<span style="color: #AD4C4C">"Let's go. Time to report back."</span> Erros said to his companions. The group mounted their steeds and made a beeline for Malred. The city was buzzing with activity as levies poured in from the countryside, though refugees numbering in the tens of thousands were pouring into the massive city as well. This was going to be a bloodbath should the enemy enter the city. Already the people cursed the Lord Regent for allowing this to happen, and Neermar had been staunchly loyalist prior to the invasion. Now? Now they would bless whoever actually came to their defense, they would likely support whoever could spare them from the Geshkhanate, though hope seemed in short supply. A light had come though, Ostmar to the East, Roven to the North and Valais to the North as well had all opened their borders to refugees and promised reinforcements. How quickly they came would determine the fate of hundreds of thousands of innocents.​</div></div>
				
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			<h5 class="userTitle message-userTitle" dir="auto" itemprop="jobTitle">Eventual Supreme Overlord</h5>
			

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<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #003366"><span style="font-size: 24px"> Deacon </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #003366"><span style="font-size: 24px">  Iron Glory </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"I'm moving Salem. Why does Master Azazel need me so urgently anyhow?" </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: rgb(0,0,0)">Salem remained silent. The two moved through the city streets quickly and quietly. Usually they would have moved via the rooftops or through Clandestine's tunnel's if they were still active. Such open movement was </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">beginning to get to him. The matter of his disarming was also getting to him. They traveled until they reached a large open alleyway. The shadows blanketed the ally from the light. A single torch light reminded Deacon where they were. One of the old entrances to Clandestine. Deacon pressed forward, Salem right behind him. He squinted to make out anything he could see in the darkness. At the last second he spotted a dark figure move, just as the stinging of being striked set in upon his cheek. Deacon fell backwards onto the stone street. "</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">What..? What is the meaning of this?" </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"You have failed to preform Deacon." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Deacon's heart stopped, his skin turning an icy white. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><i><span style="color: #003366">Azazel</span></i></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">. "</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">Master Azazel, wh.. what have I done to displease you?" </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
Azazel stepped out into the torch light. Sojourn and Esmeree stood at his side. The Wandering Devil stood tall and powerful over Deacon. He shook in fear, not only because the wrath of Azazel was upon him, but he had no idea as to why. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"You were tasked with delivering the message of Clandestine to the Dukes and Duchesses of Valais." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"I did as you asked of me." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Wrong!" </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel barked, sending Deacon scrambling backwards. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"In your form of... delivery... you started this chain that resulted in our loss of Clandestine. You brought down the hammer than nailed our coffin shut." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"I... I am sorry, Master Azazel. I only acted as I thought was to your liking. I beg of your forgiveness!" </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel chuckled, sending a ghostly chill down Deacon's spine. It even seemed to rattle his companions that stood watching. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Oh, you deserve far more than my forgiveness Iron Glory." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Deacon swallowed hardly. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"I don't understand..." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"In your failure you have managed to produce a silver... no, rather a golden lining. The Lady Hyperia had granted us rule over a duchy. One far more useful to us than even the tunnels of Val Calias." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">"Oh and Master Azazel is now a... Oh wait. Can't say it." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Deacon blinked. In his failure, Master Azazel had been promoted to a Duke and given the land to harbor the people of Clandestine. Even in his error, he had managed to save himself. Deacon sighed of relief. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"I am grateful I managed to correct my mistake. I promise you Master Azazel I will not fail you again." </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000"><br>
Azazel nodded, satisfied with Deacon's choice words. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"You won't. Or else you'll only have one chance left in this world as well. Now then, we have work to do." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"We have a new Clandestine! I would dance a merry jig if I could. Oh how our wise and mighty lord and savior prevails in guarding us once more!" </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #a64dff">"Quite. We are at your beck and will Lord Azazel." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">"Woohoo! We've got a new home!" </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel grinned. That smile had always managed to creep into the nightmares of Deacon's thoughts. Azazel turned to face his faithful servants. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"First things first, we move out the people of Clandestine to our new Clandestine."</span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #a64dff"> "I can handle organizing this Vth Legion to do as required  of us. Surely they must have some use." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"Good. Esmeree. Sojourn. Get to organizing the people of Clandestine. Prepare them for departure, as well as organizing our agents harbored in Val Calais. We all move for our new home." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #006600">"We will do as your will asks of us Lord Azazel." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b35900">"If Sojourn doesn't die first! Haha!" </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel smirked. Everything was going to his liking. He turned to look down at Deacon, sending shivers crawling back up his spine. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #b30000">"You, Deacon. You will do as you do best. Hunt down more useful agents for me. This Vth Legoin will only be useful for so long. We need our own militia. Especially with war on the brink. Pick through the residents of Clandestine. Don't fail me." </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #000000">Azazel extended his hand to help him up. Deacon grinned and took it. This was his chance to redeem himself in the eyes of his Master. </span></span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #003366">"It shall be done, Master Azazel. You will be pleased. I promise."</span></span></span><br>
<br>
@Maven​</div></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'courier new'">Three days have passed since the messenger delivered the scroll with Legate Titus Rhen's orders, information and, promotion. Three days have passed, and Belisarius has done everything he could, perhaps even more, to pull every single man under the Fifteenth Legion banner to return back to Filis's headquarters. All operations within the Filis Disputed Lands attended by the Fifteenth Legion have been canceled, and orders to return back immediately have been spread. Within three days, almost the entire legion returned back, by the orders of Legate Belisarius. Belisarius informed Marcus and Tribune Asger of the current affairs. Belisarius ordered Asger to remain with his cohort, while Marcus took care of the preparations for the long march. Belisarius had one more thing to accomplish before they departed away. He walked among the legion, glaring on both sides, at the men who stood proudly, bravely and disciplined, in formation. He glared at the men, at their faces, who carried many scars, proof of the difficulties they faced within these hostile sands, within these shadowing figures who would do anything to harm them in any way possible.</span><br>
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'Comrades!' he yelled, loud and clear. 'Proud sons of the Imperium! Brave soldiers of the Fifteenth Legion!' he continued, walking towards the front of the legion. 'We have fought, together! We watched each others back, all this time! We have lost many, many, many good friends! In this land. On these sands!' his voice disappeared suddenly. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
He was no longer between the ranks of legionnaires. Now. Now Belisarius was in front of the legion, with most men looking at him, others, just in front, but listening closely. And carefully.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'">'Unfortunately, the sacrifices we have made here. Are but in vain! It is not because of us! But because of those politicians, hungry for power and filled with greed and lust, with a hunger so big that now its tearing our Imperium apart! Civil war is not knocking at our door's step. No! It's kicking the door open and enters to slap us face front, on the cheek and treat us like nothing! And it is us who have to fight and die, for them, for this! But we have swore an oath! To serve and protect the Imperium! And no man, no woman, no politician, no lord regent and definitely NO emperor will stand in our way in doing our sacred duty, for if we do not, we shame our ancestors, who have built this powerful and outstanding Imperium, so we can live in peace! But enemies lurk on all corners. Those desert devils. You know who I am talking. Those camel riders, those bastards used this opportunity, where we are now at our weakest, divided. To attack us! As part of our duty, we must stop them! We must defend what is rightfully ours and do what we must in doing so. As I have said when I was given command of this powerful legion, I will say it once more. I do not promise you that I will bring everybody alive back home! By the Divines, I doubt that I will live to share the tale. But no matter what happens, remember! We are all together in this. Look for each other as you have done, as always. We march! To Valais! Then to war! For the Emperor! For the Imperium! For the Fifteenth Legion!' Belisarius yelled, smashing his fist on his chest, loud and clear, followed by his men in gesture and enthusiasm.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
 There were some things Belisarius should have not said, but he never lied to his legion, and he wouldn't start doing so. This legion made him the man he is, it trusted him, and he will not break that trust. The following day, the Fifteenth Legion left the Filis Disputed lands, perhaps ending the Imperial rule over the sands there, leaving the cities on their own, for anyone with power for the taking. Some citizens grabbed their belongings and followed the legion along the road, too afraid to remain and defend themselves, alone. Others perhaps celebrated the departure of the Imperium, satisfied that their doings have finally drove the Imperium out of their homes. Legate Belisarius left for the city of Vermillion, located in the south of Valais, where he would rendezvous with Legate-Marshal Celaarian and perhaps, finish this war that was set upon them. If the Divines wish it so, of course. </span></div>
				
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			<h5 class="userTitle message-userTitle" dir="auto" itemprop="jobTitle">Queen of Senpais</h5>
			

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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">The window by the port-side of the vessel was a small little thing that offered only a tiny glimpse of what was outside. It was mostly covered with debris and large blobs of water that muddled the scarce view given but Irisviel didn't mind, for her thoughts wandered else where. She rested her soft head by the wall next to the window as she contemplated on what was to come. Corospia was getting nearer with every second and the meeting with its leaders was coming closer and closer by the minute. It would be the first time she would hold a tete-a-tete with a notable figure without the guidance of her older sister. Yes, in the past, the Queen of the North did teach her in the ways of politicking, but never has she engaged in a combat of words against the infamous nobles of the southern region, to debate against the fabled creators of the Great Game, against true savants of words and rhetoric. She was frightened to say the least, but at the same time, excited at the prospect. Even though Corospia was only a few miles away from her frozen homeland, the land itself offered something new for the young girl like a fresh warm summer breeze that seldom reach the borders of her icy province. It was refreshing and greatly needed for a lass that craved for adventure, though she wished it wasn't under such political circumstances. Ever since she was a young girl, all she had wished for was to roam from one province to the next, to experience what each had to offer than later explore other countries and regions. She did not wish for all of this, to become a player of the Great Game.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
She sighed silently as she remembered her older sister's parting words, </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #8000ff"><i>"Make me proud."</i></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Make her proud... Pffft"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> The young lass whispered. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"I love you Mary, but I don't know if I can do this..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She doubted as she hugged herself tighter.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><b>"Oi! Me'lady. We've arrived!"</b></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> said a rather unnecessarily loud man who banged at the intricate Danthivan wooden door. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"oh ok-um, coming!"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She replied sweetly as his words shook her from thought.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
She removed herself from the side of the ship and paced around in the heavily decorated room with one hand crossed whilst tracing with her free delicate fingers on the leather love seat.</span> <span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><i><span style="color: #00b300">The Duke of Davennor is a rich man.</span></i></span> <span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">She thought to herself. She than shook her head to silence her thoughts and began her preparations on what was more important, the meeting. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Oh yeah, back to the meeting...Hello your lordship... no, no, no, that's not right. Your grace? Is that it? Maybe... hmmm." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">She traversed around the room for a few more seconds and then a second loud knock came again from the other side of the wooden door. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><b>"Miss, we're here!" </b></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'">He said impatiently.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"One more minute please!"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She replied. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Ok, Mary mode..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She whispered to herself as she nicknamed her hopefully-adequate new personality after her infamous sister. She gave herself one last look from the ornate mirror and skipped to the door and then suddenly correcting herself knowing Mara would never skip. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Ok ready! -er I mean, I am ready."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She said with her best effort in mimicking her sisters cold voice though failing miserably. She opened the door and marched forward with her head held high and her eyes fixed in a glare. Others around her grimaced at the look, not out of fear, but more nonplused than anything else. Irisviel thought of their reaction as the former and smiled as a result. She continued to stride forward rather awkwardly as she entered the carriage that was waiting for her. Once she was inside, she relaxed and sighed superfluously as she sat on the soft cushions. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Do I bow and then shake hands? or do I shake hands then bow? Uncle said if it's a man, slap him on the back while giving him your biggest smile...but I don't think Mary would like that... Bow, I'll do that instead. No, curtsy, no, bow... oh I'll just bend over, same thing... wait! do I..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She continued to murmur more to herself and as moments passed by, she finally arrived at the home of the Duke and his wife. Irisviel was still in heavy debate with herself until the door swung open to usher in bright light. The young girl shielded her eyes then recovered, smiling at her guards and then exiting the vehicle absent of grace and poise. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Oops..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> She whispered to herself. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
The young girl looked around then whispered something to her guard. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Do I wait or do I just go?"</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> The man didn't reply. Great, she thought.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
The young lass walked slowly as she once again, gawked at her surroundings. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Wow... amazing..."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"> she said out loud. </span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300">"Wonder if they have cake..."</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #00b300"><br>
</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="color: #000000">@Maven </span></span></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><br>
  <span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-size: 18px"><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><b>Azazel </b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><br>
</span></span><span style="color: #b30000"><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 18px"><b>The Silver Tongued Sinner</b></span></span></span> <br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px">The Wandering Devil found himself once again wandering. Though this time it was through the veins that ran through his new citadel. He had been mapping out every hallway, memorizing each and every nook and cranny their new home harbored. In the few days Sojourn, Esmeree, and Salem had been organizing moving the people of Clandestine to the citadel, Azazel</span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #000000"> had been exploring the vast majority of the citadel. The possibilities he could come up with were becoming endless</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="font-size: 14px">. One thought continued to ring in his head. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><i>"Perfect for you to restore, and a strong place should you need to make a stand." </i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">Those words had been picking at Azazel's mind ever since they were uttered. Would their New Clandestine really be a place of war in the oncoming conflicts? Most people would happily bunker down in a place such as this. Azazel had always hated being out in the open for long. A giant mountain fortress of a duchy stuck out like a sore thumb. The City of Shadows brought into the light. The thought stabbed at him more than most things that had been taking up his time lately.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Master Azazel."</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px"> Azazel jumped slightly. He cursed himself for allowing himself to be caught off guard. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Apologies, I had no intention of.."</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"It's fine, Salem. You have something to report, yeah?"</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"The residents of Clandestine are finally being moved out to the citadel. This legion is nearly useless at organizing a simple transport. Without my overseeing, this surely would have been far longer delayed."</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"As always I can have faith in your ability to preform. Well done Salem."</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"You seem troubled, Master Azazel."</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px"> Azazel sighed. This answering questions thing had become less enjoyable with each passing day. He turned to Salem, standing with the posture of a soldier. She was possibly the most routine and organized of their outcast band of rouges. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"While you have time free of preparations of Clandestine, I need you to prepare a message."</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Whom to?"</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px"> "Gregrr, Fjolda, and Sifr Ebdon in the High Marches."</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px"> Salem looked to him questioningly. He could feel her gaze attempting to pierce the veil of his mind. Azazel made a point to make sure such looks stared into a mirror. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Why are such people important, hailing all the way from the High Marches?"</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"You could say I came upon a dealing with them far more unique than any other. One that I feel I need to be more protective over. Write to them asking them to come to Valais and more specifically New Clandestine."</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Mmm. Very well. Anything else you would have me specify in the letter?"</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Yes, one thing. Sign it from Azazel Ebdon."</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px"> Azazel figured if Salem had the self-control of Esmeree, her jaw would have hit the floor. Salem nodded wide eyed, before shifting to a more lame posture and smirking. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"It will be done, Master </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px"><i>Ebdon</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">."</span></span></span> <span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"It's Azazel to everyone other than those three. Are we clear?"</span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px"> His voice was commanding as usual, but had a certain quip of warmth. For once, his smile wasn't that of the devil, and more that of a man. That managed to surprise Salem the most. She couldn't help but smile at this new side of her leader. </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">"Clear, Master </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px"><i>Azazel</i></span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><span style="color: #cc99ff"><span style="font-size: 14px">."</span></span></span></div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><span style="font-size: 36px">Legate Belisarius,</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><span style="font-size: 36px"><br>
A troubled man</span></span><br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
Soon after Belisarius left Filis, the Fifteenth Legion rendezvous with the Fourteenth Legion in the very west of Astanor, where they continued their journey towards south of Valais, together and prepared for what is to come. But were they really prepared for what is to come? Was Belisarius prepared to face the horde of desert rats knocking at their very doorsteps, on their bedrooms, to wake them up and disturb their prolonged sleep of comfortable and beautiful lies, of lust of power and material gain, and the Rebels, who have decided to shatter the Imperium for their own gains, for their own favors. Belisarius always asked himself, put himself in their position, attempting several times in understanding them, on why. Why would they do this? Who would come in the Lord Regent's place? Another individual, who in a few years might become a perfect replica of the Lord Regent? The Emperor is young, too young to rule. Thus, he needs a regent. But who? Who would do their duty fair and square, without being sucked in by the corruption of the Imperium? Who would stand for what is right, if there is anything right left in this Imperium, an Imperium Belisarius struggled to protect and make himself an example of what the Imperium is capable of, but in the end, those with power, not only military, but financially, rule the Imperium and do as they please. And those who dare walk in their path? Victims of this corrupted world. Like Belisarius. No doubt her family would support the Lord Regent. No doubt they would be loyal. No doubt, that deep in his heart, Belisarius would do almost anything to crush her family for what they have done to him. To humiliate him in front of other nobles, to shame his family and to ruin his career. Perhaps, when they have thrown him away from the luxury the Imperial Heartlands offered, they would have expected Belisarius to die, to give up, to surrender. Perhaps they do not know about him, how he reached the rank of Legate. Or perhaps they do, but do not care less. Or perhaps they prepare themselves to take him down, for he might have some vengeful thoughts in his skull? Perhaps.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'">Marcus rode with haste towards Belisarius, to get close to him and to awaken the young, troubled Legate from his sea of thoughts, from his day-dreaming, from his sorrows. The man, who has been like a brother to Belisarius, who is loyal to him beyond question, who trusts him and always supports him no matter what. This bond they share, it is the result of a life lived in ruthlessness, in darkness, in blood and chaos. No doubt they became good friends. No doubt most of the Fifteenth Legion is not only loyal to Belisarius, but to themselves. They shared their troubles, together. And they will do it again. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'Belisarius.' Marcus spoke, breaking the heavy silence. 'Where do we stand?' he asked, which Belisarius returned a confused look upon Marcus. 'In this civil war. Where do we stand, sir?'</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'We stand with the Imperium, friend. Not the Rebels, not the Loyalists. But with the Imperium. If one of them threatens to ruin the Imperium, we will fight against them.' Belisarius answered, never giving Marcus a single glance. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'What if both sides threaten the Imperium?' Marcus asked, curious and desperate for meaningful answers. But Belisarius remained silent. No words came out, nothing. Nothing but emptiness. So empty, that Marcus sighed and slowed down his horse's pace.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'">'Then we fight both of them.' Marcus answered, in a whisper. But the answer was not for Marcus, but for himself. A plan, or an action he prepared to do in case this happened. 'Divines, hear my words.' he said, looking up, at the big, wide, blue sky. 'I beg of you, end this madness, end this useless civil war and make this invasion vanish. I beg of you, save the Imperium from this madness.' Belisarius prayed. But deep inside, he knew that the Divines wouldn't stop this. No, he knew that the Divines enjoyed watching mortals play their sickening games. If they cared, they would have never let this happen in the first place. </span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'">Belisarius's legions marched throughout Astanor, passing through villages and cities, grabbing supplies whenever and wherever they could. He tried to enlist a few men into his legions, to fill the ranks, to prepare more, unofficially. The more days passed, the closer he got. The closer he got, perhaps, to his death. But he will do whatever he can, from the bottom of his soul, from the core of his bones, to stop all of this. In his mind, he rested the Imperium's troubles on his shoulders, although it wasn't him who had to worry so much about it. He would soon arrive in Valais.  </span><br>
<br>
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<div style="text-align: center"><span style="color: #000000"><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"></div></div></span><div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-family: 'Lobster Two';"><span style="font-size: 36px">Guests</span></span></span></div></div><br>
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One of the guards immediately called the party to a halt. Someone was approaching it seemed. Looked like a local Jarl, too few men to have traveled far so likely the one whose land they were either about to leave or about to enter. "Dismount!" Called Valiorus as they approached. The men dismounted from their stout horses, more akin to ponies then horses, especially by the standards of those closer to the centre of the Imperium but they did the job and they were not intended for battle. In essence they were work horses.<br>
<br>
<br>
If this meeting was between southern dukes or lords then all the guards would have been battle ready and on edge, <i>uptight little buggers </i>thought the king. But up here in the wastes of the north, beautiful though they were, lords were on much more equal footing and so such a meeting would be much more relaxed, guards not even drawing weapons or unslinging shields from their back. The good King Valoirus stepping out in front of his men, he too unarmed, "Hail brother! To what do we owe this visit?" He called.<br>
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<div class="bbcode-background" style="background-color: #8b0000;"><div class="bbcode-background-text"><span style="color: #ffffff">SORRY MAN, SO GOD DAMN SORRY! </span><a href="https://www.rpnation.com/profile/24365-emperorconnor/" class="link link--internal" data-proxy-href="/proxy.php?link=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.rpnation.com%2Fprofile%2F24365-emperorconnor%2F&amp;hash=3ec5c1cf5691b534b290ccc99c7e09e9"><span style="color: #ffffff">@EmperorConnor</span></a><span style="color: #ffffff"> Shall we continue this over in IC 2? Also want to PM the convo?</span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><br>
Several weeks of preparation, and the only good news was that the Geshkhanate forces were settling into the siege of Malred, and that they had actually broken into four equal sized armies. Two had broken off and were moving towards Ostmar. Fortunately Fifteen Legions had been assembled there and were prepared for the enemy forces. One army had been sent to scare Roven into submission. They had only one legion, and that had been sent to Vermillion to rendezvous with the others. Roven was open to attack and the enemy had decided to capitalize on this. It was a necessary stall in time though, and Roven would be left to their own devices for now. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><br>
The Legions under Legate Bellisarius had arrived only a few hours prior. That made it fourteen Legions in total that had assembled in Vermillion. While the Geshkhanate would have numerical superiority, the Legions possessed superior training and equipment. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><br>
Legate-Marshal Celaarian who had taken supreme command of all the Legions was still in Val Calais acting as Regent for Valais for the time being as Queen Hyperia was away on business. Instead the command of the Legions fell to Legate-Marshal Errius from the Imperial Province of Pythia, to assemble. A task he was more than capable of doing. The man was tall standing at six foot eight, nearly two-seventy in muscle and had a well kept head of short white hair and a very fine white beard. Scars adorned his body and he was proud of them and his service to the Imperium. Even at his age he was more than capable of holding his own, and refused to have more guards than were absolutely necessary, insisting he was </span><span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><i>one of the men</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Almendra';">. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><br>
He had assembled a string of forts along the border of Valais and Neermar, to house the </span><span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><i>Vermillion Legions</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"> as they were being called. They were not all loyal to the Lord-Regent, they were not all loyal to the Rebel Lords, no but one thing for sure was that they were all loyal to the Imperium. It was what they would fight and die to protect, the bastions of the people, defenders of the faith and guardians of the state. They were the Imperial Legions and they would be the first and last lines of defense against this menace from the Sea of Dunes. It would be these men and women that would fight to the end to protect what they believed and it would be their officers standing shoulder to shoulder with their men that would rally them if they broke, and lead the attacks. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><br>
Legate-Marshal Errius had sent a messenger to the Legates, Generals and other high ranking officers in charge of one or more Legions to assemble in his headquarters and they were to discuss strategy. This was to be when the fate of the Southern Imperium was decided, here when they made their stand. The Legions would make their stand and that would be the end of all things, they would either break the tide of their foes or they would be swept up in the storm. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Almendra';"><br>
</span><br>
<br>
@NorbertM​</div></div>
				
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><br>
 <span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><b><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000">Azazel </span></span></b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><b><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #b30000">The Silver Tongued Sinner </span></span></b></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';">Azazel paced along the balcony railing, watching as the last few caravans of people came to a halt before the citadel. Despite Salem's description of the Vth Legion, they seemed to be handling themselves adequately. Their extra hands would aid in rebuilding New Clandestine. How far they would be willing to go once put up to the tasks he had in mind however would determine their true usefulness to him. Azazel blinked in thought, noticing his harsh judgement. He thought back to his outlook as a child, truly believing his sadistic control over his piers was play. Now, fully knowing that what he was doing was morally wrong, nothing had changed. Azazel shook the thoughts from his head. Ever since he considered bringing his adopted family into the picture, these little quips of.. what, a conscious, seemed to appear and increasingly so. He hoped such nonsense would not cloud his judgement come time to act. Especially now.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<br>
 <span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">"Master Azazel!" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">Salem's voice snapped him out of his conflicted muddling. Azazel glanced over casually, stopping in the middle of the railing and turning to face her. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">"Ah, Salem. Good. I was just about to hunt you down." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">Salem shut her gaping mouth. Azazel was unsure of what he did to surprise her so, but whatever it was it seemed to have passed. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">"Yes, well... What do you require of me?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">Azazel hopped down and walked to her, riffling through his cloak and producing a letter. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">"This entails everything we need done here in the immediate future. See to it that this legion preforms, yeah?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">"Is there some reason your leaving this to me rather than handling it yourself?" </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">Salem scanned through the tasks, not looking up to respond. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">"I'm heading back to Val Calais. I have matters to discuss with our current temporary in-charge. That, and I wish to be there to retrieve my... people-of-interest." </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">Salem looked up at him, smirking annoying up at him. If Salem weren't so tight lipped, Azazel might have just cut them off entirely to spare himself that look. There. Again with the hostility. </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">"I see. Well then, you can rest assured that I will have these dogs of the military trained and working before your return Master </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff"><i>Ebdon." </i></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="color: #a64dff">Azazel started to scold her for calling him by his last name, but Salem had already left to see to her task. Azazel sighed. He had places to be anyway. Azazel grabbed his satchel and prepared for the journey back to Val Calais.</span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Calligraffitti';"><span style="font-size: 14px">{~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}</span></span><br>
<br>
 <span style="font-family: 'Dancing Script';"><span style="font-size: 36px"><span style="color: #a64dff">Salem </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Dancing Script';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Dancing Script';"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #a64dff">Silenced Sovereignty </span></span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">Salem walked quickly and with purpose through the halls of the citadel. She passed various 'Azazel-lings' already in work preparing the citadel to act as their head of operations. Their aims of self-sufficiency were all the closer with each passing minute. Her smirk hadn't yet faded from teasing the master. Never until recently had he ever mentioned anything about his past before coming to Valais. This small fragment of the master's history was to be kept as hidden as he left it. Salem made a point to do so. The thought intrigued her however. Who had raised up the man she and so many others looked up to and many more cowered at the mention of his name? What had they taught him and how had he strayed from it if at all? Would they accept the person he had become? Her questions would inevitably be answered in due time. For now, she was tasked to begin the rebuilding of their new home.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'"><br>
</span><br>
<br>
<span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">As she stood before the mass of people, of Clandestine and of the legion, Salem caught Deacon and Esmeree overseeing the rallying. Their confused expressions confirmed that they were expecting Azazel. Salem glared in their direction, making it clear that she would explain after all was said and done. </span></span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">"Attention. People of Clandestine, and otherwise, I know the long trip has taxed your energy. The citadel will act as your shelter until a more permanent residency is constructed. The Vth legion has accompanied us in order to aid in said construction efforts." </span></span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">The crowd before her looked up in her direction. They appeared just as confused to see herself over Azazel. A misunderstanding that was to be expected. Even she was unknowing to his leave until just moments before. </span></span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">"As of now, should any of you have questions or concerns, direct them to myself, Salem. Azazel has entrusted me with making sure our New Clandestine's rebuilding is done correctly until he has returned from his business in Val Calais. Speaking of which..." </span></span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">Salem unfolded Azazel's orders, looking for the specific name he mentioned. </span></span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">"One Titus Lexius, I'll need to be speaking with you on the matter at once. That is all. For the Master Azazel and for our home." </span></span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">"For New Clandestine!" </span></span></span><span style="color: #000000"><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="font-family: 'book antiqua'">Deacon called out from the sidelines, keeping the moral of the crowd up. They began to cheer along with him. Salem began to see why Azazel kept him around. He had his uses in maintaining a charismatic approach with the people. Salem removed herself from the crowd's cheering, leaning against the front doors of the citadel in wait. Hopefully this meeting with this legion commander will be short and sweet.</span></span></span><br>
<br>
@Maven​</div></div>
				
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</span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">Upon his entrance into his governmental office, Jean was suddenly beset upon by Countess Olivia and Commander Gaeton Delon both of them glaring at each other before Countess Olivia began to speak in an angry tone "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(89,0,179)">Your Grace! I must insist that Commander Gaeton be removed from his position, during your regency he tried multiple times to undermine your authority and mine by beginning to raise the full levy without mine or your permission</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #5900b3">!</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">-" Immediately after she finishes speaking Gaeton began to speak over and louder then her, slightly shoving her aside while she sends a glare that could kill a mighty bear with a simple glance. </span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #666600">"Your Grace, this woman is nothing more then a power hungry woman who wishes to attempt to take over this Duchy and lead as if some kind of Absolute Monarc!-</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Jean-Luc groans, frowning deeply and holding his hand up and saying in a rather upset tone whilst glaring between the two of them. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff0000">Both of you! Put you Gods dammed arguements behind you now! You both need to go back to the main chamber and we need to have a conversation with the entire court..Please we can deal with your problems with one another at a less...Upsetting day.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" </span></span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040"><br>
Both of them look at him, frowning before turning and walking back into the chamber, both of them returning to their seats while Jean enters behind them, all of the other counts and the court rising and bowing towards him. Jean-Luc smiles, bowing to them in return before moving over and taking a seat, followed suit by the rest of his court. Jean-Luc then stood again after pouring and having a drink of water from a pitcher. Upon clearing his throat he then begins to speak, "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff0000">Gentlemen and ladies, I have returned with...Rather poor news, currently not only have we run full on into a Civil War and not only that, we are under a current invasion by the Geshkhaganate and we must raise a full levy and march on Vermillion to join up and assist in the repulsion of the invasion..As such I am required to march with the levy to Vermillion and assist in the repulsion of the invasion, as such Commander Gaeton will accompany me and Countess Olivia will be regent once again during my leave. Now, all of you I expect fully to do your best to get this job done! And I have faith in all of you to get it done, dismissed!</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Naturally, the room remained silent for a few moments, before Gaeton standing and looking about, his face much more stoic and thoughtful then usual before looking at Jean-Luc and saying in a soft tone. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #666600">Your Grace..I must insist that you shouldn't lead..Not because I dislike you..I may have my problems with you Your Grace, but I don't want you to march off and die and leave this Duchy without an heir!</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Jean-Luc would look at him, raising an eyebrow before responding with a light chuckle. "</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: rgb(255,0,0)">Well Gaeton, I guess I can simply have you give me 'advice' you all know I'm not a good fighter, nor a military man. But what I can do is have you Commander, lead my men and I will help maintain our supply and reinforcement</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #ff0000"> lines.</span></span><span style="font-size: 14px"><span style="color: #404040">" Gaeton nods at this, all of the court standing and beginning to file out, giving their farewells, salutes, and handshakes before making their way out, leaving Jean-Luc alone with this thoughts, as he slips back down into his chairs he took up his cup again and mulled his thoughts over the cup of water for around an hour before making his way back home.</span></span></div>
				
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<span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><br>
Word had reached the Legate-Marshal Errius of the situation in Val Calais the day before. He had sent orders to several Legates to ready their forces and prepare to march to Val Calais and relieve the siege there. Then they would be put under the command of the Legate-Marshal Celaarian as she marched back to Vermillion to assume supreme command. He had ordered the Fourteenth and Fifteenth Legions under Legate Belisarius, Nineteenth and Twentieth under Legate Auridon and the Twenty First under General Adonis to form the relief army. </span><br>
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They had their marching orders and were to make haste to Val Calais and engage the enemy upon reaching the city. They were to secure Val Calais, ensure that Legate-Marshal Celaarian was alive and well. If the Legate-Marshal perished in the siege then the senior most of the three relief officers was to assume command and that would be Legate Auridon, should she be lost in the battle then it would fall to General Adonis in the form of a promotion, and should and only then should it fall to Belisarius he would receive a promotion to Legate-Marshal and assume command of Nineteenth and Twentieth in addition to his own, making the Twenty First an auxiliary or reserve Legion until they met up with the forces at Vermillion. Effective field command fell to Legate Auridon. This was their mission and as they were informed... should they fail the fate of the Imperium hung in the balance. </span><br>
<br>
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<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';">@NorbertM </span><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><span style="font-size: 36px">Legate Belisarius Victiio</span></span><br>
<br>​</div><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'Are you sure about this?' Belisarius asked his brother, who was standing in front of him. They were both inside his tent, with Caesar wearing a black leather armor. 'You can remain here as long as you like. I believe you are safer here than anywhere else.' the legate tried to convince his younger sibling.</span><br>
<br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'">After Caesar's arrival, his heavy news and delivery of Father's letter, a few days have passed and as the two brothers did all they could to make up for the time lost together, Caesar has decided to finally make his departure. Belisarius did not enjoyed the thought of losing his brother, from his sight and, worse, from his life. He has already lost a member of his family, even if the two men, father and son, did not get along well enough to maintain a healthy, respectful relationship, they were from the same blood. You could never change that. Perhaps, his mother would be next to lose. The High Inquisitor might get assassinated or might not, but it did not matter if he would live or not, as Belisarius knew that this assault, this betrayal would only be repaid in blood. And if the High Inquisitor would not have the execution of his father enough to satisfy his desire for revenge, he might execute his mother as well. Divines, he might even look after their sons as well. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'For once, in my entire life, stop worrying about me and believe in me.' Caesar reassured his older brother. 'I am no longer the weak, always dependent young man that I was. I know how to take care of myself.' he offered a wide smile.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'Where will you go?' Belisarius deemed to ask.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
'I do not know. Perhaps in the North. Free Marches maybe.' his brother answered, crossing his arms around his chest. 'If not, then the United Cities. Either way, I won't be lingering around. Can't return back to the Vale, the High Inquisitor might chop off my head. Can't go in Rebel provinces either. They might capture me and give me to him(High Inquisitor). Loyalist provinces aren't good either. Neutral ones are fine, but I prefer to keep away from this invasion as well.' Caesar explained his plan, or he was simply thinking it out loud. It made Belisarius widen his eyes, surprised about his brother. 'I will figure it out.' and with that, the two of them embraced each other into a brotherly hug and Belisarius watched as Caesar left. Deep in his mind, he did not excluded the possibility that he might never see his brother ever again. He knew he won't be seeing his father, and he could easily add his mother in as well.</span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
With his brother's leave, Belisarius returned to his normal duties, ensuring his legions are in top shape and ready to march whenever. It was not long, however, until news arrived to the Vermillion legions. Terrible news indeed. Val Calais, the capital of the province was, under siege. Belisarius's simply responded with a calm, honest response. Either the Imperium's agents are becoming more and more lazy in doing their duties OR someone ensured that news would never arrive anywhere about the sneaking army. From the two possibilities, Belisarius hanged upon the last one, but kept his opinions to himself and to Marcus. Legate Marshal Errius explained the situation, and their orders. Perhaps it came with a slight shock, but Belisarius was surprised to have been him and his legions chosen to be the relief force. It was a great responsibility and honor. He ought to not make a fool of himself once more. Belisarius, alongside with General Adonis will be under the command of Legate Auridon. The man did his best to spot the legate and approached her, saluting her as he always has done and informed the legate that his legions were ready to move whenever, even in the same day, if it was necessary. Belisarius returned to his legions fort and ordered his officers to prepare to break down the fort in the morning, for leave. They awaited the night to come and to rest. This time, Belisarius allowed his men to sleep more than he should, to give them the energy for the journey to come. In the following day, during the morning, all legions from the Relief Force, under the command of Legate Auridon, the Fourteenth, Fifteenth, Nineteenth, Twentieth and Twenty First. They broke down their forts and marched to Val Calais. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
The journey was long and worrying. Belisarius worrying, slightly, of not being able to save and secure the capital from the enemy forces, but for the sake of every living soul within those walls, he had to do his best. And his legions as well. There will be no deserters, no rioters. The first man Belisarius sees running away and not turning back, if caught, he or she would face execution, by the legate himself. Throughout their march, Legate Belisarius used his limited contacts from Filis, to hire a mercenary band, filled with bandits and raiders, those who wouldn't turn down an offer, no matter how brutal or how difficult it might be. His guts told him, loud and clear, that he might need them, one way or the other. The hiring was done by his own personal expenses. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'courier new'"><br>
As days passed by, so did the distance between them and their destination thinned. In a matter of a couple of weeks, Legate Belisarius and his other companions, Legate Auridon and General Adonis. The Relief Force sent out their scouts to gather information about the enemy and the situation of the capital. Long time did not pass, and the scouts returned, with valuable information. From what Belisarius could gather from the scouts, the  Geshkhanate's numbers counted about 85.000 soldiers, but what seemed interesting for Belisarius was that this army was composed out heavy infantry, archers and cavalry. No spears. No javelins, unless the infantry had them. He would have to begin planning how to relieve the capital. Now came the talk. </span><br>
<br>
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<span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><span style="color: #b30000">"We have seventy-five thousand, and there are about sixty thousand in Val Calais. That's without pressing civilians into fighting."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"> Legate Auridon's voice was firm. At least there was numerical superiority on the side of the Legions rather than the Geshkhanate. However it wasn't sitting right, the enemy surely knew that there would be forces sent to relieve the city and yet there were only eight-five thousand. </span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><span style="color: #b30000">"And the scouts still haven't spotted any other enemy forces nearby."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"> She said motioning tot he map on the table before them. The enemy wasn't even bothering to fully cut the city off on the land routes. They had completely left the northern city gate unchallenged focusing on a quarter circle from the south to the west. East was the sea and thus naturally defended, especially since the Geshkhanate didn't have a navy here. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><br>
The map also showed that the bulk of the enemy forces were occupying the ruins of  a village they burned upon getting there. A makeshift fort had been erected in the town itself, with a wooden palisades around the entire thing. </span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><span style="color: #59b300">"If we march rank and file we would have them on two fronts, if we could signal the city."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"> General Abbadon said. It was a decent strategy and one that would likely work well, except for the heavy casualties that the Legions would likely sustain from the heavy troops. Legionnaires were well rounded sure, but against actual heavy soldiers you needed the Laera soldiers and fortunately for the five Legions that had been sent to the relief the Twenty-First under General Abbadon was almost completely composed of Laeras, it was known as a </span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><i>Heavy Legion</i></span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';">. Specifically designed to meet numerically superior forces head on and be able to outlast the enemy while suffering moderate casualties where others would have lost completely. </span><br>
<br>
<span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><br>
</span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><span style="color: #b30000">"I agree, head on might be our best bet."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"> Legate Auridon said, a grimace on her lips as she continued to ponder at length as to the possibility of the unforseen. </span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"><span style="color: #b30000">"Legate Belisarius, you and your Legions will form up right behind ours and act as a secondary or reserve."</span></span><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';"> She said motioning to him to come close and look at the map. This by no means was to snub Belisarius or his Legions of valor or honor. However out of the Five Legions they were the least prepared for battle, at least in experience. They had fought desert rabble and bandits most of their time, not hardened enemies such as this. The Nineteenth, Twentieth and Twenty First Legions had all served together on the North-Eastern Front the last nine years fighting an actual war. That only ended nine months ago, so by all accounts they truly were veteran legions. </span><br>
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<div style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Handlee';">@NorbertM </span><br>
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					<div class="bbWrapper"><span style="font-family: 'times new roman'"><span style="font-size: 24px"><span style="color: #ff0000"><b>Duke Jean-Luc</b></span></span></span><br>
<br>
<br>
         <b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #404040">After the week and a half of riding and long marching, Duke Jean and his full levy finally began to make the final stretch of the Royal Highway leading to Vermillion, his men being in rather high spirits having their Duke riding out with them. As they had made their march to Vermillion, the levy under his command were beginning to be properly sort out their weapons and unit formations, under Commander Gaeton, Jean-Luc began to get a crash course on basic military tactics. During their march towards Vermillion it gave time for Jean-Luc to think, time to ponder on what would happen if more nations attacked the Empire in its currently weakened state, What would become of an Empire beset upon all borders by millions of people who are gathered around her borders. What about the Legions sent north, would the Imperium be willing to set aside it's internal politics to defend against an outside invasion against her? Sadly nobody really knew other then those in charge, and with the lack of communication it was quite </span></span></b><b><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 12px">difficult</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #404040"> for those in charge in the Southern theater of war to communicate, much less smaller levy commanders like himself.</span></span></b><br>
<br>
<b><br>
</b><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Jean was brought out of his contemplative monologue by a nudge from Commander Gaeton, pointing to some of the fortified palisade forts outside of Vermillion. The grand city itself was set behind a series of curtain walls with multiple gates and turrets set into the stone, rising high above any other structures in the area. It brought the small walls of his hometown to shame, a true masterpiece of engineering. The army behind him let out a ragged hurrah as they marched their way up towards the city, it finally coming into view after the march from their homeland.</span></span></b><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Jean sat up in his saddle as they began to make the final three miles towards the city, the large swaths of tents around the city and forts of the various multitudes of men and women gathered outside of the city and obviously within. Thankfully their banner must have been recognized because rather then arrows and sounds of alarms coming from the outer watch forts they got instead an outrider party to meet them and bring them towards the walls. </span></span></b><br>
<br>
<b><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 12px"><br>
Being brought within the city, they were informed by their mounted guide that they'd be housed like most of the other levies within the military district of the city, it caught Jean by surprised, leaning over to Gaeton and whispering to him softly "</span></span></b><b><span style="color: #ff0000"><span style="font-size: 12px">Surely Gaeton, not all the legions are in there? I've not seen many large tent camps.</span></span></b><b><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 12px">" Gaeton sighed, patting him on the shoulder and smiling slightly before saying. "</span></span></b><b><span style="color: #b3b300"><span style="font-size: 12px">Well Your Grace, if my time in the Legion taught me well, those forts were the Legions, us levies get the military district, those guys can rip up and build those forts in hours sir.</span></span></b><b><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 12px">" This made Jean-Luc look surprised, before he put his head into his hand replying glumly, "</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #ff0000">I'm an idiot sometimes Gaeton, do forgive your sovereign, he's sometimes a blithering ass.</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #404040">" Commander Gaeton smirks, patting him on a shoulder and saying in a sarcastic voice. "</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #b3b300">Oh come now Your Grace, I'd </span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #b3b300"><i>never</i></span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #b3b300"> feel like that towards you!</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #404040">" Sighing and slapping his hand away and sitting up, Jean ran a hand through his hair looking about at the road of the city, his men marching behind him also looking around as he was, many of them having not seen such a large city as this in some of their lives. </span></span></b><br>
<br>
<b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #404040"><br>
</span></span></b><br>
<br>
<b><br>
</b><b><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 12px">Eventually they'd make their way up towards the Military District, being given a block of building within the district to house their troops, the troops beginning the process of unloading the baggage train and set up their homes, Gaeton overseeing it while bellowing to the troops. "</span></span></b><b><span style="color: #b3b300"><span style="font-size: 12px">Not sure how long we'll be staying here boys! Keep light on the interior decoration!</span></span></b><b><span style="color: #404040"><span style="font-size: 12px">" Watching quietly next to him, Jean-Luc internally sighed and mumbled to himself. "</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #ff0000">No wonder I never wanted to get into this whole military business, these faces I'm looking at, with the gods luck they will be looking back at me when we march home...If not..Gods willing they won't appear in my dreams.</span></span></b><b><span style="font-size: 12px"><span style="color: #404040">" Shaking his head he finally make his way inside, heading up to his quarters he shared with Commander Gaeton, sitting down and beginning to write out a letter back to his home, informing his mother that he was safe and well, and that he wasn't sure how long it'd take before they set out but that he'd do his best to not dishonor the family.</span></span></b></div>
				
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