The sudden light wakes you, stabbing at your eyes as the door to your cell opens. "Up." The compassionless, commanding voice is the same one that tells you simply "Food." once a day down here. You've heard the same one every day since the day you were arrested on trumped up charges and thrown into the lightless cell.
Two men wearing the red and grey livery of guards of the Ruby Palace step inside as you stand and take your arms, not roughly but effectively. The men begin to lead you through the grey halls of the dungeon until you reach a door, which they open and motion you through. "Clean yourself. You are to be a guest of the king."
Within the room is a small metal washtub and a set of grooming tools, as well as your clothes, taken from you when you were arrested and, it seems from the smell, freshly laundered.
The letter from the Palace was a shock, but a shock that held promise. Your simple room at the inn had been provided after your 'injuries' to an 'innocent man' in the Crown's raid. You were glad that they'd put you up since you had nowhere else to go.
The letter explained simply that you'd been chosen for His Majesty's Service. Expertly worded to make it seem like an honor, while somehow making it clear that a no was not an option. It asked that you report to the Ruby Palace before noon tomorrow to hold court with King Surtova.
Already knowing of the recruitment and his part in it, Dmitri had only slowed down long enough to help kill a man who had been robbing a good looking couple on the road and get directions from them. He finally arrived in the city of New Stetven on the appointed morning, with little enough time to spare. Upon recieving directions to the Ruby Palace, he was told by a beautiful woman in no uncertain terms "But you can't meet the King looking like that!"
It was perfect. You knew Ketephys must have led you to the young man being threatened by wolves. It was easy to frighten them away, and the Herald thanked you. He told you that he was a runner from the King to the far reaches of the kingdom, searching for those which had the guts and nerves to mount an expedition. You knew it was destiny. After all, your parents had been trying to marry you to the fourth son of a minor Garess and you needed a way out.
After telling your parents and preparing, you were on your way and had finally arrived in New Stetven.
You always knew when your father was nervous, as he spoke with a bit of a stutter. "D-Daen. There's been a missive from your uncle, the King. H-h-e has asked you to head an e-expedition." You knew that your father would never deny his cousin, the King, anything. Especially if he could get rid of an eyesore of a half-son about. "You must go. F-for the honor of our family."
And so you'd journeyed, after a short stop at your mother's grave to say goodbye, and now approached the Ruby Palace of your Uncle you'd met only once, years ago.
Dmitri almost span around, surprised at the woman's sudden outburst. He stopped for a moment, looking at himself. Taking the time to realize that he had apparently enjoyed himself too much. His gloves, though not stained, were practically drenched.
He had wondered why many of the women had shied away from him as he walked through the streets. Normally he was an alluring man, but, not at the moment. The lower part of his outfit had been stained, though, not the first time. The residual bits of plenty of past victims was what gave the lower half it's red hue.
The splatter of blood that found the middle of his face was what was so intimidating, and misplaced. He didn't even know it was there, as he was so accustomed to it. He looked back at the woman of fine make and, though he didn't wish to trouble her, walked to her.
My dear madame, I do believe you're right. May you have something to wipe my face? He asked with an air of politeness and respect.
Mother, I'll try to make you proud, but my voice and deeds will likely never make their way to heaven. Rest well and receive the justice from Pharisma you never received here.
Father had been nervous often since Daen had returned from his sword training. It seemed he had hoped that he would somehow get maimed or killed doing so but Daen did disappoint his father so frequently it was hard to believe that he could have been surprised at that. The young half elf did hear from the servants that his father had sought after the king to enlist him in the military or send him to some obscure post. Just what he had said or given to the king to get his bastard son out of his hair was beyond Daen's imagination.
And to head an expedition? Where to? What for? What kind of people were coming along as well? So many questions were to be answered by the Ruby palace, but it was quite far to go. He began on horseback, riding along with a caravan from Port Ice to Grayhaven. There were several dwarves in the company whose dour countenances and pessimism suited him quite well. Then a short jaunt to a fishing village on the north fork of the Awzera and he was able to find passage to New Stetven.
The Palace itself was quite visible from the lake during the approach. Rising over the water like a sentinel, Daen was surprised to find himself slightly moved at the beauty of it. But he reminded himself that the beauty of that place held some dark secrets and darker intent. Perhaps he was going to be taken by the guard and thrown into prison, or sent to Minkai on some fools errand. But fate had brought him here, and it would likely be fate that would lead him to a fair bit of unpleasantness until it tore his soul out of him and sent him to another unpleasant place.
He rode his black horse through the streets of the capitol city with his Dueling sword slapping against the black flank of the animal. Chernila was not the greatest of horses for nobles looking to make a good first impression as she was fairly old. But Daen liked that she was easy to ride and relatively calm, and so he brought the nag with him. He dismounted upon reaching the castle and when questioned by the guards told him in his characteristic deep voice, "Daen Aheritor, servant of the king has come in response to his summons."
Destany follows the guards to the room, thoughts swirling through her head. Was the king going to relent and allow her to wed Regan? Or was she to be banished?... or worse, executed? She looked around the room and noted the washstand and her clothes, certainly not of a quality to be seen by the king in, but they were all she had.
She removed the thin shift she'd worn in prison, and washed up as best she could. Standing naked before the mirror, she mused on how thin she'd become on a single meal a day, and that none too appetizing. If she was allowed to see him, would Regan even recognize her?
She dressed herself in her newly laundered clothing, and brushed her hair, grown longer in the last few months, and full of tangles. Surely she'd never get them all out. But she had to try, or at least do her best. She pulled a ribbon out of one sleeve of her dress and used it to tie her hair back and hide the last of the stubborn tangles.
When she was done, she poked her head outside the door...
The girl who brought Blake the letter had tried so hard not to look appalled at his face, but in vain. Her eyes, and the way she shrunk back when his arm reached towards her betrayed her true feelings. 'That is going to take some getting used to,' Blake thought, closing the door before she could try to stumble through an apology.
After reading through the letter twice, Blake sat down into an armchair to think. It should not have surprised him that they paid for his room simply because he had a value to them. The bill had been settled for the entire week, but they wasted no time in calling in the debt. Blake read the letter again, hoping to find some kind of loophole, but none existed.
Sure, he could just disappear, leave the inn that day, but he had no income, no connections, and only a limited amount of savings. 'And it won't exactly be easy to hide in plain site anymore,' he reminded himself with a twisted grin. Smiling hurt. Most things hurt.
'New plan.'
Blake formulated that the chance of escape at this point was slim. Avoiding a meeting with the King could easily be misconstrued, painting him in a very bad light. At best, desertion from His Majesty's Service. Punishable by death. At worst? Treason. Also punishable by death. Blake didn't much like the idea of hanging, nor having his head removed from the rest of his body. He could deal with being burned, but there was no coming back from death.
The best course of action, then – the only course – would be to accept the position. He assumed that they were still suspicious of him, and what better way to dispel that than to show up well-dressed and honoured? 'Besides, there will always be opportunities to escape later.'
Blake smiled again, wondering if he should smile during the meeting, or if it might scare people.
'There is much to prepare.' He jumped from the chair with excitement and grabbed a long coat and hat that would best obscure his features. There was no sense drawing attention, especially given some of the... questionable materials he had to acquire.
'So very much to prepare.'
The woman hands you a handkerchief, hurrying away before you can even offer it back, but saying quickly. "There's an inn two streets over that offers a hot bath for a few coppers."
The guards allowed around ten minutes before arriving again and knocking politely and opening after a bit. "Follow us." They led Destany upward, through the Ruby Palace and up to what seemed to be a well appointed antechamber. "Wait here, your companions will join you."
"Of Course sir. Right this way." The man leads you to a well-appointed waiting room, where another woman already waits. "Your other companions will be on their way."
After finishing his shopping and attending to the summons, Blake is led to the same room.
Fyrek's parents had taken the news better than she'd had any right to hope. There was no shouting and no tears, but no enthusiasm either. They were too busy recalculating the politics to even make meaningful small talk, though Mother did spend a good five minutes lamenting the money spent on the dress she'd planned to wear to Fyrek's wedding.
Her order had been less circumspect in their disappointment. Master Onare thought it foolish for her to be going on such an expedition without more years of service under her belt. But he understood, and praised her bravery and reminded her that no matter what happened, she would always have a place in their circle.
Fyrek arrived in New Stetven on the appointed morning, and immediately checked into an inn to prepare herself for her audience. She spent quite some time staring into the mirror, vacillating between presenting herself as a noblewoman, or as a druid. Finally, she settled on the simple tight brown leathers of Ketephys, but with a silken headscarf of sky blue wound around her braids, and her silver holy symbol proudly displayed.
Fyrek sighed at her reflection. But there was nothing else for it. She made her habitual check that her sleeves and collar covered as much of her sylph markings as possible, then left for the palace projecting her practiced air of confidence -- a confidence she hoped one day to feel.
Grinning widely at the spectacle, Mavis simply wipes his face off carefully. He still has the grin as he makes his way to the palace. He heaves a heavy sigh of relief.
"I wonder what kind of delicacies they have in a structure like that?"
As he walked, the palace came into view. While the appeal of prior grooming was at hand, his hair was well-kept, and a nice, platinum white color. Odd, of course, but so too was his upbringing. He had taken the time to also clean his gloves, stashing the bloodied handkerchief on his person.
"A pretty creature like that... I may see her again. Perhaps she would want it back?"
Mavis's alienistic thoughts were equal to his charming good looks and imposing demeanor. He was tall, and handsome, and respectful of others. This, however, hid most of his wicked intentions which he acted on only during opportunities.
His thoughts turned to the aspect of companions. They had informed him he wouldn't be alone for this one, and that was new to him. He thoroughly enjoyed companionship among women, but, men were different. He didn't dislike men unless they proved... disrespectful, or brutish. More as animals, he saw them. He couldn't outright call them that, however, as he too, was a man.
Entering the castle revealed plenty of sights. Sights he enjoyed! The sight of laboring women, all of whom looked well, and decadent. He enjoyed these, and he would have enjoyed them... more... if he could have, but business was business, and not tending to them wasn't displeasing them.
As he entered the room he took note of 2 other occupants, but was never a fan of starting conversation. He much prefer that people took to him prior, as, if they didn't want to talk to him, they wouldn't. Simple, and proven over his 2 years of "pilgrimage".
As he took a seat, he made a point to note the peckish form of one of the female counterparts of the room. She could certainly use some food. He thought back to his purse. 9 gold was all he had, but that could easily buy the poor girl a meal.
His last thoughts took place just before he pulled out a book, a religious text, which he had at all times on his person. It had a strange symbol on the front of it. It bore the crest of a woman seemingly hugging something that wasn't there rather tightly with blood dripping from her closed eyes.
Destany stands straight-backed and as tall as she can muster with her slight frame. She seems thin, almost cadaverously so, her cheekbones prominent, and her limbs frail-looking. Even the bones of her hands and wrists seem overly large under the pale skin stretched over them. Her long, thick dark hair makes her look all the paler and thinner under the halo of black that surrounds her head, even tied back as it is.
Her clothes are unremarkable, a simple townswoman's dress in a soft cream color, covered by a heavy leather apron. The apron itself is a bit stained, though it looks like great pains were taken to clean it.
She looks up at the newcomers and blinks at first with a haunted look, grey eyes staring out as if frightened, though that look passes quickly. A stray breeze seems to catch her hair, and those strands not contained in her ribbon float about her head wildly. Odd, that, since there seems to be no breeze in the room.
She nods at Daen as he enters, then at Dmitri, her initial seeming fright fading away as the two seem to mean her no harm. She looks from one to the other and finally nods a hello to each of them, mustering a slight smile, which seems almost alien to her, as if smiling was not something she was used to.
Finally, after a long moment, the smile seems to light her eyes as well, and it's almost as if she were touched by magic when that happens, and her face brightens. She gives a slight curtsey and blushes, bringing a little color to her pale cheeks. Still, she doesn't speak.
You are escorted in with the others.
Dmitri notes the nod. He wonders whether that was an invitation to chat or a simple hello. Curious. The woman's pale, frail frame is most evident, and that makes him a bit angry. She seems rather energetic, or, at the least, feels as though she has the potential to be, provided she had the sustenance.
About 2 minutes pass before the silence grates on his nerves.
Without closing his book, which he'd read more than 100 times in his travels (A Lilithayan Bible) he peers straight at her, most obviously.
"Though I find it absolutely adorable, I find shyness a meager quality among women." he says directly to the poor girl.
"Though it isn't often I do so, I will introduce myself, if only to break this relentless silence. My name is Dmitri Avalni Mavis. It would seem I will be accompanying the both of you."
His voice is soft, and very pronounced. His scythe was leaned against the couch, the blade end on the floor, a silent reminder to any assailants.
Dmitri also took this time to note the other occupant of the room, a half-elf, from the looks of it. Sword on side, quiet, and reclusive. He liked him already... He didn't much care for men, unless they were respectful. He had learned that telling people of his faith in poor company caused issues, which was a shame.
Dmitri simply looked over at him, studied him with an eyebrow raised, and looked away without nodding.
"My apologies good sir, I did not mean to offend, nor be shy, merely cautious. Tell me, are you an agent of the king sent to torment me further? If not, then I greet you warmly Dmitri Mavis. Though it might not be safe to be accompanying me, as I know not my fate in being summoned to see the king. One way or another, I fear I am going to my doom, either to be banished or executed." She sighs softly and brushes a stray strand of hair from her face. Her voice, once she speaks and the initial cracking of a voice long gone unused has faded, is musical and light.
"I am Destany," she follows up her initial speech with a simple first name only... or is it a disclaimer?
She has no belongings other than her clothes it seems... and no weapons, unlike the others.
Dmitri didn't take kindly to the idea of a woman of such potential greatness to be... "Tormented". The sound of her voice cracked, and the idea of all of them going to their "Doom" was certainly worrying, but he dismissed it rather easily.
"Torment you?" he laughed for a quick moment. "Please... Who am I to "torment" a woman of your stature? You seem a nice enough person, but, why are you so... frail? he adds with a bit of inquisition
"Pardon that rudeness, if it offends you, but it doesn't seem normal for a lady with your aura to inflict such a situation upon herself." he softens his voice as the sentence carries, admiring the tenderness of the question he just asked.
"Also, we are not here to be doomed. I do believe we are all to be heading to the... ah... I seem to have forgotten. But I assure you, it's not the gallows. he adds with a bit of laughter.
She gives a tiny smile, the first one to grace her features, though it is fleeting. "I hope you're right, that I am not here to be executed. I have been held here for months... I'm not even sure how long anymore... several months." A sadness comes to her eyes as she contemplates her incarceration. "I'm afraid I've eaten little and seen less of the sun, so I'm not surprised I appear pale and thin, but I assure you, I'm stronger than I look." Her eyes twinkle as if she were keeping a secret of some kind, though there is nothing disingenuous in her speech or manner.
"So tell me, where is it that you think we," She looks at the half elf as well, then back to Dmitri, are all heading?"
Am I to be banished instead of held in the dungeon? I suppose that's better than execution. Ah, Regan, if only I could see you again... I love you, I miss you...
His smile seems to fade at the mention of several months of torment. What could a woman do that deserves such a treatment? His thoughts lie heavy on that fact, but he decides it would be a topic for later, as she apparently was just relinquished of said torment.
"I do not expect it will be as dangerous as, oh, say, doom? No, we will be making a little trip to... and, I was just as surprised as you're about to be. Establish a new country? I think it was? I may have read the paper wrong, but I'm not one to turn down adventures of that scale, are you?" He said, extending his hand as if to beckon her.
"And please, my dear, once we start this venture i'm sure you'll regain your luster. Hmm... not that you've lost much. Half of beauty is, after all, in the personality. So long as they don't rob you of good conversation you'll be able to catch anyone you please."
With that last sentence he stifled a bit of a laugh, but he spoke truth. He wasn't much for lying, after all.
"A new country? Fascinating..." Though smiling slightly, a tiny frown appears between her eyes. A place where love is free to grow, perhaps even? She sighs softly... and her features smooth as she contemplates the possibilities.
"Catch?" She chuckles, though there is no real mirth behind the laugh. "Not all women are so acquisitive as to be on the hunt for a husband, or a man. I have met the love of my life, and he is lost to me. I am not looking for another. But I thank you for the compliment, as I will take it to be." She gives Dmitri a slight nod, almost a little bow. "You are too kind."
She turns to Blake and Daen and looks both of them over, a bit more boldly than before. "And you two... care to introduce yourselves and tell us your stories? Are you here to discover new countries as well?"
He bows in response, taking the compliment.
Oh, it's my pleasure.
He raises back up, looking over and summing up the new entries that seemed to sneak in, but he didn't feel the need to ask for pleasantries.
When he walked into the room, it seemed as no one noticed. Not that he was trying to be sneaky, but he often fell underneath the gaze of people. He was not an ugly man, he had a straight nose and teeth when he bared them, and he was somewhat well built for those that found that kind of thing useful in a person. His long black hair had no real luster to it, nor was it too greasy. He was extraordinarily plain, the straight backed wooden chair put into a room of divans and overstuffed armchairs.
The half elf took note of the people in the room. There were two very talkative people, and a very sullen person who minded his own business. Naturally, Daen had stood next to him in a bit of a parade rest, waiting for the king to finish his other business. He was being paired with what seemed to be a religious zealot, a beautiful prisoner, and a burn victim. It was obvious that whatever they were being sent to do was not so important as to need it done, and they were not so important as not to be missed. He knew from his dealings with his father not to trust a word that proceeded from the mouth of the king as being anything other than duplicitous.
When addressed directly, he nodded at the prisoner and answered her question, his countenance wooden and austere. "My name is Daen. I bear relation to nobility when it suits them. All I know about this expedition is that I was chosen to lead it, although it has about as much chance to be true as it does to be a joke or a lie. It's possible that we are all to be executed or banished, in a way." But then his face softened a bit as if he just remembered something requiring reverence. "I truly am sorry for your misfortune dear, as I am no stranger to it."
He then opened his rigid posture to include the whole of the room in the conversation should they be willing. "As it seems we will be working together I can at least assure you of this. I have often been discredited because of appearance and in rebellion I refuse to do so. Actions define a person to me. Words mean little." And as he meant what he said, he ended his little speech there letting the others decide how to take it.
Destany did a brief double-take at Daen when he spoke and she turned to look at him more closely. For just a brief moment, he seemed to bear a striking resemblance to Regan. She shook her head and her hair flowed around her head like a halo. There was something in his voice.. or maybe it was his long dark hair, or perhaps something around the eyes... Oh, where ARE you Regan? Do you still live? Do you still love me?
She swallows hard, afraid of she speaks again, she'll burst into tears. She nods toward Daen in greeting, gnawing gently on her lower lip. She smiles slightly finally.
When she recovers enough to speak... she tries to gain some measure of Daen and his manner. His accent and way of speech was much like Regan's - upper class and educated, though he seemed more forthright than she would have expected. "Well met, then Daen."
So he is to lead us? He doesn't seem like the leader type, but I'd rather follow him on some kind of expedition than go alone to the chopping block.
Hearing the man speak, he took interest in his knowledge of Destany's recent plight. He made a mental note to ask of it later.
He returned to his chair, where he simply sat down, practically ignoring the finishing bits of Daen's little speech. He opened up his bible once more, leaning back into the comfort of the couch. He propped a hand on one side of his face, whilst holding the book open with the other.
His thoughts drifted to his home, the decadant source of debauchery he one day hoped to return to with stories of... carnage, and ecstasy. He wished Avalni well, and considered writing to her and his 4 other succubi keepers.
Afterwards, thoughts of the man in the alleyway robbing that poor women and her husband earlier. He would have drew the situation out more if he hadn't have been watched, but he made sure that the scythe found that perfect niche between rib and lung... the kind of wound that doesn't cause you to suffocate, simply bleed...
He left him there, of course. He didn't kill him, no, but the man certainly should have died by now. After all, the wound was over 8 inches. More than he's used to cutting, but... certainly adequate for the time constraints.
Those that look at him during this will note a blank stare into his book, as well as a small grin, though you don't know what it's for.
Blake strolled into the room, suppressing his usual swagger for a walk that was more appropriate for such a place. He'd never been in a palace before, and found it pretty incredible, wary as he was.
There were already two people waiting when he arrived. It only took a second for alarm bells to start going off in his head. The girl seemed sickly and had been tortured for months? And the man, he had an aura that Blake felt like he should have understood, but couldn't quite get a real read on him. 'Who are these people? They can't possibly be candidates for His Majesty's Service. What the hell have I gotten myself into?'
Rather than intruding into the conversation of the others, he began to walk along the edge of the room, studying the architecture, looking at how fine and detailed the engravements were, and of course eavesdropping on the others. He was very curious when Dmitri mentioned building a kingdom, but obviously the man must be mistaken.
As the half-elf entered, Blake became even more confused. He stood like royally, he claimed to be related to royalty, but he spoke far more candidly. 'So. He is to be our leader.' As the other man completely ignored the half-elf and returned to his bible, Blake amended his previous thought. 'Or, at least he thinks he is.'
'Show time.'
Blake approached Daen with a clumsy bow and then cleared his throat. "Well. If you are to be the one who leads us into darkness and death, perhaps you should know us better. My name is Blake Cortelli. I'm a chemist, of sorts." A smile spread across Blake's face before he could stop himself, and he winced in pain.
Fyrek quieted her winds before entering the waiting room because the last thing she wanted to do was muss the hair of someone important. She made a last check -- sleeves down, scarf straight, bow slung, medallion hawk side out, and then strode in purposefully.
There were already several people there when Fyrek arrived. A priest with a foreign accent, a local who seemed both scarred and callused, a woman even slighter than Fyrek herself. They seemed out of place and ill at ease, but the half-elf swordsman stood as though used to waiting in the halls of nobility.
Fyrek approached the swordsman, as the one obviously in charge. "I hope I'm not late -- when I got word of the expedition I wasn't in the city. Fyrek Orlovsky," she held out her hand to him, "of the Arboreal Order. I'm really looking forward to getting down there and seeing the land. What did you find there on your last expedition?"
Daen felt like backhanding the cleric for his insolence, but his face betrayed little. He hadn't officially been put in charge after all, and there still was a good chance of it being a trick.
He nodded assent to the burn victim, Blake. To his credit, Daen did not flinch or cringe at him, but instead returned a polite smile. "Chemistry is an interesting field. I..." He trailed off because Fyrek strode into the room. "Excuse me." Said the half-elf to Blake, before receiving the introduction of the newcomer.
She had an exotic look to her, and when he heard her name he smiled with a bit of warmth. "An Orlovsky, and Arboreal... I've heard of you. I'm glad to finally meet you. My name is Daen, and I am not allowed to use my surname because of the way I look. I'm sure you of all people understand."
"I believe you are somewhat mistaken, but I have not yet been to this land of which you speak, but I am looking forward to your expertise. I was wondering if we would get anyone familiar with the wilds." He turned to the others, introducing them. "This is Blake, a Chemist. And over here we have Dmitri and Destany, whose skills have not yet been discussed."
Hearing Daen mention the lack of discussion among skills, Dmitri snapped out of his pleasant memories. Skills... Oh Dmitri had skills. A smooth talker, an intimidating presence, and a wonderful amount of knowledge in religion, though, all for the wrong reasons.
Dmitri raised his head over his book to acknowledge the newcomer, admiring the addition of yet another woman to the party.
"It would seem I won't be short on pleasant company." He said as he leaned forward on the couch.
"I'm skilled in conversation, and religion. My other skills won't concern you."
He took a moment after saying that to give Daen a look of apathy after those odd words. It wasn't an intimidating, or anything, he just... he just looked at him.
Dmitri then focused his attention on the newcomer, the woman. He admired the boldness of her hair, and from what he'd gathered she must have been a druid.
"I look forward to working with you."
The words practically dripped with honey, as he sent them toward the new woman.
You are stuck waiting perhaps another ten minutes before the stuffy clerk who ped most of you here emerges from a door. "Court is now in session. Whenever you enter the throne room you will line up abreast and bow before the King. None of you need speak except to acknowledge his majesty's words. Follow the instructions you are given and you will be granted a boon from the king." He looks at each of you in turn. "Be respectful and polite, and come find me in this room after. I will have prepared your beginning."
After the rapid fire instructions and a stern looking over from the clerk, he leads you into the throne room. You are forced to stand at the back and watch over the heads of gossiping nobles in their court best as a man named Maegar Varn is issued a charter for exploration and pacification of some area called 'the Nomen Heights' by the king.
Varn is a mountain of a man with a square jaw, deep blue eyes and a lions mane of honey blonde hair. He grins in a most uncourtly manner the whole of his acceptance.
King Noleski Surtova, by contrast is a tall, spare man in the grips of late middle age. His hair had gone white but had yet to lose its thick fullness, and his robin's egg blue eyes looked out from a face just a bit too thin to be handsome.
Blake follows the instructions of the clerk and walks into the throne room. As he sees the amount of planning that went into this, the amount of people called, and the solemnity with which Varn receives his task, Blake becomes even more uncomfortable. It seems as though everyone in the room knows something that he doesn't. He feels like a horrible joke is being played on him.
As words like 'exploration' and 'pacification' are spoken, Blake begins to understand what is happening. In an instant, it clicks, and he realises what is being demanded of them. He looks at Varn's wide smile and thinks to himself, 'Oh you poor damned fool.'
"Rather rude, that..." Dmitri walked to the door prior to the majority of everyone, promptly closing his book. He looked at his scythe, and shrugged, wondering whether he should take it with him. A sword in it's sheathe is regal, and proper. Walking into a room full of royals with a scythe draped over your back, ever imposing? The thought was fun for mere intimidation value.
He raised his weapon, walking to the door after putting it in it's proper place, holding the door open for everyone to pass, inviting the rest to walk through after Blake. "I trust we're about to witness something... fun."
Knowing she will be returning to this room, Destany leaves her few meager belongings in the chamber, still tucked in the corner she'd left them in. When she arrives in the audience hall, she audibly gasps when she sees the king. He was an older version of Regan, though Regan's hair wasn't white, the resemblance was shocking. She covers her mouth with her hand as soon as the gasp escapes her, and ducks behind Daen, hoping not to be seen. This was the man who had ordered her incarceration and she didn't want to be attracting his attention again.
Finally she peeked around Daen's shoulder and looked about the chamber, hoping, beyond hope, to see Regan. Did he even remember her after all this time? Was she just a youthful dalliance for him, or was their love still true? Did he even know what had happened to her?
The half elf walked through the door being held by the religious man, not knowing whether or not he had any intent on causing more problems in the throne room. Daen hoped that he wouldn't have to please the king by striking him down before their expedition even started.
Daen sees the reaction by Destany toward the king and he makes a move to grab her hand. Seeing her reaction to the king made a knot develop in his gut, as they would already have lost their boon from the king the clerk spoke of. As he holds her hand gently, he turns and whispers to her. "Stand next to me. Hiding will only hurt us. He knows you are here."
He leads her as gently as a plucked flower to his side, hoping they haven't angered the king too much by lack of decorum.
I suppose everyone knows about me then. I had hoped... Fyrek's calm demeanor flickeered at Daen's words, but she quickly composed herself.
"Yes, it all comes down to blood in the end, doesn't it. Polluted blood overwhelms even legitimacy, whatever you may have been told." She smiles wryly. "I guess it's blind exploration for all of us then. Should be exciting."
She turns her attentions to the others. "A Chemist, then, excellent. And a..." Fyrek fumbled a moment for the right word. "...courtier. Charmed." She turned to greet Destany, but they were already being summoned into court.
The instructions were exactly as she expected. Fyrek left her pack in the drawing room, but her weapons remained on her belt as she had not been instructed to remove them. She was, after all, here in her professional capacity.
She saw Daen take Destany in hand, and anchor one side of their line, so she took up position on the far side, that between them they would have everyone properly arrayed.
As she watched the proceedings, she couldn't quite keep the smile from her face. This might have been her proper place, had things been otherwise. It was what her parents had trained her for. While Fyrek had never formally been to court, before her...condition...had become well known she had attended a function that the king had appeared at, though she had never been anywhere near him. How proud would they be if only they could see her now?
Dmitri allows everyone to pass, noting their choice of words and looks. It's scourn, but, a light amount. They simply don't know him that well, which, honestly might be a good thing. I mean he's already killed someone today, and that's not even counting the deaths he may have caused prior.
He follows in, admiring the proceeding, making sure to stand properly, not the he already didn't. His demeanor was always straight, and hunching over would be shameful and inappropriate. In this myriad of loyalty, he felt right at home. His house name was unknown, and chosen by his godmother Avalni. He had no idea what it meant, of course.
It's just like Avalni said, however. Lineage is for the devils. A clever way to keep all of the pawns in line.
Still... if pawns make it far enough. They become kings, don't they?
He never did like chess.
King Surtova's eyes catch every move in the throne room. Darting over everything without pausing in his speeches to Varn. Finally Varn stands with a "...go! And bring the light of civilization to the darkest lands in the name of the King!" Maegar Varn walks by on his way out, symbol of Iomedae the Inheritor clear on his tunic as he smiles at everyone. The clerk made a small motion with his hands, making it obvious that it's your cue.
You walk forward, abreast, with the nobles whispering and tittering on either side. Regan is not present, which is easy to spot since he should be at a spot by his father's side. The five of you reach the appointed spot before the throne. The King was silent for a moment, then made a gesture for you to rise from your bows (whether you chose to bow or not). He looks you over and begins: "And now for the last expedition. You are to be given a charter, as follows." He motions to the clerk, who has suddenly appeared beside him with a scroll. The clerk unfurled the scroll and read in his slightly nasally voice the words which would change your life.
"Be it so known that the bearer of this charter has been charged by the Crown and the Swordlords of Restov acting upon the greater good and authority vested within them by the office of the Regent of the Dragonscale Throne has been granted the right of exploration and travel within the wilderness region known as the Greenbelt. Exploration should be limited to an area no further than thirty-five miles to the east and west, and sixty miles south of Oleg's Trading Post. The carrier of this charter should also strive against banditry and other unlawful behavior to be encountered. The punishment for unrepentant banditry remains, as always, execution by the sword or rope. So witnessed on this, the 24th day of Calistril, under the watchful eye of the Lordship of Restov, and authority granted by Lord Noleski Surtova, the Current Regent of the Dragonscale Throne."
The clerk rolled the scroll with a sniff and stepped backward.
King Noleski looks out over the throne room with an air of self-satisfaction. "And so I will send you into this savage land and have you clear it of the enemies of the kingdom and claim it in the name of Brevoy." He locked eyes with each of you as he paused. "You each have things you wish of me. They will be granted if you finish this task for the Crown." He made a move of dismissal, clearly sending you from the throne room.
Destany felt her knees grow weak at the mention of what they are to do, and her blood runs cold and then very hot at even the suggestion that she might have her most ardent wish granted if their group succeeds at taming this new land. Hope. And something more... She sighs very softly and gazes at the man who shared his features with his second son so strongly. Then she looks down at her toes, her cheeks flushed hot with shame at her own brazenness.
She exits the throneroom with the others, trying to hide the blush that burns within her.
When they arrive back at the waiting chamber, she bursts into tears as the stress becomes too much for her. She buries her face in her hands until the fit passes, and collapses into a chair. When she is fully recovered, she looks at the others and sighs. "My apologies for that outburst. It won't happen again."
Daen thought for a moment about what the king might mean by a thing he wished of the king. His only wish was to see his mother happy, but that far beyond the power of anyone known to him. They couldn't prevent her from dying or prove her innocence, it was far too late to bring her back. Daen wanted nothing else, although the king believed he did...
After they returned, Destany collapsed into the chair. Daen knew it was best to let her finish, and he was glad she didn't do it in front of the king although he would be sure to hear of it. As it was, it was hard to say if she would be any use to the expedition, but it was sure that she was no good to them in court.
The expedition itself was a bit daunting to him. He had no idea how long it would take, but he knew that they were likely to be ill equipped for such a journey. He had some trail rations with him, but his own purse was light. He would definitely have to rely on his companions, but besides Orlovsky he couldn't be terribly optimistic on that front. Of course, he was hardly optimistic on any front.
He leaned against the wall and waited for the clerk to return with the charter that would send them on their way. When Destany was finished with her outburst and apology, Daen responded. "What's done is done. The question is how we proceed from here. Do any of you have transportation? Restov alone is a fair distance."
Fyrek behaves at all times appropriately, advancing and bowing at the proper moments. When the king meets her gaze, she stares back impassively, with nothing hidden or revealed.
So Varn is to 'bring the light of civilization' and we are to execute bandits. Now I see how this is. She paused, considering the kings offer of a boon. I don't even know what I would ask for anymore. Six months ago, yes, but now I have no idea.
After they returned to the drawing room, Fyrek goes over to where Destany has collapsed miserably into a chair, and spoke to her softly.
"I had a moment like that in court once when I was ten. Not here, of course, the Orlovsky court in Eagle Watch. I was supposed to recite a poem, and when it was my turn to approach I froze." Fyrek paused, remembering how all she had wanted was to disappear, and how her fathers impassive smile never wavered even as his knuckles whitened in anger.
"When we returned home for the evening, my father told me that if I was to behave like a scullery maid, that I would be treated like one. I spent the next week scrubbing floors, sleeping in a closet, and eating scraps. Then he asked me to recite the poem for him, and when I had done so was allowed to return to my room. That is how you learn to behave in court."
Fyrek smiles at Destany. "But by all accounts you're already impervious to that method. I guess the only thing left to do with you is send you off into the wilderness to die. That way when you return, victorious, they will be too awestruck to care if you behave 'appropriately'.
Fyrek shakes her head at Daen's query. "Ketephys teaches to travel under your own power, to never be a burden to others. But I would be glad for a horse, if one is available."
Blake followed the others back to the waiting room, not the least bit surprised by Destany's breakdown. He knew how she felt, having lived his life for himself, and the way that he wanted to. Now a king was going to tell him who to fight, and where to die. No, he did not like that at all.
For most of his life he had, if not actually been a bandit himself, at least been working with them. And while he had turned on them in the name of survival, he still wasn't excited about trying to hunt them. He knew what they thought, and how they acted, and many of them could be quite clever, not to mention brutishly strong. Blake looked down at his burns, wondering what it was all for. He couldn't hope to match them in hand-to-hand combat. Had he overplayed his hand?
Daen's questions snapped him out of his thoughts. 'He's right. How we proceed from here is what's important.'
"Yes.", he replied, thinking of all the new possibilities for what their destination may bring. "I have a mule. I know it's a bit slower than a horse would be, but I absolutely must bring my lab with me."
The King's clerk appeared without a sound, carrying a box about the size of a small table, which he set down and opened. "Within are six waterproof scroll cases. Five of them contain your copies of the charter, handwritten and notarized. The sixth contains a map of south Brevoy up to the border of the area you are to be exploring, which has never had a credible map made, and a set of mapmaking inks with three sheets of blank parchment. I hope one of you is good with your hands. Finally within the smaller case here is five royal passes on the river ferry The Water Nymph which leaves at sunset tonight and finishes it's route at Choral's Rest, a small town in South Brevoy. From there you may follow your map to Oleg's Trading Post, which is the last area of civilization before your charter is to begin. There is also a small writ of royal payment to the owner of the general store in Choral's Rest for five days worth of trail rations for each of you, enough to get you to Oleg's alive and well fed." This trip had obviously been meticulously planned and the clerk handed the items out as he rattled them off. "After that point... you are on your own, and shall receive no further assistance from the Crown." He stops his mechanical rattling off of facts for a moment and his face softens. "Good luck to you. There are many who wish to see you fail but I am not one of them." He holds out his hand to shake to each of you before hurrying away smoothly, doubtless to some other task of the King's, and leaving you alone with your new duties.
Destany sighs raggedly, though she doesn't weep again, she seems on the verge and trembles slightly as she keeps tight control on her emotions. She nods in understanding to the clerk, and shakes his hand when the offer is made. She takes her copy of the charter, but relies on others to take the case with the map, passes and writ.
She walks over to a corner of the room and grabs a small bundle of cloth and leather which looks like a rolled up pack, and some other things, all rather filthy and stained. She hugs these few things to herelf and nods to the others. "I am ready to go, and departing yesterday would be none to soon for me."
She manages a slight smile as she tucks loose hair from her ponytail behind her ears.
Fyrek listens intently to the clerks instructions. When he offers his hand she shakes it warmly and makes an effort to memorize his face -- there is no better ally than a friendly functionary. Then she takes a charter and quickly looks it over.
"I'm checking to see if our names are mentioned anywhere in these documents. Guard yours carefully -- if these are truly 'bearer' charters then a bandit could one and use it as his authority to have us hanged. Not that anyone would do that, of course."
Fyrek glances at the map, but decides there will be plenty of time to study it on The Water Nymph. For now she studies the rest of the group, the rag tag band that will be her companions for the foreseeable future -- maybe for the rest of her life.
"I'd like to make a request," Fyrek says at last. "I won't make a habit of pushing Ketephys upon you -- the Silent Hunter is not that kind of god. But I'd like to begin our endeavor with a prayer, if I may. Would you all join hands?"
Fyrek waits until those that will do so have arranged themselves in a circle. "Blake. Daen. Destany. Dmitri." She looks at each one of them in turn, trying to meet each of their eyes. "Among Ketephys' greatest tenets is that throughout one's adventures, our companions should not be chosen for mere utility, but for friendship. We don't yet know each other, but I hope that through this journey we will become friends."She smiles and looks around the circle again. "I wish that for each...and every...one of...us. Ketephys, please guide and inspire us on this journey. And we will do the rest."
She drops hands, and retrieves her pack, while the others do the same. As they have finished packing, a thought occurs to her.
"As a token of our friendship, I will show you a bit of myself I almost never allow strangers to see." Fyrek's eyes flicker closed for a moment, and she gives an exaggerated sigh, as though she is putting down an unseen burden. The sigh swirls around her, until all the air with a foot or so of her is churning. "Oh my," she says. "It does feel so good to breathe."
Dmitri didn't bow to any man in particular, at least, not a full one. He did bow, but only partially, as to save his own hide from any future issues. He noted how Destany left in a hurry, but didn't worry much about it.
His thoughts of what he could have... hmm... What do you give a man who grew up with debauchery? Royal harems had nothing on what Dmitri dealt with in his church as he aged. Perhaps a new weapon? Perhaps a licence to practice what he did? Actually, the licence would be silly, as he'd never gotten in trouble for it before, as the women present always spoke well of him.
Dmitri sat on the same couch he'd taken interest in as he watched Fyrek console Destany. It was comforting to watch. He heeded the words of the Half-elf, however, but didn't offer a reply. Going with the flow was more Dmitri's taste.
As the clerk comes around to shake his hand and offer the scroll, he keeps his hand on the clerk after the handshake is over.
My good sir, could you not tell us more of this ferry? With a name such as that, I'm sure we will not be the only ones on it. releasing his grip
Are there any other important faces on this ferry?
Dmitri wasn't concerned with the faces. He was more interested in hearing specific names in hopes that the half-elf's nobility would be able to predict if anything bad would happen to them. After all, the clerk had just told them that they apparently had enemies in the royal court... they could very well die before they even got to their destination.
Also, it let him prepare for the blood he wanted to spill.
Dmitri did not partake in the circle, as he knew not what ketephys stood for, and his code forbade him from receiving any kind of boon from another god willingly. He gently shook his head no to mean he meant no offense.
Blake considered staying out of the prayer circle when he saw Dmitri hang back without any hesitation, but he reminded himself that it would be good for him to gain these people's trust. It was going to be difficult, he knew, the more they found out about him. And his appearance certainly didn't make it any easier.
Still feeling somewhat unsure, but trying to remain open-minded, Blake stepped into the circle and joined hands. He expected that it would be silly, that it would drag on for too long, that he'd feel ridiculous. Fyrek, however, said something very simple about the importance of friendship on such a journey, and the hope that they would grow together. Blake wanted to snort, thinking to himself that he'd never had friends, that he'd never needed friends. The idea of depending on others seemed silly to him. She said not to think of them as being chosen for utility, but that's what they were. Everyone had a value, a purpose, a use. That was all Blake had ever been. That's all anyone ever was.
Despite everything he was thinking, when he looked into the eyes of the smiling girl, he felt safer, and for the first time in his life, he believed that she would truly look after him, after all of them. And when he puts his arms down, he was surprised to find that he felt better about the expedition, even though it may very well end in all of their deaths.
Destany joins the circle, glad for the comfort of Fyrek and her kindness, it was a simple way to return the favor, and she had no qualms about receiving the boon of any god not dedicated to evil.
She looks down at her clothing and wishes she had something to wear besides her working clothes. Such things were meant for working in town, and at a forge. Her long skirt could become unwieldy in bad weather or on rough ground. And she was without most of her things, which were still back at Jehan's if he hadn't rid himself of them by now. Her armor and her traveling clothes were left behind there. She had only had time to grab a nearly empty pack and a well-worn cloak when she was taken, and her scrap of swaddling cloth.
"Do you think I will have time to collect my things from my foster family before we depart? I have armor and traveling clothes I may need on the journey." She asks the others. "Perhaps we could stop there on the way out of the city?
She looks with surprise at Fyrek's winds and bites her lip, suspecting that Fyrek is cursed like herself, not understanding the nature of the swirling air. She manages to suppress a gasp, and cautiously reaches out to touch the edge of the affected area. "Oh, my... fascinating... are you cursed? or is this something else?"
"There will be no one else of power on the ferry. That's the whole point Master Mavis. No one is supposed to know your route. The Captain has been paid quite well for his silence, but remain vigilant." The clerk smiles thinly and disappears before any more questions can be asked.
There are a few hours before the ferry leaves. How do you spend them?
That really disappointed Dmitri. The idea of there being people on the boat to mingle with was pleasant to him. Plenty of ladies to flirt with, as well as being a potent presence were things he strives for.
He simply watched as the clerk left, cursing himself for not attempting to get more information. He took note of the sudden torrent of air in the area. He'd never seen a sylph before, but, he'd learned of them all the same. Dmitri had plenty of education, despite his method of raising. Alienistic he may be, but he had a wide array of what he considered "basic" knowledge.
He looked around the room, and took note of where the ferry was leaving and when. He walked toward the door they'd all came through, turning his head where only the right part of his hair was visible with his nose slightly poking out. He took out his handerkerchief he'd been given earlier and showed it to them.
"I will meet you all at the ordained time. Provided one of you wishes to accompany me, I would enjoy the grace. I'm going to go see if I can't find the woman who was gracious enough to loan this to me earlier. I also need to see a smith, rather soon."
He raises his hand to signal goodbye, though he doesn't look to see if anyone is actually following him. They seemed Alien to him, somewhat, but he's sure they'd be comfortable around him eventually.
"My foster father is a smith and I am on my way to see him now, in hopes he still has my gear after all this time. Would you like me to guide you to him? He may have what you need." Destany offers Dmitri. She slips out of the room just behind him, and if he will accompany her, she doesn't mention the blood on the handkerchief.
Whether he joins her or not, she heads to Jehan's smithy and home...
He stops walking for a moment and turns partially around to look at her. Her figure is pale, and she looks as though she could most definitely use a meal.
I'll take you up on your offer, madame, but only if you allow me to treat you to a meal on the way. putting the handkerchief away.
Destany gives Dmitri a fleeting smile and nods slightly. "Alright. It's been a long time since I've eaten well. Though I probably shouldn't have too much, I would enjoy something other than prison fare, I must admit. THank you for your kind offer, Dmitri."
He bows, before letting her pass.
"Yet another pleasure."
He follows behind Destany as they walk. This... "nymph" sounds intriguing but he doesn't know what to make of it. A single captain silenced just so 5 people can go along? If the ship was a small one, it made sense, but too much space for the 5 of them would be... frightfully dangerous.
He grinned. With no one to watch him, he kind of hoped for assailants. He hadn't truly bled anyone in a while. Well. Not as much as he wanted to, anyway. He had, after all, killed a man this morning.
The thought of the woman in question going through such torment bothered him, though. She was friendly, which was pleasant. He didn't know enough about her to make a judgement call on her tormentors, however.
Leaving the palace revealed the same light that was shining so much earlier, but, it also gave him ample room to talk
"So tell me, miss Destany, of this smith you know. Does he have a spare pair of gauntlets? I require a new set, as my last ones were too dented to function properly...
Dmitri's last pair of gauntlets were dented weeks ago when a woman had been smacked in public. The spectacle of him beating the man in question was originally met with approval, had they not noticed that Mavis had disfigured his face.
"It has been some months since I have seen him, I think. But it's very possible he might have a pair. As likely he as any other smith. He is more a weaponsmith than an armorer, so they'd most likely be spiked gauntlets if he does have them. If he doesn't, he'll know another who would, as he has many friends among his colleagues. Jehan is a very nice man, as are his sons. They took me in and trained me when I was new in town and had nowhere to turn and no trade to practice."
She looks sidelong at Dmitri and slightly behind herself, as he seems to walk behind her more than beside her.
"I've told you much of myself already. I guess I talk a bit too much, I'm sorry. It's just been so long since I've had anyone to talk to. Do tell me about yourself, good sir... Where are you from and what brought you to New Restov? Surely you didn't come just to join this little band of adventurers on a fool's errand!" She flashes him a little smile and somewhere behind the pale skin and prominent cheekbones, there is a little bit of beauty hiding that shines through for a moment.