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The Awakening; Eurennas Chronicles; Part One
Topic Started: 9 Feb 2011, 04:25 (3,843 Views)
TheZamboniKnight
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I am Nathan Fillion.
Eoraem was not quite as mysterious as Mykael. There were rumors aplenty, but they had nothing to do with how powerful and creepy the prince was. People knew exactly who he was. There was no question. There could be no question; as ruler, he could only afford so much privacy. His station was a public one.

The prince was generally happy with that. He didn't want people to be afraid of him like they were of his guard. It was Mykael's job to instill fear, but Eoraem felt that those emotions were counterproductive when it came to ruling.

Eoraem barely took notice when Mykael came to stand beside him. The height difference had never really bothered him. It seemed fitting; at least, it made more sense than if it was the other way around and Eoraem was the one who towered.

"We will be departing now, your highness. We hope to arrive in Valencia in approximately two days."

He nodded in response, watching as they cast off. Even through his determined sulking there was a spark of excitement as the fires were lit. Eoraem really did like this ship. Ships in general, really, but this one in particular because it was his. These two days that would doubtless be filled with preparations for meeting with his dear half brother, but he could find a few moments to enjoy himself, surely.

"Your escort is prepared. We are on schedule, my lord."

Another nod as Eoraem's gaze went to the other ships. "Very good," he said, watching them a moment longer before going to the rail, stepping carefully on the highly polished surface.

It was hard to cling to his sulk when they were airborne. He loved the feeling of being up in the air, even the mechanics of it. By far, though, his favorite thing was the view. Eoraem leaned against the sturdy barrier, looking down at everything that passed beneath them. It was slightly sickening, but he never tired of it. "Do you ever wonder what we must look like to people below?" He asked, assuming Mykael had followed him. He always did.

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True awesome comes naturally from within oneself."
Doc
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The Dork Knight
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Her Dorkness
Andaeriel paid no one any heed as she made her way out of the tavern. She didn't listen to Alyxandaer's scoldings or Nymaera's response. She simply made her way out into the bright morning sun, nodding to the guards who kept guard outside of the tavern. A brief pause to let her eyes adjust to the sunlight and she was off, wandering through the city with no particular destination in mind.

Unlike her charge, Andy never disguised herself to walk among the people of Valencia. Her presence had to be known at all times, though never to be feared, unless someone was up to something. Indeed, when Andaeriel walked around, she was imposing, a perfect example of the royal guard, and the perfect person to serve as the Archon, especially with her years of experience. But she also walked with an ease in her step and a warm smile playing on her exotic features. She mingled with the locals, made them feel easy about the stone-faced elite who watched over them and protected them every day and night.

She stopped when she noticed she’d ended up just outside of the royal gardens. Black eyes looked past the fences surrounding the grounds where gorgeous flowers still grew, despite the season. She looked past the flowers, though, and to the stables, and the large many-windowed building next to them. A smile grew on her lips, and she found herself making her way towards said building, taking in the scents of the many exotic flowers as she walked past, flowers that weren’t native to Arcevus, some brought home from Gallineon, others from the far south, and the far reaches of Eurennas.

Upon walking into the large building, one would see that it was a menagerie, full of various species of animals, from canines to felines, to birds and reptiles. Her scent was quickly picked up the moment she stepped inside, the wolves and dogs began to bark excitedly, the felines came running to the edges of their cells, pawing at their loving owner as she walked by. “Hello, my darlings.” She greeted, reaching down to gently stroke one of the large leopards.

She continued through the massive menagerie, her pride and joy since she didn’t have children, and stopped towards the back where a larger than normal wolf was curled up in a ball and napping happily. It was larger than most wolves, though not by much, but definitely fiercer and even more loyal; it was Andaeriel’s pride and joy. This one was mainly white with spots of black and grey, the tail tipped in black, and its eyes were bright yellow orbs, glowing in the darkness. “Rise and shine, Phaerith.” Andy greeted as she knelt down and ruffled the fur on the wolf’s head. “I need your nose to help me sniff out rebels and other such illegal things in the city.” The wolf’s response was a wide yawn and a stretch of its body before it got up and looked at Andaeriel with her big golden eyes. Another ruffle of the fur and they were off, beginning their patrols through the city, heading off in search of another patrol group to join up with.
Edited by The Dork Knight, 29 Apr 2011, 03:55.
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"The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss,
but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us."

Eurennas Chronicles; part one: The Awakening (Reboot) IC | OOC
Hellbound Chronicles; part one: Omen IC | OOC
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Hydro14
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Captain Switzerland
Ythandar

The Earthen Dragon's pace had slowed temporarily as he dedicated his concentration to the art that he wove. He could not afford to misstep, for in the crucial moment as he ensnared his listener's attention every note had to be perfect or the chance would be lost. As he felt the tempestuous heat reducing to a low simmer, Ythandar returned to his previous pace, letting the last resonant echoes of the song trace mournful melodies across the sheet of ice. Before long crisp snow was once more crunching beneath his boots.

At first the former knight was tempted to ignore the princess' question, not because he didn't want to answer it but more because he was reluctant to say anything to her at that moment. The song had left him feeling particularly self-conscious, aware that he had just been forced to share something very private with his enemy. Nonetheless, the mage forced himself to reply in a tone that was at the very least civil. "You would uphold an antiquated, dogmatic system that views the very lives of its subjects to be the property of the monarchy to be spent on a whim. That makes you my enemy." he answered, "But no, I don't intend to kill you unless I don't have another option." Ythandar resisted the urge to add a scornful remark that Morganya would probably be able to return to her secluded, privileged existence soon; provided the third in line to the throne acquiesced to Frostblade's demands. The revelation of the purpose she was to be put to might just be enough to prompt a sudden spur of courage from the young princess. It could even be enough to cause Morganya to make him kill her.

Sensing the rock rising beneath the lake before there was any perceptible change in the footing, The Earthen Dragon quickened his pace a little more to catch up with the scouts who were already safely back on solid ground. He elected not to give them any indication of the close call he had experienced, they didn't need to know, and as their leader he required them to have confidence in his abilities. Ythandar set the princess back on her feet and barely spared her a glance as he moved once more to the front of the small company and set off up the ravine ahead. He was intent on making a few more miles before the storm closed in.

Illine

Illine felt the disturbance caused by a solid object moving through her element, but gave no sign of it as she responded to Oriel's patronising lecture with the same acidic tones. "Do you ignore the walls just because they were built by a different architect?" she quipped, "Give your predecessors some benefit of the doubt and don't assume them to have been completely incompetent."

The marbles clicked as they impacted an invisible but not insubstantial barrier that Illine had formed of the air behind her. In the charged silence that followed, the princess considered that possibly she was ignoring her own advice. "Perhaps what you're hinting at," she suggested, "is that like a solid attack, an attempt to tear down an enchantment must be met before it makes contact if it is to be foiled?"
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My loyalty is a double edged blade: I will stand by you while what you do is right and just, but I will never support you when doing so would force me to betray what I believe. If you're waiting for me to apologise for being who I am, you'll be waiting an eternity.

"Sandbars - because who drinks sand anyway?"
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Wildia
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You are being judged.
Morganya

"You would uphold an antiquated, dogmatic system that views the very lives of its subjects to be the property of the monarchy to be spent on a whim. That makes you my enemy. But no, I don't intend to kill you unless I don't have another option."

The princess had expected this to be some sort of comfort to her; the confirmation that her captor would not kill her for no reason was supposed to have bolstered her spirits enough to continue their march to who-knew-where. Yet for whatever strange reason, it only managed to bring a bitter laugh from her pale lips. Venomous remarks rested at the tip of her tongue, but for once she said nothing -- at least for now. She kept her chin high as Ythander set her on the ground, her gaze not meeting those of any of the rest of his group.

He had set them off at a tremendous pace, at least for a princess who was used to walking no farther than to her palace gate, and she struggled to keep up, the leather of her riding boots biting against her dainty feet. Her pride had kept her from complaining until now, but she knew it would not be long before she would begin to tire, far earlier than the rest of the party, and she would be forced to slow them down. To some, this may have been a mixed blessing -- slowing the group down would increase the chance of a rescue. Morganya, however, was much more intent on getting to wherever it was they needed to be, now that she knew they would not kill her. Not yet, anyways.

"I hope you'll be able to survive this storm, Earthen Dragon," came her taunting tone from the back of the group, the pyromancer having finally found her voice again. "You and your pets -- they can be rather fierce, this time of year."
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Lord Synical
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Permanently Angry Australian
Xaernyn

Xaernyn's hand drifted swiftly over the parchment before him, pausing only to refresh the nib of his quill with ink before he returned to his writing. It had been nearly two days since their departure from Virivia and Valencia had become a distant image the day prior, a miniature dot visible through only the strongest looking glass. It would take the fleet time, then, to reach the city -- but the Archon had nothing but time regardless. The daily reports from the fleet about supplies, ammunition, propulsion and stability were strewn haphazardly over the dark metal desk, mingling with older documents and unrelated ones as well. Normally efficient, Xaernyn was exhausted. Abnormal stamina or not, he hadn't slept properly in days -- and it had started to show.

Shuffling away another stack of papers, he put down the quill and pushed his chair back, sighing in both irritation and relief. So much to do, he grumbled mentally, and so little time in which to do it. Morganya, are you safe? A gauntlet-free hand ruffled crimson hair before he turned his attention to the large window that afforded him a decidedly blank view of the night sky. Storm clouds had rolled in some few hours prior and they had been forced to drop altitude in order to avoid them. Now, rain and lightning crackled barely twenty metres above -- warded away by the efforts of the fleet's Mages.

On one hand, Xaernyn took some comfort in the identity of Morganya's captor, despite the irony of the notion. He remembered the Ythandar. The man wasn't precisely placid, but he had a kind of honour that the Archon could respect. He never harmed anyone unless it was a necessity for his survival or beliefs, and if he'd wanted Morganya dead, he could have killed her instead of capturing her. Blinking to dispel the heaviness that assaulted his eyelids, he rose from his seat and walked around the black desk, past a few idle ornaments that Morganya enjoyed to open the door to the deck and ascend the stairs.

Walking out into the night, Xaernyn sighed at the caress of the air, the scent tinted by the fresh smell of rain and the faint burn of lightning. Even now, men worked diligently having rotated with their day shift counter-parts, enchanted lights illuminated the deck as Royal Knights patrolled in silence, their passage marked only by the faint creak of plate or leather and the shadows they cast about them. Where most would feel disconcerted by their presence, so akin to stalking predators, the crew seemed emboldened.

These men and women had been selected because they wished to serve with all their being, and hadn't had the talent for any other position. To them, unlike others, Royal Knights were a symbol of divinity -- not simply a warning of royal retribution, but a statement of power; they were the chosen of the Last God. Nearby, Xaernyn spotted the bulk of the ship's Captain, his calloused fingers grasping manifests much like Xaernyn's, save a touch less numerous. When the Archon approached, the man turned and offered a salute -- fist over heart -- which was returned.

"Pleasant eve to you, milord." He rumbled, walrus-like moustache quivering. "We're making good progress t'wards Valencia." Nodding in approval, Xaernyn idly clasped his hands at the base of his spine. "You seem to not share my joy in that, Captain." The man glanced at him in confusion and the pyromancer elaborated, "I know you wish to rescue our Princess, I know that for certain. I speak instead of dislike for our destination. Do you have bad memories of Valencia?"

Normally, such personal questions were oft dismissed by those being asked, but when it was a royal Archon inquiring -- even if the issue of utmost secrecy -- one did not hold back. "I dislike what I hear of Prince Alyxandaer, milord. Forgive my impudence, sir, but he sounds... well..." Xaernyn interjected, "Like an asinine brat?" The Captain blinked, then smiled nervously in affirmation. In reply, the Archon looked out at the ship, towards Valencia in the dark nothingness of the night. "Alyxandaer is one of three, Captain. Despite this, I have always found him... lacking. The third is nothing like his full siblings, and less than many of his half siblings. But remember one thing."

The Captain lifted a brow and Xaernyn turned to him, speaking in a quiet, serious tone. "Do not be fooled by his childish manner; Alyxandaer Veronnae Eurennas is as dangerous as Vaelian is strong and Aennedra is beautiful. The Three have not remained alive this long because they are weak. If ever you anger the Third, Captain, he will find you -- and there is no wall in this world that can keep him out." Nodding once, Xaernyn turned and made his way back to his cabin, the captain watching him go with a face as pale as snow.



Mykael

Mykael pondered over Eoraem's question for a time, treating it as serious as he would a request to take an action that might lead to war. The White Death had ever been a serious man and in this moment he was no different. "I would think we would be lines, my prince." He said decidedly, nodding in agreement with his own words. "Lines of darkness sailing the sky seemingly without assistance. When we lower our altitude, perhaps we would be as mariners riding the waves of the sky." A twitch of the lips showed this description was a touch more personal that Mykael let on, the faint upwards ascent of their corners heralding his fondness for the memory.

Around them, Mykael spotted birds flapping in tune with their progress, feathers lost on occasion without notice. The sound of the roaring levitation furnaces washed over him passively, the Archon ignoring them as easily as another man would ignore a hawker in the market. Around him, the thoughts and personalities of every individual on the ship soared through his mind. When he was younger, the influx of information from his gift had always been disorienting -- now, it was a blessing. He could file away names, intent, appearances all without having even seen the person. Combined with his eidetic memory, it meant that he never missed someone who did not belong.

Besides him, he could see Eoraem's expression lightening. The prince had always seemed happy to fly and it was good, in Mykael's opinion, for him to be relaxing this way. With the looming prospect of Alyxandaer Veronnae Eurennas fresh in his charge's mind, the Archon understood that the younger man needed every moment of relaxation he could manage. The Third was hard to deal with at the best of time and these were not the best of times. Never mind that Eoraem had been all by ordered to go to Valencia, but with the city so full of high spirits, Eoraem could easily become bitter.

It was no secret that The Three made sure their siblings remembered their positions of power in the Empire. Vaelian, Aennedra and Alyxandaer ruled the three most powerful provinces besides Voranas. Each of them had enough military might to carve out a third of the Empire easily, if not more. It was only through careful politics, keeping up family relations and being loyal that the lower royals survive the scrutiny of the higher three, though in fairness the only one that truly seemed dangerous was Aennedra. Alyxandaer was too compassionate to murder in cold blood, despite what people thought of him and Vaelian was too noble.

Aennedra, however, had no such inhibitions. The woman was detachment personified. Despite the fact she was heart wrenchingly beautiful, she held a mind for manipulation and political backstabbing that made even her full brothers wary of her. She had rejected every suitor that had ever come forth, and though her bodyguards were all female, it was suspected that that was the reason. Speaking openly of the possibility of a gay royal was quite inappropriate, but it was whispered within taverns. Bi-sexuality was hardly alien, but straight homosexuality -- especially in a woman of Aennedra's stature -- was scandalous. She was expected to breed, and if she did not, it could cause massive political friction.

Mykael sighed inwardly. Eurennas was a hornet's nest of backstabbing. He only hoped he could protect Eoraem from it, until the prince could protect himself. With the ever-nearer prospect of Alyxandaer, that hope only became more fervent.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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Arius Daemonis
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Guardian of the Dark Rain
A moment of silence followed Illine's words, laced with the static tension of two hates mutually suppressed but straining to break from their shackles and have at each other. For all the world it seemed as though Oriel had been outsmarted as he stood there, silently, glaring down at the petite princess through the shadowed eye slots of his infamous mask.

Then he laughed. A deep, booming laughter that seemed to resonate in the very fabric of the room and its two occupants. The marbles disappeared from their place upon the floor, whispering out of existence to appear once more within the pouches concealed upon the Inquisitor's shrouded person.

'Perhaps that skull of yours isn't entirely impregnable after all,' he said, his words light but brimming with mockery. 'As with the start of all things, your grasp of this defence is rudimentary, but in time as you open your mind and train that most important of all muscles, you will be enlightened.'

He let go of the tome he had taken from the bookshelf, and instead of falling heavily to the floor it hovered quietly across the room and slotted itself neatly back into the niche from which it had been plucked.

'We will conclude this session here, so as to allow that which has been explored and learned to take seed and flourish with the natural course of things,' he gave a slight inclination of his head, 'My Lady.'
Roleplays I am in:
Distant Stars
Proximo
Cowards and Fools: Civilisation
The Awakening
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Syaoran
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Why are you such a sour puss?
“Its MISS, Madam Steel is my mother and a bad bard at the Rusty Codpiece.” She released him from her hold with a slight nudge with her palm, shoving the identification back into the slot on his belt. She dusted herself off as if particles of rage could just be passed onto the floor, her eyes squinting with the muscles of her brow furrowed. Her once gripping hand was not done with him however, holding a small, but strong finger pointed at his nose.

“You're new, and, you're inspecting goods without a handler, this is not right. Your a twig, a twig without a proper uniform, and I don't like your hair. Its too nice for your job. I-” Julea's head snapped to look at her sire, eyes wide, blushing with embaressment. Once again she had let her duty to her job overshadow the situation. Screams of her 17th birthday party wrought her brain. As she opened her mouth to explain, the prince had already dismissed them, moving on. She turned to his back and saluted loudly, bowing her head to the floor.

He may not see it, but it was warranted. Still with head to the floor, her right arm shot out and grabbed the other by the chest tightly with a small thump. Turning she pulled him to the bar, lifting him slightly and popping him on a stool as if some kind of toddler. Using the bar, hands on two already indented parts of the wood, she pulled herself up to her own chair next to him. She pulled her half eaten meal back in front of herself, picking up the tiniest of morsal to hold. Her voice, stern, yet quiet, continued her rant/commands.

“First thing you should have done, is asked me for my papers in return.” Her other hand placed her unrolled leather on the table. “Memorize my insigna.” She gave him a few moments as she mulled over the lard soaked piece. The knight placed drinks to them, and moved to get food, but she stopped him ,”aye, thank you, but HE only get bread...” Her thumb indicated the tall newcomer. Confused, the knight moved off. Her thumbed hand opened and swiftly swept up the ID.

“As per training protocols, new members must be indoctrinated via apprenticeship, and because your new, I assume you were just placed as an inspector and analyzer, despite them needed separate specializations...I still don't believe that you didn't take my daggers, but because you are one of mine, I can forgive it. Also..” She turned to him, raising an eyebrow ,”...but what horrible god did you enchant yourself with the ability to rush through an autopsy of a material? If you did it properly, for each one you took, you should have finished tomorrow dinner time.” This was more a subtle, if you could call it that, statement than a question. She turned back to the bar, picking up her ale and slopping a mouthful down her throat.

“ah..mm..now Riddick...because of how clouded things are...and the way you smell...I am putting you under a title review...however, because of the urgency of the situation, this will be ongoing. I told you you're in for a world of pain...” As the food was set down before them, she nodded to the knight in thanks and picked up a piece of bacon, holding it up

“...you're my assistant.” And on that horrible note, she shoved the piece into her mouth, followed by another wondrous brew.

---

It was there Pebbles slowly moved out of the shadows to be behind Andaeriel, slowly sitting with his usual large pant of a face.

"It has been some time..." His voice was deep and old as the oaks of the ancient forests, yet youthful in its undertones. "...since I have seen your kind, Undying." He swallowed, blinking gently. His mouth did not move, for it needn't to communicate to someone of such understanding.

"Fate of my charge as brought me to you..."
Edited by Syaoran, 3 Jun 2011, 08:31.
Had sex, undressed, saw her boobies and the rest!

Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
whats to say im not an idiot now
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
o.o The lack of penguins.
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
so to be an idiot, you must have penguins
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
?
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
>>
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
<<
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
Yes.

---

Bri: To you, I pledge my eternal soul says:
You are the.. genuinly good nature show on my public broadcasting line up.

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The Dork Knight
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Her Dorkness
Andaeriel stopped when she heard the ancient voice of the lion breaking through her mental barrier and bring her back to the real world. Beside her, Phaerith let out a low growl, moving protectively closer to Andy. "Easy, Phaerith." She soothed, stroking the wolf's head gently and affectionately as she turned to face the lion.

"I must admit, it's been a while since anyone has called me that." Andaeriel was rarely ever unnerved by anything, but the fact that Pebbles was able to stalk through the shadows unnoticed for so long unsettled her. She was slipping; she'd have to go do some serious work on herself whenever she found the time to do so. "I suppose everyone in Arcevus has gotten so used to having me around, that I've become one of them, and not so much an Ascendant."

She smiled a little, weakly, unsure of how to feel about that statement. Throughout her lengthy life, she'd only seen barely a handful of her own kind. The emperor as one she saw frequently, but past him, maybe two or three other Ascendants had made their presence known, and one of them had recently passed away due to illness. She wondered if her kind would ever populate the realm the way they used to, but the closest thing to an Ascendant male she had was Alyxandaer, but a quarter of him was still human. She shook the thoughts from her head, unsure if the lion was able to intrude upon her thoughts or not, deciding that it was best he saw something happier if he could.

"The fate of your charge is not a harsh one, I promise you. Alyxandaer just has his britches in a bunch because of the rebel's presence in his precious city."
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"The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss,
but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us."

Eurennas Chronicles; part one: The Awakening (Reboot) IC | OOC
Hellbound Chronicles; part one: Omen IC | OOC
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Syaoran
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Why are you such a sour puss?
The lion continued to look at her, slowly lifting his paw to lick at its underside absently. The voice washed over the body.

“Her fate was to arrive here and nothing more...it is not her's that the diamonds sing...they sing of the death of the Undying.” He yawned a little, blinking as though sleep was arriving to his eyes. “The only path that matters, is yours. As you already know, at the dawn of time and space the Undying gave nature its guardians. To the sky, the dragons, to the forest, the foxes, to the planes the ox and to the waters, the dolphin. What you may not know, is that time itself can be attacked...”

“The first took the most proud of animals and sucked away its soul, placing inside of it a piece of mineral, for you see, the stone transcends time. Thus here I am. My race has stayed under your world, protecting the unseen fabric of reality. I am...” It was at this point the body roared “...listener of sapphires, tender of rubies. I was chosen by the keeper of diamonds to come here.”

He slowly leaned back, arms outstretched, scratching at the floor as if it the natural thing to do.

“Diamonds say that the world is nigh, nigh like the Undying. As per our creation, I must protect our element. I tell you this, for you betray your existence, you will try to stop the events that will take place, and I am the one make sure they come to pass.”
Had sex, undressed, saw her boobies and the rest!

Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
whats to say im not an idiot now
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
o.o The lack of penguins.
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
so to be an idiot, you must have penguins
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
?
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
>>
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
<<
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
Yes.

---

Bri: To you, I pledge my eternal soul says:
You are the.. genuinly good nature show on my public broadcasting line up.

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TheZamboniKnight
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I am Nathan Fillion.
Eoraem didn't expect his every word to be taken very seriously. He knew in the back of his mind they would be anyways; for starters, his constant companion Mykael wasn't the type to make light of anything. For everyone else, his position as prince seemed to mean that every sentence out of his mouth was as important as any legal document. He tried to train the servants and people closest to him not to do this to varying degrees of success. Watching every word out of his mouth was difficult, especially in a private setting. He just didn't want to have to worry about something he said in passing being taken out of context.

Mykael's answer had the same air of consideration that everything about him did, but it satisfied Eoraem's curiosity at least. The last part was a bit fanciful, though, and the prince looked over at his protector. "It sounds like you have some experience with this," he commented, his gaze sliding back to the ground. Pondering what the people below saw of them was more comforting than thinking about what was to come.

They had a couple days. He would have time enough to worry about his half siblings later.

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"Drug induced awesome is not awesome, but a pretender to awesome.
True awesome comes naturally from within oneself."
Doc
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The Dork Knight
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Her Dorkness
The death of the Undying? Andaeriel's face screwed up in confusion. This could have meant a lot of things. "Either someone has died, or someone is going to die..." She pondered aloud, her brow creasing in thought. There were maybe six known Ascendants still living, and that wasn't counting Nymaera; she was a Dark Ascendant, born of the Last God. And even then, there were not many more of her kind than there were of Andy's.

The death of the Undying... The words rang in the back of the Archon's mind as her thoughts raced. The only Ascendants to make themselves well known were herself and the Emperor. And an Ascendant recently passed due to illness. She shook her head lightly, looking back down to the lion before her and sighing. "I'll be honest, I'm not quite sure what to make of this." She admitted. Andaeriel was a very logical person, and she could generally draw some sort of answer from everything, so it wasn't often that she was thrown for a loop and unsettled the way she was now.
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"The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss,
but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us."

Eurennas Chronicles; part one: The Awakening (Reboot) IC | OOC
Hellbound Chronicles; part one: Omen IC | OOC
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Syaoran
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Why are you such a sour puss?
The lion struck the classic pose for his kind, half lidded eyes and a closed maw, a face of cold intelligence and knowledge.

“It is surprising you do not remember. Truly the Kindred taint ruins thoroughly through your soul. Look within. Do you not see its dark stain upon your heart? Indulging in the world is exactly what the first sought to prevent, by creating the defenders of the realm. The Undying have broken their bonds with oblivion and thus, their time is nigh.”

His darkened eyes slowly began to emerge, lights of the essence sparkling through, light of diamonds, sapphires, rubies and emeralds, his darkened expression ever vigilant.

“I tell you, so you accept your fate, rather than fight it. Existence grew from the first. The Undying are the tether of the first. The Undying are at an end. The tether will sever.” The lion's eyes morphed ruby.

“Diamonds sing of what if, rubies sing of how. Undying can only slay Undying, else they are reborn anew in the body of our lands. The choir whispers through tears: 'Andaeriel'...the piece is thus...” His eyes slowly closed and opened, emerald.

“The betrayer and traitor of The Lineage will use the Undying to end itself. We will sustain this world for as long as we muster until such the last of our kind dies. Time itself will be vulnerable and will be eaten by the Kindred, those tainted by Undying with the ability to consume such things.”

The lion sighed, closing his eyes, they bore no stone this time. “I do not expect you to believe me, for as I told you before, I am the listener of sapphires. No mortal should love me.” The lion slowly began to turn, as if to take his leave.
Had sex, undressed, saw her boobies and the rest!

Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
whats to say im not an idiot now
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
o.o The lack of penguins.
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
so to be an idiot, you must have penguins
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
?
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
>>
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
<<
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
Yes.

---

Bri: To you, I pledge my eternal soul says:
You are the.. genuinly good nature show on my public broadcasting line up.

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Codemaster of Teal's CD
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Hydro14
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Ythandar

Ythandar was mildly disappointed that Morganya hadn't taken the bait to be reeled into a discussion on the realm's politics, but it was to be expected. She was a true noblewoman: uncaring if her position was understood by those whose opinions were not of consequence. The Earthen Dragon took a moment to reflect upon his own position, and question why he was being as forthcoming as he was with his philosophy. No signs had been shown by the princess that she might be receptive to his reasoning, Ythandar was beginning to think that his persistence might be rooted in a futile quest for some recognition that his motives weren't entirely malign.

His views on royalty were a paradox. The mage's hatred for the system bordered on fanatical but he could not bring himself to hate those who perpetuated it. Largely they were as much tools of the establishment as everyone else, they were just put to a different purpose and one that appeared from the outside to be less arduous. Management was only less arduous when it was done improperly. Ythandar had learnt that fairly quickly as he led bands of Frostblade's men across the various territories of Eurennas. This impairment of his focus, the incursion of conscience was unbefitting a warrior as a consequence of one simple truth: The Earthen Dragon was not born to be a soldier.

There were two exceptions: two men whom the former knight could truly bring himself to hate. They were the man who held all the cards - the Emperor; and the man who had seen the hypocrisy of the establishment first hand and yet still chose to champion it: Jaesyn Frostblade.

The storm closed in as the day drew on, and despite the trail that the group followed leading them to progressively lower down a thick snowfall had begun to blanket the older, crisp flakes on the ground with fresh precipitation. When Morganya's needling taunt was heard by the mage, it echoed the sentiment he had long been harbouring: that they must stop before the weather worsened any more. "I know." he answered her warning, unwilling to give any more information than that. Either she was deaf to the irony of her words, referring to those who followed him by choice as his property given the last phrases they had exchanged, or it was a deliberate attempt at antagonism; whatever the case it was of no importance.

His power honed to a razor sharp perception, it did not take Ythandar long to find a fissure in the rock face that could easily be opened into a narrow cave. The small party moved into the relative warmth and shed sodden travelling cloaks to dry over makeshift stands fashioned of their equipment. A suitable boulder was found wedged in the back of the crevasse that the Earthen Dragon keyed the princess' magical bindings to, and the rebels gathered around a fire heating barley gruel and waiting for the storm to pass.
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Tyvm to Synical for sticking this signature together for me.


My loyalty is a double edged blade: I will stand by you while what you do is right and just, but I will never support you when doing so would force me to betray what I believe. If you're waiting for me to apologise for being who I am, you'll be waiting an eternity.

"Sandbars - because who drinks sand anyway?"
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Lord Synical
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Permanently Angry Australian
◊ Two Days Later ◊

Alyxandaer

Boom.

The resounding explosion tore Alyxandaer from his fitful sleep, chest gleaming with a film of perspiration. A moment was taken for him to remember his location -- his palace bedroom -- before he threw off the covers and swung his legs off the bed, already walking quickly to throw open his door and step onto the balcony. Below him, Valencia stretched out majestically and near the east gate, amidst the barely visible hulking dot of a stone giant, was rubble. Part of the eastern wall had simply been levelled, smashed apart by "Boulders!"

The word was said as a curse, the prince damning himself for his own stupidity. Of course Jaesyn would find a way around the magical defences, and such a simple solution! The man had access to all security details of each city in his mind. Cursing once again, Alyxandaer spared no time to marvel at the sparkling expanse of his besieged realm, turning from the blue sky to race towards his chair and the clothes that had been prepared for him.

Dragging on his shirt and tunic and pulling on his pants took no more than two minutes; record time for the Third. Each boot and sock was dragged on quickly and he strapped his sword belt and cloak on last of all. Adjusting the finer details, he was already in motion, waving out the candles that lit his room and ripping open his door. Outside, his honour guard stood ready, each garbed in their own custom suits of armour. Unlike some of his more pomp siblings, Alyxandaer believed in practicality -- his knights wore that which allowed them to fight better, not look pretty.

Surrounded by his dozen-strong defending corps, the prince advanced quickly through the palace, passing worried-looking servants and grim-faced royal knights undergoing preparation for battle. Alyxandaer had no qualms about simply levelling his palace if it was taken and the enemy holed themselves up in it. The Valencian treasury had enough magical protection and unique positioning that nobody could reach it without his aid -- or abilities akin to his own.

Several flights of stairs and marshalling bands of Knights later, Alyxandaer stormed into the war room, nodding to the Executor in charge and motioning his bodyguards to their positions. The war room itself was large, with reinforced steel-stone blends of support that could survive even a palace-wide collapse and detailed lists of each unit, be they Royal Knight or Regular and the distribution of military assets throughout not just the city by the entire country.

On the table that dominated the centre of the room, a large model of Valencia existed, sustained by a group of telepaths and illusionists, the table held a real-time representation of every person, building and detail in Valencia -- down to scurrying rats. Through a complicated system of mental linking, the telepaths and illusionists could project changes in everything within the city limits without pause. It took dozens of them, but it meant that Alyxandaer had complete understanding of the battlefield.

"What's the situation?" He demanded, eyes flicking to the East Wall. The image of the wall itself was disheartening, but the flailing fists of the stone giant and thunderous blasts from the storm giant were enough to embolden his hope a touch more. They were quite evidently agitated by the destruction of part of their assigned territory.

"The east wall has suffered a twenty percent loss of stability. Frostblade's troops are nowhere to be seen just yet, but we suspect he's hoping to neutralize the giants before he makes his move." Alyxandaer nodded and shifted around the table, "Where is Andaeriel?" A single body was highlighted in bright red on the map a second later. "Marshalling the defenders towards the wall." The prince bit his lip, and glanced to the wall, then blinked. "Oh no, tell her to stop!"

"Sire?" Inquired an Executor quizzically. In response, Alyxandaer jabbed his finger towards the levelled wall, "Another boulder and any defenders we put there will be flattened. We can't afford to pack the space with soldiers or this will be the most short-lived defence in Eurennas' history." He took another moment to consider before shifting over to the airfield, "Eoraem and Mykael are due to arrive in an hour. Dispatch the fleet to meet them and bring my brother in safely. Then, I want the two air units to begin bombarding the forest. We need to eliminate the boulder threa--..."

Alyxandaer cut off abruptly when one of the telepaths gasped and a boulder flicked into existence in the projection's boundary, smashing into another section of the eastern wall and crushing it. "Damn them!" Cursed Alyxandaer, slamming his fist into the table. "Get that fleet in the air as soon as magically possible! Level the forest if you have to; I want those boulders taken care of!"

"Yes, my lord!" Cried one of the Executors, pointing to a Royal Knight and waiting telepathic courier and ordering them to relay the Prince's orders. Meanwhile, Alyxandaer stared at the map and felt an all too foreboding shiver run down his spine. Could he truly win against the tactics of Jaesyn Frostblade?


Xaernyn

Xaernyn stood resolute upon the prow of the Fist, his smouldering gaze fixed upon the distant white gleam that was Valencia. The fleet's navigators estimated three hours until they were able to dock in the Valencian port and yet, something told him that those three hours could prove to be the decider for the princess. Some primal instinct nagged at him to press onwards, lest he arrive a moment too late to save his charge -- his lover.

The sun had risen some six hours earlier and Xaernyn had awoken two hours following, having rested enough to do battle without weariness dragging on his reflexes. His gaze fixed on Valencia, he blinked and then froze. Something had changed. He wasn't sure what, precisely, but something had changed in that blink. Turning, he motioned to one of his Centurions, taking a looking glass and extending it towards the city. A moment of unsure bewilderment coursed through him at the sight of the Valencian airships firing up, but a quick shift of the glass showed him the reason.

The city had been breached. Cursing, his extended the glass further and locked another layer of magnification in place, staring at the gaping wound just as another boulder smashed into the white stones. A violent expletive left him and he slammed the glass shut, the brass already bubbling from the scorching heat of his hand. "Centurion!" He barked, eyes not leaving Valencia, "Order the fleet to halve our travel time even if it means draining the mages -- the Third Prince is under siege!"

Xaernyn's knights weren't shocked easily, but this news caught the man off-guard. He hesitated a moment, before snapping to attention and hurrying to bark orders to the telepaths and the Fist's captain. Around the Fist, the Virivian armada erupted into activity -- rallying cries from the surrounding vessels sending mages half-awake scurrying towards their positions to perform the spells necessary to further increase the fleet's velocity. The Archon had been pushing them hard, but this was different -- this was a real, palpable threat. The Third prince himself was in danger.

Xaernyn curled his fists upon the edge of the ship's frame, his armour's runes blazing in rage. The metal beneath his fingers began to bubble, but he paid it no mind.

Frostblade, he seethed, I will have your head!


Mykael

Mykael stood tall and silent at the head of Eoraem's flagship, his arms hidden beneath the cover of his cloak, cold eyes fixed on the looming figure of Valencia. The city was monolithic, one of the largest in the Empire. Nestled into the Arcevus mountain range, it was a natural fortress to its northern quarter, its palace built into the ancient mountain itself, the inner city guard towers tall and unyielding as the granite at their back.

As opposed to sleeping, the Archon had meditated through the night, seated cross-legged outside the prince's chambers as was his custom. His greatsword, sheathed and ready on his back, he been folded over his legs at that point. The crew of the ship had given him strange, almost frightened looks, but The White Death had paid them no mind. His Knights had patrolled the deck silently, and their gazes had been enough to remind the men of their tasks.

It was nearly midday now and his view of the city was unobstructed. Valencia was a testament to magical ingenuity, a sign of the power of the royal family. It was wrought of dreams and finery and yet hid a cunning, even sly reality. It was, in essence, a perfect mirror of its Lord. Sweeping his gaze from the towering royal fortress to the city proper, he noted the fact that the city gates had been closed. There were no lines of people stretching out as far as the eye could follow. The roads to Valencia were deserted. That was worrying.

Eyes shifting back towards the fortress, he saw it before he heard it. A massive dark shape hurtling at one of the large white walls, following by a thunderous impact and the levelling of that section of reinforced wall. Ever-composed, Mykael simply narrowed his eyes while crew members and even Knights rushed to see what had happened. "Ready for combat," he said calmly, directing it to the nearest Royal Knight. "We must bring the prince safely to the fortress."

The Knight saluted and rushed away to shout orders for an emergency descent. Mykael paid him no heed, waiting for Eoraem's inevitable arrival. In the distance, he saw the unmistakable form of Alyxandaer's flagship inflate its lift balloons. He had hoped to avoid putting Eoraem in danger, but an assault on a Capitol city couldn't be ignored. He would have to lead his fleet against the invaders.

His eyes narrowed and he waited for what was to come.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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Syaoran
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Why are you such a sour puss?
It was strange. Every Steel that had ever lived had always been early to a battle. Famously, Jorm the Steel arrive several days early for a scuffle between resisting giant forces and his tribe, an encounter that was said to be by chance when two patrols crossed paths. Both sides found him in the middle of the field, drinking ale.

Every Steel had battle that flowed through their blood and souls, instinctively they knew when to be up, and where to be. Despite having consumed a barrel of alcohol the evening before, Julea looked no worse for ware, her deep eyes barreling into her sleep deprived department. The fight was rising around them, boulders crashing, men dying, women crying. Unrolling a scroll, she slowly stepped up onto the back of her fellow, he yawning a little.

“DECLARE YOUR OATH!” She cried, clasping her hand to chest. With those words, the sleep left the congregation, heels and fists clasping in unison. Their forces, dripping with dedication, reverberated off of the front face of Illicit Material’s head office.

“Our eyes are but en extension of Theirs, no shadow or trick shall phantasm the supplies of the enemy!”

“At ease!” Each took a step to the left, hands behind their backs.

“As it can be seen, we are under siege! Our duty is still the same, seek out magic and confiscate it! Our role here is to support the main body of forces by finding and neutralizing magical assistance of the enemy! Inquisition troops are spread thin and so we are taking up the slack!” The mood lightened slightly, some snickering at the ‘ineptness’ of their brothers in arms.

“Settle! By order of the inquisition, we have been allowed the use of the contents of our emergency equipment!” She reached into a pocket of her belt, pulling a silver monocle with an amethyst lens. The dwarf held it high.

“You WILL use your Scrying Monocle! Identify and DECLARE all targets and threats, stay safe! You should be with heads of the squad, usually with the medic! We are front line supporters now! Without us, the red blood of our kin will flow to the gardens, and their skeletons brought to defile more of our lands! At these walls, their movement stops, you are my soldiers, you are my Steel! The walls are as strong as you! THEY ARE AS STRONG AS STEEL!” The force, despite having only been trained by her for two days, pumped fists into the air, chanting steel over and over. Julea pursed her lips, nodding slowly, rolling up the scroll and sliding it into her belt. With a wave of her hand the yelling ceased and armor clanked as they ran to their emergency units.

Getting off Pebbles, she placed the purple glass to her eye, attaching the silver chain to her collar. Without pause or reason, she moved to a silent telepath who was standing in the background. With a grunt and a spin of her finger, the communicator turned around, spreading hands wide. Steel placed her hand on the magic’s back. Waiting a moment for a connection.


Inside the war room, the connecting telepath began to speak, on the table Julea lighting up as green.

“My Liege! Illicit Materials has been dispatched as per support orders! Where do you need me?!” Her voice, while loud, was not forceful. It was merely enough to communicate properly over such a strange medium.
Edited by Syaoran, 8 Jul 2011, 10:52.
Had sex, undressed, saw her boobies and the rest!

Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
whats to say im not an idiot now
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
o.o The lack of penguins.
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
so to be an idiot, you must have penguins
Fox: If I was asked to describe my perfect day, i'd just say 'Brianna'. says:
?
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
>>
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
<<
Bri: I love you, Gavin says:
Yes.

---

Bri: To you, I pledge my eternal soul says:
You are the.. genuinly good nature show on my public broadcasting line up.

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Codemaster of Teal's CD
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Hydro14
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Captain Switzerland
The Rebels

"I thought your plan was to use the girl to bargain for the surrender of the city."
Jaesyn gave an ill-humoured smile in answer to the earth mage's interrogation. "That was the plan if you'd been here on time." he answered.
"Doubt it would've worked," Ythandar answered, "I wouldn't trade a piece of bread for that woman."

It had been only a few hours since the ochre skinned former knight had walked into Frostblade's camp with the red-headed princess thrown over one shoulder and proclaimed "Delivery boy, coming through." as he made his way straight for the rebel commander's tent, where she was now presumably tied up under minimal guard, her collar replaced with some fully functional magic shackles. Having snatched the scant opportunity for some sleep, the Earthen Dragon was now standing beside his hated ally at the edge of the forest, gaze fixed on the raging giants who stood between their army and their prize. "Ever killed a giant before?" Ythandar asked, his tone level. True to his origins as a knight, the Earthen Dragon did not show fear before his enemy.

"Once," Jaesyn answered, "I killed a frost giant. It's not widely known but the myth that giants are immune to magic is just that; a myth. In actual fact they're vulnerable to their own element."
"Convenient." Ythandar acknowledged. "In that case I see no reason to give them a fair fight at close quarters." He turned to the arsenal that he had assembled to neutralise the Valencian air fleet. Resembling nothing so much as a row of palisades spikes, it was a cluster of stone spears each more than six feet in length. The last crate of incendiary wands was resting nearby; the stone would serve as a delivery mechanism and the fire from the wand would do the rest. For now, though, the spears would serve an alternative purpose.

Lifting one, Ythandar began spinning it; making sure the drag caused by imperfections in its form would be evenly distributed as it flew. "Signal the attack," he prompted Frostblade, "I'd rather not lose this position to a directed counter-attack." The rebel commander nodded in answer; the chunk of ice he propelled into the air flashed and exploded in a hail of glittering shards. In answer, a war cry rose from the trees, a deafening clangour of rage from the long-oppressed. From the borders of the forest surged the rebel army. At the front, 7500 cavalrymen armed with lances led the charge towards the breach, behind them came the main infantry core, 60 thousand strong, their right flank protected by a troop of 5000 ferocious wildmen from the mountains armed with huge two-handed axes. Finally came the contingent of archers, numbering 20,000.

Ythandar wasted no time; his distraction given, the earth mage let the spear fly. His aim was true, the seven foot lance took the giant squarely in the face, killing him outright. Jaesyn was already away, skating on ice so as to outpace even the cavalry he drew level with the front line just before they hit the storm giant. A second ice flare lit the sky and this time the response took the form of another boulder being launched into the sky. Frostblade reached out with his power, taking control, and the rock split open, revealing itself to contain several gallons of water. The water took form as it fell under Jaesyn's direction, striking the storm giant with the likeness, and effect, of a colossal butcher's cleaver.

The giants defeated, Frostblade took charge of his army and led them in a rapid drive towards the plaza in the craftsmen's quarter where the fountain would enable him to stand his ground against whatever counterattack would be forthcoming with only minimal casualties. He left Ythandar on the outskirts of the forest with only a telepath to keep him in communication. The Earthen Dragon would join them in time once the threat of the airships to the rebel mages had been eliminated.

Illine

The days had crept by without many breaks to the monotony. Oriel had been his usual obtuse self during Illine's lessons and the princess reflected that in a few short weeks he had come closer to making her retract her oath than his predecessor had in years. She took comfort, though, in the implication that her father was becoming impatient with a lack of results. Perhaps if Oriel was seen to have no more success his post would be short-lived.

In the mean time, she could at least reduce the inquisitor's impact on her education. Illine doubted his hindrance was active sabotage; from what she knew of the man he took all the duties bequeathed upon him by the emperor with great fervour, and this would be no different. He was just inept then.

The princess had stayed behind after Oriel had left the room having concluded their most recent charade of a lesson, and was now perusing one of the bookshelves. She was looking for anything on enchantments that might give her an edge the next time she and Oriel engaged in what was becoming increasingly like sparring. Hesitating as her hand drifted past a tome on enchanted objects, Illine let a dangerous idea take root in her mind. She bound her magic to make a statement. A statement served its purpose as long as it was believed to be true.

Reasoning that at least exploring her options could never be a bad thing, and that it was easily explained as simply reading around the subject, Illine added the book to the pile that she was carrying and let herself out. One of the knights on the other side of the door immediately sprang to aid her. "Please, permit me to carry that for you, my lady." With the meticulous care Oriel treated the books with he would know what tomes she had taken whether the knight gave him a list or not, so Illine did not hesitate long before handing the books to the knight. Besides, the more guileless he thought her the easier it would be to surprise him.
Edited by Hydro14, 11 Jul 2011, 10:52.
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Tyvm to Synical for sticking this signature together for me.


My loyalty is a double edged blade: I will stand by you while what you do is right and just, but I will never support you when doing so would force me to betray what I believe. If you're waiting for me to apologise for being who I am, you'll be waiting an eternity.

"Sandbars - because who drinks sand anyway?"
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Wildia
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You are being judged.
Morganya

Curled up in the commander's tent, it would be a good hour or so before Morganya struggled back into consciousness. During the long trek to the camp after the storm, the princess' dainty feet had been unable to keep up the pace of the rebels. As a result, she had been slung over Ythander's shoulder like a sack of flour and been hauled all the way to the camp outside of Valencia. Somewhere along the line, even amidst the bumpy ride and the dirt from the road being kicked up into her pale features, exhaustion had won over and Morganya had fallen into an uneasy state of unconciousness. Now having at least reached their destination, the change in environment seemed to have spurred her back into the waking world, and she opened her bloodshot eyes.

The princess was certainly a sight for sore eyes, her scarlet hair in frizzy knots and tangles, forming a wild mane about her face that made her features look almost gaunt in comparison. Her gown was in tatters, and she had long since abandoned her boots on the trail. Gingerly, she tested the new magical restraints set on her. Part of the pyromancer wanted to scream and rage and cause a ruckus, to perhaps somehow upset the rebels' plans, but that did not seem like a very productive option at the moment, and either way she was much too tired.

So now, looking haggard and worn in a corner, Morganya simply sat and seethed in silent fury. A beacon of energy, she was going to bide her time - and wait for the opportune moment to strike.
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Lord Synical
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Permanently Angry Australian
Alyxandaer

Desolation. Carnage. Pillars of smoke rose in serpentine trails that twined together into hopeless banners, covering the once-beautiful skyscape of Valencia. Streets once bubbling with citizenry now lay the desecrated pathways of the dead and dying, maggot-ridden flesh left out to decay in the hot sun. Virulent rivers of dried blood created a gagging stench of rot that pervaded even the most heavily perfumed cloth mask, emptying stomachs across the city.

Amidst the detritus of ruined bodies and suffocating death, Royal Knights strode in grim humour, moving bodies and -in many cases - incinerating them on the spot so as to avoid the spread of disease. Flanked by Xaernyn and Mykael, Alyxandaer Eurennas surveyed the destruction with a look of numb disbelief. His people. His city. Razed. Frostblade's forces had left little of Valencia when they had finally retreated, driven back by the relief column from the palace. With three Archons and two Princes to contend with, as well as a full cardre of Royal Knights - the rebels had thought better of a prolonged attempt at occupation.

Now, they had vanished into a magically created mist, far beyond the reach of even Alyxandaer's advanced teleportation. He had tried for days, and found nothing.

This morning, the Prince had awoken to a terrified messenger, who had shakingly delivered the news that Vaelian himself had heard of the assault and was en route, with a full fleet of Airships and relief forces. Normally, it would have been Alyxandaer's reaction to curse and attempt to find a way to one-up his elder brother - but he had merely reacted with relief. More hands. More help.

Fewer days of staring at the bodies of those he had failed.

At his side, Xaernyn was idly igniting and bodies that he saw riddled with disease, carrying a large torch to supply his magic. Mykael, for his part, merely walked and observed - taking not of everything around them with piercing comprehension. Alyxandaer's clothing, once white, had been stained a myriad of colours; from crimson to earthen brown, due to his own help in the relief operations. Every day, more survivors were find - yet more than them, were the dead.

The Prince could scarcely breathe, bathed in guilt, suffocating beneath the constricting cloak of self-loathing. How he had failed them, failed them all. He had turned Andaeriel away from his bed when she had tried to comfort him, and spent the night alone; staring out at the sky as if praying to the ancients for deliverance.

The days of peace were long over, he had realized, and the days of complacency with them. The Inquisition had ripped the country apart, but it was too late - Arkaenan would never relent. Alyxandaer knew this, he knew it better than any. His Father would release his armies, and summon his children for council, to bestow doom upon the Empire.

The days of peace were over.

The days of blood had been born...
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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Hydro14
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Captain Switzerland
Ythandar


The script was ill-practiced but precise; the writing of a bard could be nothing else. The control and dexterity needed to coax melody from an instrument was now put to give meaning to parchment. It still confused the Earthen Dragon that Frostblade thought this plan for a trade would work; Morganya had been as uncooperative as possible but the former knight had read from her demeanour that she didn't think she was leaving any time soon. None the less, Ythandar put pen to parchment and phrased Frostblade's demand for a simple exchange: Morganya for Alyxandaer. The missive scripted, the knight rolled up the parchment and stuffed it into a satchel.

The former archon's plan made little sense to Ythandar; even letting the belief that the prince would accept his terms slide the decision to stay within striking range of Valencia made no sense. With its air fleet grounded, the sacked city was no longer of strategic value and the imminent arrival of reinforcements from the rest of the empire made it a place that the rebels really didn't want to be. The Earthen Dragon knew how to fight a guerrilla war, but Frostblade had spent more time around the royal family. He knew where there was mistrust, envy and ambition, all things that could make it difficult for the different regions of Eurennas to co-operate. It allowed him to fight a war that was altogether more insidious than anything Ythandar could have come up with, and right now the former knight had to admit that that was what they needed.

One thing he was sure of however was that they had kicked the hornet's nest now. Every military force in the empire was about to mobilise, scouring every inch of the land bare to find them. Frostblade's long term plan could be anything, he could be trying to draw out the air fleets so that he could make another daring assault on one of the regional capitals, or he could simply be planning to put strain on the enemy's logistical capabilities by forcing them to mobilise and draining resources.

Under the blanket of the cryomancer's mist, Ythandar moved with one of the other rebel mages to the edge of the forest. Parts of the city still burned, shimmering halos in the dank air. Reluctant to delay lest he risk detection, Ythandar unrolled the parchment and attached it to the largest tree he could find by means of a dagger with one of his signature stones embedded in the pommel. When the message was found, he would know. His work complete, the Earthen Dragon wordlessly signalled the mage to fire up a flare into the sky so that the city's remaining defenders would find the notice, and then made his retreat into the forest.
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Tyvm to Synical for sticking this signature together for me.


My loyalty is a double edged blade: I will stand by you while what you do is right and just, but I will never support you when doing so would force me to betray what I believe. If you're waiting for me to apologise for being who I am, you'll be waiting an eternity.

"Sandbars - because who drinks sand anyway?"
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Arius Daemonis
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Guardian of the Dark Rain
Rebellion.

The city of Valencia burned at the hands of that turn coat, Frostblade. Innocents lay dead, the throne stood insulted and the rebels yet lived to gloat over their victory, shrouded in a conjured mist that lay yet within striking distance of the razed city.

Oriel resisted the urge to crush the parchment in his gloved hand.

Treachery plagued the Empire and here he was, leagues from the fight, attending to a duty that offended him more with every passing moment. He should be out there, with, Alyxandaer, with Xaernyn and Mykael, hunting down those despicable wretches who would spit in the face of the Emperor.

The letter had arrived that afternoon, after Illine’s tutoring, and as with all correspondence important or otherwise, it had been redirected through Oriel. As High Inquisitor and Archon of Niveus, such was his right. It was born of no desire to withhold information from Illine, but as head of security he felt it a necessary act. He had seen his fair share of cunning ploys in his two centuries; letters enchanted to exude foul arcane energies which would disease the receiver, damning them to a grotesque demise by a plague which knew no cure.

With a restraint he did not feel, Oriel rolled up the parchment and slipped it into his sleeve, rising from the bed of his spartan chamber. He knew the Princess would be carrying out her post-lesson studying, or at least, she ought to be, and so he trod the familiar path to her chamber of office.

His wounds were finally showing an acceptable degree of progress in their healing, but it was still too slow for Oriel’s liking. The limp was almost gone from his stride, but should it come to it, he knew his injuries would still keep him from optimum performance in battle. He had turned to arcane methods of tending to his wounds to accompany the more traditional methods, but his skills in the art of magical healing were frustratingly rudimentary. Not to mention the injuries he had sustained were nether-wraith incurred and so not entirely natural in themselves.

The guards saluted his arrival at Illine’s chamber door, and he spared them a nod of acknowledgement before knocking twice. He allowed half a minute of decency before letting himself into the chamber. A small measure of pride stirred in his breast to see the girl studying, but in the face of the news he bore it was inconsequential.

The Archon fixed her with a stare from behind his silver mask, and drew the parchment from his sleeve.

‘Forgive the intrusion, Princess, but we have been summoned,’ he explained, handing the letter to Illine. ‘Your father, Emperor Arkaenan, calls a gathering of all royals and their Archons. Valencia has been attacked by rebels, and the Emperor would have council at Gallinion.’
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The Dork Knight
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Her Dorkness
At the very basic level, Andaeriel’s job was to protect Alyxandaer, at any cost. She did this well, better than most, worthy of guarding the Emperor himself, which is where she had started off, and would’ve stayed, were it not for her romantic involvement with the young prince. The entire immediate royal family knew of this, which is why it was allowed to continue, though in secret.

But she took her duties far more seriously than anyone else would have, did far more than was asked of her. Valencia’s defenses came second only to Alyxandaer’s, and so the rebel attack had hit far too close to home. (Quite literally, in most cases as well.)

When Alyxandaer turned away her offers of comfort, she felt herself wither away inside. She hadn’t gone to him solely to comfort him; she secretly sought it from his warm brace as well. Now, she stood on one of the balconies overlooking the city as the heavy clouds above shook the skies with thunder and lightning, and began dropping heavy rain down upon the shattered city. At least the rains would keep the stench of death down for a while. The horrible stench of failure.

When word that Vaelian was arriving, she had half a mind to go running into his strong embrace in search of the comfort Alyxandaer had denied her. But she knew better, and it only made everything that much worse, that much harder.

She was beyond exhausted, and yet she still stood there, garbed in full plate as black and dark as her eyes, watching her Knights below carry off fallen Knights to be stripped of their armour and dressed for a proper burial. Priests and Clerics went around as well, offering condolences and blessings where needed, assuring everyone that the dead would have a proper funeral, or a ceremony at least, in a few days time. Andaeriel had spoken to the high priest herself and told him to prepare the ceremony; she owed it to the people, she thought. Especially since she had taken it upon herself to get to know the majority of the warriors on some level during their training and formed a family-like bond with them all, despite her harsh outward appearance towards them.

The raindrops made soft plink noises as they hit her plate armour, and it wasn’t long before her hair was matted down to her neck and face and forced her to reach up to brush it out of her eyes. Despite all of the thunder and noise from down below, she still heard the nervous footsteps approach her from behind. “My lady,” A shaky male voice called out from inside, “apologies for disturbing you. I bring a letter from Gallinion.”

The Archon sighed softly, her shoulders slumping, though it was a barely noticeable gesture. She turned and walked back inside, her footfalls heavy, almost ominous with the sounds of her armour. “The prince has not seen it yet?” She asked as she approached the smaller man, so much smaller and younger than the Archon. Centuries younger.

“No, my lady. Brought to your attention straight away, as you instructed.” He replied, handing her the sealed parchment with Arkaenan’s seal in the wax.

“Good.” Even before the rebels attacked, Andaeriel had any messages from the realm’s capitol sent directly to her before the Prince would hear of it. Now, any messages, from anywhere in the realm, had to go through Andaeriel first. Especially ones from Arkaenan. She passed the seal over a candle briefly to soften it up before popping it off and unfolding the letter, listening to her handmaidens grumbling while rainwater pooled around her as it rolled off of her armour. One of them stood nearby, offering her a towel to dry her hair when she was done with the letter. “He summons his children to court...” She voiced, to no one in particular, mostly just thinking aloud. Alyxandaer would be expecting the summons, no doubt, but she would still have to take the news to him formally. She set the note down and grabbed the towel from her handmaiden and dried off her hair as best as she could. “Thank you, Erik.” She told the messenger, tossing him a small pouch with a few gold coin, some silvers and coppers in it, and turned away to head to the Prince’s chambers.

She was one of the few people in the realm who could waltz into the room, wherever he was, even if he wasn’t accepting visitors, and get away with it. “Your grace, it is as you had expected. Your father has sent out summons.” She said after the guards had let her in. No greetings, not even a personal one when the door had been shut behind them. After he’d refused her comfort, Andaeriel had shut down towards him and kept it merely on a business level now, though whether she had intended herself to become that way or not was unknown, even to her. She was like a rock etched in runes that had long since been forgotten and weathered down; unreadable, impossible to decipher.
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"The darkest souls are not those which choose to exist within the hell of the abyss,
but those which choose to break free from the abyss and move silently among us."

Eurennas Chronicles; part one: The Awakening (Reboot) IC | OOC
Hellbound Chronicles; part one: Omen IC | OOC
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Lord Synical
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Permanently Angry Australian
Mykael

Mykael strode swiftly through the corridors of the Valencian palace, a sealed letter clutched tightly in his hand. The veins of his fist stood out under the flesh, pulled taut both by exertion and stress pertinent to the current state of affairs that the Empire was in.

Naturally, there were considerations for this kind of thing; fail safes and the like. As an Archon however, namely one serving a royal of Eurennas -- regardless of the level of their authority -- in a capacity akin to both trusted advisor and dearest friend, one had to worry about things far above that alone.

Reaching Eoraem's door, Mykael nodded to the two guards on duty and raised his gloved fists, wrapping his knuckles thrice against the polished wood before pushing it open with a turn of its golden knob, stepping into the room and offering a precise bow to the Prince.

"Your grace," he said respectfully, "a letter has arrived from His Imperial Highness."
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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TheZamboniKnight
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I am Nathan Fillion.
Arriving at Valencia when they did, in the manner they did, was enough to erase all the doubts in Eoream's head and replace them with new worries. He felt useless in the wake of all that destruction. He wasn't a great general; he couldn't lead troops in defense of the city nor seek justice that way. He couldn't heal the wounded. What good was he?

He did try. He helped with the relief work where he could, searching for survivors and helping get food and fresh water to people. The worst part had to be the children. Eoraem found a small boy in the rubble of a house, and he clung to the prince's leg while he worked until they found his mother. How many more never found their parents? How many were orphaned?

The destruction was numbing. He was never one to chatter, but it had pushed him into silence that was uncharacteristic. He just could not think of anything to say when faced with so much death. What was there to say?

Eoraem was a prince, though. He had his duty to help his half brother and he was happy to do it. It didn't matter what he had thought of Alyxandaer before. Any distaste had been replaced with empathy and respect, and pity. He couldn't imagine what it must feel like to have one's own city destroyed.

The prince was never more grateful for Mykael. They hadn't had much chance to talk, but his presence was a comfort in itself. It grounded Eoraem to a certain extent.

When he delivered the letter, Eoraem bowed his head slightly in acknowledgement of his bow and took it. "Thank you, Mykael," he said quietly, walking back into his chambers without closing the door. He didn't think he needed to provide further invitation.

It didn't take him long to read the contents. He made an almost immediate about-face and strode out of the room.

Eoraem looked far more composed than he truly was. He was meeting Alyxandaer for a relatively small matter in the grand scheme of things, just another piece of the constantly moving puzzle, but it was still war. His nerves buzzed with nervous energy. If they made a mistake, it could spell the end of them.

When he got to his half brother's room he stopped, nodded to the guards outside, and knocked. "You summoned me, brother?" He murmured, bowing slightly. Eoraem had a hard time shaking formality, even in such desperate times.
Edited by TheZamboniKnight, 14 Jul 2012, 17:45.

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True awesome comes naturally from within oneself."
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Lord Synical
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Alyxandaer

Alyxandaer looked back at her from the balcony, torso exposed to the elements though he barely seemed to care. His eyes were bloodshot from his lack of sleep, but he maintained his physique through even more rigorous training that before. The loss of Valencia had wounded the Prince fiercely, and it showed in his restless manner.

Moving back into the room, the silk shirt -- ubuttoned and movingly idly with the breeze -- on his torso seemed to shimmer with the sunlight. He waited until Andaeriel had announced her news before he stepped closer and accepted the letter from her, scanning it with pursed lips. "So, the trumpets blare the end so soon..." He said quietly, before folding the letter and placing it on the mantle of his fireplace. His body sagged slightly with an exhaled breath.

"There is no turning back from this," he said with a resigned tone. "Father's paranoia will grow beyond capacity. He will order a full scale war against Magic." Alyx turned to the city, beyond his balcony. "Previously, we could offer some sort of safety to Magicians, but now...? We will be lucky if they are simply chained. I foresee a great carnage in our future."

At that moment, Eoraem arrived with Mykael in tow, and Alyxandaer opened the door to let him in. "Little brother," he said quietly. "I am glad you are here." The Third turned from Eoraem and motioned for him to follow to the balcony. Once there, he gestured to the ruined city. "This is but a taste of what is to come, Eoraem. You must be strong, stronger than you ever were before."

Alyxandaer turned and peered gravely at his young half-sibling. "We have the same blood, you and I. The same primal power in our veins. You must live up to that legacy, now more than ever before." The elder Prince turned back to the city. "The end comes for us, Eoraem. We must meet it with our teeth bared."

The Prince's eyes crackled with soul energy, as Mykael watched on in silence.
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Double 'The Fun' Felix, Jul 10 2008
12:55 AM
And I just wanted to say that using different colors in your roleplaying posts is distracting and should probably be avoided unless your name is Lord Synical, because he is an exception. A big exception. To everything. Thanks. He's also batshit insane.
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Hydro14
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Captain Switzerland
Ythandar

The Earthen Dragon stalked back into camp sullenly; it was foul business that he conducted and the resentment he felt at the circumstances that had forced it to be so bled from him like a festering wound. All in all, war had made him an unpleasant man to be around.

"We got lucky," the former knight declared, walking uninvited into the command tent, "the royalists don't want to risk losing any more of their air fleet. The ships from Virivia and Iteras haven't left berth since they arrived. They clearly think we're better prepared for an air attack than we are." He afforded not a word to relating the completion of Frostblade's assignment; his belief that it was a fool's errand already made plain.

"I'm sure I don't need to remind you that our enemies remain oblivious to our presence here only so long as they choose to remain grounded. Once that advantage vanishes we will be left facing a force greatly superior to our own in both numbers and in training, backed by reserves and well managed supply lines. In contrast, every man or woman who can be rallied to our cause is already here, and once the rations we pillaged from Valencia are gone we'll be left with a war host that's far too big to live off the land."

Ythandar gripped the edge of the table with both gloved hands and leaned forward slightly, his orcish physique adding to an air of menace that would've been palpable even without it. "Frostblade," he dictated, "we can give your ether-brained scheme two days, no more. If the prince hasn't come to negotiate with us by that time we must assume either that you misjudged him or that his servants kept the message from reaching him. Either way, at that point we must leave, and we need to know where we're going."

The eyes of the two soul mages met across the war room, maps and crudely fashioned markers strewn haphazardly across the surface of a rough tabletop made smooth by the wax of a hundred spent candles. For a moment Ythandar wondered where Frostblade had got such a piece of furniture, the marks of its use dated back beyond the archon's considerable lifespan. "Do you have a plan?" Ardent demanded, "Or do we need to invent one?"


Illine

The princess looked up from her book as Oriel entered, having heard his shuffling gait in the corridor some time before he reached the door. She hadn't known the inquisitor long enough to read that something was amiss from his body language, and with that mask expressionless as always Illine had no clue that this imposition was anything other than Oriel being his usual obtuse self until he spoke.

Her unconcerned facade cracked at once. Twice Illine reread the letter, checking that there was no grounds to be found for misinterpretation. She was struggling to collect her thoughts. It was like watching storm clouds gather on the horizon: no matter how prepared you thought you were the first crash of thunder always came as a shock. On a personal level she felt the bitter sting of disappointment. This would set back everything the princess had been attempting to accomplish. While her father might have been content to allow his children to adopt their own policies on how much power the inquisition had within their fiefdoms while the resistance was simply a word with no face, now that it was a proven threat to the monarchy there was no way she would be able to keep the inquisition out of Antorias. This rebellion would undo decades of work no matter the outcome, and for what? A token gesture of defiance - what more could it be? She was no military strategist but to Illine's eyes it seemed Frostblade was seeking a conflict he couldn't hope to win.

At last the princess neatly folded the parchment and put it to one side. "We'll leave tomorrow," she announced, sliding a bookmark into the text she had been reading and placing it back on the pile at the edge of her desk. "Sir Edmund, have my ship made ready, Sir Balian, inform the lord magistrate he's to answer petitioners this afternoon in my stead then deliver my summons to Lord Hawthorne, if he asks tell him I require his council." At once she reached for blank parchment and a quill, assuming Oriel would make whatever preparations he needed to for an armed escort for the journey without needing to be prompted.
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Tyvm to Synical for sticking this signature together for me.


My loyalty is a double edged blade: I will stand by you while what you do is right and just, but I will never support you when doing so would force me to betray what I believe. If you're waiting for me to apologise for being who I am, you'll be waiting an eternity.

"Sandbars - because who drinks sand anyway?"
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