Astien Valtieri, Urvaius, Castle Deepstone


"Well of course, the Duke of Urvaius shall be traveling accompanied by his most faithful, along with a few of the least faithful as well. You shall come with us, your father might not be willing to open himself to a little frivolity but us younglings should take every chance, I will not be persuaded otherwise on this matter" Ahh, just as I was hoping. Arniel may be sly, yet like all men he is predictable to a degree."I assume you had a mage drop you somewhere nearby inside the castle, otherwise you would have seen that the servants are all a fluster" The Duke reached over and pulled on a small velvet rope. "After all, half of the nobility of High Rock are going to be at this party I'd never want to miss such an opportunity for," he paused for a moment "enrichment."

Astien grinned at the Duke's comment as the door opened to reveal a young adolescent. The Duke spoke to the boy for a moment about various things. At one point the Duke scribbled a letter on some parchment and gave it to the boy, dictating to whom it was to be delivered. Arniel then mentioned something about an armory and training grounds which struck the boy with disbelief. Arniel quickly sent him off and turned back to Astien.

"So, you're coming with us to Evermore, it's an easy ride through to Kambria and from there a pleasant sail up to the Evermorian coast. We have a boat waiting for us in Kambria and fresh horses will meet us along the way. All in all it's sure to be a lovely ride."

"Quite lovely indeed my good man. However I will require a few of my things before we set off. Clothes fit for a celebration of this standard and things of that nature. I hope that you have someone who can see that they arrive here before we depart?"

However before the Duke could reply the door to the study opened once again. This time a Dunmeri dressed in the garb of a mage entered.

"Milord," the Dunmer turned and looked at Astien now. Something in his eyes told the young Breton that this mer was not to be trusted. Astien had quite the intuition, and it hadn't failed him often. "and Master Valtieri."

Astien's cool blue-green eyes turned as hard as stone as he studied the wizard. I'll have to keep an eye on this one.

“So what is this grand feast you wish to discuss?” asked the Dunmer.


Astien sat back in his chair, "You seem awful frank with you liege lord Dunmer. A bow would suffice in the presence of those of higher stature," his voice was cold and hard, one of the only things that would relate him to his father.

Even though Astien would come off as pompous and arrogant he wanted to gauge the elf's reaction. Astien awaited the Dunmer's reply to his test of wits.


OOC: reallly crappy post. Not feeling it at all, just wanted to do something.

Plans and schemes and machinations and plots were swirling through Daric's head. His face showed none of it, however. It remained hard and cold as granite. He was organising his thoughts, laying out motives, possibilities, repercussions and consequences of every course of action.

I attend ... “I would"... make alliances ... marriage ... "like to volunteer" ... assassinations, too risky? ..."to attend" ... who governs the realm while I'm away? ... "this party to represent" ... Elissa? ... "Northpoint" ... or send her in my stead? ... "That way you could" ... kidnapped? Used against me? She can't suggest marriage herself ... we both go ... who governs the realm ... "stay here" ... none go. Rude, yes. Safe, yes. In the long run? No. ... "and attend royal" ... I use opportunity to assassinate ... who? All of them. Hard, yes. Hard to avoid implication, yes ... "matters without the other" ... Elissa would have to die to avoid implication ... no, Can't happen ... but if the opportunity arises ... "lords of High Rock" ... Elissa must go. Heavy guard. Knights. Loyal ones. No, I must go. Make alliances. Will not be gone long. The realm is stable. Elissa is more than competent. Settled. "lords of High Rock thinking you rude."

Deric looked up to realise that his daughter had just finished speaking. He knew exactly what she had said. She thought it for the best, no doubt. And it was a good option, Deric had nearly come to that decision himself. He looked at his daughter and his face softened ever so slightly, his jaw unclenched, and he sighed.

"No ... no dearest," He said, holding out his hand to her. "I need you here. The Lords love you, they are loyal to you. You are good to them." He prayed she understood his decision.

"Arrangements for travel must be made at once. We shall sail to Evermore directly and cross the rest of the distance over land." He motioned to his steward, "make the necessary arrangements."

Varth, Castle Urvaius

Prince Astien leaned back in his chair, his eyes flashing with a cold disposition. “You seem awful frank with your liege lord, Dunmer” he said.” A bow would suffice in the presence of those of higher stature”

Varth snorted on reflex. “Lord Arniel knows of my respect for him. It is shown in my work, not some silly bow or fancy names. A true, honest man shows respect with actions, not [censored] etiquette” sneered the Dunmer, turning back to Arniel before the Breton prince could respond. “Milord?”

Castle Evermore

Before Evermore was a Kingdom, before Evermore was a city, it had been a castle. And in the castle, a tower. This original stone massing, wrapped tight in two era's worth of additions, turrets and halls, bulwarks and buttresses of every shape free to the imagination of the greatest architects throughout High Rock's long history, itself displayed the height of the classical Direnni style, ignorant though its current occupier may be. The Direnni, that intrepid Altmer clan who brought so much of Tamriel under their yoke, in eons past, had made Towers such as Evermore in each part of their domain. In youthful naiviety, each of these great outposts had been built in the image of Crystal-Like-Law, but in the grey, grim stone of Wrothgaria. In the ages that passed, the Direnni's sphere of influence shrunk, and each of these towers, which marked the perimeters of their heartland, fell. Except Evermore. Even once the boundaries of the Direnni Empire fell back upon Balfiera, and they were resigned to rule only over the Adamantine Tower itself, Evermore remained standing. The Tower of Evermore's epithet proved no boast. Perched high in easternmost Wrothgaria, like a chimney to the mountain, Evermore has to this day never been taken by forceful siege. When Evermore did change hands, to become a human holding, it was out of politeness, no more.

Around that ancient tower, countless more have grown. Mirroring the pine wood that stretches out all around it, Castle Evermore is a forest of turrets, looping fortifications that snake out into the city around it. Here and there, neighbourhoods are sectioned off by high walls, grand court-yards of stately homes, built upon plateaus that jutt out or into the great mountain. There is no logic to Evermore, its shape seems the result of whimsy before anything else: in some places houses have been built upon sheer cliff-faces, in others whole areas have been left as playing fields, while hovels latch onto the walls outside. As the steep climb of the mountainside on which Evermore is placed eases, Castle Evermore comes to an abrupt end, one final high stone barricade, rising thirty feet, resplendent with gleaming portcullis, offers the Grand Boulevard of Evermore City the winding path through the Castle itself. Out of this border, the last great snakes of Castle Evermore's fortified walls protrude, ending in round towers, placed strategically among the the sprawling city. For centuries, this marked the end of Evermore, though in recent eras, a second city, a tight bunch of boroughs has spread out beneath. Here the architecture shifts. While inside the walls, the great stately homes of Evermore's aristocracy are built in the pompous, turreted-stone Direnni style, outside even the grandest estates are pine-wooden, and almost Nordic in their arrangement. Preposterously angled triangular roofs poke out from every home, catching the snow that falls on Evermore most of the year round, the walls themselves wooden-panelled, and painted in picturesque colours. Through the richer areas of Evermore, hugging the large, classical Boulevards that extend first from the First Gate to the Castle, and then outwards, are of mostly Bretonish style, many of the poorer boroughs are entirely ethically Bjoulsae. For many years Evermore, itself an Elven and then Bretonish stronghold, has ruled over the wild, noble horse-people of that great river, and in time has brought a large multitude to live, hugging the high walls of its castle. The rugged Bjoulsae are particularly found among the eastern quarters of the City, along that shore of the River Ceylar, Evermore's tributary to the Bjoulsae, which escapes from Castle Evermore through a great waterfall, exploding into stately gardens as it reaches city-level.

Among the places of chief interest in the City of Evermore is the teetering tower of the Guild of Mages, from which Grand Magicans peer enviously at Castle Evermore, and from who's turrets clouds of strangely-coloured smoke are generally seen escaping. Also of interest is Evermore's cathedral, The Temple of Kynareth, and across the street, its rival, The Temple of Dibella, under construction since a royal decree from Syllawen's time as Queen Consort, and set to dwarf its older brother upon completion. Where the Grand Boulevard meets the High Road, the chief trade route, the crux of the caravans' route between East and West, there is an explosion of Guildhalls, and before them markets, were the middle classes mix with the lower. This part of the city is always alive, moving, and, in recent years, resplendent with coloured banners, and bustling with street-performances. Just as the markets bleed into the murkier South End, there is found a line of theatres, in Titus' reign this had been an area of disrepute, but Queen Syllawen, that great patron of the arts, had made of this area a second city Centre, and on it she even owned a stately, but modest town house. Across the street was the Guild of prosttutes.

Now, with the Festival of Peace days away, the wide boulevards were lined with stalls, great marquees, where each and every guild and corporation in all Syllawen's wide kingdom were set to display their bounty, to invite their visitors in to drink, to game and watch a show. Stages were everywhere, in every gap not vital to the traffic of the city, and built on every vertical surface, in unsafe temporary constructions. Tumblers, prosttutes, jesters and fools from all High Rock had found board or put up a tent to take part in the festivities. The Kingdom of Evermore itself was emptied into its city. On each street corner, the City Guard stood side by side with the Bjoulsae militia, warrior-folk Syllawen herself had brought in as extra security. While her own household of Knights commanded the security of the Castle, these river-people, fiercely loyal to Queen Syllawen, made up the bulk of the protection for the city itself, their proudest warriors forming a new guard inside Castle Evermore.

And where is Syllawen, the Direnni Queen, returned to the mountainous palace of her ancestors, now? She lays in her Tower, that ancient keep, in Castle Evermore, her city-within the city. The castle, once grey, now glimmers with a hundred different banners, of every colour and combination under Magnus. All the great heraldic lands of Highrock and the Iliac, represented there in banners large enough to wrap houses in, that flap like the beating wings so many dragons, in the cold wind. Within the Castle itself, Syllawen will soon host half the courts of High Rock. Behind those high walls, the grandest pavilions have been set, and the cosiest homes have been set aside as hosts for the most esteemed guests (much to the chagrin of their owners). Here, in the playing-fields set aside, tournies are to be held, and on grand stages, the choicest performances will take place. In the Great Hall itself, there will be dinners innumerable, and dances. In the last weeks past, the hosting Queen had barely spelt, and been too rarely sixed, such where her tireless efforts for her people, and this festival. But for now she was on her back, in her boundless, billowing bed, a castle in itself, and she was enjoying herself. She had guests, and at this moment we would do best to learn from her servants, and politely deign to leave the Queen of Evermore her privacy, just this once. Tomorrow, the first great Lords of High Rock would arrive, and from that day on, Syllawen would have to play the part of Queen. But for now she had other guests, and they had a whole selection of very different roles for the Queen to play at, the responsibilities of, we shall leave to those involved. But anyway, the whole of Evermore knowing the precise details of what Queen Syllawen gets up to is quite enough, isn't it?

Arneil de Athee

Prince Astien leaned back in his chair, his eyes flashing with a cold disposition. “You seem awful frank with your liege lord, Dunmer” he said.” A bow would suffice in the presence of those of higher stature”

Varth snorted on reflex. “Lord Arniel knows of my respect for him. It is shown in my work, not some silly bow or fancy names. A true, honest man shows respect with actions, not [censored] etiquette” sneered the Dunmer, turning back to Arniel before the Breton prince could respond. “Milord?” Arniel winced at the undiplomatic nature of the Wizard's reply.

With a light, but nervous, chuckle Arniel jumped in before any sort of confrontation could occur "I do know your respect for me Varth, you've done excellent work for County Urvaius," he paused, thinking how to best phrase his next words, "Varth we will be journeying to Evermore at sun's rise on the morrow, as your liege lord I am requesting your presence in my travelling host, we shall be travelling a fair way so I assume you shall need an assistant to travel with you, I shall allow you to choose them yourself but I would suggest that you bring the boy who collects your ingredients for you."

"I would also ask that, if you wish to bring any of your equipment with you, it is well packed and nothing that would cause trouble with any border guards along the way." he poured himself another glass of wine, "Now unless you have any more questions I would suggest that you might want to begin packing and preparing now."

Castle Northpoint

Elissa Caron

I know my father well enough to tell when he’s thinking, even when outwardly his face is unreadable. And, if I read him right, he was deep in thought as I had been. Knowing him, he was probably plotting how he could use the party to benefit Northpoint. I decided quickly that I don’t want to know any specifics of his plots. And, thankfully, he removed me from having to be involved in them as his face softened, he took my hand and says, “"No ... no dearest, I need you here. The Lords love you, they are loyal to you. You are good to them."

Right. Better to them than he usually is, at least. Even though it wasn’t my preference, I was perfectly fine with his decision. Getting to sit on the throne for a week or two could do a great deal in quelling any unrest that may be developing in the kingdom. Maybe I’d even invite some nobles from Sharnhelm and butter them up. Maybe. Though doing that might make my father angry, and that’s never a good idea. Still, it’s an option worth considering.

Anyway, as I’m thinking, my father says, "Arrangements for travel must be made at once. We shall sail to Evermore directly and cross the rest of the distance over land." He pauses to motion for old Seegnon. "Make the necessary arrangements."

Admiral Swift then steps forward in his bright red coat, mustache as meticulously groomed as ever, and says, “I assume you’ll be wanting the Marianne to escort ya to Evermore, Your Majesty? We can’t be havin’ ya be attacked on your way ta a party, now can we?” Swift chuckles deeply as he puts his hands behind his back, standing in a straight-backed military pose.

Before my father can respond, I stand up and curtsey to him, saying, “If you don’t need me for anything further, may I be excused?”

The King's March

It seemed that, on that calm and pleasant morning, the very flower of Daggerfall's nobility was on the march. And Daggerfall was a land of many, many nobles.

Some said that was because the heartland of the kingdom - which, for long ages, had been the only kingdom known to High Rock by the name - was a densely populated land in general; that failed to account for the fact that, even among the populous lands of western High Rock, Daggerfall had for ages stood out for its multitude of nobles. There were those who said this was because one could never lose their nobility in this land, and that may have been closer to truth.

Whatever the case, from the most powerful archdukes to the lowliest chevaliers, the nobles of the kingdom certainly numbered many. And many were accompanying their king and their queen on that morning then and there, in the distant - and, to their eyes, quite barbarian - land of Evermore.

"Marcher Bridwell, could you explain again about these... 'horse-people', yes?"

Samuel Bridwell straightened in his saddle, adjusting his sheathed sword slightly. On such journeys by horseback, the Lord-Marcher could best display his martial bearing, being clad in partial plate and chainmail despite the occasion - and the fact they were traveling through a supposedly friendly land. The queen, on the other hand, had no such concerns over her image; it was more than appropriate for her to be traveling as she was, carried by six quite massive Redguards in a palanquin that bore more resemblance to a portable bedroom than a means of travel, one of the silk curtains currently opened so she could comfortably converse with the noble. Whose stark and rather simple appearance, for that matter, provided quite the contrast to Kelmena's royally lavish transport.

"That is how they are called, yes, although I hear that the locals more often refer to them as simply 'Bjoulsae', since they wander along the banks of that river and its inlets. A barbarian lot, to be sure, although I'm told they're not bereft of some measure of wild nobility." The middle-aged noble's voice trailed off for a moment; he sniffed loudly. "Fairy-tales for hopeless romantics, if your majesty were to ask me. They're probably as crude and brutal as the Orcs."

Kelmena frowned slightly, allowing her back to slide slightly along the mountain of cushions that served as her rest. "Marcher Bridwell, you are quite a cynic, has anyone told you that?" She sighed softly, twirling a curly strand of dark brown around one of her fingers lazily.

A slight smile crept its way to Bridwell's otherwise immovably serious lips. "His majesty has informed me of that on several occasions, yes. Usually in conjunction with, if your majesty were to be interested, the complaints that I am a bore, soulless and irreparably beyond human."

Now it was the queen's turn to smile, though hers was far less constrained than the Lord-Marcher's - something like a flower blooming in spring, Samuel noted with regret. Those times that he thought of Kelmena, he either wondered how she - barely more than a child to his weathered eye - had ended up the wife of his liege, or simply pitied her. He knew Camaron all too well to imagine he made a good husband, but it was not his place to try changing his king.

This same king was at the time riding at the head of the extensive column of men, women and horses, feeling rather comfortable in the saddle of his truly impressive horse - and not so comfortable with his present company.

"Your Majesty should truly consider looking into the loyaltes of Baron Longtale. It seems to me as though he may like the sound of Wayrest coin a bit too much, if your majesty takes my meaning..."

"How interesting."

Camaron's voice, in fact, indicated nothing of the sort, but that did not stop the Duke of Chesterwick from rattling on about his feud with said baron for the past hour or so - and that was just that day; there had been countless other times during the voyage by ship when he'd managed to catch the king in company suitable for steering the talks in such a direction.

Duke Albrych of Chesterwick, as the noble was named, would probably have bored his monarch even if he was willing to talk about things of interest not only to himself. A man in his late thirties, Albrych was one of those who rarely received invitations to Camaron's feasts or tournaments unless it was impossible to avoid, and this was largely because the duke was of the sort who loved to be bogged down in matters the ruling king considered, if one were to be mild, incredibly boring. The collection of surplus and the exploitation of serfs, profits to make and such were Albrych's bread and butter.

Then there was the fact that, despite his age, the duke had already gone rather bald and at some point decided it would be a good idea to try to cover this up as well as he could. The result was a parting so ridiculous that Camaron struggled time and again not to offend the noble terribly by outright ordering him to either accept his baldness or acquire a wig of some sort.

With the queen chatting up Lord-Marcher Bridwell now and again over some curiosity of Evermore's that she wasn't certain about, and the king finding himself dearly wishing for the same Lord-Marcher's company or at least a palanquin of his own to hide in from the persistent duke, the Daggerfallian delegation trundled along. Flag after colourful flag, the banners of the king and his high nobility, splendid and complicated coats of arms of ancient lineages that the heralds of Daggerfall loved and the heralds of other Bretic realms dreaded; onwards they all marched, several hundred companions to the king, from numerous servants to the chevaliers that rode in a long line one man thin on each side of the cavalcade, armoured as if for war.

The King's March was arriving to Evermore.

Spoiler

The palanquins of Daggerfall

To the eyes of other Bretons from further inland, the palanquins used by the nobility of Daggerfall - most notably its queens - would seem alien, and rightly so. There is no manifestation of the kingdom's position right along the Iliac Bay in its culture and customs that would be more obvious. An ancient import from Hammerfell, they range from humbler devices that are reminiscent of a chair carried by two men, to the displays of splendour and influence that the royal family tend to favour, sized as a rather spacious room and carried upon the shoulders of a dozen or more slaves - traditionally also from Hammerfell. These larger palanquins are usually rich pickings for various rumours concerning the royal family's private affairs, and there have been more people than one might care to count in Daggerfall's long history who claimed to have seen a scandalous lover discreetly climbing into a king's or a queen's ride for what was likely more than a tour of the city.

Daggerfallian Chevaliers

'Nowhere,' writes Joile Venoir, a Bretic historian, 'In no land either north or south of the Great Iliac Bay, among no people save the proud and unbeaten Colovians of Cyrodiil, are there finer warriors and soldiers than the Chevaliers of Daggerfall. No riders more skilled, no knights braver and more disciplined, no soldiers of nobler birth and greater honour may one find in the entirety of Tamriel.'

Such praise, while obviously much too generous, is not entirely derived from fiction; almost an estate upon themselves, the chevaliers of Daggerfall approach their martial duty with quite a bit of elitist pride, turning their duty to their lords into a means of distinguishing themselves from the better-off peer nobility. On the field of battle, Daggerfallian chevaliers are indeed renowned for their discipline, all the more so because the knights of many other realms are often ascribed with recklessness and too great a desire for personal glory. Such fame is balanced out, however, by a well-earned infamy for a complete disregard for those below them in social rank and frequent acts of inhumane cruelty towards conquered enemies.

While formally chevaliers are only demanded to possess a warhorse and a spare, in truth there has for long been an expected standard of equipment that has lead to some measure of standartisation among these knights of Daggerfall. A briastplate of steel is considered a must, along with a chainmail haubergeon and a heater shield bearing the chevalier's coat of arms. Possession of a sword could be said to be a sacred matter to these men and women of war, and it is a common saying that a chevalier would rather return from war with their sword sticking out of their chest rather than without it. As a side note, the loss of a sword and the trials undertaken to regain it - and by extension, one's honour - is a popular motif in Daggerfallian ballads.

Varthlokkur, Castle Urvaius

Arniel laughed an obviously nervous laugh, wanting only peace between his subjects. Varth had been too harsh with the prince, and he knew it. Acting rash with his anger could have gained him a potential enemy, but it didn’t matter now. “I do know your respect for me Varth, you've done excellent work for County Urvaius. We will be journeying to Evermore at sun's rise on the morrow, as your liege lord I am requesting your presence in my travelling host, we shall be travelling a fair way so I assume you shall need an assistant to travel with you, I shall allow you to choose them yourself but I would suggest that you bring the boy who collects your ingredients for you” explained the Duke. “"I would also ask that, if you wish to bring any of your equipment with you, it is well packed and nothing that would cause trouble with any border guards along the way. Now unless you have any more questions I would suggest that you might want to begin packing and preparing now.”

“The page boy?” asked Varth, raising an eyebrow. “I think you yourself can spy on me better than the child, your grace” said the Dunmer with a playful wink. “I will pack immediately, and I need no subjects, I am used to traveling on my own.” And with a curt nod, the sorcerer had exited the room, returning to his lair, eager for this party, a devious plan forming in his head.

OOC: I will post what my preparations were as I arrive in Evermore.

(Crappy post, LONG weekend, sorry guys)

Astien, The Duchy of Urvaius, Castle Deepstone

The mage reacted to Astien's test just as he had predicted. He waited until the Dunmer left the room before speaking.

"That one is dangerous Arniel. He is overly bold and has a sharp wit. However it seems you're already dealing with him," Astien smiled, he should have known that the Duke had already noticed this. "Well, let us not tarry for much longer. A Queen of fabled beauty awaits is in Evermore," a broad smile was stretched across the young Breton's face.

I will attempt my first post if no one minds.

The Sunlight streamed through the Bedroom windows as Louis The Chamberlain opened the door and set A steaming breakfast meal on the table before turning to adress Julius Scipion Who was sleeping soundly Louis gave a polite but loud cough, Julius woke with a start but before He could react Louis was already Speaking "My lord May I suggest a transition from the Bed to the Breakfast You have a busy day ahead of you I will leave you to decide your choice of attire" then with a swift walk louis exited the room.

Julius Sighed before climbing out of bed in his bed robes to move to the table to eat his breakfast A letter was also next to the breakfast He picked it up and read it out loud:

"Dearest Julius Scipion,

Her Majesty Syllawen Direnni, Queen of Evermore
requests the Honour of Your Presence at her Castle on the
11th of Frostfall in celebration of the most hallowed
Festival Of ?Peace, in recognition of the glorious and most
pleasant Miracle of Peace, blessedly maintained to this day.

We humbly await your reply.
~ S~D"

Julius sighed again before tensing his right leg as a shot of pain ran through `Blasted mornings` he thought before limping over to the wardrobe wear he chose Some black boots-black fabric trousers a white collared shirt and Dark Green jacket, he walked back to his table the pain from his leg having now receded he then picked up a dossier brown tape he sighed this usually meant Bandits somewhere he signed the neccessary arrangements before looking at the map of Alsace it was a large town built on a rocky island surrounded by six sea stacks all had been developed a port protruded from the south side a bridge on the western side made access to the main land possible by foot and to the New town where the poorer had settled, the castle was at the highest point on the northen tip of the island with Towers on the seastacks usually containing A guest,the old town was full of the more richer people a wall was built in a semicircle from west to east while the Old town had been split into six sections cutting vertically and horizontally.

He then turned on his heel to walk out his bedroom door, passing portraits of past ruling families of alsace.where he entered the court from a door leading to the back of his chair he sat on the plush chair eager to begin the business of the day yet still his mind was conflicted as to whether or not he should Visit the festival of peace.

OOC: crappy, but I have to keep Lorundil busy while the lords of Northpoint are busy with their things

Lorundil, Castle Northpoint, His tower

He stood before the stone altar. On it lay the Dremora of earlier that day and at the other side of the Dremora stood Tom, his apprentice. The Dremora was stripped of its armor and lay naked in front of them. Apart from the black skin and horns it was just like any other human being, albeit larger. “Now Tom, Can you tell me why Dremora and other daedric creatures are of great interest to wizards?” He asked his young apprentice.

He made a weird face as he was trying to remember what he had learned about the denizens of Oblivion. And when Lorundil thought he wouldn’t answer his question the boy spoke. “Because of their .. euhm, ... because parts of their body have alchemical properties. I, ... I believe the most valuable alchemical ingredient of the Dremora is its heart, no?”

Lorundil had to smile. He has actually studied. Perhaps there is still hope for him. “I see you finally decided to open your books.” Lorundil said with a smile. “Yes, the heart. If used properly it can create potent poisons or powerful potions. Especially dangerous to mages as it can shut their mouths, if mixed with the correct ingredients. All we have to do is retrieve it.”

Lorundil rolled up his sleeves as he used magic to cut open the chest. Then with telekinetic magic he cracked it open and carefully took out the heart. The blood that flowed out of the wounds was captured in vials at the end of the table and would be used for other potions, poisons or experiments. The longer Lorundil was busy the further Tom backed away. Engrossed by what he saw. Tom turned around and grabbed the first hollow thing he could find, A wooden bucked, and threw over in it. “I, .. I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would be seeing such stuff from the first time.” He apologized.

Now the smile on Lorundil’s face became a grin, as he placed the heart away in a jar filled with a preserving liquid. “Better get used to it, since you’ll be helping me.” He turned around and stored the heart filled jar away on a shelf. “Apart from the heart, we also use daedra skin. You’ll help me with skinning this fine Dremora and then we’ll continue to study it from the inside.” Lorundil looked at the boy. “Now hand me the scalpel.”

Tom remained motionless and speechless of disgust.

Julius Scipion, Alsace, castle, throne room

Julius watched and listened intently as the Admiral of the Alsace Fleet laid out his plans for a new ship “Your lordship” the admiral -Horatio was his name Julius recalled before returning to the proposal- “as you know three months ago the clipper Andromeda was broke up We now ask for a new clipper with improved designs to replace the old Andromeda” Julius nodded “indeed, Louis have the necessary arrangements, oh and I believe this was the last Items on today’s Itinerary” Louis nodded Before escorting the Admiral out of the court, Julius Rolled his shoulder Before standing up and moving Behind the Chair which he had sat upon to the door which led to a passage to the northern end of the castle.


He arrived at the start of the bridge to the northern sea stack tower he crossed the bridge before stopping halfway across to gaze out of the window at the Sleeping port All of the clippers had started their monthly trade routes The only ships left were the fleet containing The flagship The Pride of Alsace The Two Destroyers the Honourable and the Endeavour there were four cruisers and eight frigates All anchored out of port to be honest ,Julius wondered when He could go sailing in his yacht The Marina. He closed his eyes remembering his wife’s face every curve, lock of hair “marina” he breathed then opened his eyes.


His mind flashed back to that day-A flash of lightning He ran up the slope He and his Knights slashing through the daedra wild eyed, a woman cries out, “marina” Julius shouts before calling down a lightning strike he runs to a brown haired Breton woman “marina please no not now”, Marina’s Blue eyes look up Before crying a shout of pain, Julius looks down her bloodstained dress a slash is prominent on her Pregnant belly “please no ,no ,no” Julius begs But it is too late Marina looks up again and whispers in Julius’s ear “remember me” before falling limp in Julius’s arms He closes her eyes and kisses her upon the brow before laying her down, He knew the child was dead, He screams a cry of pain and loss echoed as he falls to the ground Sudden shards of hail fall from the sky piercing daedra he roars, rage filled and summons two swords into his hands he charges head on into the daedra with his knights, Slashing and hacking at all who stand in his way then as the last daedra Is Butchered he Sobs Uncontrollably and darkness takes him. Julius opens his eyes Louis is standing over him he was lying on his bed, “I can guess what happened my lord, that day is etched on to every one who can remember it”, Julius nodded He had been caught in a moment of weakness.


He sat up, Louis Handed him a goblet of mead, Julius drank heavily from it before passing it back and wiping his mouth He turned his body then stood up and walked towards an open window “Twenty eight years Louis and it still pains me” Julius Closed his eyes as he said these words then opened them and turned around, “send a reply to evermore I will be attending and also send a message to Northpoint asking If I may Dock at Their port while I travel to the Festival” Julius said briskly, Louis Bowed and replied “of Course my lord” before retreating from the room Julius sighed before Leaving the room in a second attempt to reach his study and library he turned left and carried on up the stairs as his bedroom was located on the northern sea stack.

OOC:Hope no one minds if I dock at northpoint.

Julius Scipion, at sea, the marina, Lords Quarters

Julius was seated at the table fiddling with a Dwemer puzzle box “humph” he murmured “117 years and I have never been able to open this thing” He looked at it curiously “and I wonder what beholds me inside” He shook his head, chuckling at every ping it made as he attempted to open it, Then Louis burst in “My Lord Northpoint is in sight” Julius nodded setting down the puzzle box and replying “have the crew stand ready” Louis bowed as always and swung out the room Julius rubbed his eyes and strolled over to the wardrobe and chose his attire for he had been walking around his quarters quite naked.


Julius stood by the wheel as the skipper guided it into port Julius looked down at his clothes He had chosen a Silver circlet with inset emeralds; a Cape adorned with his coat of arms, polished black leather boots and a black and burgundy outfit He smoothed out his coat and waved to some of the sailors on other boats who were staring at him he watched intently as the skipper spun the wheel and carefully docked the marina at port Julius let out a sigh of relief before brimming with trepidation leapt down the steps careful to land on his left leg he joined Louis as they watched a small wooden bridge was threaded across to be fastened with rope to the Marina Julius waited for a nod from Louis before stepping off the ship along the bridge and onto the quayside Julius then looked around before walking back onto the ship and into his quarters.

Aleron, Travelling, 9^th of Frostfall

The days were already shortening and the sun was beginning his descent across the sky as he made moon for his silver sister. Underneath the roof of pine trees the sound of horse’s hooves could be heard, accompanied by voices talking and laughing. That sound belonged to the Gwened delegate that travelled to Evermore for the greatest feast of the last few years. Aleron rode at the point of the group, leading them. He had convinced his father that they would have no need for servants and that Five friends and fellow knights would be more than enough. After a long discussion his father had finally agreed, saying that Castle Evermore would surely have enough servants that they could miss a few.

“So what do you think we’ll there be for us to do?” one of the knights in the back asked.

“To much to sum it all up. Word is our Queen has been planning the feast for months now. Jugglers, balls, tournaments, magic shows, theaters, and a lot more. No one will be bored in the next days to come.” Aleron replied. He looked at his fellow knights and could see their faces wandering off to the next days.

He followed the path and noticed that the trees were spreading out and it didn’t take long before they had left the forest. Even from this distance the great city walls of Evermore were clearly visible. The sight of the city was jaw dropping. The whole city was decorated and lighted. Unlike the cities in Gwened were it would be dark when the sun goes away.

“When do the people sleep in this city?” Waleran, the same knight in the back asked with unbelieve.

Aleron didn’t know and decided to not answer the question. “Let’s continue. I want to enter the city before nightfall.”

They continued down the path at a quick pace towards what would be a great festival no doubt.

Castle Evermore, 9th of Frostfall, 4E28

And morning snuck up on Evermore, just like it always did. The sky glowed deepest azure, the mountains made cruel, impossible black towers, enormous and sublime, each drawing an amphitheatre of its valleys; everywhere a different scene played out in twilight. Dawnbirds rehearsed their songs, Nocturnal's children spread the night's gossip from glade to glade, while above Merid's assembly one by one winked goodbye. From mountainous caves witches stood out from precipices and sagely bid the padomaic moons farewell. One hawk, proud and circaetius, circled a mountain peak, keen beak ready for anything that slithered. Beneath a throng of Bjoulsae shifted, sifting noiselessly through the pinewoods, long hair knotted tight, spears glistening for the boar that would feed their village. Everywhere a million trickles; in every brook and every meadow, the last of the snow melted to nothing. All up and down the valley hamlets cocks looked dolefully to the sky and readied their calls, restless children peeked out of windows at the blue world outside, and counted the moments til sunrise. But high, high above these scenes, in the heart of a shimmering forest of turrets and ramparts, pricks sticking up from the mountainside like a giant hedgehog's plumage, in the very womb of proud Castle Evermore, that enchanted fortress that shimmers in the dawnlight, our Queen Syllawen twisted in her satin sheets, floating blissfully from dream to dream. The cool, winter-distinct exterior of her realm, everything outlined in black and cold shivers, failed to penetrate the thick walls of Syllawen's palace. She lay content, hugged tight by her castle's warmth, a thin layer of perspiration covering her nvde, golden body. From time to time, as the dream took her, she would shift and squirm in her boundless bed, expressive face once twisted to a mask of surprise, then apprehension, then satisfaction with each turn of her phantasy. Around her, tangled heaps of tessellating attendants, all naked and heaving in hot, heavy, bug-musk air. Syllawen knew well that once dignitaries from all of High Rock had assembled in her castle, many of her preferred modes of unwinding would become inappropriate, so she indulged while she could. Though the Queen of Evermore had not been aware that last night would be her last orgy before the Festival, she had given herself to it fully (as she always did), and let her body be licked, clasped and caressed, clung to, caught, enveloped in kisses and entered into a thousand times and more. What was left of her was ragged and worn, slicked and exhausted, breathing heavy in heady, sweet comatose: all around her the vast cast of last nights delirious play all slept just as soundly.

Syllawen woke first, just as she always did. Two golden lamps in the murklight. Our Queen looked about her, past the sea of flesh she floated on, and let out a shallow breath. It occurred to Syllawen in her dreamy state of half-consciousness how silly all her attendants looked, bare bottoms and plump figures all tangled like they were, with nymph-like boys and troll-like men, the ones who bristled with muscles so big they looked like cartoon figures. Everyone was caught at a funny angle, limbs sprawled in unlikely positions and on each of their faces were the most ridiculous, serious expressions. Syllawen sat up, lone on the pale, heaving field, and made a survey of the menagerie of lovers she had about her. Something quizzical and census-like carried over from the logic of her last dream (all about lists and lists of endless guests, impossible to grasp), and she found herself smiling as she noticed the motley assembly she had made love to. There were Bosmer, Nords, Orismer and Dunmer. Argonians and Khajiit, Redguards and Bretons (Bjoulsae and Bretic), Syllawen even spotted one fellow she was certain was a member of her all-Imperial personal guard, the monastic Order of Talos. The Queen of Evermore made a giggle no-one heard, and furrowed her brow. From what her keen eyes could determine in this darklight, (and from what her misty, drug-veiled memory could recall), she was the only Altmer in the chamber. Queen Syllawen pouted and thought on this. Not really one for orgies, are they, my lot? Then she second-guessed herself, reminded that, really, she didn't know any Altmer who weren't her family, and never thought it really proper to ask any of them. The waking Queen's belly made a rumbling noise, to which her long ears pricked up, and her brow raised in surprise. A powerful hunger overtook Syllawen and caused her to rise gingerly , almost falling over immediately, foot getting stuck under the tail of one of her favourite maids from Black Marsh. Syllawen stumbled through the sea of bodies, deftly lifting her night-gown as she scrambled, making a hopping path to the door. Syllawen drew the thin, slightly see-through garment around her shoulders and gave one last look at the piles of paramours she was leaving behind, and couldn't help but smirk in satisfaction. Last night had been a good one: an orgy of All Flags.

The Queen opened the leather-padded door to her bedchamber just a slight, afraid to let the chill in, and slipped out on dainty toes. She tugged her nightie around her body quickly as she stepped into the drafty hall outside, the chill taking her by surprise. In even greater surprise, Syllawen ducked her head and covered her mouth, a little embarrassed, as she made eye contact with her quite wide-awake sentinel, Sir Tiberius her royal protector, who was standing there as always by her door. Syllawen looked about sheepishly, batting her still-blackened eyelids, wondering what to say. One of those uncomfortable, uncanny morning moments, she had utterly forgotten that Sir Tiberius was going to be there. He was always here, or there, but for some reason he still surprised her first thing in the morning.

"Hallo Ser Tiber'" she said, flicking her bodyguard a look, mess of copper hair a nest all about her face. "Any murderers tonight?" she joked lazily, avoiding the Cyrodiil's gaze. It was far, far too early for small talk with an attendant. Outside, the blue grew and grew, dyeing all Evermore azure, casting crazed glows down the long stone corridor and over the two. "I'm off to the kitchens, you can come along, if you're peckish. Oh, or I suppose anyway, to bat-away the assassins, yes.." she mumbled, flicking the odd glance at her royal protector. Far, far too early.

Julius Scipion, Northpoint Marketplace

Julius strolled around the marketplace looking at the many different wares the stalls were selling, yet while he wandered out of the corner of his eye he noticed the odd denizen was giving him a look of annoyance and in some cases hatred he sighed while in Alsace people treated him like one of their own ‘Possibly due to the fact I make my money by ordering certain clippers to transport highly dangerous and expensive packages sometimes illegal in other places’ he casually smiled as he looked back on the many operations he had ordered in order to equip his army and navy ready for any coming wars and so keep the taxes lower than average for his citizens.

Before he could gaze fondly on these memories any further he noticed that an execution was about to take place he quickly steered away ‘Never did understand the point in them anyway hard labour works a treat’ he smirked again at this he wandered down a back alley he had no guards as he was more than capable of taking on a few thugs but as he wandered further he noticed some men following him he turned a corner ‘rats’ he thought as he saw another group of men at the other end walking down silently he drew his elven long sword ready for battle.

A gruff voice came from one of the men “no need for that we can easily kill ya instead” Julius readied himself one of the thugs charged at him Julius stepped to the side and kicked the man then all hell broke loose ‘six against one’ he thought before casting a shard of frost into one of the men pinning him to the wall Julius quickly retreated daring each one individually to attack him two answered with mad cries they swung at him Julius twirled his sword slashing off one of his attackers arms before electrocuting the other ‘three down three to go’ he thought the ringleader kicked the other two towards Julius, he smirked as the madly dashed at him, their heads rolled onto the floor.

The ringleader then drew his sword and swung at Julius he parried before returning with a simple coup de grace by shifting the sword to the other hand as the ringleader was entranced Julius kicked him in the groin a blast of air came from the man as he rolled on the floor Julius looked down before drawing the sword up onto his arm and ending the ringleaders life, ‘six down, none to go’ Julius wiped his sword before returning it to the scabbard then strolling to the direction of the docks and his ship.

Sir Tiberius Valerius Aquila, Castle Evermore, 9th of Frostfall, 4E28

There would be no rest for the great bodyguard of our Queen Syllawen. Undying loyalty means Tiberius must have little rest from his duty, the Queen may have needed at any time the assistance of her valiant knight. His eyelids did not feel heavy however, he had become accustomed to the short sleeps and in fact, his eyes were wide open and his mind on full alert. An assassin was probably not going to pop out and attempt the murder of the person he oh so meticulously protected, but Tiberius had an oath to fulfill and by the Nine Divines he would fulfill it. If the Queen dies, he has broken his oath. Without that loyalty, Tiberius would consider himself to be nothing, he would take his life in an instant. The survival and well being of the Queen was paramount to the very core of his life and personal being, and her majesty has just flippantly joked about this commitment. But it did not matter, Tiberius was well used to her majesty now and one day there may be a time when he would need to guard her life. Queen Syllawen was in the process of creating many enemies. There would be times of danger, the upcoming party one of them. That worry shadowed the Imperial's every thought.

"I'm off to the kitchens, you can come along, if you're peckish. Oh, or I suppose anyway, to bat-away the assassins, yes.." The barely clothed Queen mumbled with a second joke. Tiberius unflinchingly serious, gave no attention to the offensive comment.

"Of course your majesty."

Castle Evermore, 9th of Frostfall, 4E28

The Queen of Evermore suffered a smile at her bodyguard's blunt response, and determined that ignoring him was the best option. With the slightest shrug of those slender shoulders she took off, eyes fixed on the ground before her, dumbed to the glimmering lights that surrounded them. Down every passageway, stone and ancient, different mixtures of light played out; orange lamps giving way to the morning's mad blueness in a hundred different ways. Thus, daintily she padded down the plush, trodden carpet, into the bowels of her castle. Dark stairwells gave in to majestic hallways, where windows of stained-glass would appear, towering over the two travellers enormous; great glowing monoliths of glass. They passed beneath these luminous tapestries, where giant figures were trapped in freeze-frame, depicting some great legendary scene of Evermore's past. Tiny insects to those titans, Syllawen and her bodyguard pattered through the hall, only for their path to twist and turn again, taking a new route down the labyrinthine castle, to the kitchens. The closer their feet took them to the beating heart of the castle, the warmer and richer the air became, but before they reached it, Syllawen noticed a wandering servant who didn't seem busy, and changed her mind. With a quick word, she told her rather amazed subject (who was finding difficulty in removing his gaze from her see-through night-gown) to fetch her a snack and bring it to the Colovian Paraqet by Titus' old chapel, where she would be found.

The Queen of Evermore turned off in that direction, glancing up at her solemn defender for the first time in nearly half an hour. A dark, peculiar man. Syllawen still did not know how to place Tiberius in her world. Though a Knight he was not gallant, though a Priest he was not tedious. His piety had that eastern flavour - pigs blood and sweet libation, that captured Syllawen's imagination, but his loyalty, so unblinking and unthinking, was made of a logic alien to her. If he would just be more like her late husband Titus, and be full of animation, ambition to conquer foreign lands and shake a fist at the Divines, showing them just what a mortal can do. A priest of Talos he was, but no imitator. Tiberius remained an enigma to Syllawen. One thing he was for sure - an artefact of complete nostalgia, of her marriage passed. That was for sure.

The Queen and the Knight passed out unto a courtyard, high walls on two of their sides, a sheer drop on more more, and in front of them the rotunda of the Temple of Talos. Her husband had built this place of worship, now the home of Tiberius' order, all those years ago, snugly fitting it in the nook this modest courtyard carved out of his great citadel. Syllawen glanced at the temple's Pontifex Maximus and smiled as they passed it, making their way onto a promontory battlement, a paraqet that jutted far out from the main structure of Castle Evermore. Syllawen liked this spot, because it gave the most brilliant vista of her Kingdom; southward facing, over the city itself, that twinkled distantly below on the steep steps of the mountainside. While all the world shimmered amazing blue the first few clouds were painted orange now. The Queen tugged her gown around her and pvssyred her teeth - the cold was biting and she was almost naked in her present attire. For a monarch of High Rock, Syllawen had spent far too much of her upbringing outside and in the nvde, but Balfiera was tropic in comparison to high Evermore. Syllawen stepped right up to the edge of the battlement, and looked out over her wide Kingdom, bright yellow eyes in the morning.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she pvssyred, looking out. "Evermore. The most silly, remote place in the world, but isn't it pretty? And half the land's lords and ladies are all to be assembled here." she glanced back at her bodyguard, "Do you think they'll like it?" she asked, voice like a child's, but her beauty like Dibella's.

The King's March

Lazily, the mountain sun rolled into its zenith; to the locals, this particular midday must've seemed quite warm. Not so much, however, to that great column of Bretons that was snaking ever closer to the gates of Evermore, composed as it was of Iliac Bretons. Accustomed as they were to the often maddening heat of the coastline, an Evermorese day seemed mild at best.

"Zut alors! If the Thagor hadn't insisted on bringing half the chevaliers in the realm, maybe we'd have arrived by now."

The youthful Breton smirked, leaning slightly back in his saddle. "What, are your bones aching already for a palanquin like the queen's? Shall I inform the Thagor that you'd like to keep his wife company?"

"What, that sorry Senhyn?" His slightly older companion grinned, scratching his goattee - clearly grown in the Anticlerian style. "Please, Auberon, even if I wanted her, I can neither sing or dance. Afraid I'll have to settle for the rather more accessible hospitality of Evermore's queen."

"Oh, feeling exotic, are we?" Auberon laughed, faking a surprised expression. Maybe he was the sole heir of the Flyte of Anticlere, but he was also a man who'd only recently celebrated his twentieth birthday - and whose mind, when not otherwise directed by his father's high demands, tended to stray to concerns of the flesh. "Going to take a stab at the Direnni?"

"And then a few more, until we're both out of breath."

"You mean until you impotently collapse from exhaustion and someone else has to swoop in to save the distressed damsel."

"What, distressed? Am I so horrible in this scenario of yours that she feels as one might when kidnapped by a Skyrim giant?"

The heir-blood of Anticlere (as his proper title went in that land that seemed rather bizarre and odd to its neighbours) laughed again and spurred his horse onwards, hastening the steed's pace. He and his entourage - rather humbler than the army accompanying the king - may have been some ways ahead of the rest of the guests from Daggerfall, but they were supposed to be even further ahead. He'd been tasked, after all, to ensure that when the foremost pair of chevaliers could touch the gates with their lances, the arrival of the King of Daggerfall had already been heard of in the other end of the city.

Reacting rather quickly, Auberon's companion adjusted his mount's pace to fit that of his friend - and charge. "So eager to take the van for the Thagor, are we looking to impress here?"

"You know my father, Betrand," The young Flyte shrugged, his face becoming rather more serious. There was a rather obvious line drawn in his life between duty and pleasure, and Auberon the Second had been taught since climbing out of the craddle how to jump over it and right back whenever the situation called for it, with almost disconcerting haste and abruptness. "He maintains I must at least appear respectful to the Thagor. Mara slap me if he doesn't know these things better than most."

Slowly, Bertrand nodded. "True... true. The captal's age hasn't dulled his wisdom."

Silence fell over the appointed vanguard of King Camaron of Daggerfall as they drew closer to the gates of Evermore, a band of just over twenty men equipped for war - the chevaliers of Anticlere. Daggerfallians, of course, did not title them such - they were not even lesser nobility, after all; at least, not all of them. That didn't, however, make them seem any less formidable, each clad in uniform partial plate with a snake wrapped around a lily carved into their right, and only, pauldron - the Coat of Arms of House Flyte - and swords hanging from their belts. From all belts but four, that is, and this absence of weapons was a critical consideration for a would-be combatant in Anticlere - there, the only chevaliers that did not carry weapons at all times were battlemages. And Bretons rarely made poor battlemages.

Finally, they halted before the gates of the city of Evermore, jewel of the Wrothgarians, and the midday air stirred just slightly as an arcane gong pierced it. The doing of one of the battlemages, who'd ridden slightly ahead of the rest of the Anticlerian party.

"The King of Daggerfall arrives! Make way for the King's Van, as we make way for the King's March!"

Spoiler

Auberon Flyte

The twenty year old heir of the Lorddom of Anticlere is not the most scandalous of High Rock's blue-blooded youth, but he cannot be said to be boring. Managing to juggle the responsibilities of being his aged father's right hand in almost all matters as he is groomed for the ever approaching moment when Manfred Flyte is called by the Divines and Auberon is to become affirmed as the Flyte, Captal and Grand Baron, he also finds time for other matters - such as partaking in the many back-alley duels and clashes between hot-headed young nobles and their chevalier retinues that occur throughout Anticlere. He is not, of course, without his weaknesses, and perhaps the greatest of those would be one he shares with many Bretons, naturally passionate as they are - it becomes ever harder for even those most adamant not to see it to refute the rumours that young Auberon is head over heels in love with Jacqueline Ivret, the sister of his good friend and eternal companion, Bertrand Ivret. So in love, in fact, that he would sacrifice or forsake almost anything for her - save for his loyalty to his father.

Julius Scipion, Some Sleepy port near Evermore

Julius Sat bored as he watched the horses be unloaded from the ship he rubbed his forehead before Louis interrupted his troubled thoughts “My lord We are finally ready to be underway to evermore with of course the present For our most gracious host secured so as not to break” Julius nodded before standing up to go and mount his horse.

He looked at Louis and the four Guards who would be accompanying them to Evermore and the festivities Julius turned his horse back around a small chest visible at the back of his saddle he waved his hand forwards and set off at a light gallop towards the Grand City of Evermore.

Astien Valtieri and the companies of the Duchy of Urvaius and Camlorn, Nearing Evermore



Shortly after the Duke of Urvaius had readied their long train of caravans they set off towards the port city of Bhoriane on the coast of the Illiac. The ride was uneventful and Astien found it rather boring. What little enjoyment he had on the trip was found in talking with the Duke about the various people who would be attending the party and the many secrets they kept. Some were quite humorous, such as the Baron of Raven Spring and his many scandals with less than attractive women. The country side stayed mostly the same along the road to Bhoriane. Fields and pastures of fading green dotted with small farms and houses. The caravan was met by the host from Camlorn just south of Dwynnen at the crossroads. The host was small, a few of the lesser nobles accompanied by free-riders and men-at-arms. Astien's personal effects were also present among the host. A dozen elegant rapiers, half of his wardrobe, and a few of his favorite horses.

From there on the host traveled to the City of Bhoriane where the Duke of Urvaius had arranged for a small fleet of ships to carry them up the Bjoulsae. It was a much quicker, and safer, route to Evermore than travelling through the unfriendly lands of Wayrest and her allies. The journey by sea was also quite uneventful and lasted only a few days. Once they had navigated up the Bjoulsae they docked at a sizable port on the northern bank, the primary link to Evermore on the river. From there they once again resumed their march. The land here was much different than in the west. Mountains loomed ominously around them, touching the clouds with their snowy white peaks. The foliage was brown at the lower altitudes, but as they climbed higher and higher into the Wrothgarian Mountains foliage gave way to layers of snow.

Magnus had just risen over the Wrothgarians, it's brilliant gaze illuminating the crisp fresh snow that covered the ground. The sound of horses and men echoed of the distant faces of the great stone peaks as the host from Camlorn and Urvaius plodded its way down the worn mountain road. Just behind the van rode Astien upon his spectacular palomino Morgan, next to the Duke of Urvaius and his retinue.

"So Arniel, tell me again about this Syllawen," asked the young prince with a slight grin as his horse elegantly walked along in a perfect gait.

Julius Scipion, Evermore

And so after three days of hard riding Julius, Louis and four weary guards arrived at the gates of the grand city of evermore, its many spires and high walls jutting from many directions Julius patted his horse on the side before spurring it one last time into the direction of the city gates.
Julius sat on his horse as he trotted through the streets of evermore there were many stalls and different events happening at the same time he rode towards where the guards had directed him a small house near the castle he looked at it as it came into his sights.

It was a two storey stone house with a small grassy area with a post for tying up the six horses he dismounted and handed his reins to a waiting stable hand the present as a token of appreciation to the queen tucked in Louis’ arms.
Julius stalked towards the waiting front door of his lodgings he took the key given to him and opened the door he turned to Louis and smiled before saying “welcome to our lodgings for however long we stay here” before letting in Louis and closing the door as the guards set about patrolling there small patch of territory.

Napoleon Jadieran, Castle Alsace Courtyard

Napoleon ran a hand through his chocolate brown hair as he adjusted to the news his voice slightly out of place in the calm facade that surrounded him “what do you mean they’ve left” he shouted into the messengers face he looked up at the castle before listening to the messengers reply “Our lord and your father have left to attend the festival of peace in the city of evermore” Napoleons slightly bulging eyes told the messenger to retreat before any harm was caused.

Napoleon looked at the throne he was going to have to look after until his lordship returned it was made out of marble with plush lining to sit upon he looked up at his lordships Crest its black and green colours fluttering in the light breeze that drifted around the room he looked around then strode purposefully to the main door he looked at the fountain that dominated the middle of the inner courtyard it had a small garden around its base with morning glory entwined around the base and different flowers being cultivated, the fountain itself was Sculpted in the shape of a tree.

He carried on walking, winking at one of the pretty young maids who blushed before he strode onwards to his orders home which was located across from the chapel of Julianos; the count had made the City of Alsace a bastion for those who studied in the way of knowledge and had an extensive collection of books some napoleon suspected were more than just your average facts.

He opened the door to his orders training yard he had changed quickly in his quarters to his usual attire of his training uniform he slid out his fine steel Longsword and began to make ordered strikes against the training dummy, this continued well into the evening until exhausted he fell asleep to ready himself for an almost certainly busy next day.

Sir Tiberius Valerius Aquila, Castle Evermore, 9th of Frostfall, 4E28

The queen and her loyal bodyguard wound through the castle. In his years spent guarding it, Tiberius had become rather accustomed to the messy plan of the fortress, no wall a stranger, no stories captured in the stained glass and tapestries unimagined. Epic tales of valour and glory, history and legend trapped in colour. They added a certain history to the place, a responsibility and expectancy to succeed. The Colovian lived a life of servitude to this old kingdom, a certain emotional input somehow attached to the ideal of Evermore.

Evermore meant refuge. Tiberius and Syllawen passed the http://media-1.web.britannica.com/eb-media/33/91733-004-0DC72BE5.jpg, the building a stark reminder of Evermore's input into the existence of the Order of Talos. Yet Tiberius felt somewhat distant from the place, as though he didn't belong, but perhaps Tiberius could belong nowhere since that grave day in Kvatch all those years ago.

The Altmeri queen and her protector reached a battlement that overlooked the entirety of her city.

"It's beautiful, isn't it? Evermore. The most silly, remote place in the world, but isn't it pretty? And half the land's lords and ladies are all to be assembled here." Syllawen glanced back at her bodyguard, "Do you think they'll like it?"

"Your grace, I'm sure the gluttons and slimeballs of the realm will love the opportunity to feed upon Sanguine's spoils, plot the death and downfall of all around them, [censored], and of course, mingle." Tiberius responded curtly.

Castle Evermore, 9th of Frostfall, 4E28

The Queen of Evermore couldn't help but smile at the reply from her brusque protector. She twirled in her night-gown, taking a sharp intake of the cool air, and graced him with a wry smile. "That's a yes, I suppose. Gosh, you are even more a cynic than my late husband, Ser Tiber'." at which the Queen rubbed her shoulders and stepped out from the precipice, starting to feel the chill keenly now. "I don't want any assassinations or slaughters at my party, Pontifex." she said warily, glancing those wide, shining yellow eyes at a mountain peak misty to her left. Syllawen liked to call Tiberius "Pontifex", and "Knight", "Protector", all sorts of things - just never his actual name.

"I know how these stories go, all merriment one minute and then red murder. I'll have none of it in my Castle. Elysana tells me she thinks they'll be a war, but I don't know why. It seems all the lords in High Rock love to ride against each-other in battle, like they don't know how to be friends at all. If a war does come.." she continued darkly, walking past Tiberius now, huge eyes following his, "We won't be found wanting. Our knights will make Titus, and your dear Talos, proud. But Dibella is the patron goddess of this feast, not Boethiah, or Mephala, or even that Sanguine fellow you mentioned. A night without murder, is my royal decree. Is that understood?" Syllawen finished, looking her protector keenly in the eye. He was the sergeant-at-arms of the entire Castle Evermore, and chiefly responsible for the security of her home. If there was one thing Syllawen didn't want, it was a bloodbath (though some intrigue would't hurt...). Whenever Syllawen could get an excuse to lecture any of her servants (especially those more qualified to her) she always took to it, and in her years as Queen she had developed a carefully practised severity. Her face could only hold that expression for so long however, before it collapsed into its natural warm, knowing smile.

"If you want to accomplish that by scaring the guests to death, then that is within your remit, brave Ser." she curtsied. "And you are, grave Protector, so sweetly the most qualified for that task." she said, smiling like a child, leading her knight back with the slightest wave of her hand.