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| Zivilyns In The Sands; Transferred From Yuku | |
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| Topic Started: Oct 3 2008, 12:11 PM (173 Views) | |
| Bellflower | Oct 3 2008, 12:11 PM Post #1 |
Shotgun Hero!
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She could see their pale forms within the Chalice, and it was beginning to hurt. She missed her father and brother dearly... especially her brother, Alaric. Guilt flooded her every time she did this, every time she used this magic of unknown origins to spy on what she had left far, far down beneath the skies. The princess knew she was doing all of this for their sakes... to prevent her people from dying out, as they would if they did not get raised soon. But the effect her absence was having on her people... Sighing, Valda stopped the magic and placed the item back on the her table. It was late afternoon, and she was simply sat in her room thinking. It had been months now, and things were moving slowly. Aron said this was necessary, but it was causing her to become restless. Only a few more items needed to be recovered now, just a few... so why was it proving to be so hard? She had spent most of her life being used to a slow pace, as did most Zivilyns, but the taste of fresh air and the sensation of being bathed under the light of the moons had sparked something within her that really did not have a lot of patience. Of course, none of this was allowed to show. She was Princess; it would not do for Roarke and Mina, and indeed Aron, to know how she was feeling. It was not like she hadn't put their spare time to good use; Valda had really honed her black magic skills and obtained a blue moonstone, and so was now learning how to use that. She'd brushed up on the developments of the world too. All the history she could manage since the time her lands had been swallowed by the abyss was now contained in her head, though recent history was what she had concentrated on. That her world had been practically forgotten still amazed her, though less so when she'd learnt of the fate of the Silvites and Soltis. When the time came, and Zivilyos was restored, Valda wished to become an envoy to the other nations and use the knowledge she was obtaining to make things smoother for her people. They would struggle at first, as she had done, with simple things like the intensity of the light and the flavours in the food. If she could make sure she knew how to gently guide them along and make things easier, then she would. For Zivilyos. -- Roarke sighed, turning a wooden and cloth ship model over in his hands. It was an intricate thing, small enough to be hidden in a large man's fist, with wooden beams cut to the fractional part of a centimeter, designs painted with a finer brush than the old warrior knew that he could manage, and care placed in each anchoring of rope and net-or rather, silk thread, and matching webbing. With a swept hull and large sails, it reminded the man very much of the ships that he had seen in oversky. Carefully crafted cast-iron cannons needled out the side of the craft, marking it a threat to challenging pirating craft. Or, perhaps the little ship was such a brigand ferry itself. How someone could craft something so intricate and complex was beyond him, but he certainly had due respect for the man who claimed this surely unparalleled skill. Unparalleled, save that applied in the making of the collection of other ships that decorated the room around him. It had been months since his journey to oversky, and since that time… "There's not much of a reason for an aged soldier to be, is there?" Roarke brought a wry smirk to his once distant expression, and titled his head as he reexamined the ship replica. "Not much a reason at all..." With no one needing a man like him, he only had left the drive of self-interest-something foreign to the man-and preparation for the off chance that he might again become relevant. The people here-at this place fancifully named 'Sanctuary of Sands'-were kind enough to allow an old man the practice room for himself in solitude. Kind enough, or perhaps they just didn't want to give a man, who bested large men by a head's height and a measure of shoulders, trouble. Graying hair or not, he was still a site to make these ruffians back down. Roarke's mouth twisted downwards at this. 'Ruffians?' Cutthroats, pirates, criminals, and other such terms danced to mind. Roarke knew them to be what they were; he had lived far too long concerning himself with their kind to not spot such a gathering on the instant. Nine out of ten men who walked the halls of this base Roarke would have pled the death sentence for in front of the Crown-proof or no proof of foul deeds. And that was the thing; Roarke would have to go on no proof. Their gate was of untrained savages, their eyes of hateful hunters, and their organization and simple existence giving no other explanation besides criminality of an outstanding degree. However, of actual crimes? Nothing. Roarke had never even caught a pair of them fighting in a drunken brawl. Of course, the giant of a man kept near entirely to himself. Of course, he never talked to any of them, much less pried into their affairs. Of course, he had never even so much as talked to the Princess about their likes. Of course, they were on better behavior around the guest of royalty, right? Good reasons, all in all. Good reasons to explain away the seeming make-believe of good intentions-that they were supposedly helping her Highness Valda due to benevolent reasons. That they were blackened, hardened criminals didn't disturb Roarke all that much-this was not his land to safeguard-but the idea that they would attempt to appear something else was a disconcerting manner. However, if even such was the case, Valda wasn't taken in, was she? Roarke started. He didn't know, did he? Back ago, back a count of days he couldn't recall in tally, the Princess had stormed off, in a fit of rage. The aged warrior hadn't know how to respond at the time, and he still didn't know. That sudden distance had never closed, only been pushed over and ignored; even after reuniting with the Princess, Roarke had remained… quiet. He never offered advice, and was never asked of it. He never examined security of an area, and was never asked to investigate a shadowy suspicion. He had been there, all this time, waiting in case he was needed… But he hadn't been. Did she know? Had she been drawn in? He and she never spoke, so how would he know which was the case? Should he tell her, on the chance that she had overlooked the obvious? Was it so obvious as he thought, or was that the result of a detective's eyes, and a mind belonging to a man who was born and bred to compile details into a case on the fly? Questions. Roarke hated questions. There were too many in his life since he had left the sanctuary of lower sky. Far, far too many. Life was similar when there was no hope, and survival was the only topic worth paying thought to. The armored form stood, knocking over a stack of books as he did so. With a second sigh, he sat the ship down, and began to restack the leather-bound volumes. 'A Tourist's Guide to Arcadia', 'The Silver Island', and 'Magic: Blending of the Moons' were a few of the titles that caught his eye. He had been meaning to read them, meaning to add them to the growing list of upperland books he had shoveled down. Good things to pass the time with; books. Stories, histories, guides, or textbooks, they all spoke of things completely alien to Roarke, in some way or another, and for that foreign nature, they made him think, and wonder. "This magic book is rather thick… maybe I'll pass it up for now..." He placed the stack of books to the side, and then replaced the ship model on a shelf similarly. The careful order in which he placed the ship in comparison to the books made him chuckle quietly. Besides a few stacks of books his room was neat and clean, and besides the ships it was undecorated. The room was a small thing with darkly cut stonewalls, a black desk, and the second-and last-item of a cot scarcely large enough to hold the man was the room in its entirety. Bent nails remained where the wall-mounted candle stand apparently once stood, not bothered to be repaired by the Zivilyn; the torch light peaking through the door's cracks was bright enough to make sleep difficult, and that same light was sufficient to read by-at least to the man's dark-familured gaze. Bolt undone, Roarke opened the room's door, closing and locking it behind him. Not that he thought anyone would bother his room; there were better targets to pray upon, and besides, the act they put upon, or at least pretence of civil behavior, dictated that unlocked rooms be left well alone. Even so… the key was dropped behind his breastplate, clinking against both plate and… something else; a golden artifact native to the Zivilyn people. Only he and Donovan knew that the Golden mask was being kept there, hidden by armor, and where Donovan was…? Only the Blackness knew. Valda should know. Roarke knew that Valda should know... maybe she did? Maybe Donovan told her? Maybe she had found out by herself? Should Roarke tell her--? "Oh, stoppit." Roarke, jerked his head over to the interruption of thought as he strode down the hallway. A sailor-pirate, he reminded himself. Was it really not obvious? Did the princess not know?-supporting striped shirt showing his ox-like strength, sneered up at the aged officer of law. "Excuse me?" The man's breath stunk of too much drink. "Stoppit-striding around lik' you're summin' important. You're nuttin' here. Captain Altair don't need you. You ain't nuttin'." The words were slurred, drunken, and angry, but the sailor nodded his head downwards after these words, and then fighting himself back erect, and blinking blandly, as if not aware he had just spoke. "Oh, I don't assume to be anything," Roarke said, dryly, walking past the drunkard, "Not here." "You ain't nuttin'," The sailor called out after the armored giant, "you hear?" "I know." He grimaced quietly. -- After a short time, in which she had tried to read a book, the princess decided to get up and take a walk around. She was still restless, and nothing inside of her room had been yet enough to distract her. Picking up the Chalice of Blood, she covered it with a small lid Aron had given her for it and opened a special pouch at her side. It was just the right size for the item, and she place it inside before buttoning it up. There was no way she was taking the risk of leaving it anywhere; it was to stay with her, at all times. Not just because there are many who might steal it even within the Sanctuary, but because it was the strongest link to her home she possessed right now. Something that could show her the lands at any time... Leaving her room, Valda walked slowly down the hallway, not exactly sure where she was headed but going along all the same. The people in the sanctuary treated her well, but... it was not because they were kind, compassionate people. It tended to be either because she was considered one of their keys to obtaining power, thus something they had to ensure was kept safe, or because they were awed by her. She was a princess possessing long-lost powers, after all, a symbol of something considered long lost, dead or in the majority of cases forgotten. Why wouldn't they be awed by what she represented? But on a personal level, she didn't matter. Not at all. Nobody wanted to know who Valda the woman was, only Valda the princess or Valda the mage. To go out and meet the good people she knew existed out there.... her heart ached for it. But as she had told herself earlier, she was doing this for her country, her people. Soon enough she would get to be ambassador on behalf of Zivilyos and meet those good souls. She just had to be patient. Talking caught her ear. Turning a corner, the elegant princess almost collided with the drunk. Stepping away, she gave him a glare. The man was in a ridiculous state. "Please watch where you are going," she said. The man gazed drunkenly at her. "Hey, princess, when ya g-gonna do any of yer fancy tricks fer Captain Altair! We're gettin' bored, you know," he replied, looking at her through glazed eyes. "When the time is right," she replied calmly. "There is no need for it currently." "Then perhaps you oughta entertain us another way!" said the man, leering. "We're bored, yer're a nice sight fer the eyes... should show us a bit of skin!" The princess stared... and then she pulled out her fan, holding it before her. "Go away," she said, glaring. -- Roarke sighed, rubbing brow. What was he even doing, wandering these halls? 'Waiting,' was the only answer he could surmise. "Please-" It was a woman's voice that echoed back at him, tones that brushed his conscious as something vaguely familiar. The words that followed after he missed-the distance growing between himself and the source with every long stride. Though, while the light tones of a woman didn't carry to the aged warrior's ears, the deeper sounds of a man followed down the hall well enough. 'Fancy tricks for Captain Altair?' Roarke questioned inside his head. He knew that there was not performers around and about, so the drunkard fool must have meant something else. Of course, being drunk as he was, perhaps he thought there to be entertainment to be found, where there was none. Although, then once again…Could it be important? Should I stay and listen? Roarke stopped his advance forward, listening closely to the sounds behind him. More murmuring sounds of the woman. It was impossible to pick out the words. "Then perhaps you oughta entertain us another way! We're board, yer're a nice sight fer the eyes… should show us a bit of skin!" Roarke stood erect-the hump of his shoulders suddenly lost. The drunkard could talk as he wished to Roarke-perhaps the giant even deserved the slurred slanders-but to a woman? To a lady? As Roarke made a thunderous march back towards the two, the girl said something-lost once more. "Why you little, worthless-" He degraded through bared teeth, voice just short of shouting, held back by a hair's width to a venomous rumble that seemed almost to threaten the foundation of the building around them. Quickly, his large strides were closing the gap between him and the offender. "When men talk that way from where I'm from they get a lesson given to them that they don't soon forget." Already he was upon the drunkard. The ruffian was by no means a small man-a hearty fellow well suited for the trade that he had chosen-but even so the armored man stood a good head's height and half again over him. Roarke's jaw worked as he continued, seeming almost ready to tear into the pirate like a savage beast. "You are going to apologize to the lady, or I swear on my mother's grave that I will take your pathetic hide and-" It was only then that he caught sight of who the 'lady' was. His eyes widened briefly, his face adopted a look of shock, and he took half a step back from the scene as if to take back overstepping his bounds. "Mi'lady," He swallowed, diverting eyes towards the ground, "I'm sorry, I didn't-" His jaw and gauntlets tightened, cutting off words, and he shot a death-glare at the other man. This man had said those things to her Highness? Said those things to the princess? -- "It's fine, Roarke," replied Valda, keeping both he and the drunk in her sights. She was thankful to see him, though she would not say so in front of the vile drunken pirate that was now caught glancing between irritated princess and huge guard. Her fighting skills had improved since coming to the surface, but she was not confident going into one alone, and besides, causing a ruckus in the Sanctuary right now was a really bad idea. Not because it would bother Aron, but because it might cause the pirates under his command to start accusing their Zivilyn 'guests' of everything they could find to criticise loudly. Valda was not about to give them the slightest chance to do so. "I am sure this gentleman will be leaving now, won't you?" The princess gave him a look full of as much authority as she could muster... which was a lot. Between that and the threat of Roarke, the drunkard gathered enough sense to run out of the situation, stumbling several times as he did so. Valda sighed, relaxing just a little when he was out of sight. Folding her fan again, she gave Roarke a slightly pained look. When had they last talked properly? "Thank you," she said. "You stopped that from growing into anything problematic. I am grateful, Roarke." |
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| Nex Terren | Oct 21 2008, 03:28 PM Post #2 |
EXAMPLE
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Roarke took half of a step forward, as if to follow the drunken ruffian, but then, with a hesitant glance at the princess dismissed such ideas. Valda spoke of him keeping things from becoming 'problematic,' and Roarke had to force himself not to adopt a grim smirk. No, it wasn't ironic, but it was something of that nature. This whole ordeal was problematic. This whole place was a problem waiting to happen, and Roarke didn't like letting problems be. Not ones that he knew that he could fix. But where to begin? What first step? Again, he found himself wanting to trail after the ruffian, but no, not that... "In the honor of my fathers, I'm pleased to serve," He recited half-heartedly in his native tongue, a look of discouragement dancing across his face. "I... I wish--I--" He let out a deep sigh, forgetting what he was about to say. "I wish you well, I wish the Moon of Shadow to bless your step, and I wish old men like me didn't have to deal with so much change." He smiled--mirth wanting--down at the young princess. Over fivety years... half a century to become a part of a culture that had for ages had known darkness. People down there thought of it as a curse, and Roarke had too, that was, until he had seen the light. This world, up here, held to much light for the man; the hot sun, the radiant moons, the unnaturally blue sky, it was all like something out of a distorted dream. A dream that children and men alike would awake from in a panic, not knowing what they were fearing except the perversion of reality. 'Or just men,' Roarke thought, eyes refocusing on Valda, 'Just old men...' Roarke found himself wishing a comforting cloak of darkness to wash over the world, or that he could at least stuff all hope into a neat little jar, and tell no one to open it. Not until he was ready. It was a foolish idea, that while he might wish to wrestle with the evils of the world--find it more comforting to battle evil than save the light--this young woman before him would never let him act the part of Pandora. No, Valda would do everything in her power to give that hope wings for flight. "If there's..." He began again in Zivilyn only to hesitate, and then return to mid-sky speech, "If there's anything you need--anything I can do to help, please tell me, alright?" |
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| Bellflower | Nov 12 2008, 05:50 PM Post #3 |
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Shotgun Hero!
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Valda smiled softly, slightly sadly. Too much change? But whether it was too much or not wasn't the issue. The light would be their saviour. Beneath their blanket of darkness the Zivilyns were beginning to die out. Humans needed the sun and the skies, and even though they had gone for such a long period of time without them, it was not something that could continue forever. But it would indeed be an easier transition for the younger people of the black moon. Those older, more set in their ways... they might struggle. It was a painful thought, but there was nothing that could be done about it. Hope in the upper skies, and in the eight sacred items. Valda would do what was right for people, and this was it. "I need you to stand by me, Roarke," she said quietly, looking at him through honest blue eyes. "Because I cannot do this alone. I know that this will not be easy, but it is for the sake of life, and I must do my duty." She dropped her head. "Be my shield, so I can be the wings that bring Zivilyos to the light again." They'd had their arguments in the past, but it did not change the fact that she loved him like a member of her own family. Up here, in this sky right now, they were disconnected from their homelands and the strongest reminders of home could only be one another. Valda would not lie to herself about it; if he were not here, she'd be a lot more scared than she was. Biting her lip, the pale princess lifted her head once more. "I trust in you. You do know that, don't you?" |
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| Nex Terren | Feb 9 2009, 04:36 PM Post #4 |
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For a moment longer he looked at Valda with his old eyes, studying her parallel mood. Shield? Yes, he supposed he could do a shield. The idea of weathering blows--of withstanding that which he could let pass by--perhaps should have beenobjectable to him, on some level. Such was not the case. Instead, the idea was comforting; for Roarke, that was a constant for him. But Valda's wings? Not so. He was neither profit nor wise predictor, but even he could tell that girl was destined for change. In that moment--as Roarke studied his princess--he knew she stood no chance of failure. That change would come, and there would never be shadows for Roarke to find solace in. And then his mood changed. With a bark of a laugh, he smiled down at her in his rough manner. The deep tones rumbled forth, and for how far thatbreif display of mirth traveled down the corridor spoke that it might have been a bit too loud--even for the pirates' standards. "Well, I feel sorry for Zivilyos having to lug a man like me around on her arm, but if that's what she needs, then a shield I'll be." He glanced towards the bend where the drunken pirate had disappeared beyond, and for a moment his smile flickered a shade stronger, and adopted an off-kilter appearance. "I must say at certain times I'd rather be the blade than shield... but I'll make due. Once we get done here, I'm not sure if I'll be able to stop myself having a bit of fun with these lads. They're all too big for their britches, and their brains are too small for their head, and that, princessValda ," He joked, eyes twinkling. His voice had quieted down since the bark of laughter, meant only for the two of them. "Is a mighty bad combination, if I dare say so." "As to trusting you? Only to the ends of this sun bathed world--even if I don't understand you. I don't think any man will ever accomplish that." Had his mood really improved so? No, but that was no reason not to act like it. He often did not feel brave when lives were in the balance, but he still acted like it. He just shut out his fear, and didn't let anything but wishful courage show. And how were good spirits different from bravery? One was meant for battle, and another was meant for life; that was all. |
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| Bellflower | Feb 10 2009, 10:50 PM Post #5 |
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Shotgun Hero!
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The change in Roarke's tone relaxed Valda somewhat, and she smiled softly. It felt good to hear those words from him, good to hear him joke around again. It had been a long time since she had heard as such. "You speak a truth, loyal one," she said, a sparkle in her blue eyes. "Aron has certainly not picked out his followers based on intelligence, truth be told." She knew why, of course, but she did not dare say it out loud, even if they were alone at the moment. "Save for... ah, Miss Jenna, of course." Jenna. Valda did not like the woman one bit. She was almost the princess's polar opposite, in looks as well as personality. Black hair and white skin compared to coppery-red hair and tanned skin. A gentle heart compared to one that could only pump poison around the body of its inhabitant. Jenna was a venemous creature that could only mean ill to others, and Valda knew this instinctively. Aron was a man she could feel sorry for, because he was clearly unbalanced and affected by the powers of the item he held, but that woman simply did what she did for personal gain. Roarke's words of faith brought her away from thoughts on Jenna, however, and Valda's smile grew wider. "I am not so much a mystery as that," she chuckled. "But thank you. I shall place all my trust in you and know it is kept safe, Roarke." She was just about to ask him if they could go and talk somewhere they could sit when she heard footsteps and turned around. It was Aron, accompanied by an old man... Valda's eyes widened. She had never seen a soul like him before! "Your highness," said Aron, stopping to bow. "I have been looking for you. We have a guest. This is Viktor... a man of great genius. He will be helping us move our plans along rather more quickly that they otherwise might have progressed. Viktor, this is her royal highness, the Princess Valda Jal of Zivilyos, second born child to their King." Valda nodded her head, and curtsied briefly. He hadn't introduced Roarke, which annoyed her, but she kept that from showing in her face. "A pleasure to meet you, sir Viktor," she replied. "I am indeed Valda, and this is Roarke, high retainer of our clan and head of Zivilyn security. I must say, I am intrigued. Great genius? You must know much that I have not even heard of before, hailing from the depths as I do." |
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| The Karlminion | Feb 12 2009, 04:08 AM Post #6 |
180-proof Redneck
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"The pleasure is all mine, my lady," Viktor replied, bowing over the princess' hand. "Viktor von Stalsmark, formerly of the Valuan Engineering Corps, from a time when such was an honorable vocation, at your service." He straightened and regarded the princess with a momentarily sane eye, glancing at Roarke when that fellow was introduced. He looks dangerous, Viktor though, returning his gaze to the princess. I should get on his good side. "Please, my lady, do not call me 'Sir' Viktor, I was never knighted. Viktor will do, or if you insist on titles, Professor von Stalsmark," he continued. "I am at the age where niceties and honorifics lose their value, so if I seem rude, do forgive me." The moment held, then the old man's face broke out in a wide grin and his eyes gleamed insanely. "Aron didn't say it, so I will: I am quite bonkers, quite out of my gourd!" From a pocket he withdrew a medallion, made of silver, with silver and yellow moonstones in the center. It was intricately decorated with minute scrollwork, after archaic Valuan styles; the moonstones had been carefully carved to resemble actual moons. "If this suits your tastes, princess," the old man said, suddenly formal again as he held the medallion out, "you are quite welcome to it. I made it some weeks back," he added carelessly, as if such trinkets were commonplace in his life. At his age, they likely were. |
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| Nex Terren | Feb 24 2009, 03:02 PM Post #7 |
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Roarke nodded and smiled--or at least, didn't frown, which was about the same for the man--when he was introduced, but beyond that he treated the strange old man with a measure of distance. Cautious distance. Of course, that was only natural for Roarke. After all, a man--admittedly insane--had just waltzed in, friend of someone Roarke already did not trust, and with a pair of legs that looked particularly advanced, and quite possibly dangerous. And now, to top it all off, he was blathering as though Valda was his long lost granddaughter or somesuch nonsense. Of course, it was not Victor's fault that Roarke was so suspicious. If Aron would have brought a toy top, all painted with sunshine and roses, Roarke would have expected the spinner's tip poisoned. Roarke stopped himself from suspiciously studying the yellow-moonstone inlaid medallion. He did, however, catch enough a sight of it to see the craftsmanship involved. Directing his gaze back to the elder, Roarke's brow lifted slightly in surprise that the man was so flippant in giving out such pieces. For a moment, Roarke attempted to place an estimate at the object's worth. "I made it some weeks back." Roarke blinked. Made it? Roarke had spent the last few weeks--among other things--studying the detailed work of glass bottle contained ships that he had slowly began accumulated a collection of. Without even paying much thought, he knew that he could never so much as hope to construct such a work. In part he realized that the work of fighting hand removed the nimble edge to his hands, but he also blamed such to his ever increasing age. But here was this 'Stalsmark', at least twenty years his elder, and he was able to craft a token like that? For a moment, he toyed with the idea of complementing the man on his work. Instead, though, he only continued to stand there, carefully watching Viktor. Watching Viktor, but more importantly, Aron. The Princess seemed worried about that Jenna girl. Why her? Surely she was nothing compared to the pirate that stood before them. At least, Roarke had seen nothing to prove otherwise. Intelligent, yes, but still... |
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| Bellflower | Mar 6 2009, 06:21 PM Post #8 |
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Shotgun Hero!
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Valda took the gift, attracted to it immediately. Regardless of this man's intentions, she could tell just from this one item that he had to have the hands of an artist. It was beautiful, the silver and yellow hues of it attractive to eyes that had grown up in darkness and the fine scrollwork that was etched in perfectly done. The princess traced a finger across it, admiring the moonstones imbedded within. Yellow of Valua, containing the powers of lightning, and silver of the sunken Soltis, a land now lost to Arcadia permanently. It almost felt like she could sense the powers within each of the stones just by grasping the jewellery in her hands. "A fine gift, Professor von Stalsmark," she said. "You often make things like this, then? Certainly you do indeed possess an artistic soul in addition to the genius mind Aron said you have... regardless of whether or not you are as mad as you say." She slid it around her neck, where it sat just below the royal family crest that held her black moonstone. Keep friendly with allies, appreciate what they gave and give them information to ensure they did not suspect what she was truly planning. This was essential. True, it was impossible to say what drove this Viktor yet, but she had to be cautious around him if he considered Aron an ally worth having. "So, you have been discussing plans with the Captain? If you ever wish to ask me anything about the techonologies of my people I will be glad to help. I am capable of black magic and am, as most of my people are, an engineer." Valda tilted her head just a little, fine black hairs moving slightly as she did, and tapped her fan against her shoulder. Aron watched her quietly, and after a brief few seconds spoke again. "I am pleased, of course," he said. "I am sure he will have many questions to ask you, in time. First, though, we have plans to arrange. We're planning a trip to Valua in order to obtain plans of great merit. When we get them, Viktor here will be able to create a ship much more fitting of ourselves." His eyes sparkled a little, slight excitement at the thought of the raid mixed in with the unsettled look that was always contained within, and one hand moved to rest on his new gun. "It will be extremely difficult to do, but I am quite certain of our success... and you know that when I am certain of something, I am never wrong. The rune gifted to your Ebony Empress many eras ago has ensured that." Edited by Bellflower, Mar 6 2009, 06:22 PM.
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| The Karlminion | Mar 7 2009, 01:15 AM Post #9 |
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180-proof Redneck
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Viktor smiled and bowed again. "I am glad you like it, Princess," he responded. "That particular piece was more difficult than most of my work; my eyes aren't what they used to be, and the finer details required more effort. As for my soul... well, who knows." He wasn't certain what he thought about souls; on the one hand it was somewhat comforting that a part of him would live on after he died, but on the other he didn't hold with most spirituality. A bit paradoxial, perhaps, but he had better things to think about. He noticed Roark had reacted slightly to the gift-giving, and suspected he was the stoic type. "You must be the stoic type, Officer Roarke," he said. "Do remind me, later on when I have a minute or so, to observe your fighting techniques; I may be able to forge a bit of something for you as well." By then he would know more of Zivilyn technology and materials, and he was certain he could make something of it that would please even Roarke; hell, even the little Aron had showed him had his head spinning, full of ideas and schematics. "But yes, Aron is correct," the old man continued, "we have a raid to plan and details to acquire. So I suppose we should be off." He wasn't sure what Aron had meant with that Rune business, and he supposed it would be impertinent to ask; it probably had something to do with that red thing Aron held, however. "By your leave, Princess Jal?" he inquired politely, nodding his head at Valda. He was impatient to be off, though he did not show it; pirating was always exciting, and there was much to be planned for. |
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| Nex Terren | Mar 30 2009, 04:22 PM Post #10 |
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The old man's comments made Roarke's brow rise, and the warrior's expression looked something else besides being pleased. He wasn't mad at the man--not exactly--but the sudden analyzation and assumption put him off. Never mind that Viktor's judgment was more or less sound; Roarke felt like he was on the defensive, and he didn't like that. And what did this man mean about making something for him? Based off of his fighting techniques? The officer wasn't sure if he should be offended by this man's presumption, or curious as to what he might have in mind. Regardless, Roarke remained as quiet as before, and let Viktor move on to other subjects. "But yes, Aron is correct, we have a raid to plan and details to acquire. So I suppose we should be off." Roarke kept his gaze from surveying the young Jal's face for answers. He had blended into the framework as best he could over these past few days, avoided the princess and her doings when he had the chance. Had that been a mistake? Possibly, but if given the chance Roarke knew he'd do much the same. However, that had left him ill informed. Now he needed to know, and well... he didn't know. He'd have to do a bit of snooping around; no need to take up Valda's time with such questions, and by the Moons he wasn't about to ask Aron. "By your leave, Princess Jal?" The man asked, not forgetting his place. Roarke cracked something of a smile at that. Maybe Roarke had been a bit too harsh with his judgment of this man... |
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6:26 AM Dec 7
