Of Princes and Power-Chapter I: A Game of Pawns

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 9:53 am

Of Princes and Power




The year is 4E 28 and the mighty Cyrodiilic Empire has finally taken its last breath. Having no legitimate heir to the throne the Elder Council had taken the responsibility of governing the Empire and all of its provinces upon Martin Septim's death. Needless to say personal interests became involved and corruption ran rampant throughout the council as the years passed. Contradicting claims to the throne where made by many and a struggle for power ensued. In the end the once great Cyrodiilic Empire forged by Tiber Septim brought about its own death. During the internal struggle for power many of the provinces saw a chance to relieve themselves of their Imperial overlords. Morrowind was the first to secede, as was expected by many. The Dunmeri nation had long held contempt for the Imperials and their empire. The nation Resdayn was reforged anew and the traditional aristocracy and house system reigned supreme once again. King Hlaalu Helseth was betrayed and executed in the city of Mournhold with the representatives of all the Great Houses present, except for Hlaalu. With their Imperial supporters and main source of income gone House Hlaalu lost the majority of its power to the other houses. Redoran struck the first blow to its old nemesis and seized the majority of Hlaalu lands on Vvardenfell and the mainland while they fled south near their Dres allies. House Indoril and Redoran emerged as the largest political Houses in the North, except for the Telvanni who kept to themselves, while the Dres and the remnants of House Hlaalu formed the majority of the Southern political powers.

The second nation to secede was the Altmeri nation of the Summerset Isles. However no sooner had they seceded then a new war began within their own borders. Two radical groups, the Thalmor and the Beautiful, fought a quick and brutal war for power over the Isles. The Thalmor emerged victorious after just two years. Soon after the victory of the Thalmor Valenwood seceded from the Empire as well, reforming the Aldmeri Dominion with their Altmer kin.

Black Marsh and parts of Skyrim and Hammerfell soon followed. The East of Hammerfell still maintained its allegiance to the Empire while the West split into two kingdoms. The Sentillian Empire reigned supreme in the North, while the Kingdom of Rihad took power in the south. In Skyrim there was a brief civil war resulting in a truce between the Empire and the newly formed Nordic Confederation. The Confederation took the majority of the holds, however The Empire still controls The Rift and The Pale. After its succession Black Marsh was consumed in tribal wars. However a few major tribes in the North have taken up arms against the Dres and Hlaalu of Resdayn.

High Rock was the last to secede from the Empire and did so without incident or conflict. The Empire had their hands full with the internal struggle for power and wars in the North and South; they offered no resistance as the independent states of High Rock seceded one by one.

The independent states that once formed High Rock warred between themselves for a long time. As time passed and wars raged many of the lesser kingdoms swore fealty to the larger and more prominent political powers of High Rock. Eventually nine realms reigned over the entirety of High Rock, including the now independent nation of Orsinium. Of the eight Bretic realms four allegiances where born. Daggerfall and Camlorn allied in the West, Northpoint and Sharnhelm in the North, Wayrest and Evermore in the South, and Jehanna and Farrun to the East

The political situation in High Rock in tense to say the least. Wayrest and Daggerfall are at each others throats once again. Jehanna and Farrun are plagued by Nordic hosts in the east and the overly ambitious Elysana of Wayrest in the West. Northpoint is caught in the middle of the Wayrest-Daggerfall conflict, wary of choosing sides and trying to focus its attention on holding itself together.

High Rock has become a battlefield of Princes and Powers...

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The setting is High Rock in the 28th year of the 4th era, and it is a tumultuous time. Opposing Kingdoms are at each other's throat and the realms sit on the brink of war. You are in service to a realm of your choosing. Whether you be a gallant knight sworn to uphold your kingdom's honor, a devious assassin hired to bring down a nation from the bottom up, or even a Lord who rides as a bannerman to your King, all will be swept up into this conflict of steel and power. How you wage your war is up to you. You may command an army of ten-thousand men-at-arms and batter your foe into the ground, or you may choose to wield a silver tongue instead, so that you can manipulate the realms to your liking. All is up to you to decide, and when it comes down to the game of Princes and Powers, you live or you die.



Alright, you may choose who you wish to play as so long as it is within reason. I will list all of the Kingdoms and the Lordships they reign over so that you may choose who you wish to serve or perhaps who you wish to lead. However, be warned, there are only a few spots open for Kings or Queens so it is up to the discretion of the Hosts (aSaPp!5@, and Woolymammoth) as to who will receive those positions. The lesser lords are free for choosing though, but I encourage some of you to take on other more mundane roles as well. It will be rather boring if everyone is a King or Lesser Lord. I will require that if you choose to play as a Lord or King that you have at least one other more mundane character such as a Knight, assassin, court wizard, etc. Multiple characters are allowed and encouraged. You may introduce new characters whenever you like and have as many as you want. Some characters will die or be killed in this RP so plan accordingly.

Rules:

1. No ubering or god-modding. Your character is limited by the laws of nature. He/she is not all knowing or all powerful, if any of the GM's sense that a character is being played in a all powerful or all knowing way then we will take the appropriate action against it. Remember to give and take when you play your character. Don't expect to get away with slaying 50 men at once, you'll end up with a random arrow in your neck. Play your characters the right way and play them sensibly. It's just stupid when you have a guy in the RP that just seems to be able to guess everything. RP your character unknowing of something if he really doesn't know even if it means his/her death.

2. I encourage you to read http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1343911-geraldduvals-guide-to-battle-rps-reposted/ as well ashttp://www.gamesas.com/topic/747418-so-you-think-you-can-rp/. However it is not mandatory.

3. Use good grammar and spelling. Type your post up in Word if you don't think you can do it. Everyone makes mistakes so I don't have anything against people who aren't good at the language, but not using precautions such as Word shows you really don't care. Make your posts lengthy and descriptive. Even if it is just a boring conversation, describe, describe, describe! Four line posts are not very appealing to most people.

4. Familiarize yourself with the lore of the region so you don't look like and idiot when posting. You don't have to go too in depth, just enough to know what you're doing.

5. Try not to dwell too much on game mechanics, especially as far as magick goes. It is rare to be gifted in the arcane and those who are gifted are not limited by game mechanics. You may improvise as you wish when it comes to magick as long as it's not over the top.

6. Keep in mind the ethnic/racial composition of your armies and factions. There shouldn't be an huge amount of non-Bretons making up your armies. For instance no legion of 5000 Dunmeri battlemages, etc.

7. Character sheets should be posted in the discussion thread.

(And yes I borrowed a few of these from the IBT. :tongue:)


Character Sheet Format:

Basic Requirements:

[b]Name:[/b][b]Title:[/b][b]Age:[/b][b]Race:[/b][b]Gender[/b][b]Appearance:[/b][b]Skills:[/b][b]Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.):[/b][b]Background:[/b]

You may add sections as you like so long as that base information is down.

Maps:
http://i40.tinypic.com/2zr13te.png
http://i865.photobucket.com/albums/ab216/asapp152/OPaPGeoMap2.jpg


List of Realms and their Lordships:

*****Not all Lordships will be occupied. Choose one you like if you wish to be a Lord, the ones that are not filled will be filled with NPC's. And remember, not everyone can be a Lord. The number next to each Lordship corresponds to its position on http://i865.photobucket.com/albums/ab216/asapp152/OPaPGeoMap3.jpg.*****
  • Open- Free to the taking
  • Reserved Unclaimed- Approval Required to claim
  • Locked- Not Claimable
  • Claimed- Already taken.
Basic Feudal System:

- King
--- Queen
----- Archduke
------- Grand Duke
--------- Count
----------- Baron
------------- Knight
--------------- Serf


------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Kingdom of Daggerfall(1):


A brief synopsis of the Kingdom of Daggerfall by Person From Anticlere:
Spoiler
Daggerfall is among the most densely populated regions in High Rock, and one of the most prosperous as well – at least as far as its nobility is concerned. A land of pleasant rolling hills yet stark social contrasts, many areas that have been part of the kingdom for longest have inherited from ancient times of Elven rule a habit of treating the commoners almost like slaves; many peasants remain serfs to this day and age, and sometimes even the burghers of the towns and cities cannot feel safe from the selfish designs of the nobility. Meanwhile, countless barons, sur-barons, baronets and their ilk cling to the right to call their bloodline noble, treasuring ancient documents, treaties and privileges in vast record books that are iconic of the Daggerfallians’ love of all things dusty, old and proven, all in the name of protecting their freedom. Even the lowliest chevalier – the martial lesser nobility of the realm – may have proof of his (or her; female knights are far from unheard of in the realm, though Bretons of some other realms may find this odd and even preposterous) status that goes back to the first known knightly privileges granted by King Thagore in the early years of the First Era.

The nobles of Daggerfall are thus the most politically active of the estates; in fact, they have a virtual monopoly over all offices and goings-on in the realm, as well as a dominant position in the economy and making up the backbone of the kingdom’s military. This is at the expense of the other three estates – the clergy, the burghers and the peasantry, all of whom have little to no say in the General Estates of the realm, despite the fact both the king and his blue-blooded vassals feel the need to maintain some facade of the others’ involvement and activity in the rule of the realm. Just around 7% of the kingdom’s inhabitants (a higher percentage compared to most other Bretic realms, where nobles may make up only 2-4%, but nevertheless just a small portion of the whole population) therefore have nearly complete control over the whole rest, except insofar as they are checked by the king in his own pursuit of unquestioned control.

Titles of the nobility in Daggerfall are as follows, from the monarch himself to the lowliest, most destitute and least influential of all:

King and Queen – in theory equal by Daggerfall’s law, but one or the other invariably dominates the other; the case for most of the kingdom’s history has been the king taking the dominant role, as they nearly always come from House Thagor and thus are well established in the realm, whereas their queens tend to be foreigners – either from other Bretic realms or other corners of Tamriel altogether.
Archduke and Archduchess – mistakenly often believed to be a new title created for the purpose of establishing Camlorn’s status in the new joint kingdom. In fact, there are four other families that can claim the title; all of them based in the old heartland of the kingdom’s core and all of them vastly influential and powerful.
Duke and Duchess – lesser in relation to the Archdukes, those of this rank are usually considerably more powerful than elsewhere in High Rock, owing to Daggerfall’s influence and wealth compared to many less fortunate Bretic realms. It is not uncommon for them to have holdings beyond the old borders of the kingdom, particularly in the previously independent Barony of Tulune – something that made politics between the two realms vastly complicated.
Lord-Marcher and Lady-Marchess – an ancient title mostly unique to Daggerfall and several surrounding realms that inherited their social structure from the kingdom, nobles holding this title are quite rare and usually are referred to as simply Marcher or Marchess. This is a title granted to nobles handpicked by the king to take charge of problematic border regions, being granted authority to call a levy from the surrounding lands without the word of the ruling monarch; understandably, this makes this position rather problematic and that is why this is not usually a hereditary title.
Baron and Baroness – the lowest title that still confers peerage upon a noble, i.e. the right to carry oneself as an equal among other nobles of Daggerfall and even the monarchs and be respected as such.
Sur-Baron and Sur-Baroness – most easily explained as those who are not considered peers but are also too influential or nevertheless honoured to be granted the rank of baronet. Daggerfallian heralds claim there are quite distinct differences between these three titles, yet there are no recorded explanations of such.
Baronet and Baronetess – an obscure middle ground between the ‘proper’ nobility and the vast ranks of lesser nobility, baronets are quite far from being considered peers, however may be granted the privilege of ‘the Cloth’ – exemption from personal war service. This does not stop many from confusing baronets with chevaliers, which is usually a great insult to those who hold this rank.
Chevalier – the title itself does not differentiate between male and female, however men of this rank are referred to as ‘sir’, while women – ‘dame’; as mentioned above, female knights are not so unusual in Daggerfall. The status of chevalier is the only more promising hint of social mobility in the kingdom – far from being peers, chevaliers are often not even considered proper nobility and may not be granted the Cloth; their status depends entirely on service in war and they are what is most often meant when one says ‘bannerman’ in Daggerfall. While usually hereditary, their status depends more than other nobles’ on being able to actually perform their function – chevaliers who cannot prove that they own at least two horses for their own personal use are stripped of the rank.


King: Camaron Thagor of Daggerfall (Played by Person From Anticlere)
Queen: Kelmena Thagor of Camlorn, Daughter of Archduke Senhyn (Played by Person From Anticlere)

Vassals:
  • The Lordship of Anticlere(3): Manfred Flyte (Played by Person From Anticlere)
  • The Duchy of Daenia(17): (open)
  • The Duchy of Shalgora(2): (open)
  • The Barony of Illessan Hills(14): Hector Salford (Played by Magus the Red)
A brief synopsis on the Lordship of Anticlere by Person From Anticlere:
Spoiler
For 28 years since those troubled times now, the reigning Flyte has sat on the throne, weathering the winds of change as Wayrest’s rule was changed by Daggerfall’s; he steered his realm away from the major military confrontations of those years, focusing instead on maintaining healthy trade relationships with the now-foreign port of Anvil as well as the much closer Redguard ports on the other side of the Iliac Bay. As a result, Anticlere has entered a miniature renaissance of economic prosperity and culture following the downfall experienced after the disastrous Riot of Reich Gradkeep years ago; something that has not gone unnoticed by her neighbours, who remain wary of the lordship’s continued neutrality and indifference to High Rock affairs – something that, according to the predictions of some, could not long last, not now when Daggerfall pulls together its resources for an anticipated confrontation with their age-old enemy across the Bay – a confrontation that many Anticlerians, Manfred included, view with distaste.


In the Bretic West, Anticlere is unusual in that its western border was actually outside the easternmost limits of the ancient kingdom of Daggerfall – which conquered nearly all other western Bretic realms (with the interesting exception of Glenpoint), eventually contracting politically but leaving behind its social structure and enormous cultural influence. Not only was Anticlere not a part of Daggerfall, however – it hardly had any dealings with it at all, at the time being far from the single realm we know it as today, but rather a mess of various magocrats’ holdings in the east and petty hillmen chieftains’ holdings in the west, who held off the unenthusiastic thrusts into what Daggerfallians of the time considered ‘the far east’ without too much difficulty, continual border raids and minor conflicts being the norm for the time of Daggerfall’s stay in what is now Shalgora. These circumstances make Anticlere rather distinct, but not, as some Daggerfallians might claim, inferior – in fact, some might say it actually has more vigour than the stagnated ancient structure that dominates the kingdom to its west.

The Lordship is quite easy to divide into two rather distinct cultural groups. In the west, the hills that stretch from the north almost to the very coast in the south of Anticlere and abate into the central plains of Shalgora are home to a rather independent and quite rugged people – the descendants of those same ancient semi-nomadic hillmen who were warlike even among the Bretons of the times, among whom conquerors and warriors numbered far more than artists and bards. Here, the petty nobility – and there is hardly any other sort in the Western Hills – is hardly distinguishable from the freemen, who dominate in this region and guard their status rather fiercely from their preferred solitude of farmsteads that seem almost like miniature fortresses.

The hilltop fortresses that dot this land are almost all those of the Flyte or maintained communally by the guilds of the capital – testament to a nobility that never quite formed, at least not in the way it did in most other parts of High Rock. To a Daggerfallian eye, these are almost the lands of barbarians who have no notion of order, though in fact to refer to them as hillmen would be rather archaic – the term is usually associated with the less advanced tribal people who wandered High Rock with their herds in its earliest years, while the freemen of the Anticlerian west are hardly any less cultured and sophisticated than their eastern lowland brothers; most often it is simply the case that the lack of sizeable estates and large collective fields upsets an eye used to the serf villages that dominate the rest of western High Rock.

It is the Gradkeep Plains in the east – who once gave their name to the entire realm – that seem more acceptable and appealing to foreign Bretons. Here one might even find a dozen or so families of greater nobles in the sea of their lesser counterparts, descendants of either the ancient magocrats or the more recent Gradkeeper barons who fought one another for influence and control before the eventual forming of Reich Gradkeep. Castles dot the land far more readily, and some are far grander and more imposing, than in the west, bastions of the last few remaining barons, whose power was mostly broken at the forging of a united realm and then again by Auberon Flyte’s ‘iron years’ – with the exception of the barons of Chestermarket, distant relatives of the now-extinct Graddock line.

Of note is the fact that in Anticlere, the social ladder for the nobility never became quite as extensive as elsewhere in High Rock. This has less to do with any inferiority that the Daggerfallians so readily ascribe anyone not following their example and more with the fact that the nobles haven’t for long held complete power here, overshadowed a fair bit by the emergent burghers of the capital, particularly the Guilds – who are by now more of political powers than unions of craftsmen.

Lord and Lady – the rulers of the realm, in Anticlere they have several titles; Flyte is the most recent, in honour of Auberon Flyte’s successful reign, however Gradkeepers in general most often refer to their ruler by the archaic title of captal, while their nobility also often use the title of Grand Baron, a remnant from the times when the Gradkeep was divided into dozens of little baronies.
Duke and Duchess – few exist in Anticlere, all invariably located in the eastern Gradkeep Plains, and even fewer of them often use this title, which is often considered with disdain a mere import from Daggerfall. Most prefer the much more established title of baron, though the ducal titles are more often used when dealing with Bretons from outside Anticlere to avoid confusion and insult.
Baron and Baroness – a catch-all term for Anticlerian nobility, unlike in Daggerfall and the realms that follow its model where it is merely the lowest rank of peer nobility. If one hears an Anticlerian talking about ‘the barons’, he or she may well be talking of nobles in general.
Chevalier – hardly a term for nobles anymore, however worth noting since there remain some traditional knights in some parts of the Gradkeep Plains. Much like what a baron is to the nobles, a chevalier is a term for all well-trained soldiers in Anticlere and in this day and age more often refers to a noble’s hired retainers (who are very popular – few nobles do not keep at least a tiny permanent force of several dozen well-trained fighters, almost always lead by battlemages) rather than what other Bretons might consider to be knights.

The Archduchy of Camlorn(20):

A brief synopsis on the Archduchy of Camlorn: (Coming Soon)

Archduke: Senhyn Valtieri of Camlorn (Played by aSaPp!5@)
Archduchess: Lysa of Anticlere - Deceased

Prince (Heir): Astien Valtieri (Played by aSaPp!5@)

Vassals:
  • The Duchy of Urvaius(18): Duke Arniel de Athee (Played by Athell)
  • The County of Dwynnen(4): (open)
  • The County of Kambria(6): (open)
  • The County of Koegria(7): (open)
A brief synopsis of the Duchy of Urvaius by Athell:
Spoiler


The Duchy of Urvaius, Vassal to the Archduchy of Camlorn, presided over by Duke Arniel de Athee heir to the late Duke Credal de Athee and Grandson to Duke Brelau who captured the castle in the year 3E 403 and kept his lands during ‘The Miracle of Peace’ the following decade.

The History of Urvaius, from the year 3E 403

Urviaus, the fertile county nestled in the south of High Rock, bordered by Dwynnen, Anticlere, Camlorn and Daenia. Perhaps the most recent change in the Duchy occurred in the year 3E 403, when this history handily begins, when the county found itself with no living heir. A battle for power promptly began, if it can be called that, sharp word were exchanged and many councils called but eventually Brelau de Athee was chosen to run the Duchy, made legitimate by a relation on his mother’s side from the end of the second era.

At first it seemed that the various councils had made a mistake, the new made Duke struggled to grasp his new role and Urvaius suffered. However eventually Duke Brelau settled into his position and started to work for the county.

In those days the county was smaller than it is now, the ‘Miracle of Peace’ also known as The Warp in the West had an important impact on the Duchies borders. Overnight Duke Brelau found his lands increased and the Lesser Lords that held the lands around him either dead or bearing his banner.

In the following months Duke Brelau swore the Lesser Lords into his service employing them where their talents were needed, Baron Ancus Gaerhouse became the new Master of the Coffers and six Knights were sworn into the Duke’s own guard.

The following decade was good for Urvaius, whilst not particularly expansive, it was a settling period and Urvaius became comfortable, able to produce for its own but not a notable name in High Rock.

In the four-hundredth and twenty-eighth year of the third era Duke Brelau de Athee died in his sleep aged sixty-two and his son Crendal de Athee and his wife Phebe de Athee, nee Buckwing, inherited the Dukedom.

Crendal was thirty-three when he inherited the position and he was ready for the responsibility along with his young wife. The story behind Phebe and Crendal’s marriage is an odd one, the young duke-to-be was on a trip to nearby Dwynnen and when he returned he returned with a wife. Neither refused to speak of how they met or their reasons for marriage. Needless to say Duke Brelau was not pleased with his son’s marriage, however a few weeks later it is rumored that Crendal was called to the Duke’s chambers, after this the Duke relented and allowed the marriage. It is still unknown as to what was said between father and son that night, however the damage was never fully repaired and for the rest of his days Brelau was frosty towards Phebe.

Years passed and Urviaus endured, quietly surviving in the middle of Camlorn and Daggerfall. However Duke Crendal had not yet sired a child and more importantly had not named an heir. Rumors that Phebe was barren or unable to give Crendal a child began to spread through the Duchy.

The rumors were dispelled when it was revealed that a child had been born. The child, a son, had come at a great cost to Duke Crendal and Urvaius, his wife Phebe died in the effort. The death of his wife changed the Duke and he became reserved, pulling away from public life. He left the running of the Duchy to his Masters and advisors and retired to his grief. It was this grief that killed him.

In the twenty-second year of the fourth era Duke Crendal was found dead in his rooms. His funeral was a somber affair and Urvaius spent the day in mourning for its brokenhearted Duke. The next day his son, Arniel de Athee, was named Duke of Urvaius.

The third de Athee duke made an instant impact on the Duchy, in his acceptance speech he declared his intent to turn the Duchy into one of the great powers in High Rock. After that, however, he was oddly quiet on the subject.

Six years down the line the only major changes Arniel has made to the county is to improve the food output by increasing the efficiency of the farms producing food for the cities and to follow through with a decree supposedly written by his father in the depths of his grief, the decree ordered all graveyards to be moved closer to the city walls, some were even moved next to Castle Urvaius itself.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Kingdom of Wayrest (10):

King: Deceased
Queen: Elysana of Wayrest (Played by Hi!)


Vassals:
  • The Duchy of Alcaire (8): (Open)
  • The County of Menvia(9): (Open)
  • The County of Markwasten(5): (Open)
The Lesser Kingdom of Evermore (13):

A brief synopsis on the Kingdom of Evermore by Vincent McCool:
Spoiler


Published 4E28 by the Bjoulsae Historical Society, University of Wayrest, with the Blessing of her most Gracious Queen Elysana of Wayrest and all her Dominions:


Our Noble Ally, The Kingdom of Evermore: An Introduction


The History of Evermore

Evermore. Jewel of the South East. The Gateway-House to the Reach, Wrothgaria and Hammerfell. The Hidden Kingdom in the Mountain. Invariably described as "sleepy" or "isolated" in outdated historical accounts of High Rock, the last few decades may have been among the most dramatic in Evermore's history. In a short passage of years the ancient Kingdom of Evermore's fate has been transformed. As it embarks bravely into the future by our side, none now can say what lies next for the once-overlooked dominion of Queen Syllawen Direnni, nor put a limit upon her future accomplishments.

The City of Evermore itself perches high amongst the snowy mountain peaks of the eastern arm of the Wrothgarian Mountains. It's immediate surroundings are thick pine forest, small outlying hamlets and farmlands have been hewn in the numerous plauteus along the winding road connecting Western High Rock to the East. Historically, it has been this strategic position on the only safe trade route through the trecherous mountains that has allowed Evermore to grow into the remarkable city it has become: the sprawling metropolis of wood and granite, set alone in the Wrothgarian Mountains. It is believed that, like many of Bretony's great cities, Evermore was originally founded as a trading depot by the Direnni Hedgemony in the First Era. Traditionally, the Barons, Dukes and more recently Kings of Evermore have held dominion over the the neighbouring pastoral County of Gwened, though some rulers of Evermore's deep past have streched their dominion as far west as Orisinium or far into the Reach itself.

For most of the Third Era however, Evermore faded into obscurity in the accounts of historians. Holding dominion over no more than its surrounding mountains, Evermore was never the less recognised as a Kingdom in the Imperial Court ever since its part in the War of the Red Diamond, opposing the dread armies of Queen Potema of Solitude. The rest of the third era passed almost without incident. Seasons came and went, snows fell and thawed. Petty wars would sometimes entangle Evermore, but no nation was capable of launching an attack through the narrow mountain paths that are the only access to the Capital. The Kings of Evermore were long content not to expand upon their borders.

All this was changed, of course, by the Miracle of Peace. The events of the 10th of Frostfall 3E 417 altered the political landscape of the entire region for ever, wiping away centuries of relative stability. Evermore briefly found itself an apparant Vassal of Oricinium (though this claim was never to be properly staked). In the confusion that followed, Evermore was brought into a hasty Alliance first with Gauvadon and then Wayrest, as the Orcs where pushed out of Eastern Wrothgaria. The victorious armies of Evermore consolidated their position with a number of short conflicts against local Baronies that bordered the ancient Kingdom, reconnecting Evermore's dominance of the corridor between the Bay of Hearts and the Bjoulsea River. As Wayrest looked eastward, the Kingdom of Evermore moved to guarantee the independance of Gauvadon from the advances of our great nation, a treaty that was ratified by the marriage of young Prince Titus to the fair Yvonne of Gauvadon.

In 3E 420 Titus would accend to the throne of Evermore to lead a personal union with Gauvadon. This marriage was however to end in distaster, in a scandal too infamous too be repeated here. Suffice to say, Lady Yvonne fled her husband's wrath and returned to Gauvadon in disgrace. The scandal only intensified as accusiations of quite unimaginable baseness where flung, and King Titus was brought to war with the Duchy of Gauvadon. The resulting conflict was drawn out and bloody, ending in a decisive victory amd the swift execution of Lady Yvonne. The remaining members of the Ducal family of Gauvadon where driven out, imprisoned or executed and the total vassalisation of Gauvadon was quickly brought about, completing Evermore's dominance over the northern horseman of the Bjoulsae.

An inbittened King Titus was soon to test Evermore's military might again, as the crumbling fortunes of Sharnhelm caused a split in its southernmost dominions, between the Counties of Gwened and Portdun. Titus' father had almost sparked war with Northpoint over the County of Gwened, the breadbasket of north-east Wrothgaria, but with the two northern kingdoms at each-other's throats, the way was clear for King Titus. Evermore entered the local conflict, backing the Count of Gwened, and defeated Portdun in a decisive, short war. In gratitude for this service, the Count of Gwened swore fealty to King Titus, stretching his dominion from the border with Wayrest all the way north along much of the Bay of Hearts.

Evermore prospered under King Titus and he was well loved. The mountain Kingdom gathered in celebration when King Titus accepted the hand in marriage of a new bride, the Altmer Syllawen Direnni, widely known as the most beautiful Princess in all the Iliac. The people of Evermore where soon to learn that Queen Syllawen did not quite live up to her illustrious name, as a member of perhaps the most famous of all Altmer familes, Great Clan Direnni. The Queen consort showed no particular prowess for the arcane arts; it was often said the only magic to Evermore's new Queen was her beauty. Although Syllawen Direnni was 14 years her husband's senior, in terms of a well-groomed Altmeri princess she was in the blossoming of her youth, and was seen throughout the Kingdom as the crowning jewel in their beloved King's accomplishments.

Soon after the arrival of Queen Syllawen, the courts of Wayrest and Evermore began to move closer together. Titus, like his father had been mistrustful of Lady Elysana of Wayrest, but his Elven wife, in her wisdom an ardent admirier of Elysana, soothed his fears and helped instigate what would prove to be a long-lasting and fruitfull alliance with our people. A non-aggression treaty was signed in 4E 15, and this was soon put to the test when the ever-ambitious King Titus again involved himself in the downfall of Sharnhelm. In a brutally short war, Portdun was again defeated and added to his Kingdom, declared a Barony of Evermore. In 4E 22, with Evermore's boundries now stretching from the moors of Markwasten in the north to the stretch of the Bjoulsae River in the south, Queen Elysana deemed it appropriate for Wayrest and Evermore to make offical their alliance. It is thought that Queen consort Syllawen Direnni had again been intimately involved with the creation of this treaty. While Evermore's lands were just as numerous as ours, they were paulty in population and wealth in comparison to Wayrest's holdings across the Iliac, and with King Titus aging and sickly, Elysanna assumed chief command of Evermore's political affairs. It is around this time that the phrase "Lesser Kingdom" returned as an epithet to Evermore, unused since the Warp in the West.

The Great King Titus died in 4E 26, aged 70, prompting the grandest funeral ceremony in Evermore's long history. The minor scandal that was caused by the contents of the dead King's will is not within the remit of the present piece. Again, the bare facts shall suffice: after an indepedant investigation conducted by the Court of Wayrest and after numerous arcane dating processes, the will of King Titus was proved genuine, and his widow, Syllawen Direnni was declared Queen of Evermore and All Her Dominions.


Evermore Now


Not two years have passed since Queen Syllawen's Coronation, and yet Evermore is unrecognisable to the Kingdom her beloved husband had ruled. Almost instantly, the Court of Evermore was opened up to guests from across all Tamriel. The prestige of the name Direnni and the unusual allure of Queen Syllawen herself has brought the famous and the brilliant flocking to the Hidden Kingdom in the Mountain. The wooden boulivards of Evermore are now draqed in exotic colours, banners that change for each day of the week. Festivals, tournaments of wit, artistry and magery are a constant feature of the life of Evermore. The Jewel in the Wrothgarian Mountains now never sleeps, and strange new faces are always to be found taking the picturesque road to Evermore, all to visit the restless, now-famous Court of Evermore.

Needless to say, the new Queen of Evermore is a somewhat divisive figure amongst her people. Whereas Syllawen Direnni is a reportedly a sensation in places as far-flung as Narsis and even Lilmoth, a large portion of the nobility of Evermore do not find their new Sovereign so agreeable. While the vast majority of her subjects find no qualm with her Altmer heritage, Queen Syllawen's eccentric behavoir and extravagant lifestyle has raised many brows amongst the traditionalists throughout her dominion. It is a common joke, heard espessically amongst the landed Nobility of Portdun and Gauvaden, to refer to Queen Syllawen's reign as "The Second Direnni Hedgemony".

Syllawen's reputation amongst the serfs could not be more different. All those not backward enough in their thinking to not allow for an Altmer on the throne appear to adore the Queen of Evermore. One of the few political contributions Syllawen has made in her so far short reign was the controversial abolition of all tariffs to Wayrest, and the entering into a trade league with our City-state. The result of this was an instant influx of guilds from Wayrest's holds in the Iliac, which already have swept away the old burgher order. While many of the middle classes resent Syllawen for this, the wealth soon followed, bringing more trade through Evermore's dominions than it has ever seen before. Gwened and Portdun in particular have benefited from this policy and it is said the lower classes in those lands hold Syllawen in even higher esteem than the indefatigable, late Titus. Strengthed with the trade and wealth of Wayrest, the highways of Evermore are safer than ever in the ancient Kingdom's history.

Even as Queen Syllawen splits opinion, she unites Evermore under a new ideal. It is the prominent mage class of her Kingdom that perhaps owes the most to the quite remarkable Queen. The flow of foreign ideas, philosophers, sorcerers and poets that pass through the Court of Evermore are sparking what some are already calling a new Golden Age of Culture for the ancient Kingdom. While the bitter, conservative-minded traditionalists whisper that some point the coffers will run out, or the Alliance of Wayrest may lead Evermore into conflicts inadvisable, what is undoutable is that Evermore has turned over a new leaf; and the next history to be written of the once-sleepy Hidden Kingdom in the Mountain will be more facinating and unpredictable than any preceding.

~ Louis Collywood, University of Wayrest, 4E28

King: Titus -Deceased
Queen: Syllawen Dirreni (Played by Vincent McCool)

Vassals:
  • The Duchy of Gauvadon (15): Tyanis Porout (Played by Kalamari)
  • The County of Gwened (12): (Reserved to Gavril)
  • The Barony of Portdun (11): (Open)
A brief synopsis on the County of Gwened by Gavril:
Spoiler

A Short History of County Gwened and their war against Shornhelm and Evermore.

The county of Gwened, bordered by the kingdom of Evermore, County Gauvadan and Portdan, was and has always been the farmland of its neighboring kingdoms, counties and dukedoms. For most of history it had been in the hands of the Kingdom of Shornhelm as a poor, rural land without any power.

It is only recently that county Gwened changed allegiance to the queen of Evermore after a series of bloody wars and rebellions. In the year three of the fourth era count Robert of Gwened died at the respected age of eighty and his son, Gwyde inherited his father’s title. Up until this day it is unsure if Gwyde helped speed up his father’s death or not, although every investigation to the matter has been ended abruptly after the disappearance of the investigator and now, years later no evidence has been found to prove Gwyde’s involvement because it has been probably destroyed.

From his adolescence Gwyde was the rebellious type and when he saw the poverty his people lived in grow each year the first act to undertake was to refuse the ridiculous taxes ordered by the king of Shornhelm and raise an army consisting of the elite troops of The Order of the Crypt and many peasants who all signed up willingly.

War followed and two years later Gwened announced itself as an independent state. They had lost all their coastal regions and the Crypt of Hearts, but instead owned a large part of the inner lands of Portdun. It took Gwened five years to rebuilt their economics and army.

Self appointed King Gwyde of Gwened demanded the Crypt to be given back to Gwened since in his eyes they were its roghtfull defenders. Shornhelm refused to listen and when they got involved in a war with Northpoint, after which Shornhelm would become a vassal state, Gwyde decided to attack Portdun again to reconquer the crypt.

Shornhelm and Northpoint created a temporary no attack pact, giving Shornhelm the time to turne its attention to Gwened again. With Portdun being backed up by Shornhelm, Gwened didn’t stand a chance and asked for help from its neighboring kingdom, Evermore. In return for fealty, Evermore, who had made a claim for Gwened in the third era got what it wanted, intervened and drove the armies of Shornhelm out of Gwened and at the end of this war the current borders have been set.

Gwyde had the Crypt of Hearts back, but Gwened was now a county again under the lordship of king Titus. Unhappy and wanting a new war it didn’t take long for Gwyde to restart a rebellion for Gwened’s independence once again, but the people were poor, tired and sick of the fighting and a single battalion lead by the current count Varnand Russaud of Gwened ended it in mere months.

the new count, Varnand De Valois, was installed in his new position. It was under his reign that the county prospered again. The rural land became richer and the city of Gwened grew in size while a new city was born at the other side of Gwened. The people were prosperous since there new count had taken care of the many bandits raiding the villages and the Knights of the Crypt managed to find a way to close the crypt and keep the undead from coming out.

It is now one of Evermore most loyal vassal states and an important farmland for its bordering neighbors located in the Wrothgarian mountains. With the farmers having no need to fear the bandit raids anymore, nor the attacks from the undead that came from the Crypt of Hearts, the harvest became larger and better and it Gwened became an important export county of important life resources that can’t be harvested high in the mountains of Wrothgarian.

They prospered from the trade and poverty is again a far away memory to the farmers and citizens of county Gwened.



------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Kingdom of Northpoint (28):

King: Daric Caron (Reserved to Broken Scale)
Queen: (Reserved)
Princess (Heir): Elissa Carron (Played by Broken Scale)

Vassals:
  • The Duchy of Thorkan (27): (open)
  • The County of Auvernge (24): (open)
  • The County of Alsace (25): Julius Scipion (Played by Magus the Red)
  • The Barony of White Haven (23): (open)
The Grand Duchy of Shornhelm (26):

Grand Duke: Allard Lariat (Reserved to VincentMcCool)
Grand Duchess: Deceased

Vassals:
  • The County of Darguard (19): (open)
  • The Barony of Thornvale (22): (open)
  • The Barony of Eagle Brook (16): (open)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Kingdom of Jehanna (36):

King: (Reserved-Unclaimed)
Queen: (Reserved-Unclaimed)

Vassals:
  • The Duchy of Kathgran Vale (33): (open)
  • The County of Raven Spring (32): (open)
  • The Barony of Dunkarn Haven (31): (open)
The Kingdom of Farrun (35):

King: (Reserved-Unclaimed)
Queen: (Reserved-Unclaimed)

Vassals:
  • The Duchy of Bordaigne (29): (open)
  • The County of Tregorrois (30): (open)
  • The County of Dunlain (34): (open)
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

**You can find most of the banners for each Lordship http://www.gamesas.com/topic/1198646-the-royalty-of-high-rock/page__st__30__p__18605500__hl__banners__fromsearch__1#entry18605500**


Relations Between the Realms:

Daggerfall and Camlorn: Daggerfall and Camlorn are close allies. The Archduke of Camlorn's daughter has been married to the King of Daggerfall Camaron Thagor creating a tight bond between the nations. The Kingdom of Camlorn has sworn fealty to Daggerfall becoming the Archduchy of Camlorn. Daggerfall seeks to finally rid itself of Wayrest and Elysana, who has been nothing but a Thorn in its side for the past few decades.

Wayrest and Evermore: Kingdom of Evermore has sworn allegiance to Elysana of Wayrest and become a Kingdom within the borders of its ally. Even though the monarchs of Evermore hold the title of King and Queen, their power is diluted compared to that of Wayrest. Therefore it is now known as a lesser Kingdom than a full independent Kingdom such as Wayrest or Daggerfall. Wayrest seeks to destroy its nemesis to the west once and for all, which would paved the way to controling the rest of High Rock.

Northpoint and Sharnhelm: During a long a brutal war the Kingdom of Northpoint conquered the Kingdom of Sharnhelm. The citizens of Sharnhelm still hold a slight contempt for the Kingdom of Northpoint making the realm somewhat unstable. Northpoint would rather focus on keeping the peace within it's borders than engaging in the war between Daggerfall and Wayrest.

Jehanna and Farrun: Soon after the secession from the empire Jehanna and Farrun set up an alliance. Since then both realms have remained as their own separate Kingdoms and rule their nations as such. Lately, during the Nordic invasions from the East, Jehanna and Farrun have become even closer allies in an attempt to keep the Nords at bay. However now a new threat has arisen on the horizon to the West, Lady Elysana of Wayrest has become quite ambitious and seeks to gain more power in an attempt to smite Daggerfall once and for all. Jehanna and Farrun must fight off the Nords in the east and keep their eyes on the West.
User avatar
Pixie
 
Posts: 3430
Joined: Sat Oct 07, 2006 4:50 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 6:47 pm

Characters:
Spoiler


The Lords, Ladies, and Men of the Kingdom of Daggerfall:
Manfred Flyte, Flyte if Anticlere, Captal of the Gradkeep, Baron-Elect and Protector of Mens, Protector of the Benevolence, Grand Magister of the Knights of the Flame.
Spoiler

Name: Manfred Flyte
Title: Here following the titles of Lord Manfred Flyte, rightful and legal ruler of Anticlere and all within its borders, in correct order as recognized throughout the civilized realms of the world, correctly shortened to His Lordship the Flyte of Anticlere:

Flyte of Anticlere, elected of free will by the Council-Elect in lawful representation of all the citizens of the realm;
Captal of the Gradkeep, so proclaimed by all its lords, its barons, its knights and its freemen;
Baron-Elect and Protector of Mens;
Protector of the Benevolence;
Grand Magister of the Knights of the Flame.
Age: 72
Race: Breton (Anticlerian)
Gender: Male

Appearance: Age has taken its toll on what was once a man of impressive stature; however Manfred retains something of his former fitness. His back is not hunched, thus he still stands at five feet eight; his muscles still bear some shades of their former strength. Quite notably, the lord still looks slightly odd due to his arms being a bit too long and his legs – too short. His complexion is quite tan for a Breton, an echo of the time he spent as a younger man in war, something that is also evident in his impressive array of scars.

Unlike many men of his age, the Flyte of Anticlere has not lost much of his hair and still retains a full head of medium length whitened hair, along with a rather scraggly beard. With age, his blue eyes have taken on a deeper, world-weary look than they used to and often seem rather dead, appearing to sit deeper inside his skull than they used to; thick whitened eyebrows still frown above them in worried thought, as they have for most of Manfred’s life. What draws the unaccustomed eye most is the fact the tip of his rather large nose is gone, an old present from a Dremora during the now-distant Oblivion Crisis.

Skills: Age has stripped Manfred of his martial prowess, but it has not clouded his mind; the lord still remains one of the sharpest minds within his own borders and retains his love for combat – as a spectator if he cannot partake himself, even if his healers advise him even against that. Though his voice may normally seem rather quiet, it can take on a booming quality at moment’s notice, so the Flyte of Anticlere still retains his oratory skills as well. ‘Of all the old geezers on thrones’, more patriotic citizens sometimes say in Anticlere’s taverns after a few bottles of wine, ‘our old captal is the most alive – and the most dangerous.’

Equipment: Manfred is most often seen dressed according to the Anticlerian fashion, in a manner that befits his station and age – clothes that are rather loose-fitting and open, as is usual in Anticlere thanks to local custom as well as the warm climate, of rather bright colours and trimmed a bit conservatively (by the standards of other fashion currents in High Rock at least) in silver; as with most Anticlerian men, he also wears a sizeable white ruffled collar. Of late, however, the lord has also taking to wearing a slightly thicker mantle for warmth.

Background: Born the only son of Auberon Flyte, Lord of Anticlere, Manfred has had a long and troubled life, which, much like his reign over the realm inherited from his father, was a series of ups and downs. Challenged immediately after assuming the throne by his own mother, he outmanoeuvred her and marked himself as just as strict as his father by banishing her to the small isle of Mens off the coast of mainland Anticlere. The Oblivion Crisis that soon struck prevented him from solidifying his hold over the throne, however, and while he was campaigning in defence of Wayrest – at the time his sovereign – his own wife Joan made a bid for power, using fabricated evidence of her husband’s death and a claim of regency for their one year old son Auberon as tools; Manfred’s return put a swift and brutal end to it as the lord painfully ordered her execution.

For 28 years since those troubled times now, the reigning Flyte has sat on the throne, weathering the winds of change as Wayrest’s rule was changed by Daggerfall’s; he steered his realm away from the major military confrontations of those years, focusing instead on maintaining healthy trade relationships with the now-foreign port of Anvil as well as the much closer Redguard ports on the other side of the Iliac Bay. As a result, Anticlere has entered a miniature renaissance of economic prosperity and culture following the downfall experienced after the disastrous Riot of Reich Gradkeep years ago; something that has not gone unnoticed by her neighbours, who remain wary of the lordship’s continued neutrality and indifference to High Rock affairs – something that, according to the predictions of some, could not long last, not now when Daggerfall pulls together its resources for an anticipated confrontation with their age-old enemy across the Bay – a confrontation that many Anticlerians, Manfred included, view with distaste.


In the Bretic West, Anticlere is unusual in that its western border was actually outside the easternmost limits of the ancient kingdom of Daggerfall – which conquered nearly all other western Bretic realms (with the interesting exception of Glenpoint), eventually contracting politically but leaving behind its social structure and enormous cultural influence. Not only was Anticlere not a part of Daggerfall, however – it hardly had any dealings with it at all, at the time being far from the single realm we know it as today, but rather a mess of various magocrats’ holdings in the east and petty hillmen chieftains’ holdings in the west, who held off the unenthusiastic thrusts into what Daggerfallians of the time considered ‘the far east’ without too much difficulty, continual border raids and minor conflicts being the norm for the time of Daggerfall’s stay in what is now Shalgora. These circumstances make Anticlere rather distinct, but not, as some Daggerfallians might claim, inferior – in fact, some might say it actually has more vigour than the stagnated ancient structure that dominates the kingdom to its west.

The Lordship is quite easy to divide into two rather distinct cultural groups. In the west, the hills that stretch from the north almost to the very coast in the south of Anticlere and abate into the central plains of Shalgora are home to a rather independent and quite rugged people – the descendants of those same ancient semi-nomadic hillmen who were warlike even among the Bretons of the times, among whom conquerors and warriors numbered far more than artists and bards. Here, the petty nobility – and there is hardly any other sort in the Western Hills – is hardly distinguishable from the freemen, who dominate in this region and guard their status rather fiercely from their preferred solitude of farmsteads that seem almost like miniature fortresses.

The hilltop fortresses that dot this land are almost all those of the Flyte or maintained communally by the guilds of the capital – testament to a nobility that never quite formed, at least not in the way it did in most other parts of High Rock. To a Daggerfallian eye, these are almost the lands of barbarians who have no notion of order, though in fact to refer to them as hillmen would be rather archaic – the term is usually associated with the less advanced tribal people who wandered High Rock with their herds in its earliest years, while the freemen of the Anticlerian west are hardly any less cultured and sophisticated than their eastern lowland brothers; most often it is simply the case that the lack of sizeable estates and large collective fields upsets an eye used to the serf villages that dominate the rest of western High Rock.

It is the Gradkeep Plains in the east – who once gave their name to the entire realm – that seem more acceptable and appealing to foreign Bretons. Here one might even find a dozen or so families of greater nobles in the sea of their lesser counterparts, descendants of either the ancient magocrats or the more recent Gradkeeper barons who fought one another for influence and control before the eventual forming of Reich Gradkeep. Castles dot the land far more readily, and some are far grander and more imposing, than in the west, bastions of the last few remaining barons, whose power was mostly broken at the forging of a united realm and then again by Auberon Flyte’s ‘iron years’ – with the exception of the barons of Chestermarket, distant relatives of the now-extinct Graddock line.

Of note is the fact that in Anticlere, the social ladder for the nobility never became quite as extensive as elsewhere in High Rock. This has less to do with any inferiority that the Daggerfallians so readily ascribe anyone not following their example and more with the fact that the nobles haven’t for long held complete power here, overshadowed a fair bit by the emergent burghers of the capital, particularly the Guilds – who are by now more of political powers than unions of craftsmen.

Lord and Lady – the rulers of the realm, in Anticlere they have several titles; Flyte is the most recent, in honour of Auberon Flyte’s successful reign, however Gradkeepers in general most often refer to their ruler by the archaic title of captal, while their nobility also often use the title of Grand Baron, a remnant from the times when the Gradkeep was divided into dozens of little baronies.
Duke and Duchess – few exist in Anticlere, all invariably located in the eastern Gradkeep Plains, and even fewer of them often use this title, which is often considered with disdain a mere import from Daggerfall. Most prefer the much more established title of baron, though the ducal titles are more often used when dealing with Bretons from outside Anticlere to avoid confusion and insult.
Baron and Baroness – a catch-all term for Anticlerian nobility, unlike in Daggerfall and the realms that follow its model where it is merely the lowest rank of peer nobility. If one hears an Anticlerian talking about ‘the barons’, he or she may well be talking of nobles in general.
Chevalier – hardly a term for nobles anymore, however worth noting since there remain some traditional knights in some parts of the Gradkeep Plains. Much like what a baron is to the nobles, a chevalier is a term for all well-trained soldiers in Anticlere and in this day and age more often refers to a noble’s hired retainers (who are very popular – few nobles do not keep at least a tiny permanent force of several dozen well-trained fighters, almost always lead by battlemages) rather than what other Bretons might consider to be knights.

Camaron Thagor, King of Daggerfall, Sovereign-Protector of Anticlere, of Illessan, of Daenia, of Shalgora, of Camlorn and all its domains, Protector of the Church of Kynareth, of Mara, of Zenithar, and of the Faith of the Nine and all the Faithful, Sovereign Lord of Tulune, of Northmoor, of Betony, Grand Magister of the Knights of the Dragon, Grand Magister of the Knights of the Owl, Honorary Magistrate-Defender of the Guild of Mages in High Rock, Rightful Lord and Patron of the City of Daggerfall, Baron of Glenpoint, of Rithwyn, and of Agaleck.
Spoiler

Name: Camaron Thagor
Title: Here following the titles of King Camaron, rightful ruler of the West, in correct order as recognized throughout the civilized realms of the world, shortened appropriately to His Majesty the Sovereign King of Daggerfall and all its domains and vassals:

King of All Daggerfall, indivisible and forever, thus entitled by right of blood and recognized by the Estates of the Realm;
Sovereign-Protector of Anticlere, of Illessan, of Daenia, of Shalgora, of Camlorn and all its domains;
Protector of the Church of Kynareth, of Mara, of Zenithar, and of the Faith of the Nine and all the Faithful;
Grand Magister of the Knights of the Dragon;
Grand Magister of the Knights of the Owl;
Honorary Magistrate-Defender of the Guild of Mages in High Rock;
Sovereign Lord of Tulune, of Northmoor, of Betony;
Rightful Lord and Patron of the City of Daggerfall and all her citizens, so recognized by the Guilds;
Baron of Glenpoint, of Rithwyn, and of Agaleck, and all other lesser domains rightfully of the House of Thagor.
Age: 40
Race: Breton (Daggerfallian)
Gender: Male

Appearance: Slightly under six feet, Camaron retains the fitness and poise he possessed in his youth. Though his skin is quite pale, especially compared to that usual to some of the other races of Tamriel, it is merely a natural feature common in the House of Thagor and among Bretic nobility in general; he is, in fact, very much healthy and rarely bothered either by sicknesses or old injuries.

Even as he soon turns 41, the king appears several years younger than he actually is, though age is beginning to show despite his best efforts – a careful eye could note that his pitch black hair is starting to thin slightly along the sides, its once deep colour losing just a touch of its texture as well; nevertheless, it is kept well trimmed and quite short with a slightly deliberately messy look to it that Camaron has proved unable to let go of through the years, which goes with his goatee and wispy moustache rather well. His light brown eyes retain a lively spark to them, though even it now sometimes dims, leaving his gaunt face strangely void of life when it does.

Skills: Camaron is a man of many skills, only a few of which are universally admired. He retains from his youth a reputation as one of the best dancers in the entirety of High Rock, as well as being supposedly still unmatched in the bedroom; a startling inability to keep his (many, many) affairs secret goes hand in hand with that. Unkind tongues often remember that the king’s achievements are often in the ballroom rather than in the jousting field, which is true where popular opinion is concerned – though he is a fine jouster and far from the last sword of his realm, whatever tourney victories he wins are overshadowed by a new scandal that same evening in the feast. All in all, the ruler of Daggerfall is an embodiment of Bretic passion and gusto for life.

All these escapades and adventures, along with many more, have contributed to the image of Camaron as an incompetent, lavish ruler. Those few who are part of the monarch’s closest circle of friends and advisors know that he considers this reputation his greatest victory of all.

Equipment: The king’s clothes vary from occasion to occasion, however as a rule he stays at the forefront of High Rock fashion, now often favouring exquisite robes of Nibenese soul silk over the armour of his youth; in fact, Camaron is rarely seen in military equipment, preferring to leave outfits almost Colovian in their simplicity and martial flavour to the more militant of his bannermen.

Background: Entitled to the very highest circle of Bretic politics from the moment of his birth, Camaron was the firstborn heir of the ancient House Thagor, the ruling bloodline of Daggerfall since (with some interruptions) the early First Era. His father Gothryd was an admired hero of the War of Betony, setting the bar high for his son from his first marriage; especially so since no other Bretic heirs were soon coming, with the king’s marriage to Aubk’i of Sentinel.

Public opinion from his own time might hold that Camaron failed in comparison to his father, proving an indulgent and passionate man who seemed to focus far more on lavish celebrations and ceremonies than ruling the kingdom, but it is often forgotten that during his reign, Daggerfall has more than stood its ground against the threatening advances of Wayrest’s shrewd Queen Elysana – it has expanded to include several neighbouring realms, annexing them outright or binding their rulers in oaths of vassalage. For a man who allegedly does not rule at all save from his bedroom, the current king’s reign has been quite successful, from his uneventful succession soon after the close of the Third Era right up to the current days of High Rock.


Daggerfall is among the most densely populated regions in High Rock, and one of the most prosperous as well – at least as far as its nobility is concerned. A land of pleasant rolling hills yet stark social contrasts, many areas that have been part of the kingdom for longest have inherited from ancient times of Elven rule a habit of treating the commoners almost like slaves; many peasants remain serfs to this day and age, and sometimes even the burghers of the towns and cities cannot feel safe from the selfish designs of the nobility. Meanwhile, countless barons, sur-barons, baronets and their ilk cling to the right to call their bloodline noble, treasuring ancient documents, treaties and privileges in vast record books that are iconic of the Daggerfallians’ love of all things dusty, old and proven, all in the name of protecting their freedom. Even the lowliest chevalier – the martial lesser nobility of the realm – may have proof of his (or her; female knights are far from unheard of in the realm, though Bretons of some other realms may find this odd and even preposterous) status that goes back to the first known knightly privileges granted by King Thagore in the early years of the First Era.

The nobles of Daggerfall are thus the most politically active of the estates; in fact, they have a virtual monopoly over all offices and goings-on in the realm, as well as a dominant position in the economy and making up the backbone of the kingdom’s military. This is at the expense of the other three estates – the clergy, the burghers and the peasantry, all of whom have little to no say in the General Estates of the realm, despite the fact both the king and his blue-blooded vassals feel the need to maintain some facade of the others’ involvement and activity in the rule of the realm. Just around 7% of the kingdom’s inhabitants (a higher percentage compared to most other Bretic realms, where nobles may make up only 2-4%, but nevertheless just a small portion of the whole population) therefore have nearly complete control over the whole rest, except insofar as they are checked by the king in his own pursuit of unquestioned control.

Titles of the nobility in Daggerfall are as follows, from the monarch himself to the lowliest, most destitute and least influential of all:

King and Queen – in theory equal by Daggerfall’s law, but one or the other invariably dominates the other; the case for most of the kingdom’s history has been the king taking the dominant role, as they nearly always come from House Thagor and thus are well established in the realm, whereas their queens tend to be foreigners – either from other Bretic realms or other corners of Tamriel altogether.
Archduke and Archduchess – mistakenly often believed to be a new title created for the purpose of establishing Camlorn’s status in the new joint kingdom. In fact, there are four other families that can claim the title; all of them based in the old heartland of the kingdom’s core and all of them vastly influential and powerful.
Duke and Duchess – lesser in relation to the Archdukes, those of this rank are usually considerably more powerful than elsewhere in High Rock, owing to Daggerfall’s influence and wealth compared to many less fortunate Bretic realms. It is not uncommon for them to have holdings beyond the old borders of the kingdom, particularly in the previously independent Barony of Tulune – something that made politics between the two realms vastly complicated.
Lord-Marcher and Lady-Marchess – an ancient title mostly unique to Daggerfall and several surrounding realms that inherited their social structure from the kingdom, nobles holding this title are quite rare and usually are referred to as simply Marcher or Marchess. This is a title granted to nobles handpicked by the king to take charge of problematic border regions, being granted authority to call a levy from the surrounding lands without the word of the ruling monarch; understandably, this makes this position rather problematic and that is why this is not usually a hereditary title.
Baron and Baroness – the lowest title that still confers peerage upon a noble, i.e. the right to carry oneself as an equal among other nobles of Daggerfall and even the monarchs and be respected as such.
Sur-Baron and Sur-Baroness – most easily explained as those who are not considered peers but are also too influential or nevertheless honoured to be granted the rank of baronet. Daggerfallian heralds claim there are quite distinct differences between these three titles, yet there are no recorded explanations of such.
Baronet and Baronetess – an obscure middle ground between the ‘proper’ nobility and the vast ranks of lesser nobility, baronets are quite far from being considered peers, however may be granted the privilege of ‘the Cloth’ – exemption from personal war service. This does not stop many from confusing baronets with chevaliers, which is usually a great insult to those who hold this rank.
Chevalier – the title itself does not differentiate between male and female, however men of this rank are referred to as ‘sir’, while women – ‘dame’; as mentioned above, female knights are not so unusual in Daggerfall. The status of chevalier is the only more promising hint of social mobility in the kingdom – far from being peers, chevaliers are often not even considered proper nobility and may not be granted the Cloth; their status depends entirely on service in war and they are what is most often meant when one says ‘bannerman’ in Daggerfall. While usually hereditary, their status depends more than other nobles’ on being able to actually perform their function – chevaliers who cannot prove that they own at least two horses for their own personal use are stripped of the rank.

Kelmena Thagor, Her Majesty the Queen of Daggerfall
Spoiler

Name: Kelmena Thagor
Title: Her Majesty the Queen of Daggerfall
Age: 22
Race: Breton (Camlornese-Anticlerian)
Gender: Female

Appearance: Kelmena has always been said to take more after her southerner mother, and quite rightly so. At five feet seven, she is not extraordinarily tall, of a slightly tanner complexion than most Breton aristocrats tend to be – much like is common for Anticlerians. She carries herself with the dignity of expected of a lady and the queen of one of the greatest powers in Daggerfall, and even those in her husband’s court who are loathe to have a queen from the ‘barbarian’ distant north cannot fault her there.

It is fortunate for western High Rock that Kelmena is among the more attractive noblewomen in the west; otherwise, King Camaron may have simply refused her father’s proposal of marriage and doomed High Rock’s west to a potential war. With thin, slightly arched eyebrows that sit above her expressive light green eyes, a small, slightly snub nose and thin lips, the Queen of Daggerfall is almost the very image of a Bretic noblewoman, further aided in creating such an appearance by the curly dark brown hair that frames her face.

Skills: Kelmena was not raised to be neither a warrior nor some free-spirited marvel; she was to be a noblewoman, to act as is appropriate for her station and to carry herself with dignity no matter what situation she was in. That is mostly what she can claim to do best, along with having something of a thirst for knowledge; she can speak not only her native Bretic and Cyrodiilic, but also ancient Yoku, old Bretic and Aldmeris, being familiar with many famous texts and poems and having a reputation as the patron of musicians in particular.

Equipment: Kelmena’s wardrobe is suitably grand and varied for the Queen of Daggerfall; though Camaron can often be an inattentive husband, when his (actually genuine, despite what some might say) love for her takes hold, no gift is too lavish and no expense too great to assure that his wife does not feel embarrassed in the company of even the richest women of Tamriel. Her own tastes tend to steer towards the famed Nibenese silks, and she is particularly well known for possessing a dress of true moth soul-silk, its exquisite material seemingly alive in how its colours shift and change with even the smallest of the queen’s movements, settling to a sky-blue when undisturbed.

Background: The oldest of the daughters of Archduke Senhyn of Camlorn, Kelmena was always destined to be a bargaining chip in the grand game of High Rock’s thrones; a fate that infuriated her at youth but which she has since grown to accept. What she did not expect, however, was that she would be married off to Daggerfall, sealing a vital alliance between that land and her father’s domains and becoming the kingdom’s new queen. She has since settled into this life, giving birth to twin boys for her husband – Willem and Telwen, who are now of aged two – and apparently managing to adapt to the unpredictable pace of the infamous Camaron of Daggerfall. On the outside, it seems that the young queen has since come to terms with her husband’s infidelity and approached the responsibilities of her new rank with an energy characteristic of her, but what she truly feels no one can tell.

Ser Henry Kingsley, Lord Sur-Magister of the Order of the Dragon, Lord Commander of the Dragonsguard, Baron of Illen
Spoiler


Name: Ser Henry Kingsley
Title:Lord Sur-Magister of the Order of the Dragon, Lord-Commander of the Dragonsguard, Baron of Illen
Age: 36
Race: Breton
Gender Male

Appearance: Henry is a strong stout man. He stands at about 5’11” and is in peak physical condition. (http://l.yimg.com/l/im_siggR3ixjPjkN3jn5in1czJcQA---y626/tv/us/img/site/80/92/0000068092_20100615171807.jpg). He tends to wear the customary elegant clothes of a Daggerfellian noble when he is not wearing his armor which is accompanied by a long black cape.

Skills: Henry is well versed in the art of swordplay as well as jousting and riding. He is an educated man, like most noble-born in Daggerfall, and his mind is just as sharp as his sword.

Equipment: When in battle or fighting in a tournament Henry wears the trademark armor of the Dragonsguard, the elite unit of the Order of the Dragon tasked with the protection of the King at all times. http://i865.photobucket.com/albums/ab216/asapp152/TESV2012-03-1621-40-36-61.jpg http://i865.photobucket.com/albums/ab216/asapp152/TESV2012-03-1621-40-23-82.jpg is hardened steel gilded in gold with intricate black scrollwork. A long black cape is fastened to shoulders of the cuirass. His helm is of similar construct, a hardened steel bascinet gilded in gold and crowned with two dragon’s wings. Henry’s weapon of choice is his family’s hand-and-half sword. Forged ages ago by master smiths the blade is a true masterpiece, the steel has been folded hundreds of times making the blade of unsurpassable strength. The hilt is made of steel entwined with golden scrollwork, and the golden pommel is inset with a brilliant garnet stone.

Background: Henry was born into the nobility. This guaranteed him a good education in both the arts of the scholar and those of the warrior. From a young age he was schooled by a tutor in the arts of language, mathematics, philosophy, and the other common schools of study including swordplay and riding. At the age of 12 he was sent off to be a squire to Lord Ashford of the Order of the Dragon, the current Commander of the Dragonsguard. It is here where he fine tuned his skills with the blade and with the lance. At the age of 18 Henry was knighted and became a member of the Order of the Dragon. He served valiantly and with great courage. However he was quite ruthless in his ways. Henry believed in the philosophy that the weak were unworthy and vastly inferior to the strong. This ruthless courage was what brought him through the ranks of the Order of the Dragon and eventually ended with his induction into the Dragonsguard, the group tasked with the personal protection of the King. Henry was inducted at the age of 27 and a few years later, at the recommendation of the retired Lord Ashford, found himself holding the title of Sur-Magister of the Order of the Dragon, the title given to those who command the Dragonsguard. From that point on Henry has served the King fervently and seen to all matters of personal security for his majesty.

The Dragonsguard: The Dragonsguard is a unit within the Order of the Dragon tasked with the personal protection of the King of Daggerfall. There are only nine members in the Dragonsguard, each one an extremely competent knight ready to give his life for the King. The Dragonsguard is set apart from the other members of the Order of the Dragon by their trademark armor. Every member wears an expertly crafted suit of hardened steel armor gilded in gold with black scrollwork. Their armor is accompanied by a black cape that hangs from their shoulders. When all nine are together they are a formidable force capable of holding off much larger forces with deadly efficiency. The Current nine members are, Lord Commander Henry Kingsley ,Ser Alberic Gaersly, Ser Edmund Almaine, Ser Marc Ancois, Ser Theodyn Mallister, Ser Roran Velain, Ser Allister Renault, Ser Andre Motierre, and Ser Verick Maurard.

Hector Salford, Baron of the Illessan Hills
Spoiler

Name: http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=48939906
Title: Baron of the Illessan Hills
Race: Breton
Age: 43
Gender: Male

Appearance: Hector stands at 6’0, he has Brown hair and is clean shaven, and he wears his hair short and combed, he wears glasses when reading and is not physically tough or muscle bound.
Skills: Hector is a duellist and is skilled in the use of rapiers and long swords but is incompetent with other weapons; he has a cunning tongue and can use it, he is more of a tactician than a soldier.

Equipment: Hector wears a rapier by his side and generally some form of noble wear, in battle he wears chainmail and will utilise a shield.
Background: Hector was born into nobility raised like a noble and is a noble however he showed more of an interest in command than actual fighting and was trained as such, he became A baron at the age of 22 and married his sweetheart Fryssa a nord maiden afterwards ,much to the protest of his advisors, they have had four children, Hector is loyal to daggerfall and will pledge his men to any cause his King wishes.
His children:
Jon salford- eldest and heir to the barony
Jaime Salford
Freya Salford
Elizabeth salford

Behold hector Salford baro of the Ilessan hills


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Lords, Ladies, and Men of the Archduchy of Camlorn:
Arniel de Athee, Duke of Urvaius
Spoiler


Name: Arniel de Athee

Title: Duke of Urvaius

Age: 29

Race: Breton

Gender Male

Appearance: Arniel is a tall man who is relatively slender when compared to his peers. He’s not what you would consider unattractive but he’s not stunning either. He has dark brown hair and it creeps round his face to form a short beard and mustache. His eyes are a light grey that almost blend into the white surrounding them.

Skills: Arniel’s main skills lie with his tongue and his mind. When he was young he was taught the motto ‘Knowledge is power’ and he has gathered as much information about those around him as possible, making him one of the best informed individuals in the Illiac Bay. Despite his sharp mind even Arniel could not hope to remember all of this knowledge alone and has several books that contain his collected works based on their importance to him, out of fear of theft there are several fake books and the actual information is split between other plain bound books that are kept in secret locations. Arniel has no particular combat skills preferring to avoid combat entirely.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): The Duke makes a point to outfit himself in comfortable fitted Doublets anytime he makes a public appearance, these are usually deep reds or purples. The only weapon he carries with him is an extravagant dagger, gilded in gold and inlaid with various gems it is more for show than use and has never tasted blood.
Background: Arniel grew up in Urvaius city in Castle Deepstone with the late Duke Crendal de Athee his father. His mother died two years after he was born whilst trying to birth a second child for her husband, neither survived.

After his wife’s passing Duke Crendal became quiet and reclusive seeing little of his infant son. Arniel grew up under the eyes of a tutor hired for him by his father, an old Altmer who understood the value of knowledge and taught Arniel to read, both books and people.

Despite not being particularly skilled with magic he still loved his time learning from and reading the old tomes stored in the libraries in the castle with the magi.
With time his father grew ill, poisoned by his own inactivity, he rarely left the castle and eventually the damp crept into his lungs.

After his father passed Arniel inherited the Dukedom. The newly made Duke settled into his position quickly, fast becoming well known in the city and surrounding areas as a fair and judicious ruler. Since he became Duke he has made some changes to the Duchy including starting a new knightly order, the Knights of the Stone.


Varthlokkur, Court Wizard of the Duchy of Urvaius
Spoiler


Name: Varthlokkur (Varth for short)
Title: Court Wizard of Urvaius
Age: 107
Race: Dark Elf
Gender: Male

Appearance: Varth is tall, standing at 6’ 3’’, with angry, red eyes that are common among those of his race. His flesh is a rather pale ashen color, identifying him as a Dark Elf. Varth’s hair is of dark brown color with tinges of grey that extends down to his shoulders in a clean yet unkempt mane.

Skills: Varth is highly skilled in magic, mainly in the fields of Conjuration, Destruction, and Necromancy. During his previous employments as court wizards and estate sorcerers, he crafted many enchanted trinkets and potions, making him very skilled with alchemy and enchanting. On the side, he is also talented in the fields of illusion, stealth, and swordplay, though his old age is just starting to put quite a hampering on said skills. He currently spends his time drabbling in necromancy and related experiments, as well as researching ancient Morrowind and Skyrim.

Equipment: Varth is often clad is flowing black robes and a black hooded cloak to match, giving him the appearance of the archetypical evil sorcerer. Underneath his robes, he often wears a regiment of simple clothing and soft boots. He carries an ancient Nordic broadsword with him, though it is rarely used, as well as several elven daggers. His lad is littered with ancient tomes, alchemical equipment, and potions, any of which could be on his person at any time.

Background: Varth grew up in an orphanage with no parents, and at a young age, he decided to venture out into the world. He joined the Tribunal Temple very early on, yearning for spirituality and knowledge. After many years, he raised high into the ranks due to his cunning and intellect, and use of magic. He became a librarian at Vivic’s Hall of Wisdom, and eventually took the place of head scribe, who was in charge of finding books from all over Morrowind, cataloging them, and placing them in the library. In addition to this post, Varthlokkur was often assigned to kill under the name of the Temple due to his natural skills as an assassin. He burned out many ashlander cults, Neravine impersonators, dissident priests, and other civilians.

But, as he got to an even higher rank, Varth discovered the truth behind the Tribunal’s power. He felt betrayed and lied too, and all of the assassinations he performed for the Temple were against innocent citizens. Varth quickly pack up his belongings and fled Morrowind in a rage, but his exit was not as crafty as preferred.

He ended up killing two Temple personnel to escape, and was branded a heretic. Varth ran from the Temple assassins for many years, and in said time, he joined the Thieves Guild and a few mercenary groups. Varth was finally able to stop running when the Neravine completed his quest and killed Dagoth Ur, and the number of assassins who hunted him finally trickled down to only one or two.

Varth moved from place to place, acting as a court wizard or alchemist here and there, until the start of the Oblivion Crisis, where he found a comfortable position as the court wizard in the vassal of Urvaius.

Senhyn Valtieri, Archduke of Camlorn, Lord Marshall of Daggerfall, Protector of Urvaius, Kambria, Koegria, and Dwynnen, Lord and Patron of the City of Camlorn, Grand Magister of the Knights of the Wolf.
Spoiler



Name: Senhyn Valtieri
Titles:

Archduke of Camlorn and Lord Marshall of Daggerfall as appointed by His Grace the King of Daggerfall, Camaron Thagor;
Lord Protector of the Duchy of Urvaius and the Counties of Kambria, Koegria, and Dwynnen;
Lord and Patron of the City of Camlorn by birthright, so recognized by the guilds;
Grand Magister of the Knights of the Wolf.

Age: 49
Race: Breton
Gender Male

Appearance: Senhyn Valtieri has always been a strong and hard man. He stands at around 6’2” and even as he ages retains a sculpted and strong physique. His head is covered in thinning dark grey-brown hair. He is not yet bald, but a few small signs are beginning to show. His face is hard and sharp with strong cheekbones and a chiseled jaw-line. Around his mouth he has a grey goatee, but the rest of his face is clean shaven. Senhyn’s eyes are a cold deep blue-green and show many years of wisdom. Cutting through his well trimmed goatee across the right corner of his mouth is a small scar. Senhyn’s skin is moderately tan and bares a few scars, tokens of battles long past.

Skills: Senhyn is well trained in the arts of warfare, both in combat and strategy. As a boy he was tutored in the ways of the sword as well as the ways of the dimplomat. Senhyn has had a long and good reign over Camlorn, and for good reasons. His mind is just as sharp as his sword, which is to say rather sharp, and he can disarm a foe through words as well as brute force. Senhyn is a fierce diplomat and an even fiercer fighter. Even as he ages he still participates in many of Daggerfall’s tournaments; he even wins a few of them, but as the years pass he finds himself unable to do all that he used to. However Senhyn holds himself to a strict code of honor, which in the eyes of some hinders his potential. Senhyn would rather give his life than dishonor his name or his realm.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): Senhyn typically wears a plain http://www.sirclisto.com/400mm.jpg or http://www.sirclisto.com/400nn.jpg over a tunic with knee breeches and riding boots along with a cape embroidered with the emblem of Camlorn and a plain silver chain of office around his neck; however when he is in battle he is armored in an extravagant suit of steel http://www.photosfan.com/images/medieval-suits-of-armor-1.jpg . When marching into battle Senhyn carries a http://www.swordworld.com.au/Uploads/Images/catalogue-m-longsword-15th-century.jpg whose blade in engraved with the moto of House Valtieri, Mort abans que deshonor “Death before dishonor”. He also carries a steel plated kite shield baring the banner of Camlorn. He is not a man for style and fashion and his armor is about the most extravagant thing he owns.

Background: Senhyn was the firstborn son of the previous Duke of Camlorn, Duke Aeryn Valtieri. Therefore it was his destiny to follow in his father’s footsteps and take his office. His father had him tutored in the arts of war and diplomacy from a young age. By the time Senhyn had reached the age of 16 he was already riding to war with his father and participating in his meetings. When Senhyn was 19 his father was killed in battle, making him the new Duke of Camlorn. Senhyn quickly grew into the position and ruled just as well as his father had, better according to some.

At the age of 25 Senhyn was married to a noble by the name of Lysa of Anticlere. Their first child, Astien (24), was born two years later. Lysa gave Senhyn 3 more children, a son Claude (18), and a two daughters, Kelmena (22), and Maria (16). The eldest daughter, Kelmena was betrothed to the young Prince Camaron of Daggerfall at the age of 18 and is now the Queen of Daggerfall. Her marriage to the Prince tied the knot between Daggerfall and Camlorn, forging a strong alliance between the nations. However ten years ago Lysa died during the birthing of their fifth child, who was dead upon delivery. This turned Senhyn into a slightly bitter man when it came to love and marriage. Since the death of Lysa Lord Senhyn has not taken another wife nor shown any interest of taking another.

Since the secession from the Empire Senhyn has mostly kept to himself and attempted to avoid any lasting conflict. However when fighting did break out he managed to defeat many of the small states that opposed him in the North; other nearby states quickly pledged their loyalty to Camlorn in fear of the realm's growing power. This greatly increased the size of Camlorn and its territories making it one of the largest powers in the west. Senhyn, being a smart man, noticed that if Daggerfall and Camlorn were united they could become an even larger factor in the ever changing political battlefield of High Rock. Therefore he proposed that the King wed his eldest daughter, Kelmena. King Camaron consented and the two were wed the next year. Since then Camlorn and Daggerfall have maintained a tight bond and are now the dominant political power in the West of High Rock.

Astien Valtieri, Heir to the Archduchy of Camlorn and all of its titles.
Spoiler

Name: Astien Valtieri
Title: Heir to the Archduchy of Camlorn and all of its titles
Age: 24
Race: Breton
Gender Male

Appearance: Astien is a rather handsome you man. He has shoulder length dark brown hair that he keeps pulled back into a pony tail most of the time. His hair is complemented by his father’s piercing blue-green eyes. He has a certain look of sophistication and suave that is lacking in his father who is much more gruff and blunt. He shares his father’s height and stands about 6’1; however he is much more lean. His face is also much more slender and elegant; he favors his mother much more than his father.

Skills: Astien is very different from his father. Where his father would favor brute force in a battle, Astien would favor finesse. This is evident in the way that he has trained in the arts of combat and war. Astien is a fierce duelist and favors rapiers and schiavonas rather than long swords and shields. His mind like his father’s is quick and sharp, yet more agile and cunning. Astien boasts quick reflexes and an even quicker tongue. He would rather fight in court than on the battlefield.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): Astien typically wears rather nice http://www.twinrosesdesigns.com/Burgundy_and_Gold_Doublet_Front_Shot.jpg of varying color and fashion with matching pants and knee-high boots as well as a half cape draqed across his shoulder. On the rare occasion that he does ride into battle he wears a suit of elegant studded leather armor over a set of chainmail; when Astien duals he wears a http://www.a2armory.com/images/medievalcostumes/men/leatherjerkin.jpg. He also prefers to use http://pics.myarmoury.com/ebe_collection_nathan02.jpg and Rapiers rather than typical long swords.

Background: Astien is the firstborn son of Archduke Senhyn Valtieri and the late Lysa of Anticlere. Astien grew up in the court of his father and quickly became fascinated by politics as a boy. His father attempted to train him in the arts of war however the only thing Astien ever took a liking too was dueling and his studies. After a few years Senhyn gave up trying to shape his son into a military commander and allowed him to train as he wished. Over the years Astien became a fierce duelist. So far only a few have bested him.

However he also became a fierce politician and participated in many of his father’s court hearings and councils. He has gained the nickname “The Fox of Camlorn” for his sharp wits and quick tongue. Astien travelled to many places in his teens, including the Kingdom of Sentinel across the Illiac. Astien also found himself getting into a lot of trouble as a youth. He was often caught "fooling around" with young serving maids in the castle. Eventually his father was forced to release all servants under the age of 30 to stop his son's antics. However Astien's eyes then turned on the young daughters of his father's vassals, which quickly resulted in the return of the younger servants in fear of a scandal.

In recent years Astien has stayed within the borders of High Rock and every so often rules the Archduchy of Camlorn when his father is away. He rules much differently though and believes that his father's sense of honor is a major hindrance on the potential power of Camlorn.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Lords, Ladies, and Men of the Kingdom of Wayrest:
Elysana, Queen of Wayrest, Protector of the Realm, Lord Sovereign of the Duchy of Alcaire, the Counties of Menvia, and Markwasten, along with all of the vassals of their realms
Spoiler

Name: Elysana
Title: Queen Elysana of Wayrestwoo
Age: 72
Race: Breton
Gender Female

Appearance: Elysana is a rather slim Bretic lady, standing at the average height of a woman. Her once blond hair now grows somewhat silvery naturally, but is kept up and dyed by her servants. Though old, Elysana appears about 25 years younger than she actually is, due to her Bretic blood as well as her position in royalty throughout her lifetime. Though she is aged, she is still very beautiful. Her crystalline blue eyes still attract many men. She has done all that she can to keep her body as beautiful as possible, despite its age.

Skills: She is a ruthless and cunning politician, as well as an experienced ruler.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.):She wears the Queen’s robe of Wayrest, a blue robe adorned with fur and gold.

Background: Born in the 380th decade of the 3rd Era, Elysana finds herself as one of the oldest living human Queens in Tamriel. After her husband, Woodborne, was murdered in 3E 417, the ruler of Wayrest was left with three surviving children, two boys and girl. Elysana remarried a few years after Woodborne’s death, though her second husband was also murdered 3 years following their marriage ceremony. Some conspiracy theories hold that Elysana arranged the murder of her second husband. Actions were not taken against the Queen due to the public dislike for her second husband. Another child came from this marriage, a male.

From then onward, Elysana refused to remarry again, but continue to engage in sixual activities with famous men in Wayrest. Several more bastard children came along, the palace attempting to prevent more pregnancies to the best of their abilities. It is estimated that Elysana has 4 bastard children, though some would speculate she bore 5 or even 6 more kids after her first 4 with Lord Woodborne.

The oldest of her sons was killed, leaving behind a child of his own. Many speculate about his death as well, but no consensus on who was responsible for the killing could be found. It is well known by much of High Rock that following her heir’s death, the Queen executed 34 suspects that may have been responsible for planning the death of her son, as well as 3 bodyguards who failed their duty. Elysana’s first daughter was married to the ruling family in Menevia. Her other bastard child were either married into noble’s families or became nobles themselves.

Her recent actions as ruler are similar to her past, where her constant paranoia results in her frequent replacing of positions. She recently supported a coup overthrow of the Markwastian count, allowing an Imperial that organized the coup to take the position. Her recent appointment of a top nobleman and military official in Wayrest to Duke of Alcaire is also one of many changes that have gone about in her Kingdom. Though she has surely aged, the same ruthlessness used to outwit Helseth will now be used against Daggerfall, in her final effort to take over her father’s rivals.

Waylon Thoreau, Duke of Alcaire, and Grand Marshall of Wayrest
Spoiler
Name:Waylon Thoreau
Title:Waylon the Wrathful, Duke of Alcaire & Grand Marshall of Wayrest to Queen Elysana
Age:38
Race:Breton
GenderMale

Appearance: Waylon is a muscular and lean man, carrying a tanned skin tone and very light, golden brown eyes upon his head. A slight pinch of dark blond hair covers his jaw line, while only a few tiny hairs can be seen upon his shaven, oval-like head. The little hair covering the top of his scalp is slightly darker than that on his face. His brows are somewhat thick, always seemingly turned down in an angry manner. A small vertical scar holds itself slightly below his right eye, along with a few wrinkles that cover his bitter, worn cheeks. He stands near the size of 6 feet, somewhat taller than most men of his land, but not so noticeably towering.

Skills: Waylon is an experienced strategist. While he was, at one point in time, a most well-versed combatant of the Knights of the Rose, his body, though still fit, is now older. While he could still hold his own in combat when needed, he is more-so of a strategist and a long time studier of military theory. He is a man of many skills, such as marksmanship, swordsmanship, and axe fighting. He holds a deep knowledge of many maneuvers and positions, but the most notable unique information he holds is that of siege weaponry.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): Aside from his normal clothing, Waylon, at some points, may wear the honorable robe of the Knights of the Rose, which holds the Crest of Wayrest sewn into its blue black, along with a red rose padded into the front. In battle, He wears steel plate over steel mail, adorned with the crest of Wayrest. In the rare moments he goes into the battle, he carries with him a lance in charges, as well as a triangular steel shield. His sword clings to his leather belt at all times, being his most valuable weapon. He may take a bow into battle as well.

Background: Waylon was born in Wayrest, son of a Bretic Wayrestian merchant and knight. He grew up with a good education, learning all sorts of things about business from his father. Though he knew these things, business disgusted him, and instead he took his time into reading the various history books of the age, along with participating in studies on warfare. At 18, he began to go to battle himself, participating in many different skirmishes throughout Wayrestian territories. For the first time, he saw war for the terrible bane of existence it really was, and from then on, he swore to not fight unless it was absolutely his duty and unavoidable. Though war was terrible in his eyes, he still fought for his homeland, first leading simple peasants against different bandits and marauders, carrying his experience over into skirmishes between different Lords. After these battles at the age of 24, he attended a military academy in Wayrest, in which many sons of knights took part. It was necessary for a knight to know how to fight for his homeland, both with his sword and with his mind. However, Waylon was often not as chivalrous as one would think. While he is a fair fighter, he is nearly always merciless to his enemies. Waylon has recently been appointed ruler of the Duchy of Alcaire by Elysana herself, and given the title of Marshall of Wayrest. He now commands Wayrest’s armies for his Queen.

Gratian Olybrius, Count of Markwasten
Spoiler

Name: Gratian Olybrius
Title: Count of Markwasten
Age: 41
Race: Imperial
Gender: Male

Appearance: Gratian’s years of stress and wear are quite visible. His hair is already mostly gray, and wrinkles are already beginning to develop on his face. At a height of nearly six feet and a weight just above 160 pounds, he is of average size for an Imperial male. Although Gratian appears much older than he actually is, he is still quite fit and capable, and his clear blue eyes gleam with intelligence and capability.

Skills: Olybrius is skilled at combat, especially with a sword and as part of a formation due to his legion training and years of experience. However, his true talents are for administration and strategy, which he developed over the course of his long service as an officer of the Imperial Legion and later as a mercenary in High Rock.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): Gratian keeps his fine steel Legion armor and weaponry in good condition, although he has had the emblems of his specific unit removed.

Background: Gratian Olybrius was born into a family with a long tradition of service in the Imperial Legion during the twilight of the Cyrodiilic Empire. While he was too young to fight the Daedric hordes during the Oblivion Crisis, the political situation afterwards left plenty of opportunities for fighting. He enlisted at the age of seventeen, and his competence and calmness in the face of danger enabled him to rise swiftly through the ranks, eventually becoming a commander of an entire cohort. Unfortunately for him, in 4E 20, his legion was disbanded due to financial shortfalls, leaving him free to make his own way in the world.

Lost, Gratian and some of his more trusted soldiers from the Legion headed north into High Rock where they began to serve as mercenaries. Their discipline and training made them successful in that profession, although never wildly so. Gratian’s golden opportunity arose in 4E 25 when the Count of Markwasten began to plot secession from Wayrest. While interrogating the disloyal count’s son on an unrelated contract, he learned of the conspiracy and brought it to Queen Elysana’s attention. She commissioned Gratian and his troops to eliminate her scheming vassal in return for the count’s title and lands, and the Legion veteran gladly accepted. Olybrius and his men ambushed the Count of Markwasten while he was out hunting, and with the backing of Elysana, he entered the town of Azra’s Crossing and was proclaimed the new count.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Lords, Ladies, and Men of the Kingdom of Evermore:
Syllawen Direnni, Queen of Evermore, Lord Sovereign of Gauvadon, Lustiana, and Gwened.
Spoiler
Name: http://i43.tinypic.com/wk0gi0.png
Title: Queen of Evermore
Age: 86
Race: High-Elf
Gender Female

Appearance: By all accounts quite supernaturally beautiful woman, Syllawen Direnni is in the prime of her youth and it shows. The Queen's skin is a polished gold, her features bright and almost Bosmeri in their softness. Her long, auburn hair is arranged in a different flamboyant and ornate style every time Syllawen goes to court. Syllawen will simply not leave the Palace without at least a dozen artisans to follow her litter and tend to her appearance.

Skills: Almost none. Great Clan Direnni's attempts to install any of the family trades upon Syllawen during her youth in Balfiera met with resounding failure. If Syllawen does posses any skill whatsoever, it would be in the commune with Faeries, Nymphs and Spriggans, the languages of each she is fluent in. Syllawen has been a passionate lover poetry all her life, although her own compositions are described by all not under the threat of decapitation as terrible beyond endurance. Syllawen is not a particularly charming woman, though her quite unbelivable good looks more than compensate for this.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): Syllawen is normally to be found dressed in any number of a selection of extravagant gowns, each at the very height of fashion. She also likes to carry around an ornate Akavir-styled blade with the Direnni Clan insignia, and often boasts that as a child she could best any of her brothers in one-on-one combat.

Background: Born into perhaps the most famous of all Altmer familes outside of the Isles, Syllawen was peculiar amongst Clan Direnni in her stupidity. While not by any means dim-witted, Syllawen was the only one of her siblings to completely shun all academia. Instead Syllawen spent her youth playing with fairies in the Gardens of Balfeira and reading romantic poetry. When the time came to marry her off, the clan was did not know quite what to do with her. By this time her siblings where all storied Alchemists, Court-Wizards or infamous Sorcesses, and in comparison Syllawen seemed quite useless. Her one attribute was her unusual, uncanny beauty, that had been noticed from a young age. Her mother often joked (bitterly) that she had given birth to a Nymph, not a Direnni.
Eventually it was decided she would be married off to the Monarch of Evermore, King Titus, as a diplomatic gesture. Titus' last marriage had ended in scandal, and most Bretonish Princesses were warned not to go near him. Nevertheless, this proved quite the diplomatic coup for Clan Direnni, an Alliance with the not inconsiderable Kingdom of Evermore. King Titus himself had no complaints.

As expected, as the decades drew on Titus grew old and eventually surcame to death by old age, while his wife only blossomed in her youth. What was not expected was the contents of the late King's will; his consort Lady Syllawen was to be named Queen of Evermore on the event of his death. This caused quite a stir in the sleepy kingdom, some whispered fogery. In the end an independent investigation was brought in from Wayrest that declared the will genuine and quite untampered with, and King Titus' death of natural causes.

Nearly two years have passed now since Syllawen's ascent to the throne and many of her subjects are already growing weary of the extravagant Queen. Although she is kind to her subjects, her total lack of experiance in all matters diplomatic have caused many a headache in the court. Naturally Syllawen finds herself trusting Elysana of Wayrest in everything. Syllawen quite looks up to the Queen of Wayrest and fancies herself the next in that tradition, in which she very much includes Queen Potema. As has been said, Queen Syllawen has a poetic imagination.

Tynanis Porout, Heir to the Duchy of Gauvadon and all of its titles
Spoiler


Name: Tynanis Porout
Title: Heir to Gauvadon
Age: 24
Race: Breton (Breton Mother, Imperial Father)
Gender: Male

Appearence: Rather tan for a Breton, his imperial features are well mixed with his breton descent, along with his thin build. His hair is black, thick and streaked back, out in a pony tail at the end. His eyes are rather large and wide, his lips are not to large, and his nose is small. He wears a formal buttoned green jacket with similary colored coat tails that follow, a white undershirt, and fine brown pants to go along with it. He carries around a black curved cane, and his ears show a slight point due to his breton heritage. His eyes are a bright green color.

Skills: Tyanis is a accomplished bladesmen, both with his longsword, and his dagger. He is also a effective sneak, both to kill and to steal. While not his strong suit, Archery is another skill of his, useful for his various assassinations. He has little skill in light armor and illusion magic, only used to sneaking in light armor, and casting simple charm and very short term chameleon spells. His tongue is one the sharpest in all of High Rock, and he uses it for song, poetry, and bartering with merchants and during negotiations

Equipment: Besides his clothing, he also has leather armor that is black instead of brown. The armor has a simple curiass able to withstand enough damage, long greaves with knee pads, soft yet defensive boots, and long sleeves and armored shoulder pads. He has a bright silver shortsword with is familes name carved into it, and a sharp silver dagger that is covered in thin layers of ebony and gold, which he uses for assasinations. He also had knowledge of charm and chameleon spells.

Background: Tynanis is the son of a woman in the well known Porout family, and a imperial who was wandering bard. Due to his rich family, he was raised rather well. Formalties and such came before generosity, and as of such, he is arrogant, and has great distaste towards lowly serfs and beggers. His father and mother told him tales of the great empire, how with leaders like Tiber Septim and Uriel Septim VII brought all of the known world to peace. Hearing these tales, he began to research the empire, and longed for it to return. Later on when he was 19, he began to train under the arts of stealth and shadow. A dream that came to him made him believe that he was to be a great assassin Without his family knowning, he killed for money, bringing down soilders to foes without anyone knowing the better. His family has come to power to replace the power vaccum in Gauvadon. As his mother and father still have many years left to rule, he does not have many responsibilties yet as a heir. He has come to Evermore to impress the royalty, but also to make a name for his family. While he is arrogant, he is trying to be more humble around women, as many potential mates have been scared off by his nature. He safeguards his work as a assassin, and also pulls off heists for the simple enjoyment of them. He is enjoys the company of the upper class, and hopes to snatch himself a lover during his vist to Evermore.

Sir Aleron, Sworn Knight of Gwened, Heir to the County of Gwened and all of its titles
Spoiler

Name: Sir Aleron of Gwened
Title: Heir to the county of Gwened.
Age: 28
Race: Breton
Gender: Male

Appearance: he is good looking and has shoulder length, brown hair and a rough beard(more than stubble but not a huge beard :tongue:) which gives him a somewhat tough look. His eyes are a dark green color and are always watching. He has some scars from his battles but none are worth mentioning. His body is fit and trained. He keeps it that way by sporting every day.

Skills: From a young age he was taught how to be knight by his father. He was taught how to fight with not only the sword but also other weapons like the axe, mace and spear. But his favorite weapon remained the sword, a knight's weapon. He was also trained in jousting and dancing. Both in which he expresses great skills. He has won his share of jousting tournaments. He is also charismatic and loved by the ladies at his father's court. He is also blessed with a sharp mind.

Equipment (weapons, armor, misc) : In combat he wears finely crafted, medium plate armor. It offers good protection while not vastly impeding movement. It is not very ornamented but nevertheless it is a piece of beauty. His sword has a long slender and straight blade and is double edged. The pommel fits a diamond, the grip is wrapped with white cloth, the cross-guard is of a simple design and his family symbol is placed on the rain-guard.

When not wearing his armor he is dressed in high class clothes of all sorts.

Background: Born as the first son of the Count of Gwened he is taught from a young age how to act as a noble and knight as preparation for the moment he would inherit his father's position. Although his heritage made him stand out of the people he didn't feel better and instead of having them work for him while he sits and do nothing he helped them whenever he could with sowing the field and tending the crops. This earned him the love of his people. More than they love his father.

As the first son of the count of Gwened it was his job to protect the county against bandits and other enemies and he has done so with much success. Although it is only a rural land which is not overly populated, they are not poor and his people live with a certain standard and they know that they must not fear bandits attacks and raids because of him and his guards/army.

His father has send him to the court of Evermore recently in hopes of getting more power for his family. In the best case scenario he could marry the queen but his father knew it to be very unlikely and as such send him there to gain more power for his family in any way possible. Aleron decided to travel to the court and enjoy his time there while he would sporadically look for ways to achieve his father's goals.

Sir Tiberius Valerius Aquila, Pontifex-Maximus of the Talos Order; Knight of the Hourglass; Sergent-at-Arms of Castle Evermore; Royal Protector of Her Majesty Syllawen Direnni, Queen of Evermore
Spoiler

Name: Sir Tiberius Valerius Aquila
Title: Pontifex-Maximus of the Talos Order; Knight of the Hourglass; Sergent-at-Arms of Castle Evermore; Royal Protector of Her Majesty Syllawen Direnni, Queen of Evermore.
Age: 46
Race: Colovian (Imperial)
Gender Male

Appearance: http://i44.tinypic.com/10onv2o.jpg


Skills: A true Colovian, once one of the finest Imperial Legionnaires there's ever been and still an incredibly skilled combattant. Aquila has mastered the art of combat, fighting in the traditional Colovian style with a Gladius and Scutum. Aquila's honesty and loyalty attracts people's trust in him, his strong religious dedication also serving as an advantage at times. Aquila has lived long enough and experienced enough to carry a certain amount of wisdom, he is by no means a fool.

Equipment (Weapons, armour, misc.): An Imperial Pompeii Gladius made from fine Cyrodiilic Steel, meticulously crafted with an ornate ivory grip and engraved mahogany pummel. Though not often on his person, Aquila does have a black Imperial Scutum adorning the insignia of Talos to match his armour.

Aquila wears a plain black traditional Imperial leather muscled cuirass with matching pouldrons, pteruges and small greaves. Under his armour he wears a navy blue tunic and on his feet he modestly wears plain sandals. A noticable feature of Aquila and all the other warrior-monks within the Order of Talos is the large blue capes and hoods they all wear, a sign of their religious servitude.

Background: Tiberius Valerius Aquila was born in 3E 415 in the great Colovian city of Kvatch. His mother had died in childbirth and his father, a legionnary, had to give up the soldiers life to become a city guard and bring up the newly born boy. Aquila's father was a man of the traditional Colovian heritage and brought up the boy in a martial manner. From a very young age, Aquila was taught to wield a wooden Gladius and small buckler. Colovians are the best warriors of Tamriel, and this warlike mindset was ingrained into Aquila from as soon as he left the womb. Every night, the boy and his father would pray to Talos, giving an offering of meat, wishing that the Ninth Divine would guide their swords and protect them and the Empire.

As a teenager, Aquila fell in love from an early age with a blacksmiths daughter and married her at sixteen. They lived blissfully together in his father's small dwelling until arguments began over the teenage boy joining the legion. On an auspicious night in 3E 433 the rows got particularily intense. In a rage, Aquila stormed out of the house and left Kvatch on a stolen horse, riding to the Imperial City to join the legion. Realising his foolishness in his not saying goodbye properly, he rode back from Skingrad, only to find Kvatch under a sky made of fire. Daedra crawled through the city and killed almost everyone. Aquila frenziedly rushed around the refugee camp searching for his wife and father, refusing to come to terms with their loss. The small group of guards holding back the Daedra from the camp were the only thing stopping the now eighteen year old from running into the city on a suicide mission. They forced him to come to his senses, but could not convince him to avoid fighting and go back to the camp. Arming himself lightly, Aquila and a few other guards entered the Oblivion gate. There they were victims to the traps and games of Dagon, many of them dying painful deaths. They all saw unspeakable things, and Aquila and the remaining survivors would not have lived if it were not for a mysterious figure who came through the gate and somehow managed to close it. Aquila left the gate filled with rage and adrenaline, covered in Daedra blood and open wounds. But still he would not give up, only being brought back to the camp as he collapsed from blood loss. When he woke up it was over.

The boy searched the remains of what had once been his home, finding the charred remains of his loved ones. Distraught, Aquila left Kvatch in tears, riding to Imperial City for a second time on the same horse -its owner probably dead- to join the legion.

The Colovian spent the next few months fighting Daedra near constantly. The fighting blocked out the trauma and the grief, but still Aquila was constantly haunted by the guilt of not having been there that night to protect his aging father and loving wife. The legionnary by this point was renowned to be one of the finest warriors in the Imperial Army. He received honour after honour after honour and still he kept killing. The Oblivon Crisis had grown to its climix, as Dagon himself invaded the Imperial City. Aquila and a few other Imperial's held out in a tower, somehow surviving the constant onslaught of Daedra as they poured out of seemingly endless gates. All hope seemed to be gone, but out of nowhere a firey Dragon appeared above the Temple of the One and banished Dagon from Mundus. The Crisis was over.

Whilst fighting the Daedra, Aquila had made a few friends and encountered the Talos Cult. The Cult provided a spiritual escape, and the Colovian soon become dedicated to the God of War and Governance. After the crisis, Aquila found himself lost in praise and glory. The Empire began to fall apart, and legions were sent to various wars all over Tamriel. He left the legion soon before the great Civil War began, seeking refuge in the Order of Talos in Bruma. There he became a warrior monk and lived a quiet life. The civil war began to unfold in its entirety and some of the leading members of the Order gained a reputation for their outspoken criticism of the un-Talos like qualities of all the leaders involved and the death of the Empire. The local leader decided enough was enough and in 4E 4, sent soldiers to exterminate the small and heavily outnumbered Order. The older members -the elderly and the infirm- stayed, waiting for their deaths. Those fit enough to travel mostly fled to Skyrim, where Talos was still strongly revered. However, the King Titus of Evermore, a self-proclaimed worshipper of Talos offered an invitation to any members of the Order to flee to the kingdom instead. Promises were made of a rennovated Chapel and Monastery, the King even promising the continuation of the Order with full and total support. Most distrusted the Breton, and instead chose their path to the newly formed Nordic Confederacy to ask for aid. Aquila and two other warrior monks by the names of Gaius and Vibius accepted the invitation and quickly made way to High Rock, escaping Bruma under disguise.

The small party arrived to be greeted by a very friendly welcoming. King Titus kept his promises, providing the now considerably smaller Order with a vital lifeline. Life in Evermore was good and Titus proved himself to be a good man and king. A year later, in 4E 5, the three warrior monks sweared fealty to King Titus and the Kingdom of Evermore. The new Order of Talos ended up becoming the de facto bodyguards and personal knights of the war hungry Bretic Ruler.

Growth in the Order was slow due to the ridiculously high standards, the need to be a Colovian Man also slimming the recruitment pool. They still steadily grew however and when war began in 4E 5 more and more recruits were willingly to offer their dedication to Talos and the Order. Between 4E 5 and 4E 17, King Titus and the Kingdom of Evermore involved itself in many wars. Gaius, Vibius and Aquila and the new members of the Order were constantly by the King's side and even involved themselves in battle on occassion, proving their infamous and otherworldly fighting prowess.

The wars gradually came to a halt, but Evermore and the Order of Talos had both grown considerably, the Order now possessing twenty-two members. In 4E 23, Gaius died in a fever. Vibius by this point was old and decrepit, spending the rest of his days in the monastery offering his wisdom to anyone who wished it. It came upon Aquila to take the reigns as Pontifex-Maximus, to lead the Order until he physically could not. The Colovian had grown to be imensely loyal to his liege. King Titus near constantly had the Imperial at his side and as he lay on his deathbed in 4E 26, he proclaimed Aquila a member of the prestigious Order of the Hourglass. More importantly however, Sir Tiberius Valerius Aquila made a promise to unquestionably
protect the Queen and what would seen become her Kingdom. The warrior monk was now the personal bodyguard of the Queen and the leader of her official bodyguard, the Order of Talos.

Two years have passed and Sir Aquila still remains at his post, forever loyal. The Queen's antics and wild nature sometimes disturb the Imperial who at heart is just a soldier, but she is good to him and he feels he must maintain his promise to the late King. Though if one were to look deeper, one would see that the guilt of letting down his family has led to Tiberius never letting his loyalty waver.

Malduin, Court Wizard of the the Kingdom of Evermore
Spoiler

Name: Malduin
Title: Court Mage
Age: 42
Race: Breton
Gender: Male

Appearance: Malduin comes across as quite a willowy fellow, though he shows signs of a once physically fit person. He is often seen wearing expensive-looking garments. He favours his luxuriously green robes when dealing with the affairs of the courts. His has shoulder-length chestnut hair, with a small braid tied from behind his ears linking together. His eyes are a compliment of blue and grey tones.

Skills: He considers himself to have almost mastered the arts of both Illusion and Restoration magicks. He’s devoted almost the entirety of his career in the learning of these skills, though his offered passing interest into both Conjuration and Destruction. These skillsets are only to a base-level, when his primary arts are rivalled by mages and wizards of high renown throughout the lands.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): He only wears robes, having never deemed it a requirement to be in such a place where he’d need any sort of armour. Nor does he carry any generalised weapons apart from his staff. He carries an old oak staff, atop it lays a Soul gem carved in the form of a dragon-fly. The staff belonged to his deceased master, Eldarion, An Altmer who apprenticed Malduin and took him under his wing.

Background: He’s shared little of his stories from his travelling career, though from whats known about him it’s clear he’s put all of his advlt life, and the majority of his adolescent one, into the magick arts. He spent his youth as an apprentice for his towns local wizard, Eldarion, whose staff he now carries as his own. Malduin thought of his old Altmer as a secondary father figure.

After many years travelling together, Eldarion had reached an age where he felt himself unable to continue the life of what he referred to as a “Questing Wizard” and sought after a career serving at a court and dealing with such associated magical issues of that realm. However he disappeared one night, leaving only a note by Malduins room which claimed he’d been called back to his homeland. The writing on this parchment was not the usual quality of handwriting, showing signs of rush and panic. Malduin never found out as to why his old master had vanished, but came across his old staff amongst a passing caravan’s stock.

Having bartered for the staff, Malduin set off to find answers to the mystery of Eldarion, though he never succeeded. As he reached the ripe old age of 40 he too felt it was time for him to cut down on the adventuring and took up position as Court Mage for the kingdom of Evermore.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Lords, Ladies, and Men of the Kingdom of Northpoint:
Daric Caron, First of His Name, King of Northpoint, Lord Sovereign of Sharnhelm, Darguard, Thornvale and Eagle Brook, Lord Protector of Thorkan, Auvernge, Alsace, and White Haven.
Spoiler

Name: Daric Caron, First of His Name, King of Northpoint, Lord Sovereign of Sharnhelm, Darguard, Thornvale and Eagle Brook, Lord Protector of Thorkan, Auvernge, Alsace and White Haven.

Age: 43

Race: Breton

Gender: Male

Appearance: 6"2 tall. Daric has a hard face, strong laugh lines, dark, unflinching eyes and a sharp nose. His hair is dark too and he wears it very short, in a military fashion.

Daric has a slim frame and is in peak physical condition. Every dawn, without fail, Daric puts himself through a rigorous regime of swimming in the cold, choppy ocean, before training in melee combat with one of his honour guards.

It would be a cold day in Oblivion when you found Daric Caron wearing any clothing that might be considered fashionable or flamboyant. Dark, simple clothes line his wardrobe, most of which have a military design to them.

Skills: Daric was never meant to sit the throne of Northpoint, that honour was reserved for his elder brother. Daric only inherited the throne when his brother fell from his horse while he was out hunting. Despite that, Daric received the same training his brother received and thus sits the throne easily. From a young age, he was trained in all the arts a prince should know. From horse-riding to sword-play to etiquette to battlefield strategy. He runs his realm with efficiency and skill - strengthening hugely the Kingdom of Northpoint during his 20 years as King.

Equipment: When in public, Daric wears dark, military style clothing. He also wears the crown of Northpoint - a heavy piece of wrought iron ringed with 10 small swords pointing skywards. In battle,Daric wears full ebony plate and wields an ebony clay-more.

Background: Despite being born second son to the King and Queen of Northpoint, Daric received the same training his elder brother did. From a young age, Daric showed enormous talent for battlefield strategy. His father, King Barathon Caron III, would let him sit in on council meetings and before long Daric had summoned the courage to speak up, pointing out flaws, advising men more than twice his age.

Despite Daric's gifts, it was his brother, not he, who was destined to become King. Daric's brother, Barathon Caron IV, was Daric's direct opposite. Rash, emotional, charismatic, flamboyant and a hugely talented mage, Barathon was the perfect Breton King. As a young prince, he was loved by the people and encouraged loyalty from the Lords. When the young Barathon was killed falling from his horse while hunting, the realm went into mourning. The Queen, Daric's mother, in a classic case of Bretonic melodrama, couldn't contain her grief and threw herself from a cliff. The King, having just lost his first-borne, and then his wife, withdrew from the world, often staying in his private rooms for days on end. It was at this point, when Daric was 17 years old that he, with the help of his father's advisors, began managing the day-to-day affairs of the realm. His father never recovered, and five years later, slipped into death and Daric officially took the throne.

At the age of 25, Daric married the daughter of a powerful Arch-Duke, uniting the aristocracy of Northpoint behind him. It was a political marriage but was not loveless. In time, the pair grew to care for each other deeply. A year later, the Queen, Abelle Caron, gave birth to a daughter.

During the 20 years of his rule, Northpoint has prospered and Daric has forged a strong realm - uniting Northpoint with Shornhelm - a war in which Daric's strategic planning was key to victory.

Making use of Northpoint's coast, Daric established trade routes to arround Skyrim. This trade has been crucial to Northpoint's economic growth. When they came under attack from Nordic reavers and Redguard pirates, Baric reacted swiftly, setting sail himself to take the war to the raiders.

Daric Caron is not a classic Breton. He is not passionate, poetic or flamboyant. Nor does he have a close affinity to magic. Despite years of training, Beric struggles to conjure the most meager of spells. His enemies would use that against him, whispering that he is not a true Breton and should not seat the thone. Despite these rumors, careful political maneuvering has given Beric a level of dominance as King rarely seen before in Northpoint. The only thorn in Daric's side remains the recently conquered Shornhelm.

Elissa Caron, Heir to the Kingdom of Northpoint
Spoiler

Name: http://www.visualphotos.com/photo/2x3518306/Female_archer_close-up_MDF00041.jpg
Title: Princess of Northpoint
Age: 17
Race: Breton
Gender: Female

Appearance: Elissa is a rather attractive young lady, with dark brown hair and bright gray eyes. She prefers to keep her hair in a simple braid, but, as royalty, she often doesn’t get the choice, and is usually forced to keep her hair in any manner of fancy styling. Elissa stands at 5’7”, and keeps herself in relatively good shape, especially in recent times, having started her martial training several months ago.

Skills: The most obvious skills Elissa possesses (and, in her opinion, the most trivial) are the ones that have been drilled into her as the Princess of Northpoint: grace, manners, etc. In addition, Elissa possesses the strong personality that shows that she may make a great leader one day, and she has proven herself to be naturally talented with a bow. After only several months of training, she has already surpassed her mentor, and, on the several hunting expeditions she’s taken part in recently, she’s continued to show her great talent, as well as a skill with tracking.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): Elissa’s wardrobe, much to her dismay, consists almost entirely of a variety of expensive dresses expected of someone of her station. However, Elissa is much more comfortable in her archery clothes, which consist of leather pants, knee-high leather boots, a loose cotton shirt with elbow length sleeves and a hood, a leather bracer on her left arm, and gloves that leave her thumbs and little fingers uncovered. The bow that Elissa uses is, at first glance, rather simple, as she passed over the more extravagant bows in favor of a more practical one. However, upon closer inspection, one can tell that the bow bears a craftsmanship second to none, and her name is inscribed in a thin gold inlay on one side of it.

Background: The first child of the King of Northpoint, Elissa has been lucky enough to live a life of luxury experienced by few others. Never wanting for anything, Elissa found herself being groomed for the throne from the time she could walk. She fell easily into the life, learning manners with her personal attendants, mastering how to bear herself in public with her mother, finding out what’s expected of a leader by attending councils with her father, and finally, in the past several months, excelling with the bow. But this life of ease is led with an uneasy tension boiling just below the surface: Elissa knows as well as anyone that High Rock is embroiled in a dangerous game of power, and it’s only a matter of time before Northpoint becomes a player. When that time comes, she recognizes that she and her family will have only two choices: to win, or to die.

Important People in Elissa’s Life:







Hammen Mitchel (49): At first glance, one would assume that Hammen is simply a washed up old man who is too fond of drink. However, beneath the gruff and seemingly perpetually drunk exterior is one of the cleverest and best-trained chevaliers in High Rock. A veteran of the Oblivion Crisis, Hammen turned to drink to drown the haunting memories of the Daedra he fought. It’s only recently, with the beginning of his tenure as Elissa’s teacher, that he’s begun to stay sober for any length of time, though he still usually bears the unmistakable aroma of wine around him.


Gaspard Elliot (17): The son of a bread-maker, Gaspard has lived in the Northpoint Castle for nearly his entire life, in training to become a knight. Still a squire for now, Gaspard and Elissa have been close friends since they were children, and their friendship sometimes (more frequently of late) bears traces of wanting to be something more. However, both teens recognize the danger they could both be in if that was ever found out, and so their relationship remains platonic for now. In order to get to spend more time together, Elissa had Gaspard assigned to be her personal bodyguard when he isn’t training.


Charlette DuBois (33): Charlette is Elissa’s personal maid, and has been taking care of the Princess since she was a baby. Charlette is, as Elissa admits, purely responsible for Elissa’s appearance being kept up to royal standards. Elissa considers Charlette one of her closest friends, and would trust her with anything, and Charlette herself considers Elissa to be like the younger sister she never had.


Lorundil, Master Wizard of the Kingdom of Northpoint.
Spoiler

Name: Lorundil
Title: Court Wizard of Northpoint
Age: 320
Race: Altmer
Gender: Male

Appearance: he is a tall Altmer with the usual golden skin of his people. He has long shoulder length, golden blond hair. He has a sharp face with high, slightly pronounced cheekbones. He isn't considered handsome but he isn't ugly either. He keeps his face shaven and is not ruined by scars or tattoos. He has a weak built, not made to wield weapons or wear armor and is in a physically weak state. He is very slender and lacks real muscle although he can create strenght/speed/endurance/ … through magic.

Skills: he has dedicated most of his life to the study of the arcane arts. Like most of his race he appeared to have a natural knack for wielding the magical energies and he started his study from a young age. All the years of studying and practicing the arcane arts made him a great wizard but he also became very protective of his findings and unwilling to share it with anyone. Apart from his magical knowledge he can speak most languages of tamriel fluently. He has no real skills apart from those.

Equipment (weapons, armor, misc) : he dresses in comfortable, expensive robes and clothes. Under them he wears simple pants and tunic. His robes are usually very voluptuous and apart from a silver dagger for rituals, a waterhide and satchel for ingredients and scrolls he can put his belongings between the folds in his robes making it look like he summons books, potions and other items out of thin air.

Background: He was born and raised in what's left of Morrowind. Both his parents were members of House Telvanni and they began teaching him at a young age in the principles of magic. He showed great promise and by the time he was twenty he had surpassed his father and mother's abilities and acquired a position as an apprentice to a Telvanni wizard. At first the man taught him but after a few years he started being neglected and was apparently only good enough to fetch items, clean up after experiments, … this irritated Lorundil and he started studying the books and artifacts laying around on his own, most of the time against his master's wishes. He managed to do this unknown to his master and when Lorundil deemed himself ready, after a few decades of studying he murdered the Telvanni wizard and took over his place.

He remained in the tower, studying and continuing the researches his former master was doing for several years. At first he also kept himself busy with the politics of House Telvanni, but like so many other wizards, he soon lost interest in them and stopped showing up during the council meetings. His studies kept him far away from the events happening in the world and althoug he lived through the warp in the west, the fall of dagoth ur, the oblivion crisis, the Arnesian war, ... (to name a few.), he never really noticed much of it.

When the Red Mountain erupted and most of Vvardenfell got destroyed he also lost his tower and all his belongings. The greatest loss where the many artifacts, waiting to be studied, and his own selection of enchanted items he created as trials. The books were less important since almost everything to rare to be able to find again was already stored in his head and the common books could be bought anew anyway.

Without a place to live he decided to travel around Tamriel. He offered his enchanting and alchemy services in many towns and cities and eventually settled as a court-mage in Northpoint.

Redon Swift, Grand Admiral of the Royal Navy of the Kingdom of Northpoint.
Spoiler

Name: Rendon Swift
Title: Head Admiral of the Royal Navy of Northpoint
Age: 42
Race: Breton
Gender: Male

Appearance: Swift’s most noticeable feature is his large and distinctive handlebar mustache. Swift takes great pride in his mustache (claiming that he hasn’t shaved it since he was in his teens), and can frequently be found combing it with a small comb when he thinks no one is looking. Other than that, however, Swift is average looking. A tall man, standing at 6’2”, Swift has a lanky frame, though he is beginning to put on weight as he grows older. He has a very defined chin and jawline, and brown hair that is starting to grey on the sides.

Skills: Swift’s most notable talent is the ability to inspire incredible loyalty from his men. A skilled leader, Swift tries his best to treat every one of his men like he would his children (fitting, considering that he calls his ship, The Marianne, his true wife). He rarely asks anything of his men that he wouldn’t do himself, and is known to eschew sleeping in separate quarters like many other captains do in favor of being amongst his men. Swift, having spent the majority of his life of ships, is very knowledgeable of how to run one. Finally, Swift is a trained fencer, though he rarely gets to put said training into practice.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): While in court, Swift is easily recognizable by his bright red coat, covered in golden tassels and black and gold epaulettes. He completes this outfit with white trousers and black leather boots. However, Swift often expresses distaste for this outfit, and, when actually out sailing, wears more practical and mundane clothes, more similar to those worn by his crew. Sift also carries an elegant rapier on his waist, and also a simple knife when actually out sailing.

Background: Swift was the son of a high-ranking noble in Northpoint, and so had a childhood familiarity with the royal family. Always fond of sailing, Swift would often leave for months at a time to go sailing around High Rock and Skyrim. However, Swift was always patriotic, and so used his prized ship, The Marianne, to harass Shornhelm’s coastlines as a privateer during the war between that kingdom and Northpoint. Shortly after, Swift became famous within Northpoint by sailing personally with the King to defeat the pirates and reavers that were attacking Northpoint’s coasts. Forming a strong friendship with King Daric, Swift played a large role in the complete rout of the seafaring bandits, and was named the Head Admiral of Northpoint’s Royal Navy that was formed afterwards. In his tenure as the Head Admiral, the Royal Navy has become one of the most prestigious and well-disciplined in Tamriel, though it is still substantially smaller than other kingdoms.

Dunk Sogdwills, Captain of the City Watch of Northpoint.
Spoiler

Name: Ser Dunk Sogdwills
Title: Captain of Northpoint city watch
Age: 50
Race: Breton
Gender Male

Appearance: He is a very strong man, and ugly too.He carries a scar at his neck and has a broken nose.He has black hair and moustache.

Skills: He is a good swordsman.
Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): He uses an steel armor with a grey cloak with the Northpoint coat of arms.He fights with a battleaxe and a shield.

Background: Born a commoner he entered the city watch at 20 year since them his skill as a figther made him rise to the rank of captain of the northen gate.When the last commander of the watch died he used not very honorable means to rise to the rank.Nowdays he has become very corrupt and would do anything for money.Altought no one alive knows.

Julius Scipion, Count of Alsace, Lord Knight of the Noble Order of the Griffin, Master of the Order of Sentinels, Chief Librarian of the Alsace University and Archives, Templar of the Knights Mentor, Honorary Priest of Julianos, Knight of the Order of the Lamp
Spoiler

Name: Julius Scipion
Title: Count of Alsace, Lord Knight of the Noble Order of the Griffin, Master of the Order of sentinels, Chief Librarian of the Alsace University and archives, Templar of the Knights Mentor, Honorary Priest of Julianos, knight of the order of the lamp.

Age: 176
Gender: Male
Race: High Elf

Appearance: Julius stands at 6’2; he has jet black hair recently with touches of grey in the hairline, he is lean but not overly muscular he walks with a slight limp in his left leg due to a pirate fight and occasionally rolls his right shoulder which has wolf claw scars on if ever seen he has grey eyes and appears more pale than a usual high elf of his kind he is clean shaven and chooses to wear his hair in a smooth wave style (See Oblivion)

Skills: Julius is very well trained in the use of the blade particularly one-handed he favours the use of heavy armour Julius was and is a battlemage and so is trained well in the use of destruction (Particularly Shock spells), Conjuration and Restoration however he is trained in the basics of illusion and alteration, Julius has a rare gift that of manipulating the weather he uses this mainly in domestic uses but recently has been forced to use in battle situations, as is his station he is trained in the art of speechcraft, He also smiths in his spare time.

Inventory: Julius is often wearing Simple clothes, but in battle will wear his oldhttp://www.uesp.net/wiki/File:OB-npc-Imperial_Guard.jpgand usually uses an http://www.google.co.uk/imgres?q=elven+longsword+oblivion&hl=en&safe=off&biw=1280&bih=705&gbv=2&tbm=isch&tbnid=E1OIfYHo3q3FaM:&imgrefurl=http://s7.invisionfree.com/TES_Oblivion/ar/t14.htm&docid=lBbYZ5lGtyFjFM&imgurl=http://i3.photobucket.com/albums/y64/Raven8705/ElvenLongsword.jpg&w=242&h=440&ei=9n2AT9vwE8Lm8QOh8ryeBg&zoom=1&iact=hc&vpx=386&vpy=2&dur=4525&hovh=303&hovw=166&tx=91&ty=144&sig=105637486582652333126&page=2&tbnh=164&tbnw=90&start=15&ndsp=21&ved=1t:429,r:11,s:15,i:129and a spell in the other hand.

Background: Julius was born to his parents Alecor Scipion the Current lord of Alsace and his mother Lilia Scipion his parents were both high elves however Julius somehow was born more pale than most high elves, his father had inherited the title after his father had married into the line of the previous rulers of Alsace, Julius grew up a happy boy and at the age of 19 joined the imperial Legion where he was shifted into the Imperial Battle College due to his talents Julius was with the legion until 3E407 when his father and mother were both killed by bandits, Julius came home to take upkeep of the county and in 3E427 he met and married a local Breton by the name of Marina they were happily married until the oblivion crisis in which a heavily pregnant marina was killed Julius was left a shell of his former self and has then been subsided but recently has become a player in the game of Princes and power...

Napoleon Jadieran, Captain of the Order of the Griffin,Vice chamberlain.
Spoiler

Name:Napoleon Jadieran
Title:Knight-Captain of the Order of the Griffin,Vice chamberlain.
Race:Breton
Age:27
Gender:male
Appearance:6'3, he has Chocolate brown hair slightly longer than average and is claen shaven and Blue eyes,rather muscular,Scar at the top right of his head where an arrow Grazed it.
Skills:He is a knight and so trains in those skills to the utmost but prefers the use of heavy or medium armours depending on the occasion,More of a sword and shield person but more than capable with another weapon,he is also very skilled in the art of diplomacy but that is mainly used to entice women into his grasp.
Equipment:When in public he wears his training clothes leather boots and trousers, a white linen shirt and leather gloves that is all he seems to wear unless it is a court occasion in which he will wear something suitable in battle he will wear steel armour and uses a steel longsword with a shield emblazoned with the sign of the order of the griffin.
Background:Napoleon was born one year after the oblivion crisis he was the son of louis The lords Chamberlain and so is expected to hold that rank later in life but for now he travels and fights with the lord of alsaces Noble order of the griffin in which he was trained almost from birth in first as a page boy then a squire until when he was 16 he was personally Knighted by the lord of alsace and from then on has served with the utmost conviction becoming a Knight captain by 21 since then he has not striven for higher rank as to do so would mean lots more paperwork also while his father is busy he is a very slight ladies man but not enough to attract unwanted attention from his father and so be reprimanded and forced to marry whatever woman he had just slept with.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The Lords, Ladies, and Men of the Grand Duchy of Shornhelm:
Allard Lariat, Grand Duke of Shornhelm
Spoiler

Name
Allard Lariat

Title
Grand Duke of Shornhelm, Warden of the Heart and Ex-King of Shornhelm

Age
38

Race
Breton

Gender
Male

Appearance
Allard Lariat is a tall man, his dark green eyes contain an immense amount of grief and sorrow so much so that it is said that those who look into them are hit, for just a second, by a wave of despair. His face is aging and ruggedly unkempt. His physical build is degrading fast though once he was a very well built, strong man. His hair is equally neglected though not yet long and is slowly greying.
  • Tall
  • Sad, dark green eyes
  • Aging and unkempt face
  • Physically degrading
  • Hair is neglected and messy, brown but slowly greying
Skills
Being schooled his entire life by top instructors Allard has reached proficiency in duelling skills, destruction and restoration magic, along with minor alchemy influences. He has studied all the schools of magicka to a degree which allows him to recognise different types of spells. As a young man Allard dreamed of being a poet or bard and so has the ability to write, though something he does sparingly.

Equipment
Carries with him a long ornamental sword and wears long expensive black robes and is never seen in another colour, on his head a circlet containing a small green jewel can be seen, an improvement on the crown he had as king which was made of simple copper.

Background
From a young age Allard was tutored and readied for his position in becoming a new king. He loathed the fact at first and dreamed of escape and becoming a bard. To quell these fancies his father, Roran Lariat, had him squired to one of the knights of the land and soon he learned to respect these men. However not long after Allard stole one of the knights horses and escaped searching for adventure. It wasn’t long though until he discovered the true state of the kingdom as he explored, he discovered that many of the people in the kingdom suffered and were extremely poor.

This discovery drove him to do the things he did, which ultimately won the peoples love but not the nobles. His first act as king was to sell any of the castle’s unneeded items, vast amounts of expensive silk tapestries, curtains, rugs and jewellery were sold off at once, including the old kings crown. In it’s place Allard wore a copper circlet, a symbol that he would expend luxury for his people. This act earned him the name ‘The Pauper King’ throughout the upper echelons of society and the nobles of Shornhelm found him a disgrace to their people. It was no doubt then that when Northpoint turned on the kingdom that the noblemen soon abandoned their king and joined the enemy, which ultimately aided them enough to defeat Shornhelm and claim it for themselves. During this time of turmoil Allard’s pregnant wife and queen of the land, Lady Selene Lariat, became gravely ill. It is said that watching his wife slowly die while his kingdom crumbled drove old Allard mad. After the city of Shornhelm was captured by the enemy, they found Allard sat on his throne weeping, for his wife had died but hours earlier. They discovered that the King submitted easily and decided to keep him on the throne to quell the peasants

Meldorn Lariat,Rightful Prince of Shornhelm
Spoiler

Name: Meldorn Lariat
Title: Rightful Prince of Shornhelm
Age: 22
Race: Breton
Gender Male

Appearance: A darkly handsome young man, Meldorn Lariat has a noble jaw, a strong, chisled nose and smoldering, dark-red eyes that betray the Lariat family's Dunmeri ancestor, Empress Katariah I. Meldorn Lariat chooses to wear his medium-length, jet-black hair slicked backwards neatly, though his present circumstance has left his hair shoulder-length and tangled. Normally clean shaven, at present Meldorn wears an unruly, dark beard that uncompases all his jawline. Where once his eyes would shine keenly, now they glimmer in desperation. Meldorn had been a tall, athletic young man but is now starved to little more than a skeleton. Rags are the Prince's rainment now.

Skills: In his youth in the Court of Shornhelm Meldorn had excelled at archery, jousting, fencing and wrestling, in the traditional Aldmeri-Cyro style. While not a philosopher nor a magician by any stretch of the imagination, Meldorn was a keen reader of the great strategists, owning every work by Codus Callonus, and having read Zurin Arctus' Art of War Magic more than a dozen times. His youthful delight in all things warlike led the young Meldorn into a position in command of a small cavalry division in the war with Northpoint which, marring one event, he handled excellently.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): Rags, shackles.

Background: Nephew to the King of Shornhelm, the son of King Allard's younger brother Roland, Meldorn spent a happy childhood sparring with the other young princes and nobles, learning the way of the knight. Knowing that he was several rungs away from ever being King, Meldorn was happy to prove his family a Knight, and excelled in most of his studies. The only thing marring Prince Meldorn's pleasant upbringing was his rather unruly spirit. More than once when Meldorn felt he had been wronged he ended up breaking another boy's nose, or worse. Though never expected to be King, young Meldorn was groomed for the highest station. During the war with Northpoint, young Meldorn's insatiable interest in warfare would not allow his parents to leave him aside, and after a year or so's nagging, he was given command of a small detachment of Cavlery in his father's army.

Though the war was a losing one, Meldorn fought valiantly, and was ultimately captured in the Battle of White Haven, a massacre in which his father and both his brothers were killed. Meldorn was as unruly as ever as a hostage, and made many attempts to escape. When brought face to face with King Daric, Meldorn spat in the monarch's face in front of half of the nobles of Northpoint. For this, and other crimes, Meldorn was locked up in a castle deep in King Daric's domain, and was never ransomed back like most of the other nobles. As so many died in those final, dark days in the war with Northpoint, most in Shornhelm assume Prince Meldorn was executed, or fell in battle. Not a single soul in all of the conquered Kingdom know the face of Prince Meldorn. First under house arrest, and then thrown in the dungeon, Prince Meldorn is still lives, three years now a prisoner. Forgotten even by the Kingdom who holds him prisoner, taunted by his jailer, starved for weeks on end, has anyone in High Rock fallen as far as Meldorn Lariat? Yet still something keeps the Prince in rags alive.

Aster Faris, Captain of The Restless Serpent
Spoiler

Name: Aster Faris

Age: 26

Race: Yokudan

Gender: Male

Title: Ex-Mercenary, now captain of The Restless Serpent

Appearance: Aster is quite stocky but not in such a way as to appear fat. He is around 5’9” so slightly shorter than most. His left cheek is covered entirely by a red tattoo of The Serpent which has its tail below his left ear and its mouth just next to his mouth. Other than that his face is rather ordinary, his brown hair is kept short and he has no facial hair.

Skills:Blade, Block (but not with a shield), Unarmoured

Equipment: Aster wears a red shirt with an attached hood and a pair of black trousers. Over these he has bit of armour strapped on, his right shoulder is covered by a teardrop shaped steel pauldron, he has a steel bracer on his left forearm which extends into something similar to a gauntlet covering the outside of his hand whilst leaving his palm clear, he uses this bracer instead of a shield and it has been thickened and tempered appropriately. Other than these items Aster wears no armour sacrificing defence for greater mobility in attack. For his weapon he carries a steel Falchion and a steel dagger he keeps in his boot. The nature of the Falchion and his fighting style allows him to maintain an edge on it that would be considered inappropriate one a dual bladed weapon. All he carries with him is a small pouch of Septims and two moderate healing potions.

Personality: Aster is confident in his abilities and this confidence is often interpreted as arrogance by those around him. Due to his past he considers himself to be above your average swordsman and will never reject a duel when offered. Before Aster will fight with any man he must trust this man to gain Asters trust is not easy but it is far easier to lose it. On his ship his word is law and his crew of thirty know this.

Background: Aster grew up in Sentinel under the rule of the Forebears. At the tender age of five he was tested for his ability to wield a sword. He was one of the best children who were from a non-noble background and so was taken from his family. He was taken to one of the military camps along the coast where he was trained in the techniques of swordsmanship. Aster spent thirteen years training leaning as much as he could from the masters in the camp, when the time came to be tested to enter military service he failed. His failure was not through his lack of ability he was still considered to be one of the best swordsmen they had trained however he had no grasp of future events, in battle he thought only of the moment and never of the subsequent movements. Disgusted by his failure he left Hammerfell and became a wandering Mercenary, working only when he had to.

Whilst he wasn’t working he spent his time training but he had learnt from his past mistakes and his training now included playing strategic board games with the old men in towns. Slowly he taught himself to examine others and use it to his advantage in battle by predicting their movements based on his knowledge of them.

Eventually he found his way to High Rock and ended up working aboard the ships there as a part of their navy. After a while he worked his way until he had command of his own ship, The Restless Serpent. The ship is one captured from some Yokudan raiders in the last year and as the member of the crew who secured the ship he was granted the right to become its captain.

The Restless Serpent
Type: Barque, emblazoned with a Serpent exactly like the one seen in the constellation.
Crew: 10 minimum, but fully staffed with apprentices, carpenters and a small amount of marines it can reach up to 40 men.
Masts: Four with the tallest at 60 meters above deck.

Barnan Diamond-Tooth, Captain of the battleship Fallen Demon
Spoiler

Name: Barnan Diamond-Tooth
Title: Captain of the Fallen Demon
Age: 55
Race: Breton
Gender: Male

Appearance: As his name says, one of his teeth is pure diamond, just to make sure he has something with him in case of emergency. He is tall and strong, the years and years of being a captain makes him a very authoritarian. He has a rugged look, but his age cannot be seen in either the way he moves or looks. He wears not a pirate outfit like he used to, but bretonic fine clothing with deep blue shoulders, white torse with a black leather armor reinforcement that are completed by gold decorated, black leather pants and black boots. He has his long hair curled up on sides and wears it as a necklace, decorated by tiny rings of emerald green metal. The rest of his hair is shorter, loosly folded behind him. His hair is darker than night, but has a vein of bright green hair, sickly green, as if from a curse.

Skills: An able sea-man and beast in navigating deadly waters. He knows how to use his falchion and two boot-daggers. Not known to fight fair, fair combat won't keep you alive, he coats his blades in poison. A natural charmer of the ladies, at least back at his youth, and a silver-tongue when it comes to escaping bad situations.

Equipment (Weapons, armor, misc.): Leather armor (see appearence), a falchion coated in poison, two daggers coated in poison, his hair is a necklace with tiny green emeralds, enchanted with water-breathing.

Background: He was born on the sea and has spent more time of ships and the sea than on land. Early childhood and advlthood involved shady underground business, smuggling of illegal goods and sometimes even sea-robbery. He was caught, but his silver-tongue managed to help him escape. From there, he slowly began gathering reputation around High Rock and five years later was the leader of a small smuggling operation by himself. It only took him a few more years of calculated business and sabotage to make him the pirate captain of the Avenger. That ship was a fast, but small, ship that was infamous for disappearing and ambushing other ships by surprise. He learned the way of sea-fight from the captains point of view. The stealing and plundering of high rock was, however, risky and Barnan got a most tempting deal with the duke of Sharnhelm himself. Years of service under his banner made him the captain of the Fallen Demon, a massive warship that packed a punch in every way one could imagine. Ruin exploration had even managed to equip it with two slow dwemer crossbolts, a huge advantage against all ships within their range thanks to the explosive ammunition. The crew contained everything from cartographers and alchemists to archers and even a few priests. The rest of the crew all had years and years of melee combat experience, not a single one fighting fair. That's how Barnan wanted things. Honor is for the dead. The Sharnhelm navy was more than just one ship too, half a dozen smaller ships regularily patrolled the water ways from northpoint to evermore, but always keeping to the west side of the gulf. The fastest of these smaller ships is The Restless Serpent, whose captain if a young but promising lad called Aster Faris who reminds Barnan of his own youth.


----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Those Sworn to no Soveriegn Nation:
Alric the Woeful, Warlord of the Warsworn
Spoiler

Name: Alric (the Woeful)

Title: Warlord

Age: Thirty six

Race: Breton

Gender: Male


Appearance: Alric stands at 6 foot seven, a mighty mammoth of a man. His fierce scowl never seems to leave his sharp face, which contains two scars from his past. A might blade ripped through his left eye, leaving him blind, and with a long red scar that slices across his face and a cut leads down from his lip. His face is tattooed a crimson colour tribally and with great attention to detail. His nose has obviously been previously broken and hangs crooked but his eyes, his eyes are fearless and inspiring and yet, inside them there appears to be something else, something more. The orbs are coloured a bright blue, almost white colour, but they were once heard to have been a deep brown.

Skills: As a battle hardened warrior Alaric is skilled in using two axes and a two handed axe. He is proficient in the use of knives and blades but chooses not to use them unless absolutely necessary. The Warlord is also an expert at fisticuffs and has battered and bruised many on his rise to power.

Equipment: Although he has a full set of steel armour he is loathe to wear it. Alric enjoys the rush of going into battle in nothing more than leggings and still being victorious. He carries with him two hand axes, strapped to his sides, along with a battle axe on his back.

Background:

Come one and all and hear the tale,
Of the Warlord Alric
A Warrior most pale

Born long ago, in the reaches high
He was a child who would defy

All those who repressed
For he found he was blessed

With power so strong
He could punish those who he thought wrong

With his power though came a price
For he was visited by witches thrice

They span a web of prophecy
And told him only he could be

The leader of a mighty band
Of Warsworn warriors who would stand

For all that was right and all should be
But it didn’t take long for him to see

That they would soon become a shade
Not noble knights instead they’d raid

These Warsworn Warriors would be a fearsome horde
All would fear them and abhor
Alric made the prophecy come true
And soon events turned out as he knew

But there was a change of plan
And as he rose he became less a man

Until the day of his defeat

When he fought single-handedly

Against a shade upon a hill
A mighty beast he intended to kill

The beast attacked with great skill and ferocity
Alric knew he couldn’t fight the monstrosity

He was flung down to the floor

And he felt his life fade

On a mountain high
he saw his end

But the Hagravens of three had plans
They would remake this mighty man

And with their spells and curses they
Managed to revive the man who’d pay

A price so high but he had no choice than agree
That he’d be theirs for eternity.





Character Summaries:

The Kingdom of Daggerfall:
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Camaron Thagor (Played by Person From Anticlere)- It is a difficult business, being a serious and heroic king; far easier it is to be a flamboyant and scandalous one, as the ruling head of House Thagor has discovered long ago. A man better known for his exploits in feasts and bedrooms (not all of them his own), in his own kingdom Camaron is viewed with light amusemant by the majority of the nobility behind closed doors, considered a half-decent filler for the throne who is, at any length, far better than an active monarch; the opinions of foreign rulers tend to be less charitable. That they overlook the fact Daggerfall has prospered of late is a rather gratifying point for Camaron himself.

Kelmena Thagor
(Played by Person From Anticlere) - Few eyebrows were raised or heads turned when a sixteen year old sat down in the throne next to Camaron; the arrival from Camlorn had a very southern beauty to her, which did more than enough to explain why Kelmena was queen to those who did not believe political gain to be the only reason. Four years in the court of Daggerfall have allowed her to bloom into the young woman few may have imagined her as back in her father's court, as well as firmly imprinting upon her an understanding of how matters were handled in the southern kingdom. This, though, fails to make her feel entirely at home in Daggerfall, or seem that way in the demanding eyes of the kingdom's ancient nobility.

Samuel Bridwell (Played by Person From Anticlere) - Every king needs a right hand; Lord-Marcher Bridwell of Tamwych fills the role, efficiently if not particularly enthusiastically. A man of martial bearing and martial interests, it is somewhat peculiar that he is the closest personal friend Camaron considers to have, given that their personalities could not appear to be further apart. Regardless, as long as the king asks for it, Samuel will continue to serve as his serious foil, guardian and aide with loyalty and a brusque determination that seems to run in the Bridwell family.

Ser Henry Kingsley (Played by aSaPp!5@) - Ser Kingsley is a well known, and somewhat famous - one in his position cannot help but be-, Knight sworn to the Order of the Dragon. He holds the rank of Sur-Magister in the Order of the Dragon as well as being the Lord-Commander of the Dragonsguard, the feared and renowned personal guard of His Majesty the King of Daggerfall, Camaron Thagor. Ser Kingsley is a fierce fighter and has won the title of Champion in many tourneys. His mind is also as sharp as his sword. While not a man who holds to honor in all matters, he does value his duty to his King and Kingdom above all else.

Hector Salford (Played by Magus the Red) - Hector is a known noble that prefers normal soldiering to knightly orders, he is a family man but can be utterly ruthless, a hot and cold mixture.


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------



The Archduchy of Camlorn:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Senhyn Valtieri (Played by aSaPp!5@) - Senhyn is the former King, and current Archduke, of Camlorn. He is a shrewd and hard man, a well respected general, and the Lord-Marshall of the armies of the Kingdom of Daggerfall in the absence of his Majesty the King Camaron Thagor.

Astien Valtieri (Played by aSaPp!5@) - Astien is the son of Archduke of Camlorn and styles himself as the "Prince of Camlorn". Astien is also known informally as the "Fox of Camlorn" for his sharp wits, quick tongue, and sly cunning. He is an avid duelist and has won numerous tournaments due to his prowess with the rapier and shiavona. He has also slain his fair share of men in duels. Among those he has slain are more than a few lords, minor and major.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------




The Kingdom of Wayrest:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------




The Kingdom of Evermore:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------




The Kingdom of Northpoint:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Julius Scipion (Played by Magus the Red) - Most of Julius’ title’s suggest that he is a patron of Julianos, before the fall of the empire he held the rank of Wizard in the mages guild, afterwards with the fall of many things Julius reformed his local branch into the Alsace university and archives, Julius is and adamant believer in teaching and his personality runs alongside that philosophy.

Napoleon Jadieran (Played by Magus the Red) - Napoleon Is A knight first and foremost but is expected to have other skills due to his To-be inherited title of chamberlain.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------




The Grand Duchy of Shornhelm:

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------


---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------



The RP is open for posting.
User avatar
Kevan Olson
 
Posts: 3402
Joined: Tue Oct 16, 2007 1:09 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 12:00 pm

Castle Evermore, 5th of Hearthfire, 4E28


And with great trepidation in his heart Master Raurich, patriarch of the great House Cantone, Baron of Evralle, Knight of the Order of The Hourglass, Keeper of the seal and Chief Chamberlain to the Royal Court of Evermore, rapped his ancient knuckle on the leather door to the infamous bedchambers of Queen Syllawen. And waited. And waited. Snow drifted noiselessly down past the emerald-stained window that finished the corridor to his left. The chill fraternised politely with the warmth up and down the passage ways of Castle Evermore, swilling the change in temperature around at an orderly pace. The silence dragged on. Master Raurich coughed rather loudly and rapped again on the door, in the same measured rhythm. The silence stretched on - and then was broken by a muffled, young voice.

"Oh, come in then if you really must"

Master Raurich bowed his head, crossed his heart with the Divine Nonagon and let himself in, steeled as if entering the very Jaws of Oblivion.

First to hit the old Chamberlain's senses was the smell. First the heavy aroma of burning moon sugar, unmistakable now to the old Breton after the last year and a half. Then the sickly, overpowering fragrance of Telvanni bugmusk, as strong as if his Queen had been swimming in the stuff. The elderly Chamberlain recoiled, squinting his eyes in protection, and was quite unable to take in the sight of Queen Syllawen's bedchambers, which was just as well. All that met Master Raurich's vision was an overwhelming glow of orange and pink, from the canopies and sheets the Queen had draqed all over her bedroom, giving it the appearance of a Ra'Ga harem. Behind the Chamberlain a huge cloud of sickly-sweet smoke erupted from out the doorway into the cool corridor as if there had been an explosion. Master Raurich wiped the tears from his eyes, his fuzzy vision crystallising til he could make out his Queen, laying on the floor upon a scattering of ornate cushions, belly down, naked except for a thin sheet partially draqed over her, smoking a long hookah-pipe and looking up at him with the most quizzical expression.

"Well?"

Master Raurich groaned in agony and averted his eyes, covering them with his velvet sleeve, standing as tall and upright as a soldier on salute. He had dreaded the worst, and as usual his Sovereign delighted in meeting his darkest expectations.

"Y-y-our Majesty, if I may-"

"Close the door? You are letting an awful chill in, Master Raur"

Sir Raurich of Cantone grimaced and turned to close the door carefully, screening his Queen from his vision with his long, black sleeve.

"Now. I suppose you had something terribly important to say, climbing up all the way to visit me in my chambers" said the Queen, taking a lengthy draw upon the thin ebony mouthpiece of her pipe, her huge, yellow eyes lighting up, golden skin shimmering in the lamplight that flickered from a thousand different candles. If Master Raurich had wished to look, the tales of Queen Syllawen being the most beautiful woman in all of the Iliac (and beyond) would yet again had been confirmed.

"Y-y-yes, well, a number of things actually, your Majesty. L-lletters, matters of urgent importance, you haven't deemed to visit court in a fortnight now and-" Queen Syllawen sighed, blowing out a billowing cloud of smoke in the shape of a dragon. The sigh made Master Raurich pause and hold his tongue. The Chamberlain scratched at the retreating nest of white, wiry hair that remained at the very back of his head and allowed his Queen her moment. While the only way to deal with Syllawen, as Master Raurich knew well now, was to tell her the frank truth of things, the Queen would still sometimes enjoy to glare at him, reinforcing the fact that She is the Queen and She should be the one giving lectures and not receiving them. This little ceremony would pop up almost whenever the two conversed, and it was quite automatic for them both now.

"...the Kingdom is restless. If you could just deal with one or two of these matters, the Counts could be subdued."

Syllawen Direnni thought hard, or as hard as her untethered, soaring mind could allow her at this juncture and decided to respond as her Chamberlain suggested. "The Counts" was another artefact of some significance in their relationship. Syllawen had learned in her first year as Queen, that "The Counts" often appeared along side other terms as "restless", "rebellious", and, Syllawen were to push Master Raurich to the end of his argument, "regicide". The three Rs.

"...very well, I suppose. What are the matters at hand, then?"

Master Raurich sighed in relief and drew a long parchment from his doublet. The tone he began in was precisely the tone of his Queen Syllawen liked least in all the world.

"It has come to the attention of the Barons of High Gauvadon, that the untamed tribes of the Bjoulsae bank have, due to conditions most unfavourable, brought about by the freezing of certain crops last Evening Star, and the flooding of grain-stores when the great River burst it's banks this Sun's Height.." Syllawen began to doze, her eyes flickering open and shut, only catching alternate words as her Chamberlain went on, "..have taken to piracy and wanton savagey in their hunger. Now, the brother Of the Count of Gauvadon, Lord Porout has taken it upon himself to return the destruction and burnt a great series of villages, all across the Bjoulsae-"

"What do I have to do?" interjected Queen Syllawen, dreamily. Raurich clicked his tongue and responded in his plainest voice.

"Write a letter congratulating the Count's brother, and send grain, and a letter apologising about the Count's brother to the Horse-People of the Bjoulsae."

"Won't you..?" Master Raurich nodded, having quite expected this species of response. He continued, moving down his list,

"Secondly, the Count of Baleham, Lord Knapp's son, Ragnar, has come of age, and it is proper that he should be landed-"

"MARVELLOUS!" exclaimed a raspy voice from the bed, and a handsome looking Dunmer, naked at least as far down as the waist, sat up, one arm raised in triumph. The poor old Chamberlain almost leapt out of his skin, hitting his head on the padded door behind him. The Dark Elf had medium length, floppy red hair, an exquisitely crafted goatee, an athletic physique and had apparently been in there the entire time. Queen Syllawen erupted into giggles at the sight of her Chamberlain quivering so and lent up on her elbows, shaking her copper hair out of the way to look at the new entrant to the conversation, a grin on her giddy face.

"Oh, haven't you met Nels yet, Master Raur? He's from Morrowind, isn't that exotic? He's staying all week." The dunmer male laughed and gave a flourish, winking at the Queen who stuck her tongue out.

"The greatest lover in all of Vvardenfell" he boasted

"You are not!"

"Like you'd know!"

"I do, I've experience"

"Then who is?"

"...Divayth Fyr"

At which Nels threw a shoe at The Queen, which hit her in the side. She giggled enormously and rolled about, hiding under a curtain for cover. The Dunmer boomed in laughter and turned to the silent Master Raurich, bowing low and introducing himself

"I apologise. Nels Llendo, your humble servant. But you must tell me, good chap" he said to the stunned Master Raurich, leaning foward and up, "this boy who is to be a Lord...is he...red-headed?" the Dunmer's eyes glowed with excitement. The old Chamberlain paused for a moment, gathering his tongue. Politeness was the thing, when addressing one of his Sovereign's ..guests.

"N-no, I don't believe he is. Blonde, I believe, like his farth-"

"THEN HE CANNOT BE LORD!" exclaimed Nels, waving his arm and laughing, turning to Syllawen so she would join in, which she did, though not at all caring why. Master Raurich looked at his shoes, and gathered a cloud of indignation around him.

"I-I-I must say, it would be a matter of most political advantage if young Ragnar were to.." at which the rouge interrupted him, holding up a grey-blue finger, his handsome, chiselled face a mask of seriousness.

"You must get him..to dye his hair. If he is red-headed, then he can be Lord!" the stranger announced, turning to Syllawen. The Queen giggled in delight, and caught the eye of her lover, curling her full, brass-coloured lips incredulously.

"Is it important..?" she asked the Dunmer. Nels Llendo nodded severely, holding back a great tempest of mirth between pursed, grey lips. Syllawen turned to her Chamberlain, chin held high.

"If he becomes red-headed, he can be Lord! It is my Royal Decree!" Master Raurich fumed, but knew that in this mood, his Queen was implacable. And so it would be.

"V-very well, your majesty-" Nells Llendo erupted in shuddering laughter, and began to sing, waving his fists:

"There once as a hero named Rangar The Red-" A cushion hit the Dunmer in the side of the head, and he quickly retaliated. In seconds the rouge and the Queen of Evermore where throwing everything they could get their hands on at each other, both laughing hysterically as they battled. Poor Master Raurich had to doge behind a draqe to avoid being smacked in the head by a miss-thrown sujamma jug.

"Y-y-YOUR MAJESTY!" boomed Master Raurich, failing to silence the duellists. He continued never the less, shouting over their squeals "..THERE ARE OTHER MATTERS TO ATTEND TO" he began, voice echoing down the halls, his Queen and the rouge from Vvardenfell exchanging a flurry of pillow-shots "FOR INSTANCE, IT IS ONLY A MONTH TIL THE FESTIVAL OF PEACE AND ARRANGEMENTS MUST BE MADE-"

The room became silent. Queen Syllawen dropped her weapon and faced her Chamberlain in solemn, sober attentiveness. And so the planning began.



-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dearest [Put the name of the Lord here, Raur],

Her Majesty Syllawen Direnni, Queen of Evermore desires
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.
A Ball will be held in Castle Evermore, at which a band from
Lilmoth will pl
We humbly await your reply.
~ S~D
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
User avatar
Anna S
 
Posts: 3408
Joined: Thu Apr 19, 2007 2:13 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 3:12 am

Varthlokkur, Castle Urvaius Lair

The nearby candle provided scant illumination for Varth as his hands crushed the ingredients with his mortar and pestle. The flickering light was just enough to work by, for the Dunmer’s eyes were accustomed to the natural darkness of the castle basemant that he called his lair. Shadows clung to every corner of the stone room, only enough luminance present to allow someone to view a scarce portion of the chamber.

Once used as Castle Urvaius’s spare wine-cellar, Duke Arniel had it converted to Varth’s personal workspace upon his employment as court wizard. The Dunmer Necromancer took to calling it his “lair” to frighten the ignorant village folk and pretentious god fearing nobles. The arched vault-like halls no longer held racks of aged wine and kegs of ale, but a large assortment of magical and alchemical equipment, vials of strange liquid, and dusty old tomes containing complex recipes and spells.

He continued to grind the roots and fungus together as he heard the heavy wooden door to his lair creak open, and slam shut. The Dunmer took a quick glance up from his work to spot a young Breton boy, perhaps only fifteen years of age, carefully make his way down the steps into the refurbished wine cellar. Dressed in the clothing of a commoner and standing at a meager five feet, Varth immediately identified the boy as his page, or hired servant.

“I-I’m going out to the market, sir” stammered the boy, obviously intimidated by the shadowy sorcerer. “Shall I fetch the normal?”

Varth did not immediately reply, instead dumping the crushed contents of the pestle into the calcinator, producing a gloomy smoke that floated lazily across the table. He then slowly looked up towards the boy, his hood masking most of his features, and with the most ominous voice he could muster, began to speak. “Yes, the normal will suffice, but make sure to obtain some extra Aloe Vera for me” said Varth, trying his best not to laugh at boy, and slowly placed a small purse of coins in the table in front of him.

The boy stood for a moment, regarding the court wizard in fear and wonderment before awkwardly stepping forward and retrieving the bag of coins, exiting the cellar for the marketplace. Varth chuckled, drawing his hood back. He loved scaring the locals of this place, and the creepy robes and hood only made it easier. The Dunmer shook off the distraction, and finished the completed his work on the potion. After sealing the three flasks worth of the liquid with wax, he rose from his seat, filing the potions away on a nearby shelf.

After cleaning up his equipment, Varth continued deeper into the arched cellar, passing sub-chambers filled with all sorts of items, such as old Velothi or Alik’r artifacts, to dead bodies in various stages of decomposition laid out on operating tables, and even a few successful necromantic minions who stood idly by, waiting for a command (though most were sent to guard the secret passages throughout the castle from unwanted intruders).

He passed by these chambers, paying them little notice, for they were not his intended destination. Varth reached the end of the hall-like chamber, and opened a small wooden door that was situated to his left. He entered the room beyond, and closed the door, sealing himself inside. With the snap of his fingers, the various candles throughout the room lit up at one, the sudden appearance of illumination devouring the darkness of the room, revealing a few braziers situated around a metallic ring embedded in the center of the floor.

Within minutes, Varth had lit the braziers, filling the air with wispy blue smoke and the scent of incense, as well as casting a spell upon the walls and doors of the chamber, causing all noise inside to be muffled and very difficult to hear. When these preparations were complete, the Dunmer stood outside the summoning circle, and took a deep breath before focusing his magicka and plunging into the depths of Oblivion, searching for an old enemy.

Through the weaves and seams of reality his mind wandered, and into the realm of Dagon, calling forth the name of his desired. A mote of blue light sparked to life in the center of the summoning circle, and quickly expanded into a raging torrent of rushing energy. The shimmering waves dissipated as Varth pulled the Deadra into Mundus, leaving a tall and armored creature in its wake.

The beast was tall, taller than Varth even, outfitted in grotesquely articulate dark red armor. It wore no helmet, revealing a gaunt face the color of charcoal, and eyes as crimson and fiery as the depths of Red Mountain, with large, incongruous horns sprouting from its forehead. It opened its mouth, revealing a perfect set of yellowed canines. “Varthlokkurrrrrr” purred the Dremora Lord, focusing its angry eyes upon the summoner.

“Hiya, Kathazzt” replied Varth cheerfully, seemingly un-intimidated by the Dremora. “How are things back in Oblivion? Kill any mortals recently?”

The Deadra snarled. “You are a fool to summon me here without binding, Wizard!” he said, taking a step closer, armored hand reaching for the claymore on his back.

“No no no!” said Varth playfully, focusing his magicka. The metallic circle on the floor began to glow, a translucent magical energy flowing inside of it, latching onto the Dremora Lord like an adhesive, stopping him in place. The creature gritted his sharpened teeth in pain and frustration, lowering his hand with an irritated grunt. “Stay put, please. I only wish to have a little discussion.”

Kathazzt hissed beneath his pained breathing, his body beginning to falter under Varth’s unique holding spell. “I will kill you one day, Wizard.”

“Probably” replied Varth. “But for now, you and I have some business to talk about.” Varth moved to a chair in the corner of the room and took a comfortable seat while the summoned Dremora stood withering in the summoning circle. “Now, I’m going to drop the spell. Please keep in mind that you owe me, Kathazzt. I beat you, and in accordance to our deal, you are thrice in debt to me.”

The Dremora grumbled something unintelligible as the spell dissipated, leaving the Deadra once more in control of his body. “I have grown in power since that day, Wizard. I could defeat you, and rip out your heart with utter ease!”

“I have grown in power as well, but that is not what we are here to argue” Varth said, impatience growing in his voice. “It is almost time for our plan to take action” he said, leaning forward in his chair.

Kathazzt merely grunted. “You mortals and your filthy politics, plans, and lies! Let us just storm their petty fortresses and crush their bones under our feet!”

“Yea, that worked real well when Dagon tried to invade Tamriel, didn’t it? No, the secret to winning this is secrecy, cunning, and deceit” chided Varth. “We will stick with the plan. Tensions are growing among the youthful kingdoms, war will break out soon.”

“Hmmpf. That didn’t work too well for Jagar Tharn, did it?” mocked Kathazzt. “When do you plan on acting?”

“Soon” replied Varth, ignoring his comment. “I don’t have the exact details worked out yet, just make sure you are prepared. Ready your Kynmarchers and Churls.”

The Dremora Lord nodded. “They are eager to recant our last defeat. But I warn you, Wizard,” he said, taking a step forward. “If you shame my fief any further, I will ignore our agreement, personally rip out and eat your eyes.”

“Yes yes, you are a big bad Deadra” sneered Varth, unphased by the Dremora’s threats. “Just make sure you are ready. The time is nigh.”

Kathazzt nodded, and Varth began to undo the summoning, banishing the Deadra back into Oblivion. The Dremora, simply put, began to dissolve as if he were made of sand, and a soft wind was starting to tear him apart, grain by grain. His hands began to dissolve first, crumbling into dust and floating away, and then his legs began to lose structure, along with his torso. “Remember, Wizard!” called out the Dremora Lord, only halfway attached to Mundus now. “This is the third service I have done for you! After this, I am bound to you no longer!” and with that, he completely fell apart, collapsing into a swirling maelstrom of dust that seemingly winked out of existence.

Varth stared at the empty summoning circle for a while, insecure thoughts filling his skull. What if I get caught? What if this plan falls flat on its face? I don’t need another enemy chasing me across Tamriel… He pushed the thoughts out of his head. Now was not the time to let insecurity fill his mind, but to take action. He had thought this over for a while, and the plan was stable, plausible. It was going to happen.

The Dunmer Sorcerer left his summoning room, extinguishing the candles and the muffle spell as he traversed back to his desk, curious if lord Arniel or someone else was looking for him.
User avatar
Princess Johnson
 
Posts: 3435
Joined: Wed Feb 07, 2007 5:44 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 3:19 am

Like usual, the keep at Markwasten Moor was calm and still. The town itself barely had a thousand residents, and residence at the keep had become quite selective since Gratian had taken power. As a military man, he never had appreciated servants, who were always snooping around trying to find things to do. Years in the Legion had greatly lowered the Imperial's standards for what he considered comfortable living, and the sturdy bailey at the center of his new town more than sufficed for that purpose. In fact, one of his first acts as Count of Markwasten had been to dismiss almost all of the servants. As a result, the place had taken on a still and extremely tranquil air, although it had lost most of its opulence. The ornate portraits of Markwasten's past counts and countesses as well as the lovely paintings of the county's landscape had been the second casualty of Gratian's thrift, soon followed by most of the fine china and silverware. Practical men with spartan standards of living had no need for such extravagance.

Thus, in this quiet and empty keep sat Count Olybrius and his most loyal officers, all legion veterans, around the long wooden table in his great hall. Although the count still held court from time to time to keep the minor nobles in his land feeling as if they were still valued, all decisions of real importance were made behind closed doors in meetings like this one.

"Quintus," asked Gratian in a calm tone, "are all of our finances in order?"

"Yes, sir. At least, for the most part. Our budget so far is balanced, although we still haven't found all of Dumont's stashes of wealth." Quintus, a clean-shaven and square-jawed man of thirty, spat out the name Dumont with a bit of disgust. As the former quartermaster of Gratian's cohort, he had been placed in charge of Markwasten's treasury, and he had quickly come to hate the dead man who had once been count. The foppish Breton had been quite loose with his bookkeeping and not too sound with money as a whole. Discerning Markwasten's income and expenses had taken Quintus months at the beginning of his tenure as treasurer, and the old regime's ledgers had not provided much help.

"We can do without Dumont's caches. We'll keep up the effort to find them, but if you say we don't need them, there's no reason to make an issue of it." said Gratian decisively. "I trust you can continue to allocate funds to our build-up of infrastructure."

"Indeed, sir. The maintenance on the walls and roads is coming along as scheduled. The builders were satisfied with their pay increase, and have caused no further issues." replied Quintus.

"Well, then, I believe our business on those matters is concluded. Make sure things stay that way. Is there anything else we have to discuss?" he asked the whole group. The first to reply was Maro, the foreign minister.

"As a matter of fact, sir, there is. Syllawen Direnni, the queen of Evermore, has invited you to some feast at her palace. From what I gather, these invitations went all through High Rock."

"Damn it." said Gratian with a sigh. "I hate parties. Especially the ones these Breton dandies throw. I suppose Elysana will expect me to attend?"

"Unfortunately, sir, she most likely will. I don't think you can get out of this one." said Maro with a hint of pity and regret. He slid the invitation across the table to the count, who opened it quickly and read it. He scowled at the ornate font and flowery prose of the invitation. It ran counter to his practical and minimalistic approach towards official affairs, and looked like quite the opposite of the old Legion orders he had become so fond of.

Dearest Gratian Olybrius,

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

Gratian paused for a moment, contemplating his options after reading the brief note.

"I'll take a few guards and travel there on horseback. It's not too long a journey. I should be back by the 14th of Frostfall. Until then, Graccus is in charge." Few words were necessary to communicate Gratian's ideas to those who knew him well, yet another reason he preferred to stick to the company of his old veterans.

The men nodded their agreement, particularly Graccus himself. He was the court wizard, although calling him such often drew the laughter of many local wizards. Graccus was surprisingly ignorant on magical theory, having only a basic understanding of higher arcane knowledge. He was, however, a decent healer and quite the accomplished practicioner of Destruction magic. Gratian had never met anyone more skilled with fire, frost, or lightning as his own court wizard, although, to be fair, he was not acquainted with terribly many mages to begin with.

"Now then, I think that concludes this week's orders. You're all dismissed." ordered Gratian.
User avatar
Jeffrey Lawson
 
Posts: 3485
Joined: Tue Oct 16, 2007 5:36 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 11:51 am

Tynanis Porout, Castle Gauvadon

Tynanis was in his room of the castle. The door was left open, and if one were to peer inside, they would have seen a young man in front of a desk with many books laid out. His large eyes looked over the pages fine tuned focus. These books that he had wrapped himself in were tales of the great Cyrodiilic empire. Due to the heirtage of his father, Tynanis almost had a obession with Imperial culture.

Years ago, a Breton lass of the rich Porout family met a wandering Imperial bard. Impressed with his tunes, the Breton woman spoke with the imperial. Using vibrant language, he told her many tales. Her interest captured, she convinced him to stay in the area. Night after night, the two spoke to each other, and with time, love blossmed between the two. The Porout family took the relationship rather well, as the Imperial had impressed them with his exquiste speech and manners. Years passed, and the two were wed, and Tynanis was born. As the first son, he was treated rather well, raised to act as the heir. A brother and sister came later on, and they were groomed for nobility as well.

Tynanis has become more interested in the old ways of the empire, but a darker side has come to the young Breton over the years. When he was 19, he had a series of dreams of a assassin taking down the foes of Gauvadon and to a extent, Evermore. At the end of these dreams, the assassin took off his mask.
Tynanis saw his own face.

As his parents were busy with the affairs of the Duchy, and the raising of his brother and sister, he was able to sneak out many times to train in the art's of a stealth. With many studies into the Dark Brotherhood and Morag Tong, he was able to learn their secrets. He began to pratice the fine art of killing on animals, then bandit's of the country. Now that 5 years have passed, at the age of 24, Tynanis has become quite the efficent assassin. So far, he has been able to hide his secret, and no one suspects a thing.

Unrest has been stirred in the land though. Some of the Horse People of the Bjoulsae, a rather proud warrior tribe, were killed. Villages, actually, burned down. The Horse People were suffering from the river flooding, and took the raiding of farms and such to survive. Tynanis's uncle, the brother of his mother, attacked the villages without mercy, and burned them. Tynanis never really liked his uncle. He lusted after power, and was tired of being a count. His uncle's actions had brought nothing but confusion and worry to his parents. They would be occupied with this for weeks at most.

As Tynanis read, a servant came to him. A letter in his hand, he stood in the doorway, unsure to enter.

"Well come on now! Your bothering me with something, so you might as well tell me!" Tynanis said in a hateful tone. He treated all below him without any respect. He was needed to fix this about himself.

"Milord...I have a letter from Queen Syllaween. It's about a part of hers..." the servant said.

Quickly taking the letter from the page's hands, Tynanis looked it over. A smile went through his face as he looked over the letter. Tynanis had heard of the great party's the queen had threw. He also realized his parents would have no time to go. The conflict with the horse people took all of their attention. Tynanis knew that the page would have only brought him this paper if Tynani's parents had already read it over.

"Your parents want you to represent them at this party. They can't go, and they deem you, the Heir to Gauvadon, to hold honor for all of us at..."

"Shut your mouth, peasent! Finally I have a chance to head to one of the famous parties of Queen Syllaween! Do you know how pointless all the other parties I have been to are compared to this?! Our queen through's the most wonderful of celebrations!" he said with glee.

"Ready my carriage, we must make haste to Evermore!"
User avatar
Shirley BEltran
 
Posts: 3450
Joined: Wed Jul 26, 2006 4:14 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 6:29 pm

Archduke Senhyn Valtieri ,The grand city of Camlorn, The Grey Keep,



"Hah! That eleven [censored] of a Queen is more of a fool than I thought if she believes I'll attend one of her parties," the voice was as harsh and cold as the stone that it echoed off of.

A Breton dressed in fine red and blue velvet stepped closer to his liege lord, his hands interlocked at his chest just below a silver chain that dangled from his neck. The bright morning sun shone upon him from the grand windows in the east, "But Your Grace, this could be a chance to mitigate some of the ill-"

"The only mitigation of ill intent will be when I have every Wayrestian head decorating Camlorn's walls on spikes! The Queen of Evermore and that [censored] Elysana will not have the pleasure of my presence at their little feast," the Archduke stood from his massive stone chair and walked down towards his steward. His footsteps reverberating off of the cold stone walls of the Grey Keep. The throne room was truly a sight to behold. A long hall of stark grey stone with a vaulted ceiling as high as that of the High Chapel in Daggerfall. The hall was decorated with large elegant banners of both sides. The ones on the left baring the crest of Camlorn on blue and red checkered velvet, and the ones on the right proudly displaying the snarling wolf sigil of House Valtieri . The massive throne that sat elevated at the end of the hall was hewn from the same cold grey stone as the keep itself and reached close to ten feet in the air, almost fifteen if you count the stepped base. Two stone wolves were carved into the top of the stone, both reared back on their haunches with their teeth barred, ready to pounce on one another. In the center of the hall was a long oaken table. It's surface was a worn deep brown with the occasional sign of wear here and there. A few retainers moved through the grand hall as they went about their duties. They were accustomed to their lord's shouting, as well as his dislike for the Kingdom of Wayrest.

Antony, the steward of the Grey Keep and House Valtieri, backed away and gave a short bow as his lord passed. "As you wish Your Grace."

Lord Senhyn Valtieri stormed out of the grand hall towards the wing of the keep that held his chambers, his cheeks red with anger. Antony shook his head lightly as he turned and walked towards the opposite wing of the keep where his office was. He had many things to do and wouldn't dare approach the Archduke with anymore matters until he had calmed down. Lord Senhyn's wrath was the stuff of legend and had led many a man to the blocks in the courtyard. They say that it's the Valtieri blood. Archduke Senhyn's great-great-great grandfather had stormed the keep and beheaded the previous Lord of Camlorn while he was holding court. All over an insult he had directed towards Lord Valtieri's wife. His great-axe left a chip in the steps of the throne that is still visible to this day. Since then the Valtieri's have ruled Camlorn for five generations and not one person has dared try and usurp the throne in fear of the repercussions.

The heavy wood and iron door slammed against the harsh grey stone as the Archduke entered the living quarters. To the left tall square windows looked out onto the courtyard below, and to the right were iron banded wood doors that led to the many rooms of the living quarters.

"The gall of that woman." he muttered to himself as he walked briskly down the long corridor, each footstep sounded like an anvil colliding with the floor. However Senhyn's rage was interrupted as he passed one of the many doors to his right. He turned his head curiously and stared at the it for a moment. Faint moans could be heard from beyond. Senhyn shook his head and resumed his infuriated march to his quarters. "Damned fool."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Astien Valtieri, Camlorn, The Grey Keep


The serving girl let out a long moan as Astien gave one last thrust. He wiped a bead of sweat from his brow as he collapsed in the bed next to the young girl. She was a rather pretty thing, no older than seventeen. She had wavy almond colored hair and gentle green eyes. This was the first time Astien had lain with her. It was his little game to see how many of the serving girls he could get to blush when he walked by. He teased them for weeks, maybe even months, just to see them chase after him. Most were the daughters of the lesser nobles of Camlorn. Business owners, wealthy merchants, some of the lowlier guildmasters, all thought to gain higher favor with the Archduke by sending their young daughters off to be retainers to His Grace. Little did they know that Lord Senhyn could care less about serving girls and retainers. However that could not be said about Astien, for he rather liked the idea of having half the castle populated by young females. He was by no means lustful, just a man of worldly pleasures.

"Is m'lord satisfied?" mocked the cute young girl as she laid across Astien's chest, a twinkle in her soft eyes and devious smile upon her face. Astien ran his fingers through her soft wavy hair and down the smooth skin of her back.

"Of course not. Why would I be?" The young girl pushed her self up into a sitting position, a queer look upon her face. "I am sorry if I displease you m'lord," she said, surprised.

Astien let out chuckle as he reached up and stroked the girl's face, "T'was just a jest my sweet."

He pushed himself up off the bed and stretched as he observed the fine subtle curves of his latest catch. With a smile she slipped from the sheets and pressed her naked form against the Bretic Lord. Astien stole one last seductive kiss before he spoke.

"I think it is about time you went on your way. Wouldn't want the old hag in the kitchen finding you absent," a small grin stretched across Astien's face as he watched the young girl mock a curtsy and pick her clothes up of of the floor. "Another night m'lord?" she made sure to put a certain sensual emphasis on m'lord.

"Why of course," replied Astien as he walked past, giving her a more than friendly slap on the rear as she dressed.

I'll have to remember this one. Much better than the last three. He thought to himself as he walked over to his wardrobe. It was a rather large and spacious wardrobe to be honest. Unlike his father Astien was quite fond of staying with the latest fashion and appearing elegant and extravagant wherever he went, and his wardrobe reflected this rather well. It was stuffed with multitudes of colorful doublets, tunics, capes, half-capes, breeches, and other fine articles of clothing to suite every occasion.

After a moment of consideration Astien chose a navy blue doublet accented by a subtle silver brocade pattern. With it he chose matching knee-breeches, a black leather belt with a silver buckle baring a sapphire, and a blue and black half-cape draqed across his left shoulder and fastened with a silver brooch and chain to his right. As he finished securing his cape her turned to see the young girl leaving. He gave her a quick wink making her blush as she exited the room.

Once she was gone he combed back his straight dark brown hair and tied a small leather strip around the short ponytail in the back. He then walked over to a mahogany rack bolted to the wall near his wardrobe. Upon it was a vast array of elegant and extremely well forged rapiers and schiavonas. Each was slightly different than the next in appearance, but greatly different in other properties. Some had more weight to the blade or hilt than others, while a few where mostly for ceremony and unfit for dueling. Every sword perched upon the stained wooden rack had been crafted to exact specifications from Astien himself. Each one was made to compliment his style of dueling in a different way.

Astien reached up and chose a slender rapier with a simplistic yet elegant guard made of silver and polished bronze. He fastened the sword to the left side of his belt along with a matching dagger on the opposite hip. Satisfied with his choice he adjusted his belt and walked out into the corridor outside. The young Lord gazed out of the tall panes of glass to his right, down at the courtyard below, as he walked down the long stone hallway. The grass had now turned a dull brown and the once lush branches of the trees where barren. Winter was fast approaching and soon a thick white blanket of snow would descend down upon the land.

Astien walked across the grand hall of the Grey Keep. Long shafts of light flooded into the room from the windows in the East. As he made his way towards the West wing of the castle the door opened and out came Antony in a rather flustered looking state.

"Good morning to you my Lord. I hope you had a pleasant sleep," greeted the aging Breton as he gave a quick bow to Astien, who replied with a laugh, "Ahh more than you know my good friend."

Antony glanced at the ground and bit his bottom lip. He knew of Astien's past time quite well.

"Now have you summoned the guild mage? It is nearing that time and I would rather like to be on my way."

Antony have a short nod, "Yes my lord, the mage awaits you in the study. Now I must beg my leave. Your Lord father has left me with many tasks that need to be finished and that invitation from Evermore put him in a rather sour mood."

A look of curiosity came across Astien's face, "An invitation from Evermore you say?"

"Yes my lord, the Queen is hosting a celebration for the Festival of Peace and has sent an invitation to your father. Needless to say he saw it as an insult and refused to attend."

Astien let out a hearty laugh, "It has never occurred to me what is wrong with that man. I swear he has the entire Wrothgarian Mountains up his ass most of the day. Not a hint of fun in him."

Antony was a bit taken aback by Astien's comment, as was evident by his facial expression. "Ah, um, yes my lord," he replied hesitantly, trying to be careful with his words. "As I said I must be taking my leave my Lord."

Astien nodded to the steward and started towards the study in the West wing, their footsteps echoing off the cold hard stone as they went their separate ways. It did not take long to find the mage the guild had sent. He was a middle aged man with thinning hair and a crooked nose garbed in worn blue robes. When Astien found him he had his head buried in one of the castles many tomes.

"You are the mage the guild sent correct?" Asked Astien as he entered the study. It was a large circular room comprised of three floors with a winding stair case to connect them at the East end. Radiating from the center of each floor where book cases ten feet tall and crammed full of ancient tomes and scrolls. Most of which hadn't been read in over a century.

The mage looked up from the thick leather-bound book in front of him with a startled expression upon his face. He had been so absorbed by the ancient history of the first Yokudans that he hadn't heard Astien enter. "Ah y-yes m'lord. I was summoned by your steward for transportation purposes," replied the mages as he stood and bowed.

"Good, I need to you to transport me to Castle Urvaius," he paused for a moment and looked the man over, "you can do that can't you?" he asked with a hint of skepticism in his voice. The man did not look like the stereotypical guild mage with his crooked nose, scraggly hair, and worn robes. Of course such was the way of mages; no two were ever a like, and most all were odd in some way or another.

"Why of course m'lord!" replied the middle aged man with confidence in his voice, "I've sent many a people to the Castle of Urvaius."

Astien nodded, "Very well. Now lets get this over with."

The mage nodded and then pushed back the worn sleeves of his robe. There was a quick blue flash and a gut wrenching feeling of being twisted in half and then Astien was in the main hall of Castle Urvaius. He quickly checked himself over, making sure that he arrived all in one piece. Once he was satisfied that all of his body parts had remained intact he made his way towards Duke Arniel's personal study. He had been to castle Urvaius many times before and knew the way rather well. It was still early morning and not many people were roaming about the castle, so Astien had little trouble getting to the study.

Hmm, I wonder if the Duke has any of that good wine left?

Astien opened the the door to the study and looked around for the wine rack. Once he spotted it he quickly searched though the vintages until he came to a dark bottle with 3E410 Bon Millesime stamped into a red wax seal on the bottle. He took the slender glass bottle from the rack and uncorked it, letting the sweet aroma wash over his face. I really need to find out where he gets this. He thought to himself as he grabbed two crystal glasses from a nearby cabinet and sat down at a small round table. He poured the some of the red wine into one of the glasses and let it sit on the table, giving it time to breath.

Now where is the Duke. I thought he would have been up by now.
User avatar
!beef
 
Posts: 3497
Joined: Wed Aug 16, 2006 4:41 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 1:31 pm

Castle Daggerfall

The loud thunk of a fist upon wood echoed down the corridor. At the least, it covered up Samuel Bridwell's dejected sigh as he stood before the thick doors leading to his most respected sovereign's private quarters. A name undeserved, perhaps, considering how little time the monarch actually spent there in private.

"Your majesty, if I may be so bold, I would prefer not to discuss matters through the door."

An awkward silence lingered for a moment, broken quickly by youthful giggling.

"Nor in others' company, your majesty."

There came a loud groan from the bedchamber, unmistakeably that of the king; the giggling only grew louder and more hysterical. From the sound of it, Camaron felt just as disappointed about his close advisor and - on some days - friend as the Bridwell was with his king. Nevertheless, despite whatever rumours said, the reigning ruler of Daggerfall was a man with a head on his shoulders, one usually capable of discerning when the time wasn't right for the 'adventures' that royal life tended to allow for. There was, after another short pause, a clink of iron upon iron.

Samuel's expression remained serious and rather stern as scantily clad girls filed out of the room, some slightly wobbly and only able to walk straight with the help of their friends; it was only when the fifth prosttute walked past him that his left eyebrow rose slightly. Even the infamously large and inviting chambers of the king of Daggerfall were not infinite, however, and soon the Bretic lord could close the doors behind him, left in the solitude he so desired with the king at the moment.

A king who was, at present, sprawled on his bed and slightly red in the face, his chest heaving. One couldn't be part of Camaron's closest circle, however, without managing to deal with the fact he tended to address matters of state in the oddest of times, so Samuel merely shuffled through the bundle of documents and letters, ignoring his sovereign's unsatisfied expression.

"Molag take me, Bridwell. I'm losing my stamina."

The noble didn't look up from his papers. "I'm sure your majesty is just imagining."

"No, no, that's not it!" Camaron bit his lip, frowning. "Six girls and already I'm out of breath. Two of them weren't even doing anything, just screwing each othe-"

"Less details, your majesty, if I may be so bold..?"

Lifting his head up from the pillow, the king rolled his eyes. "Of course, I forget sometimes I'm talking with some unholy apparition of my father come from the afterlife to torment me, not a man of blood and flesh." He let his head drop into the soft embrace of his bed with a silent thud. "Where's the fire this time, then? Gods descending upon High Rock again, or something slightly less urgent..?"

"I'm afraid nothing quite so exciting, your majesty." Finally looking up from the bundle of documents, Samuel sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Several invitations, a petition from the sergeants of Fontfort, some problems related to the upcomming tournaments for the Festival of Peace, finally a report from one of your majesty's people in Wayrest."

Rubbing his eyes, Camaron sighed. "Fontfort. That's Glenpoint, no?"

"Quite correct, your majesty."

"Of course it is." Another sigh. "Where else do you find sergeants, and ones as whiny as the Glenpointers... What is it this time they're complaining to the Estates about?"

"Apparently," Samuel procured the relevant paper from the lot he had carried to the king's quarters - a letter with the broken seal of the March of Fontfort upon it, the usual Glenpoint fare of an owl, this one with its wings outstreched and perched on a thick branch. "The sur-baron of Fontfort has offended one of them by implying the man's a, quote, 'glorified serf and a cow-[censored]', and then tried to disperse the local March with his bannermen."

His Majesty the King of Daggerfall groaned loudly, reaching about blindly for a tunic to pull on while still not bothering to get up. "Thick headed idiots. You can give a peasant a voice, but you can't knock the stupid out of them... The sur-baron, if summoned, will probably have enough mush in his thick skull to say no such thing happened or that he was offended first, and no one in the Estates will care enough to question his word for the complain of some unwashed rabble in the middle of a forest."

Lord Bridwell looked through several other papers. "Into the fire, then?"

"They won't be any worse off for it, and Divines know the Estates don't need any more incentive to take longer and be less productive." Camaron waved his hand dismissively. "With a bit of luck, whoever the sur-baron is, he'll have his skulls smashed in during one of the Festival tournaments and everyone will just forget this mess ever happened."

With a slight nod, Samuel crumpled the letter from the March of Fontfort, while his sovereign finally succeded in locating his tunic - thrown carelessly to the ground next to his bed. "What was that about the Festival preparations, by the way?"

"Oh yes, that. I'm afraid, your majesty, that more idiocy ensues..." Interrupted by another dejected groan from the king, the noble continued. "The Duke of Chesterwick has made it quite publicly known that he'll put every effort into ensuring that the Baron of Longtale doesn't leave the grand melee alive. Apparently some dame of the baron's had several of the duke's serfs beaten and robbed them of their carriage because they didn't make way for her and her servants."

"And this duke doesn't ignore it why..?"

It was Samuel's turn to sigh now. "The two have been at each other's throats for a while now, though I'm afraid I couldn't say over what. It wouldn't matter, but this baron is apparently some distant relative of the Beowens, who your majesty might recall granting the title of Archdukes of Tulune to."

"Of course he is." Camaron shook his head as he sat up, pulling the tunic on and regaining some small semblance of decency. "Alright then, arrange for that dame to fall into the duke's reach then and get someone to see to him not being present in the grand melee here. Isn't Chesterwick sworn directly to the throne? Am I attending something for the Festival?"

"Ah, on that note there are several invitations. Rubbish mostly, but for one - from the Queen of Evermore. Your majesty's man in Wayrest reports mostly of just that too - apparently everyone is invited, quite literally."

The king raised an eyebrow and smiled wryly. "Ah, Balfiera's big embarrasment. Good, she has a way with feasts if nothing else; tell Kelmena to be ready for that... In fact, no, I'll tell her myself. Have that duke know I desire his presence in my entourage for this grand occasion of building bridges we can later have fun burning."

"Very well, your majesty."

"Hm, for that matter..." Scratching his cheek, Camaron frowned slightly. "Anything interesting we could bring to this feast?"

Lord Bridwell raised an eyebrow. "Depends on what your majesty defines as 'interesting'. Definitions of this seem to change day to day."

Tilting his head slightly, the monarch shrugged. "Yes, I suppose it was a mistake to ask you about something related to having fun and actually living for once... Get creative, Bridwell! Performers, musicians, fanciful wizards, dwarfs, anything of the sort that could distract me from the bunch of gloomy easterners who'll no doubt turn up there."

"Ah-ha." The Bretic noble seemed rather disinterested, but nevertheless frowned slightly in thought. "I believe the Archduke of Tulune recently recommended a Redguard swordsmaster to your majesty, a man who allegedly can tell everything about a person by only sparring with them once. There is also a troupe of Khajiit acrobats who have something of a reputation for quality performances touring the kingdom, as well as a slave-merchant from Sentinel offering well-educated concubines, also some manner of sorcerer who conjures colours by singing."

After a slight pause, Camaron nodded. "That swordsmaster sounds interesting, he'll be hired. The barbarians in Evermore have probably never seen a Redguard in their lives; and on that note, have that slaver fetched as well. He must have some enormous bastard from Rihad or wherever who can recite Yoku poetry, something suitably weird as a gift for our hostess."

Samuel suppressed a sigh. With a feast containing the two most extravagant monarchs of High Rock, he could only hope his sovereign wouldn't desire his presence for the occasion.


Spoiler

Samuel Bridwell and the Bridwells

An ancient bloodline, the Bridwells hold the extraordinary honour of hereditary Marcher-Lordship; what is more, in their centuries-long history as the Marchers and Marchesses of Tamwych - a region on Daggerfall's oft-troubled border with Glenpoint - they have never been suspected of treason against their monarchs. This has earned them a near-permanent place in the inner circles of Daggerfall's rulers, an honour they might not otherwise be afforded - Bridwells are infamous for lacking in courtly ettiquette, their blunt manner and almost Colovian bearing often making them unpopular amongst their peers. The current Lord-Marcher of Tamwych, Samuel Bridwell, is only a year older than the ruling king and has been an eternal companion of Camaron's, providing a serious foil to the king's often carefree manner. Even into his middle years, Marcher Samuel maintains a martial appearance in court both at home and abroad, remaining the Horse-Magister of the Knights of the Dragon - their true leader, outranked only by the very king the order is meant to protect.

The Sergeantry of Glenpoint

Daggerfall has had an enormous influence upon its neighbours in almost all areas of life, from social structure to cuisine. It is because of this that the majority of the commonry in western High Rock is tied to its land and bound in near-slavery to the nobility. Glenpoint, however, stands unique in that it was never entirely conquered by the Kingdom of Daggerfall during its ascendancy in the First Era; the barons of Glenpoint suffered substantial losses, however never bowed to the power of their southern neighbours. Cultural influences eventually came to pervade the barony almost as much as the rest of the western realms (though the political tension never truly abated), but some differences remained, the most obvious of those - the existence of Glenpoint's sergeantry, the so-called 'baron's freemen'. Non-noble smallholders intentionally granted holdings that would break up those of the nobility, they answered always directly to the barons of Glenpoint and usually remained loyal to them; in return, the barons always checked any advances of the nobility upon the sergeants' priviledges. The most notable of these was the right of the March - local meetings of all sergeants in an area where they settled matters among themselves and which represented their interests before the baron or the local nobles. As Glenpoint was annexed to the Kingdom of Daggerfall and the majority of the differences between the two realms at least superficially ironed out, the sergeantry have remained, still gathering every month into Marches all over their former realm.
User avatar
Victoria Bartel
 
Posts: 3325
Joined: Tue Apr 10, 2007 10:20 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 1:12 pm

Arniel de Athee, Castle Deepstone, County Urvaius


Arniel was alone in his room, sunlight streaming through the thin paned windows, the fire in the corner creating dancing shadows on the stone walls. He had just finished eating his first meal of the day and was going through his usual after meal routine, cleaning his hands and face with warm water and setting the various implements back in place on the tray that had carried them up into his chambers.

He placed the now rearranged plate back on the table and headed across to the window to gaze across his duchy. The land of Urvaius had always seemed pleasant to him, if not a little boring. Pleasant enough but it’s time for a change.

Arniel reached across the velvet rope hanging from the ceiling and gave it a sharp pull towards himself. This set a bell in his squire’s quarters ringing, signaling that he was needed to attend upon his Duke. Derek’s room was just above his own, Derek was a young imperial lad, the son of some lesser Colovian noble sent to learn the art of diplomacy in the courts of High Rock, so it didn’t take him long to appear in the doorway of Arniel’s chamber.

“Can I assist you Milord?” Arniel chuckled a little, it still amused him to be ‘Milord’ to anybody.

“Take that tray down to the Kitchens and compliment the Artoin on another excellent meal.” Derek dutifully did as he was asked and lifted the tray carefully from the table before moving to leave the room. “Oh and one more thing, the boy who collects Varthlokkur’s provisions for him from town, send him up here.” The boy bowed as he left the room, impressive considering he was holding a tray of fragile plates and bowls.

Arniel turned back to the window, he had been stood here greeting the morning when he saw the carrier bird arrive. A black Raven with black wings beating lazily in the still air, it was flying from the north-west, the direction of Camlorn. Either Camlorn has need of me or somewhere further to the north does.

The message had been brought up quickly, Arniel demanded as much from his servants.

Dearest Arniel de Athee,

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

The invitation intrigued him, parties were always his favorite times, get a fellow lord drunk and he’ll spill all the details of his county, his people and even sometimes, his plans. He’d quickly penned a reply, nothing grandiose.

Dearest Syllawen Direnni

His grace, Arniel de Athee, the Duke of Urvaius would be most honored to accept your invitation. In consideration of the distance to be traveled the Duke of Urvaius will be accompanied by some select members of his court including a score of The Knights of the Stone. We trust that suitable accommodation will be made for these accompanying guests.
Our thanks in advance.

Arniel de Athee

It had been dispatched to Camlorn to be sent by magic mail to the Queen. I need to get one of those mail points set up in Urvaius.

The arrival of Varthlokkur’s errand boy stirred him from his recollection.

“You, er, sent for me. S-s-sir?” The boy’s nervousness was almost palpable.

“Yes lad, just keeping tabs on our secretive court wizard. So, anything to report this week?”

“He, he sent me for the usual stuff,” the boy handed over a piece of paper detailing the alchemists shopping list “and then he went into his room, he thought I’d gone but I was still there he couldn’t see me in the dark”

‘His room’ had come up a lot in the weekly reports from the boy and it had become an issue of major interest to the Duke. “Did you do what I asked you to?”

“Yes sir, I was quiet as…” the boy faltered.

“As a very quiet thing, I’m sure.”

“Yes sir, an’ I listened as close as I could but I couldn’t hear nothing, it was all deathly silent.”

“Very good, you’ve done well.” Arniel pressed a copper into the hand of the boy with a grin. “You can go shopping now, don’t want to keep him waiting now do we?” he waved his hand at the page, dismissing the boy.

So looks like I’m taking a trip to Evermore, I’m going to need my Evemore book. He quickly recalled where he’d stashed that particular book. The library at the top of this tower. He checked and straightened his doublet and set off up the stairs to the top floor.

The climb was easy enough, the north tower wasn’t the highest tower in Castle Deepstone and Arniel’s own room was half way up.

The book was hidden in a bookshelf near the back of the Library, Arniel had had it sown into the cover of another far more boring book, Treatise on the behavior of lower-lesser Deadra ,a book that now considered outdated and factually wrong by most, if not all, scholars in the subject, a perfect disguise.

Book in hand he walked back to his room, leafing through the pages filled with his own careful handwriting occasionally blemished by a stray droplet of wax from the candle who’s light he had been writing by. A lot of the information in the book was at best outdated rumor and hearsay but Arniel still felt better having it with him.

He paused at the door to his study, something was off about it, he could hear a faint noise from inside, someone else was inside. He pushed the door inwards slowly, very aware that he’d left his dagger on his belt which was currently lying on his bed. Arniel quickly noticed that one of his bottles of wine was missing, one of the good ones too.

It also told him the identity of his intruder, only one man would enter his study unannounced and be brazen enough to take a bottle of wine, especially one of that particular vintage. “Good morning Astien, it’s a little early to be starting on the Bon Millesime isn’t it?”

Arniel took a seat across the room from the Camlornian Heir, he was fond of the boy five years his junior, he saw a lot of himself in Astien. Astien was perhaps a little less disciplined than himself but that could be changed.

The duke glanced at the table “And you didn’t even pour me a glass.” He chuckled his light laugh, rose from his seat and filled the second crystal glass with the crimson liquid. “So, I assume you’re here about the upcoming social event of the year, the grand feast at Evermore?”
User avatar
Daramis McGee
 
Posts: 3378
Joined: Mon Sep 03, 2007 10:47 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 3:46 pm

Astien, The Duchy of Urvaius, Deepstone Castle.


Astien didn't have to wait long for the Duke to arrive. He knew that His Grace had quite a passion for books and knowledge; it was only a matter of time before the Duke would retire to his study. The door opened slowly and cautiously as Astien had expected. Arniel was a rather sharp minded individual and was not often taken by surprise.

"Good morning Astien, it's a little early to be starting on the Bon Millesime isn't it?" greeted the Duke as he took a seat across the room.

"It's never too early for a vintage of this caliber my friend," Astien spoke in a friendly tone, he and the duke were on much more casual terms than most of the lords in the realm, "One day I will find out where you get this fantastic wine." he replied with a grin.

"And you didn't even pour me a glass?" the Duke let out a short laugh as he rose and began to pour the rich aromatic liquid into the second glass. "So, I assume that you're here about the upcoming social event of the year, the grand feast at Evermore?"

Astien took a sip of the fine wine, savoring the taste of the dark liquid as it ran down his throat. Wine was another one of Astien's many pleasures, especially the wine of Duke Arniel. However he made sure never to drink more than his fill. He believed that a man's most valuable tool was his mind ,and he was not about to rob himself of his greatest weapon.

"Actually no. However I did catch wind of it this morning, or should I say I heard my father's infuriated shouts echoing throughout all of the Grey Keep," Astien placed the glass of wine back onto the table and crossed his leg over his knee, "I swear that old man's head will explode one day if he keeps on the way he's going. Not a day goes by that he isn't ranting about something."

Astien leaned back in the chair, placing his hands behind his head, "This business about the feast is much more interesting than what I had originally visited for. I hear the Lady Syllawen is quite something. Some say she's the most beautiful woman in all of the Kingdoms," a small grin stretched across Astien's face, showing his straight white teeth, "So, tell me oh master of whispers, of this grand feast."

OOC: crap post, just wanted to get one in.
User avatar
Laura Shipley
 
Posts: 3564
Joined: Thu Oct 26, 2006 4:47 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 4:32 am

Duke Arniel de Athee, Urvaius, Castle Deepstone

Arniel took a sip of his glass of wine, letting the aromatic red liquid tumble down his throat. Both men seemed to be doing the same thing, watching their intake almost as closely as they watched the others "Actually no. However I did catch wind of it this morning, or should I say I heard my father's infuriated shouts echoing throughout all of the Grey Keep," a small shift of position from Astien into something more defensive "I swear that old man's head will explode one day if he keeps on the way he's going. Not a day goes by that he isn't ranting about something." Arniel chuckled again, he knew how inclined to rant the Archduke was.

"This business about the feast is much more interesting than what I had originally visited for. I hear the Lady Syllawen is quite something. Some say she's the most beautiful woman in all of the Kingdoms," a friendly smile from his old friend, "So, tell me oh master of whispers, of this grand feast." Master of whispers, I like that. They just call me The Duke

"I know little more than you friend, my invite only arrived this morning but surely we can pull some conclusions," he took a sip of his wine and opened his 'Evermore' on the table "let's see," he leafed through the pages, "well our first deduction is pretty simple, this is going to be a lavish affair, it would seem every Lord, Duke, Marquess, Count, and Baron has been invited." He paused again, turning the page and taking a small sip of his wine again.

"I expect there will be some sort of competition, numerous if the reports about our host are true. Easy so far? Well then, our next piece of information comes straight from the brothels of Evermore herself, it would seem the Queen has taken to having many guests of varying standing, not all of whom would be considered fitting company for a Queen." Arniel crossed his legs mirroring Astien "Still, she seems to be loved by the majority of her people. I wonder how her subjects would take it if they found out that their queen was as free as Barenziah?"
User avatar
Harry Leon
 
Posts: 3381
Joined: Tue Jun 12, 2007 3:53 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 3:36 am

Aleron, Forest land, a day’s ride by horse from Gwened (City), Late Morning, 6th of Hearthfire, 4E28

The early red morning sun that had risen from the east had slowly made place for a warmer, brighter sun. The nights were already getting longer and soon the winter would come to cover the land in think white coat. The forest was quiet once again after wildlife had been scared away by the loud noises of metal clashing on metal. With the last bandit finally down, peace had returned to the forest once again.

Twelve knights stood between the ruins of a once modest mansion. They were all dressed in the same steel plate armor with golden ornaments. Each of them bore on their heart and their green capes the crest of a heart in the middle of a crypt, The crest of Gwened. The place was littered with the bodies of twenty dead bandits and one dead knight. The bandits were dressed in low class, worn clothes, leather and furs, whichever they had gotten their hands on during their time of raiding the smaller villages surrounding Gwened. They sickened Aleron.

Two knights pulled their fallen brother out of the mansion while the others started piling up the other bodies. Aleron stooped and used the vest of one of the bandits to wipe his sword clean. He then turned to his men. “burn everything down.” His eyes stood sad and without saying another word he walked out of the mansion. He saw the two knights had already procured two poles and rope and were now looking for cloth to finish the improvised stretcher on which they could carry Sir Leon, their fallen brother, back home.

Aleron walked up to them and unbuckled his cape. “Use this.” He said. When he looked upon Leon’s face he relived the moment of his death. They had surrounded the mansion and when everyone was ready he had ordered the attack to begin. The battle was easy. The bandits were no match against the well trained Knights of the Crypt. He had just destroyed one of the bandit’s heart when his sword went through the man’s shoulder, chest and heart, when he saw Leon jumping in front of him when a hidden bandit fired the bolt of a crossbow at him. The bolt penetrated Leon’s heart and there was no way to safe him. A good friend and knight had given up his life for him, only because he was the heir of Gwened.

He heard the crackling of the fire that was consuming the ruined building and the dead bandits. He collected his horse and climbed on it. The remaining walls started crumbling down and buried the bandits beneath a large pile of rubbish. He overlooked his men and was glad to see no-one else got wounded in the fight. When he saw that the stretcher had been secured between two horses he ordered his men to follow him home again.

* * *

Gwened, Early evening.

The sun had set and the streets were already empty. The citizens had locked their homes to keep the cold and dark of night out. Sir Aleron and his knights had returned from their duty. His knights brought Leon to the burial chamber where the woman would clean his wound, straighten his hair and make the other preparations concerning the body for the burial the next evening. This would also give his family the time to say goodbye in private.

A page came running towards Aleron, who was tending to the horses at the stables. The young boy, dressed in the livery of Gwened. He patiently waited until Aleron would notice him. However, lost in thoughts about earlier this morning Aleron failed to notice him so the boy coughed to try and get Aleron’s attention. He turned around and looked at the young boy.

“What do you want?” Aleron asked, irritated for being disrupted.

“My lord wishes to see you at the court hall.” The boy said. “He has some things he wishes to discuss with you.”

“My father? Thank you for telling me.”Aleron answered. “Tell my father I’ll be there fast.”

The boy nodded and ran back to the keep. Aleron continued taking care of his horse and after he was sure the horse was provided with food and water he made his way to the keep. It was large, stone structure built in the time Gwened still belonged to Northpoint and not Evermore. It resembled nothing like the large and beautiful castles of Evermore, Daggerfall or Camlorn but it was home. And although the outside didn’t show it, the inside was comfortable and well decorated, unlike other keeps and guard towers found on the main roads.

He passed the guards at the gate and entered the keep. He could see his father sitting on the large throne of Gwened, from where he would busy himself with all matters concerning the county and the bordering lands. Now the court was devoted of life. He passed the many paintings of the counts before his father and couldn’t help but think that they were all watching him as he passed them.

“Father!” Aleron called out. “You wanted to see me?”

The old count sat himself upright instead of hanging on his throne and nodded. “I take it you took out the bandits?” he asked.

“Yes, they were with more than we expected. We lost Sir Leon when he saved me from a crossbow bolt.” Aleron answered, sadness came in his voice. I lost a good friend today. He was like a brother to me. He shouldn’t have died.

“It sadens my heart to hear that.” His father regretted the loss since he knew the knight Leon was and what he meant to Aleron. “But come now. I have to speak to you about happier tidings.”

His father swiftly pulled a letter from one of his pockets. The broken seal betrayed the letter coming from the sovereign Queen Syllawen Direnni. Aleron took the letter and started reading it.

Dearest Lord Varnand of Gwened,

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

Aleron folded the letter again and handed it back to his father. “I can’t help you with that father. The letter is strictly addressed to you.” Aleron said with a small smile. He knew what was coming now.

There came a small smile on Varnand face as he listened to his son who was already wringing to get himself out of the assignment his father would give him. “You will go son. You know I’m too old to undertake such a journey and it is about time our family gets the chance to renew the contacts we once had.”

“If we ever want to become more than just count of Gwened then you must go and mingle with the high nobility of Evermore. Gain power at the court. I don’t care how you do it, even it means backstabbing several but-licking nobles that are up to no good.” His father continued. “The queen, how sad it is to say this, needs loyal people around her and I’m afraid the nobles of her court are far from it. Atleast I know you will be loyal to her. And if you can gain more power for Gwened at the same time, the better it is.

“But father! You know how I hate to deal with such politics. Send my Robert. He’s much better at such things.”

“this is not open for discussion.” His father said with a stern voice. “I have already replied that you’ll be coming with four Knights and a few servants to tend to your horses and luggage. She’ll have suitable accommodation for all of you.”

“But father! I .. –“ Aleron started to discuss again but his father shut him up with a loud voice and an angry look on his face.

“Aleron! You will go, even I have to make it an order. One day you’ll be the count of Gwened. You’ll need the experience of mingling with other nobles and important people.”

Aleron surrendered and accepted his defeat. “Yes father. You’re right, as always. I guess.” He added at the end.

His father lightened up. “Great, You’ll leave in a month. You’ll have plenty of time to chose the knights accompanying you.”

Aleron nodded. “ofcourse.” He bowed. “If I may..?” In response his father nodded and Aleron turned away to find himself a hot bath.

* * *

Order of the Crypt Keep, around midnight, 7th of Hearthfire, 4E28

Night had fallen over the keep of the Order of the Crypt. Every knight not on duty somewhere in Gwened was assembled at the courtyard of the keep. From somewhere not to far a nightingale sang his beautiful song. It could possibly be the last time they’d hear the song as winter was coming their way and the bird would migrate to the south. It was actually rare its song could still be heard this month, but it has probably something to do with the summer during longer as expected. In return the people had already readied themselves for a strong winter.

In the middle of the courtyard, lightened by the pale silver light of the full moon and stars, stood a large pyre. On the pyre lay the body of Leon, friend and shield brother of Aleron. Every knight was dressed in their official uniform, the silver and golden, steel plate armor, but they had changed their green and brown capes for a black one. They stood still, unmovable, with their right fist in front of their hearts. At the other side of Pyre stood his remaining family, dressed in mourning colors and with tears openly rolling over their cheeks.

Aleron stood between the two groups and waited until he was ready to step forward. With a last sigh he took a step and stepped inside the light of the moon and stars.

“We have gathered here tonight, as the old tradition of our Order requires and Sir Leon without a doubt deserves, to commemorate A shield brother, a son and brother, a friend. A man taken from us much too soon.” Aleron started he took a deep breath before he continued. “His deeds speak for him. He committed his life to the protection of this realm and her people. Brave and strong as he was he never backed down, he never cowered away, but instead inspired us to keep on going even when it got rough and difficult and when it seemed like nothing could help us anymore. A loyal shield-brother who saved many of our lives more than once.”

He could see he had everyone full attention, and he saw some of his knights wipe away a tear or two. “But it is not only for his deeds that he should be remembered but also for who he was. A great son, a loving husband and caring father. A lending ear in times of problems and a wise, but careful speaker every time we asked advice.” He said and then added, his words quieter. “A good friend.”

He saw the knights nod in agreement. “Everything considered .. a great man taken much too soon from us to protect me.” He said these last words faster as he concluded his small speech. He didn’t continue speaking, but instead a low humming came from his throat as he grabbed the burning torch and slowly paced to the pyre. Aleron began to sing with his deep voice in the old bretic language in honor of his fallen friend and so that he might find peace.

When he stood for the pyre the knights silently chimed until and raised their voices together with his until they could be heard for many miles around the keep. Aleron took a good last look at the face of man who saved his life. The man he had called his friend. His brother. “may you rest in peace.” He whispered and then threw the torch in the pyre.

It caught fire in mere seconds and soon became a beacon in the night that lightened the whole keep. They kept watching and singing in their old language until the fire was completely extinguished and even then their voices didn’t fell silent. Together with two other knights, Aleron collected the ashes in a beautiful ornamented urn and then placed it in a chest filled with silk cushions to keep it from breaking.

He took it with him on his horse and alone, with only the singing voices of his knights accompanying him he made his way to the Crypt of Hearts. His path was lightened by the moon and the trees cast long shadows over the path. He couldn’t hear the nightingale anymore and in his ears the clacking of his horse’s hooves rang in rhythm with the song of his knights which he could still hear.

It was ancient place filled with powerful, ancient magic. And they used it as a burial chamber for every fallen knight of the Crypt. The two knights standing duty at the Crypt’s entrance opened the door for him and after bowing and expressing their grief and wishing Leon peace and rest they pushed the door open and allowed Aleron entrance. Behind him the doors were closed again, shutting the song out.

He followed through the first floor down to the second and there he placed down the urn of his friend into the next niche next to the last deceased knight. Aleron took from under his cape Leon’s sword and laid it together with urn. Then he kneeled down and started praying until morning announced itself.
User avatar
JERMAINE VIDAURRI
 
Posts: 3382
Joined: Tue Dec 04, 2007 9:06 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 1:34 pm

Barnan Diamond-Tooth, on the Fallen Demon on its way to port Sharnhelm.

The ship had been on sea for two months straight now. It had been a quiet time for everyone on board of the Fallen Demon and it was time to hit the port of Sharnhelm to refill supplies and stretch their legs after a long time on sea. Barnan naturally had no need for such a pause; he had spent more time on the sea than on land in his entire life. However, it was time to hear what was going on in the rest of high rock, specifically with the politics and court affairs. No matter what the high nobles and lesser dukes said, every major war was their doing and thus, it was important to keep one updated of their doings.

The Fallen Demon was an elegant ship. Her three sails of black cloth and dark brown deck looked majestic no matter what port she visited. She was a master-piece, and Barnan was her captain. She was his baby, his lover and passion. Barnan was standing at her back, on an ascended platform. With an elegant sweep he grabbed the spyglass and gazed through it, towards the shore. Sharnhelms port could be seen in the horizon. If they'd keep this speed for the rest of the day, they would arrive at the port at evening. Barnan put back the spyglass and took a deep breath of the fresh sea-air and closed his eyes. The subtle sound of rope extending and wood cracking, men talking and working was mind-soothing.

A few hours later, Sharnhelms port was clearly visible to the naked eye. The city itself was hidden in the inland, but the port was nowadays like an extension of the city. Barnan would spent the night at the port and begin the few days journey to the city itself in the morning. He let the helmsman take the wheel, not that it was necessary, and retreated to his cabin. He opened a bottle of rum and poured generously of the light-brown liquid in a class carafe, decorated by diamond-looking glass. He relaxed himself on a red armchair and let the rum, not just any rum but the finest in all of high rock, find its way through his throat to his stomach. It warmed and brought back pleasant memories from his youth. He rubbed the hilt of his falchion with his right hand. The dark-blue sapphire decorating the edge of the hilt sparkled in the light coming from a small gap in the curtains. He sat there for the rest of the trip and was returned to present time only by the shout of the lookout. They had arrived at Sharnhelm port.

Barnan shouted orders to left and right and his experienced crew knew what to do. Smaller boats were on their way to pick up the crew from the Fallen Demon. The ship was too big to make it all the way to the shore. A usual bunch of the most experienced and trusted sea-men remained on board of her, while the rest of the crew loaded the smaller ships with empty barrels. On their way back, they'd have a fresh supply of everything you could possibly need, and then some. Barnan stepped on the last ship on its way to the port and once he arrived there, he immediately went to an Inn called Diamond Sparkle, which he conveniantly owned.
His crew knew what to do and Barnan had no doubt they'd get it done as well. These men weren't untrustworthy pirates like those Barnan had sailed with for many years, but the toughest bunch of loyal men, a mix from Sharnhelms own soldiers and Barnans most trusted crew who had the same mind-set as Barnan, sometimes living dangerously is just too dangerous. So here they were, sailing on board of the most elegant ship on the Eltheric Ocean, with a safe haven the size of a whole realm and their own port the size of a small city.

Well at the Inn, Barnan was welcomed with open arms, not only by the innkeeper -an old time friend-, but the guests, guards and entertainers as well. The Inn was big, with several smaller rooms the size of small inns themselves and it had three floors, in addition to the basemant. He gave everyone a wide smile and walked -no so straight because he wasn't used to the ground staying still- and drank with his fellows until late that evening. Many drinks and a few lap-dances later he finally said good-bye for the night and retreated for the largest room on the third floor. It had been kept clean on his way on sea, and he fell exhausted on the fresh sheet of blankets changed most likely the instant his ship could be seen on the horizon earlier that day. He slept well that night and dream of sunshine, rum and young dancing bretons girls.


Morning:

The next morning he got up a bit later than he had planned. He woke by the sound of the doors opening, a servant bringing breakfast in to his bed. Barnan thanked and enjoyed a delicious meal of crispy white bread, juicy graqes, spiced ham, rich cheese and refreshing apple-wine. When he finished, a small group of his crew had ordered a carriage and packed enough supplies to last for the journey to Sharnhelm city and the way back. He followed them out and found the carriage waiting for them. "So this is how it feels like to be a king". Barnan thought and chuckled. He didn't complain, and the carriage started its journey through the mountains.


A few days later:

The city surrounding the castle was flourishing, but the castle was but a shadow of what it had been. Decoration was rare and everything was simple. The grand duke was indeed an honorable man, giving up his wealth (in form of unnecessarily luxurious items) in order to make his realm prosper. Barnan admired the man, but couldn't find himself doing such a thing. Some might say he was, however, doing something similar, helping to keep peace at the realm and bringing wealth to the port of Sharnhelm and thus also to the entire realm. He jumped out of the carriage when he arrived to the castle entrance and walked straight for the duke's quarters. The duke Allard Lariat was expecting him sometimes this week, so Barnan was let in by the guards. He found the grand duke and greeted with a bow and waited for the duke to speak.

Edit: Not cold, but gold..
Edit 2: Made story more believeable when you look at how huge distance it's between the city and port.
User avatar
Mariana
 
Posts: 3426
Joined: Mon Jun 12, 2006 9:39 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 4:59 am

Astien Valtieri, Castle Deepstone, Urvaius


Astien took a sip of the sweet crimson wine as he watched the Duke open a large leather-bound book.


"I know little more than you friend, my invite only arrived this morning but surely we can pull some conclusions," The Duke sipped his wine as he began to turn through the pages "let's see, well our first deduction is pretty simple, this is going to be a lavish affair, it would seem every Lord, Duke, Marquess, Count, and Baron has been invited," The Duke paused for a moment, enjoying more of the rich wine.

"I expect there will be some sort of competition, numerous if the reports about our host are true. Easy so far? Well then, our next piece of information comes straight from the brothels of Evermore herself, it would seem the Queen has taken to having many guests of varying standing, not all of whom would be considered fitting company for a Queen. Still, she seems to be loved by the majority of her people. I wonder how her subjects would take it if they found out that their queen was as free as Barenziah?"

Astien chuckled at the thought and then took another sip of his wine. "I believe that this party will be quite a failure," he paused for a moment, "that is if a certain Astien Valtieri fails to turn up," a humorous smile cross his face as he set the empty glass of wine down.

"I take it you will be attending as well?"

OOC: sorry for the crap post Athell, didn't want to leave you hanging and had no inspiration.
User avatar
Sammygirl
 
Posts: 3378
Joined: Fri Jun 16, 2006 6:15 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 2:55 am

Castle Evermore, the following weeks

Never before had Castle Evermore been more alive with activity than in the weeks preceding The Festival of Peace. Syllawen Direnni's marriage to King Titus had been a modest affair, in comparison. Even Queen Syllawen's Coronation, two years ago, had not afforded this degree of pomp. The situation had not allowed it. The Festival of Peace's only rival in terms of grandeur in all the storied history of the ancient Kingdom of Evermore, would have to be the event immediately preceding Syllawen's crowning. The funeral of King Titus. But that had been a sombre, dark affair, and absent had been the excitement and whispered fervour that the preparations for the Festival of Peace was already sparking in the citizens of Evermore. That day the castle had been draqed black, and already now great banners resplendent in each of the colours of the great nations of High Rock and all the Iliac where being dyed. The status as host of this years festival had been an item Queen Syllawen had fought tooth-and-nail for, with the previous Kingdom allocated, Wayrest. While it was traditional for the Festival to be set in one of the Kingdoms across the Iliac directly involved with the Miracle itself, this was an occasion unparalleled in High Rock's calender for the faces it would bring together. Queen Elysana had to be pressed hard, but an armament contract or two deferred to Wayrest was all Syllawen had to cough up in the end. In Castle Evermore not a servant was idle. Each of the labyrinthine, twisting corridors of the city-like building were alive in activity, the pitter-patter of busy feet, and the yelling of instructions. The midnight oil was burnt, and, little by little, in steps infinitesimal, Evermore approached readiness.

The eye of the storm was Queen Syllawen herself. A tempest of servants, hand-maidens, adjutants, pages and court officials followed her wherever she went; representatives of the great Guilds of Evermore: the Merchants, the Mages, the Bakers, the Artisans, the Bankers, the Weavers, the prosttutes, the Jesters, the Tumblers, the Fools, the-

"The Guild of Fools?" asked Queen Syllawen, raising a hand and stopping in her tracks. The throng of attendants that swarmed around her jerked at the change in pace, over-stepping and then scrambling back to stay level with the suddenly stationary Queen.

"Y-yyes, well, your Majesty, our lot get it hard enough, so we formed a collective.."

"I thought we'd already had the Guild of Jesters..?"

"Oh no, we're not Jesters, Your Majesty. We're just the fools.."

"How marvellous. You shall have a marquee." proclaimed The Queen, and it was so. Syllawen began to pace again, and the cloud of petitioners followed, forming a giant tear-drop around the Queen as she marched on through the wide halls of Castle Evermore. She was looking for her Chamberlain.

Master Raurich (or to those not native to Castle Evermore, Sir Raurich Cantone KHG, Baron of Evralle), was to be found in the book-keepers study, or "The Avalanche" as it had become known. Towers of parchment had been stacked half the way to the high ceiling, obscuring every wall but the rearmost, which displayed a giant series of shelves, climbing up nearly twenty feet, accessed by a flimsy brass ladder with squeaky, ancient wheels. Each shelf represented a different estate in the burgeoning empire of Syllawen Direnni's dominions (though since the conquests of her late husband, some estates now shared a shelf), and each was packed full of different coloured books, scrolls and parchments, their organisation known only to one man. That man, the long-suffering, aged Sir Raurich (Master Raurich to the servants, and now by a familial tradition even the landed folk of the Castle and the Queen herself), sat hunched, face screwed in jittering concentration, grey bags drawn onto the pale skin stretched tight over his bony face. In his hand was a giant peacock feather quill, he was writing a reply to a complaint from a minor baron in Portdale in regards to a shipment of wicker to Castle Evermore, and was not well disposed to being disturbed.

The Queen waltzed through the partially-opened door, flicking it shut unto the huge throng that followed her, many of her followers hitting their faces into the door unprepared. Master Raurich didn't look up, continuing the careful calligraphy of his Mistress' signature. By now his version was more authentic than Syllawen's own. The Queen of Evermore sighed loudly and sat herself down on the corner of Master Raurich's great oaken desk, causing a great number of things to wobble dangerously. Master Raurich instinctively placed a thin hand on the ink-well, and continued to write, a tiny smudge forming in the "D".

"Oh aren't they tiresome, Master Raur?" pouted the Queen, sticking her lips out. Master Raurich glanced at the Queen momentarily and drew the parchment up in-front of his face to blow upon, drying the ink. This glance from her esteemed Chamberlain marks as good a time as any to attempt a description of the Queen of Evermore, and her appearance.

Syllawen Direnni had been a hauntingly beautiful child. In her youth in the Gardens of Balfiera the young Princess had often been mistaken for a nymph, long before she had actually met one, or learned their language and their poetry as she was later to do. The fact of Syllawen's features are these: high cheek bones, enormously huge, yellow eyes, a slightly snubbed, modest nose, a neat, pointed chin, generous, round cheeks and plump, brass-coloured lips. An artist's impression drawn on these details would portray a stereotypical elvish vixen: sultry, yet nymph-like. And, more likely than not, you would recognise something of Syllawen Direnni in that picture. No doubt there was something cartoonish to her. A little too bold, as if her coyness was bursting to escape from her face. And yet all of this falls flat when presented with the woman herself.

If she had been a beautiful child, superlatives failed Syllawen when she reached her adolsenance. The slightest twist, the sulking of those round cheeks and the lengthening of her noble face, brought something of the ridiculous to Lady Syllawen's beauty, as she grew into a young woman. Now those features, already excessive, seemed quite obscene. To look into her daring, expressive eyes was to blush. There was something immodest about even standing next to her, as if Dibella had put Syllawen on Nirn to make a point. If the child Syllawen had been a nymph, the pubascent Altmer was a temptress. Her wild features had a way of expressing her every slight emotion (and Syllawen was a woman of many moods) like a theatrical mask. With those eyes, as you can imagine, Syllawen was a girl who always got what she wanted.

And yet the best was still to come. With advlthood, the final touch was made, and this last refinement brought a whole new dimension to Lady Syllawen. Still did her giant features declare her every passion like a proud bird's plumage, but now there had been added an extra layer: of knowing, of experience. The overall structure of her face had barely changed, but something in Syllawen's eyes, in the curl of those luxurious lips, told you that now she knew just what was going through your head when you looked at her. That air, so hard to quantify, transformed Syllawen's visage. While her outward vulnerability had been near-extravagant as a young girl, the confidence that Syllawen Direnni now held around her like a cloak made her ten times as desirable. She knew it, you knew, and yet there you where, standing before the Queen of Evermore. And with an easy smile it was all okay again, and with a frown, towers crumbled.

Syllawen Direnni never learnt diplomacy. Nor was she instructed in thaumaturgy, alchemy or any of the schools of illusion or conjuration. She could not go to battle, nor co-ordinate a court, or compose great verse. Her singing voice was mediocre, her dancing enthusiastic but lacking in finesse. Her love-making it is harder to attest to - all those in the know (and as you can imagine, there have been many), refuse to compare her to any any lover, for reasons understandable. One may imagine her performance in the bedroom mirrors that on the ballroom; impassioned but unskilled. But why should Syllawen Direnni ever master a certain skill? She has not wanted for anything in all her life. Magic is nothing but a amusing plaything to her; truth is Syllawen is as naturally intelligent and talented in the magical arts any of her illustrious relatives. What partners this is a systematic, all-encompassing laziness that consumes everything Syllawen does; in body, in mind, in spirit. Syllawen Direnni has never worked hard at anything, because she has never had to.

And so Master Raurich looked up, caught one glance of the doleful eyes of the bored Queen, and his dusty heart was afflicted to sigh. In the long-suffering Chamberlain's eyes, his Mistress was a child. Yet the most important child in the great Kingdom of Evermore, and he had been assigned her guardian. Her Majesty was as exhausted as any of the inhabitants of Castle Evermore, in her own way, and she wore it on her face. Maybe it was the stress that Master Raurich himself felt, but at this strange moment, he and his Queen where comrades in their worry.

"Yes. There are ever so many of them, are there not?" ventured the old Chamberlain, taking a sympathising tone Syllawen had almost never heard. Syllawen Direnni made a noise of agreement and lay on her back, almost knocking quite everything on her Chamberlain's desk over, and looked at Master Raurich upside-down. The view afforded to Master Raurich at this moment is best left to him, and his conscience.

"Shall we call it all off?" she asked with a grin, head half dangled over the edge of the table, a huge nest of orange hair falling on the Chamberlain's lap. Master Raurich sighed and drew away his chair, standing and walking to the window, flicking the still-drying parchment with one hand. The snow continued to fall over the mountainous kingdom, and in some places it had began to settle; the first sign of winter.

"I'm afraid we must go through with it. All the courts of High Rock and across the Iliac would be rather disappointed, your Majesty, if they where to arrive to an ordinary Frostfall the eleventh in Castle Evermore."

"But there are no ordinary days in Castle Evermore" added the Queen helpfully. Master Raurich smiled and turned about, standing in that elegant, disciplined pose, unmistakably of a man who had spent a long lifetime at court.

"The King of Daggerfall will be in attendance.." said Master Raurich darkly. He knew Camaron's reputation, as did his Queen.

"And the Queen of Wayrest"

"And half the Courts of High Rock" Queen Syllawen started to grin at this.

"They will have never been to a party like this, will they?" said the Queen, starting to rise. Her Chamberlain scratched the back of his neck and gave a measured gesture with the letter in his hand.

"If the preparations ever come to fruition.."

"We should get back to work, shouldn't we?" asked the Queen. And so they did.

And slowly, infinitesimally, Evermore approached a state of readiness for the 4E28 Festival of Peace.
User avatar
Inol Wakhid
 
Posts: 3403
Joined: Wed Jun 27, 2007 5:47 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 5:21 am

Daric Caron, Northpoint Palace.

His crown was heavy, and his throne uncomfortable this morning. Daric sat, grim-faced, his head resting on his right hand, weighing up the latest petitioner to appear before him. A man dressed in richly coloured clothing knelt before him as the the herald introduced him as Lord Vicede Morgain, representative of the Guild of Breweries and Taverns, Lord of Tripiarch Crossing. A powerful merchant, Daric knew, who had managed to buy himself a minor Lordship. The image of the man repulsed Daric. He wore fine dark purple silks, no doubt of the highest fashion, and reeked of scented water. He was a fat man with chubby fingers and chins that wobbled when he moved. Daric's face remained emotionless, however. His only movement was the clenching and un-clenching of his jaw.

"Your Majesty." The fat man bowed as low as his belly would allow. His voice was soft, sweet and wet. Beads of sweat forming on his brow at the exertion of it. Deric found himself wondering if the man wasn't a eunuch. Deric inclined his head just a fraction, signalling to the man to continue.

"I most humbly thank you for granting me this audience your Majesty, I come here as a representative of The Guild of Breweries and Taverns to request ... no, beseech Your Majesty to lower the taxes on our goods. It is too high, Your Majesty, far too high. If the taxes are not lowered, we fear many of our members would soon go out of business." The man's voice seemed to become higher and more urgent as he spoke. "Your Majesty we provide the people of this realm with an important service. Without a warm tavern, without a mug of ale, how would the peasants survive? Such a hardworking people, Your Majesty, living day by day farming the land and the only thing they can look forward to is that mug of ale around a warm tavern fire. Your Majesty, without our services, the moral of the peasantry would surely drop to unprecedentedly low levels. The best Your Majesty could hope for is a drop in the production of grain, worst case scenario ...." the fat man paused, "Your Majesty we believe the peasants would revolt."

Deric remained almost motionless, clenching and un-clenching his jaw. At length he spoke. His voice was hard and cold as ice.

"You would attempt to frighten me into lowering taxes? Do you take me for a fool or is this come ill-conceived jest? You waste my time, merchant. Get out, the taxes shall remain in place."

The fat man's mouth opened and closed but no sound followed, he bowed again before he wobbled back the way he had come. Deric needed those taxes too much to drop them. They went towards the upkeep of his army stationed in Shornhelm as well as his small navy. The fat man didn't worry him. He was powerful only with the backing of his guild and his money. If he became a problem, Deric could easily strip him of both. He shifted his weight, trying to get some comfort from the ill-designed throne.

The herald announced the arrival of two more petitioners. Lord Gardner of Lake Salworth and Lord Prepestarian of Whitam Forest. Deric's face hardened even more, if that was possible. "My Lords, welcome" he said, in a voice that was anything but welcoming. "I pray matters have been resolved since last we met." It was Lord Gardner who spoke out first, a young, headstrong boy, no older than 25, who wore his emotions on his sleeve.

"They most certainly have not! My honorable Lord Prepestarian here," the boy spat out the name, "has yet again invaded the sovereignty of MY lordship. He has placed men-at-arms upon the eastern bank of lake Salworth preventing my people from gaining access. I demand something be done to end this injustice!" Deric looked at the young man coolly.

"You will demand nothing of me. Lord Prepestarian, you have been charged with breaking the peace. What say you in your defense?" Prepestarian shrugged, oozing confidence. He had slick, oily hair and a greasy complexion.

"Your Majesty," even his voice was oily, "I was merely reclaiming what is rightfully mine by hallowed ancestry. I do no recognise this boy's, claim to Lake Salworth," he spat out the word boy, "and the Lords will support me." He finished confidently. Deric shifted his gaze to Prepestarian, his eyes judging him, weighing him up. He had played a clever card, albeit a risky one. The Lords may indeed support him, if he was alive. It worked to Deric's advantage than he was constantly under-estimated. His enemies often mistook his careful decision making as hesitance or weakness.

"Lord Salworth was given the lake of the same name for services rendered." Deric spoke calmly, "Do you not recognise my authority in this?"

The oily haired man trembled slightly, quickly realising the hole into which he had dug himself. "I ... I do not recognise the boy's claim, your majesty ... Lake Salworth has been ruled by the Prepestarians for hundreds of years ... t-t-the Lords will not support this. They can't ... you can't just take that away."

"Lord Prepestarian, you have been found guilty of breaking the peace." Deric's voice suddenly got louder and he stood, towering over the whimpering Lord, "Breaking the King's peace. You are hereby stripped of all your titles and lands and are sentenced for death by hanging. Whitam
Forest shall be granted to the Salworth's."

"No ... no ... I, you c-c-can't" Prepestarian's protests were soon drowned out as he was dragged out, kicking and screening by the guards. Prepestarian had long been a thorn in the King's side. He was slow to pay tax, muster soldiers, spread rumours about the King's parentage and ... he had been dealt with. He had broken the King's Peace. The Lord's could not argue with that. And Deric had just created a powerful ally in Salworth. A good bit of business.

"Is there anyone else?" Deric asked suddenly weary, to no-one in particular. The courtroom had been cleared now and only his council remained; His treasurer, his court mage, the captain of his personal body-guard, his chamberlain, his army marshal and his admiral as well as his daughter. Deric had decided that like his father had done, he would allow his daughter to sit in on council meetings. His chamberlain approached the throne - an aged man with a flowing silvery grey beard and short grey hair, Aelwin Seegnon had served Deric's father as High Lord Chamberlain too. He was Deric's most trusted adviser.

"Your Majesty, there is one last thing." Deric nodded his head, almost imperceptibly. The Chamberlain continued, "Syllawen Direnni is holding celebrations for the Festival of Peace, we have received invitation ... the whole realm will be in attendance."

"All the rulers of Highrock gathered in one place at the same time ..." Deric mused, "there's an opportunity there, somewhere."

EDIT: added a chunk in the middle.
User avatar
Julie Serebrekoff
 
Posts: 3359
Joined: Sun Dec 24, 2006 4:41 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 8:33 am

Allard Lariat - Shornhelm Keep

A lily. A summer blooming flower, which has six petals which form to create a trumpet-shaped flower. The flower contains a sweet smell designed to attract insects such as bees to it. This particular lily had long blade-shaped leaves and was as white as a snow drop. The petals curled outwards and drooped down, revealing six long protruding stamens which stood to attention. The flower was lacking in stem and lay on the lap of the tall, hollow former king.

Allard gazed down at the flower as he had done every day since he had lost his kingdom. He had been a tall proud man, so sure of himself and so noble. He had worked impossibly hard to help his people and to create a land of beauty out of the harsh mountainous climate that was Shornhelm. In his effort though he had forged enemies that had destroyed his beautiful kingdom and transformed it into a husk of it’s former glory. The Duke sighed and lifted the flower up into his hand, it had been enchanted so that it would never decay and if told to, would levitate behind him. He stood up from his cold hard throne and decided to leave the wide hall that stood bare.

Shornhelm Keep was a sombre place to be, the villagers rumoured it to be haunted. It had once been magnificent, filled with elaborate tapestries and carpets and colour. Now it was filled with silence. The castle was cold and it was dark, the colour it had once had seemed to have been drained from the very walls and now it stood as a glorified prison for the once mighty King. He had become trapped in memories of what had been and what could have been. During his reign, Allard had spent very, very little time in his castle, instead he had travelled the land, constantly seeking to help every settlement and town. It was not until the war had started and he had been forced to resign back into the place that he understood why exactly the noblemen of his court had hated him so much.

After he had removed all the riches from the castle and spread them among the people, the castle had transformed into the empty shell that it was today and those nobles had been forced to enter the accursed place daily to receive news that the King was not there. Allard began to walk through the many empty corridors and hallways throughout the castle, every step seemed to be echo and bounce among the rooms.

The centre of Shornhelm castle was a place locked to all but him, and previously his wife. It was a place unlike any other. The centre was open air and had been filled with a variety of plants and animals. The place had resonated with the noise of butterfly’s and dartwings hovering about, mountain flowers had bloomed and filled the area, along with blisterwort and bleeding crown mushrooms. Dragons tongue and breathed it’s thick musky smell into the air, Fly Amanita and Giant Lichen had grown up the sides of the tall proud trees. Lavender and Nightshade had captivated the place with their beautiful purple colours and there had been Nirnroot which had sang joyously and had been tended to by his beautiful wife, his lily, Lady Selene Lariat. It had been the beating heart of the entire castle, perhaps even the entire Kingdom. The place had been a favourite haunt of the late Lady Lariat, there had been something so magical about it all, buzzing with life and beauty in the centre of a cold prison. The grove had been guarded by a Spriggan, who Lady Lariat had befriended not long after discovering of it’s existence. It was little wonder then that his wife had always stayed behind when her husband had gone out and helped his kingdom.

Now the place was transformed. Little remained of the enchanted grove, but charred ashes and scorched earth and a single tree, half decimated and without leaves, reached up with it’s long white tendrils. The sight of the place was enough to render the poor Duke to tears but he did not cry. Instead he walked over to the searing tree, sitting beneath it’s bone white arms he began to sing. It was a slow, dreadfully haunting lament for his lost wife and child. The sound of his voice, so old and weary, echoed throughout not only the castle but down to the town of Shornhelm and everyone, every man and every woman, every child and every animal, stopped. The song crashed down upon the people and a sea of tears began to flood from their eyes, the place was flowing with an eternal sadness as they remembered the tragedy that had befallen their gracious king and his wonderful wife. The song was relentless, constantly rising and falling like the tide, miserable, depressive, forlorn and dejected, it continued on and on, desolate and melancholy. Finally the sorrow halted.

The Duke placed the lily he had held down beneath the limbs of the tree and left the grove. His face was a picture of brooding and isolation. He had become withdrawn recently, an easy puppet beneath his Northpoint masters, he had exiled himself from his people and no longer knew much of events but now he stirred. He returned to his throne and readied himself. Very soon, he knew, the time to strike back against the despots would come and he would have to be prepared. Firstly though he needed news of the kingdom and how many people would be prepared to fight back against these oppressors, for this reason he had called his Admiral, Barnan Diamond-Tooth. As a former pirate, he knew the man would have no qualms with having to fight dirty and fighting dirty was indeed the only option left. He would need to incite a rebellion among the people, he had no armies to fight, the noblemen had all turned side to Northpoint and had taken with them their knights. All he had left was his pitiful remains of a navy and the people.

It was now that the crushed man had decided to turn his great sorrow into a thirst for revenge. He would burn down the kingdom of Northpoint and lay waste to all who stood before him. He would have his vengeance and the heaven’s would cry.

“My Lord,” A voice interrupted his thoughts, a voice he had not heard in a great amount of time, “I am so very sorry to interrupt you,” the words gushed out incredibly quickly, “but it seems we- you, have received this.”

An envelope was thrust towards him. He held it in his hands for a moment before looking up at his chamberlain. “Master Roarke, who sent this letter?” He spoke quietly, his voice husky and aged. The equally aged chamberlain looked slightly surprised and in a flurried rush reached beneath his robes and pulled out another piece of paper.

“It seems the letter was found this morning, at exactly four, thirty, outside the castle doors. It was held down by a stone, there was a great storm this morning.” He recited.

The Duke decided to forgo his usually reserved temperate and tore open the letter and read aloud;

Dearest Allard Lariat, Grand Duke of Shornhelm

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 you reply.

S-D


“Absolutely not.” Allard said as he saw Roarke’s eyes light up.

“Now my Lord, we all understand your grief but a festival held by Syllawen Direnni is not an event to be missed. The court will be outraged if you choose to let this opportunity pass.” Roarke said quickly and carefully.

“I have no court.” Allard stood up, he towered over the slight Master Rourke, “Look around, do you see this castle filled with my court? For if you do you must be madder than I!” He stomped around the room and lifted the circlet of silver off his head and threw it across the room, “Curse this crown and curse you all.“ The Duke tore around the room some more, continuing to brood, he was muttering and appeared to be arguing with himself.


“Fine, I shall attend this stupid celebration if I must.”

The chamberlain smiled and his eyes seemed to pop, “Oh thank you my Lord, oh thank you indeed. I shall prepare at once!” he squealed with delight and hurried out of the hall. The old worn out Duke could not help but feel sorry for poor Master Roarke, he had not left the castle in over twelve years and had been chamberlain to his father and he suspected, his father’s father. He walked over and picked up his thrown crown and placed it back on his brow. Never before had the crown felt like such a burden. As a child he had never wanted to be King, he had wanted freedom. As King he had found a way to have his freedom. As Duke he had been chained to the throne, his castle, his prison.
He sat back down on the vile throne in his fortress of solitude and waited.

***

The guards brought before him a tall man, he looked rugged and demanded attention. It had been a long time since he had seen his Admiral, and as he bowed before him, he noticed that he still had the iconic diamond teeth and his long black locks still flourished.

“Admiral,” he said, “I think it would be better if we had this conversation somewhere a little more.. Private.” He stood up from the throne and led the Captain through a plethora of mazelike corridors until finally they reached his quarters. Inside, Allard led the man into his study, a large room filled with bookcases and books. It contained an old, musky scent and dust clogged the air. Allard seated himself behind his desk, a slab of wood which had replaced his formerly ornate carved one, and offered a seat to the former pirate.

“Now, down to business.” he paused and wished he had something to offer the man, “I have brought you here firstly to discuss the events outside of this castle. I want to know everything that has happened in the last three years.” He looked up into the eyes of the man and waited for a response.
User avatar
brenden casey
 
Posts: 3400
Joined: Mon Sep 17, 2007 9:58 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 6:19 pm

Arniel de Athee, Urvaius, Castle Deepstone

Astien chuckled, "I believe that this party will be quite a failure," he paused for a moment, "that is if a certain Astien Valtieri fails to turn up," It was Arniel's turn to chuckle as his friend finished off his glass of wine. Arniel did the same, collecting both glasses and placing them on a table together.

"I take it you will be attending as well?"

"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" Keep your friends close and keep scheming wizards even closer. "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" Arniel tugged on the velvet rope to summon his squire. "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 theatrical effect "enrichment."

Derek appeared at the door, promptly as usual, "You rang sire?"

"Yes I did, Derek, I have some tasks for you." He rose from the chair and crossed to his writing desk, "firstly I would like you to inform Master Braeth that Astien shall be coming with us to Evermore and he should make the appropriate arrangements" Master Braeth was the Master in charge of the court's horses, a bulky imperial with no people skills but a surprising manner with his horses. "Secondly, you are to deliver this message," he quickly scribbled a note on a piece of parchment, folded it tightly and sealed it with wax from the candle on the table, "to Varthlokkur in his rooms, you know where they are."

Arniel handed the note across to Derek, "and thirdly, you should pay a visit to Josiah Lecton down in the Armory, he has gift for you, followed by Sir Marten in the training grounds who had offered to school you in it's correct use and maintenance." A smile flashed across the boy's face as he realized the extent of Arniel's gift. "Well stop gawking boy, I believe I gave you some tasks." A sword and matching armor, the boy's earned it and he longs to be a knight, not a squire to some Bretonic Duke. If Sir Marten gets his way Derek will be a Knight, a Knight of the Stone no less. The boy hurried out of the room.

"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."
User avatar
Michelle davies
 
Posts: 3509
Joined: Wed Sep 27, 2006 3:59 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 3:23 pm

Barnan Diamond-Tooth, Shornhelm keep.

“Admiral,” he said, “I think it would be better if we had this conversation somewhere a little more.. Private.” He stood up from the throne and led the Captain through a plethora of mazelike corridors until finally they reached his quarters. Inside, Allard led the man into his study, a large room filled with bookcases and books. It contained an old, musky scent and dust clogged the air. Allard seated himself behind his desk, a slab of wood which had replaced his formerly ornate carved one, and offered a seat to the former pirate.

“Now, down to business.” he paused and wished he had something to offer the man, “I have brought you here firstly to discuss the events outside of this castle. I want to know everything that has happened in the last three years.” He looked up into the eyes of the man and waited for a response.

_____________________________________________________________


The grand duke Allard Lariat looked tired, hollowed and sad. A shadow of who he had once been. His castle reflected this as well, but not his realm. Shornhelm as a whole had never been so strong, although the noble’s power and castles might over it wasn't what it had used to be. Barnan had come here hoping to hear news of the high-power play that was going on in high rock right now, but instead he found that the duke was interested in the normal life of the normal people in high rock. "Not a bad place to start, though." Barnan thought. He took a seat opposite to Allard. He noticed a lack of drink, so Barnan took up two tiny glasses the shape of tear-dropped diamonds, so tiny that an ordinary man could hold seven of them in one hand, and a small bottle of Daggerfallic Brandy. With a quick move he filled the glasses, giving himself time to think of where to begin his story and gave one to the grand duke. He rolled the liquid back and forth in the glass and took a small sip from it. He took a deep breath and answered.

"I've sailed from port to port, but spent the last two months out on sea. My information may or may not be outdated, but I'll give it to you anyways." He paused and cleared his throat before he continued.
"The peasants, farmers, innkeepers, common soldiers and guards in Shornhelm are all happy. They trust you, Allard, for you are to them what no other duke, king or noble in all of high rock is, a friend of theirs. The same cannot be said about the other holds peasants and their relationship to their rulers. For example, a constant frustration in Northpoint hold has infected the land. I'd say the peasants don't need more than a little more time to become bitterer and a little nod of encouragement..." Barnan looked meaningly at the duke when he said encouragement. "...is all that might be needed for them to revolt."

Barnan licked his lips and refilled their glasses with more Brandy before continuing, he was surprised how little drink they actually could contain. Barnan figured you'd probably have a hard time getting drunk if you drank from these glasses. He continued, "I can't say I know much about the other holds situations, I've mostly stayed near Northpoint and Shornhelm during this time, with rare visits down south-west. But on the subject of Northpoint..." Barnan adjusted his position on the chair to a bit more comfortable. "...We'll need the trust of the nobles in Shornhelm before thinking further of what to do with Northpoint. We need to do something to earn their trust again. Redecorating the castle is the first step, but not in a way that drains the realm of money. Or well, it won't matter if it drains the money from other realms, if you know what I mean." Barnan stopped talking and smiled, drank his glass empty and refilled their glasses again.


OOC:Edit: Just very tiny change of wording, not meaning, when I talk about the tiny drinking glasses.
User avatar
Monika Krzyzak
 
Posts: 3471
Joined: Fri Oct 13, 2006 11:29 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 3:59 am

OOC: I decided to try to write in a different style than the traditional third-person, past-tense that most people use. if anyone has a problem with it, I'll change it.


Castle Northpoint

Elissa Caron

I groan as the curtains in my room are jerked back violently, allowing sunlight to pour in. “Wake up, milady.” I hear Charlette speaking to me, but I don’t reply. Instead, I just roll over and bury my head in my pillow. But Charlette doesn’t give up easily. “Milady, wake up now,” she says again, more forcefully. In response, I make a series of incoherent sounds. But my obvious reluctance to get out of my nice, warm, soft bed is ignored by Charlette.

“Milady,” she repeats yet again, displaying her sort of annoyed politeness I’ve come to love causing. “If you don’t get out of bed, I’ll be forced to get the water.” That threat does it. The water is a horrible way to wake up. So I sit up in bed, running my fingers through my sleep-ruffles hair, and stare at Charlette silently, wondering why she decided it was so necessary to wake me up.

As if she read my mind, Charlette says, “Elissa, your father is holding court today. Your presence is requested. You can’t show up in court having just rolled out of bed.” I sigh and reluctantly get out of bed. Charlette smiles and says, “Now, go bathe and I’ll find you something to wear, hm? I’ve already had the servants run a bath.” I can’t help but smile. This is why I like Charlette. She’s so ... efficient!

“All right. Just no frills, okay?” I ask of Charlette on my way to the washroom. She nods in response, and I smile as I make my way into the washroom. Sure enough, I see a steaming tub of water waiting for me, with two servants standing by. I strip out of my bedclothes, and they take them away, probably to be washed. Now alone, I step into the warm water, sighing contentedly as I sink into it. I sit there relaxing for what has to be close to ten minutes before I actually start to bathe, and once I do, I finish quickly. The servants are back with a towel by the time I step out, and they help me dry off.

Going back into my bedroom with the towel wrapped around myself, I find Charlette waiting with another servant, holding the dress she picked out for me (a blue and gold one, made of silk, I think; no frills, thankfully), brushes, and makeup. Going over to the bench, they help me get ready. After getting my undergarments on, they force me into a corset (I don’t see the need for it, honestly. It’s not like I don’t already have a “lady-like” shape) and then help me get into the dress. Against my wishes, they leave my hair loose and curled, saying it’s more feminine that way, and apply some light makeup to my cheeks, lips and eyelids. The whole ordeal doesn’t take long, thank the Nine, and they soon leave with the reminder to head to court.

I sigh, and start out of my room when I encounter a pleasant surprise. Gaspard is waiting for me in the hallway, wearing a set of nice clothes that I’m almost certain he didn’t pick out. He smiles when he sees me and says, “Hey, El. You look very nice this morning. Headed to court?”

I laugh quietly and reply, “Yes I am. Care to accompany me?”

Gaspard smiles and walks to my side. He holds out his arm and says, “It would be my honor.” I notice that his holding out his arm is a sign that means everyone is in the throne room at the moment, otherwise Gaspard wouldn’t risk us being caught. I smile as I link my arm with his. For a moment, walking quietly through the halls arm-in-arm, I can’t help feeling like this is the way things ought to be. Just me and Gaspard, side by side, not a care in the world. But then, too soon, we stop, and Gaspard’s arm slips away, and I’m reminded of each of our station. Myself, a princess; him, a low-born squire. As I look at him, his face indicates that he feels the same way. but he puts on a smile, probably for me, and so I do the same. “After you, milady,” he says as he holds the door open.

It doesn’t look like the council’s started by the time I arrive, and so I take my place next to my father’s throne, and Gaspard takes his place near the back of the hall. I assume the typical royal posture as the council starts: back straight, legs crossed, hands clasped on my lap. But as the thing drags on, and more and more peasants come by with requests, I eventually begin to lose that posture. By the time the last two requests are coming up, I’m slumped over to the side, elbow resting on the arm of the chair and my chin resting on my hand. Gaspard and I trade glances from across the room, silently communicating our boredom with the occasional raised eyebrow or rolling of the eyes. Despite my boredom, however, I do pay attention to how differently my father rules as compared to how I would. He’s much harsher than I would be; take the refusal to lower taxes, or the immediate execution of one of the nobles. That’s practically inviting the people to become disgruntled. But I don’t speak up; it’s not my place to publicly challenge my father.

The court seems to be at an end with the execution of Prespestarian, and so I straighten up, ready to be done with this. My father appears to feel the same. but then the old Chamberlain, Aelwin Seegnon, comes forward, and I sigh, returning to my previous position. "Your Majesty, there is one last thing," Seegnon says. "Syllawen Direnni is holding celebrations for the Festival of Peace, we have received invitation ... the whole realm will be in attendance."

That immediately makes me sit up straight. Not particularly because of the party itself; from the things I heard, the Queen of Evermore was quite the personality, but not one I wanted to meet. No, what interests me is the implications of being invited to the party. If my father went, I would have to rule in his stead while he was away. That time period would give me a chance to earn back some of the favor with the people that my father may have lost. And if my father didn’t go, I could go in his stead. Travelling through the kingdom would give me an equal, if not greater, opportunity to make the people like Northpoint again. Either way, it’s a win-win for me and for the kingdom.

My father appears to be in though as well, though for entirely different reasons, I suspect. And so I speak up. “Father, if I may,” I say, leaning forward in my chair. I quickly think through the possible opportunities this party offers Northpoint, and I realize that I would probably be better at currying favor with the people I meet (both lords and peasants) than my father. He’s not exactly a people-person. At least not as far I can see. I continue, “I would like to volunteer to attend this party to represent Northpoint. That way you could stay here and attend royal matters without the other lords of High Rock thinking you rude.”
User avatar
Inol Wakhid
 
Posts: 3403
Joined: Wed Jun 27, 2007 5:47 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 3:21 pm

Castle Daggerfall

The Queen of Daggerfall was a bored, bored woman.

"Would her majesty desire I play the flute again?"

Kelmena looked up from her well-trimed and polished nails. At her present state, the groveling smile of the musician before her - whose art she usually rather enjoyed - made her want to beat the man senseless, but alas, she was only a frail woman who was supposed to get her husband's men do her beatings for her. So with the resignation of a prisoner constantly tortured by a particularly persistent warden, she motioned him to continue and slumped in her exquisite chair again.

The flowing sounds pouring forth from the flute seemed distant and inconsequential, but at least they helped her think somewhat; by now, the queen was used to there always being some sort of background noise to her life. Be it the drivel of one of her many maids or the noblewomen who always seemed to appear at the least opportune of moments, the droning of her husband's officials or, as now, music - there was always someone or something.

Her back slid slightly further down the backrest.

Where was her husband? For all his faults, Kelmena couldn't deny he tended to liven up the day... At least, when he bothered to be present in his wife's day.

She rolled her eyes. Camaron's whereabouts were something that didn't take much thinking to figure out - his life was only too painfully familiar to almost everyone who cared to put even the slightest effort into investigating it, whether he intended it to be so or not. The fact she had reason to believe it was the former didn't much help.

Suddenly straightening herself in her chair, Kelmena lifted her hand. "Actually, I've had enough for today. You may go, Alanwen."

The bard almost dropped his flute out of surprise, the note he'd been playing trailing off pathetically. "Is her majesty certain? The song has only just begun..."

Now it was his voice's turn to trail off pathetically as the queen rose a single eyebrow.

"Of course, as her majesty desires; I am her humble servant." He bowed, hastily retreating towards the doors backwards. That would prove to be Alanwen's downfall, however, as he couldn't see that those same doors were swung open rather enthusiastically - hitting him just as enthusiastically in the rear. Much to the amusemant of the king, for it was none other who made such a grand entry than the same Camaron who Kelmena had wondered about just moments earlier.

"Ah-ha, Alanwen the Bard!" The King of Daggerfall smirked, watching as the bard fumbled to another bow, this one far less gracious - understandable, given the circumstances. "Keeping my dear wife company again, I see?"

"Someone has to," Kelmena's voice was remarkably less friendly; in fact, there was an undeniable chilly undertone to it that only the queen could allow herself while talking with one of the most powerful men in High Rock and perhaps the entirety of Tamriel. "Seeing as my dear husband will not himself."

Camaron pressed a palm to his chest, gasping. "My dear queen, you wound me. Now, off with you, bard," The amusemant disappeared from his voice as if waved away with a hand. As Alanwen himself knew all too well, the king didn't share his wife's satisfaction with music - not in general, not with his in particular. And, since it was better not to annoy the King of Daggerfall in his own keep, the bard scurried out without another sound, closing the doors with a final low bow.

For a moment, an uncomfortable silence lingered in the room. The young queen glanced coldly at her husband, then looked back down at her nails, while Camaron simply stood still for a moment, chuckling to himself about the well-placed door opening that had just occurred. This could not last forever, however, so finally Kelmena looked up from the slightly glossy red polish she'd had applied that same day.

"Does his majesty desire something from me..?"

Camaron's smile disappeared, replaced with a slightly bemused expression. "Kelmena, perhaps we may drop the whole act of maintaining proper distance from one another? We're not at court, after all."

"Yes," The chill didn't disappear from the queen's voice. "Our act."

The almost twice-older king tutted. "This again. I can't keep reassuring you of my unwavering love every day, it's... unkingly."

"Oh, that is unkingly. That, and not the fact every woman this side of the Wrothgarian Mountains knows more about your goings-on than I do?"

"Unfounded suspicions, my jewel from the north, unfounded!" Camaron kneeled before her chair, taking the queen's hand between his and trying to catch her eyes. For a man entering his fourties, the king could often act like that same man in his mid-twenties who came to the throne of Daggerfall in a flurry of scandalous rumours and accusations. "I was merely discussing matters of the realm with Marcher Bridwell. Not even of the Divines do I think more than you when we are not together, I swear on Dibella's bosom."

Kelmena sat still for a moment, her head tilted slightly. Finally, she sighed; once more she had to concede that any attempt to invoke guilt in Camaron was a vain matter and that it was much simpler - if not any less painful - to accept his love when it flared up rather than have nothing and be left completely alone in a land that was still foreign to her - even after the years she'd spent on the throne. "Perhaps at least visit your sons today..?"

"I had already decided to go to them as soon as I talked to you. For there is indeed something that I wanted to talk to you about."

Sighing again in slight dejection, the queen at least had to admit she was no longer bored. "Yes..?"

"As you of course remember, the Festival of Peace is fast approaching." Camaron rose from his knee with a slight smile that seemed to promise nothing good to Kelmena. "To be hosted this year in Evermore, by Queen Syllawen..."

"Oh, that woman." A chill crawled back into Kelmena's voice. "What of her? You're not thinking..?"

"Obviously, we simply must attend."

The silence that reigned in the room after that proclamation was even more persistent and less comfortable than the one before; rather than look down at her nails again, Kelmena gripped the right armrest tightly, an unseeing gaze fixed somewhere straight ahead of her. Slowly, she rose from her chair and brushed past her husband, walking to the other end of the room where she stopped, biting her lip and turned away from Camaron.

"Why?" The note to her voice was no longer chilly, it was something else; weariness, perhaps, or pain, unbecoming of a young woman that at court seemed perpetually cheerfully energetic or at least indifferent. "So I may feel embarrased before yet another 'lady' with a knowing look to her face?"

"Kelmena..." Camaron bit his lip as well, his expression confused again. Maybe he was (in)famous as a lover, but the King of Daggerfall knew woefully little of genuine emotion; his were always spontaneous and passing, any feelings that persisted and lingered were far beyond his understanding. All he could do was step closer to his queen and embrace her from behind; she tried to step forward and slip out of his grasp, but he didn't let go.

"The Direnni is nothing; a clueless idiot sitting on a throne with a crown too large for her head. I wouldn't ever put some... elf from Balfiera above you, no matter what the occasion might be." He placed his chin gently on her shoulder. The queen's eyes were dry, but her teeth grit tightly. "We shall come, the both of us. You shall wear your dress of Nibenese soul-silk and no one will even notice the Queen of Evermore when she's placed beside the piece of Aetherius on Nirn that is my wife."

Kelmena's protracted sigh quivered just slightly. She had no choice but to go and endure; ever a prisoner of this life.
User avatar
City Swagga
 
Posts: 3498
Joined: Sat May 12, 2007 1:04 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 2:18 pm

ooc: I'm sorry but I didn't proofread it since it is pretty late and I have to go to bed. I hope it is not to full of mistakes though.

Lorundil, Northpoint Palace.

The Candles sparsely lit up the room, but the illumination it gave was more than enough for Lorundil to work in. He had gotten an idea earlier this morning when he overheard some people talking about the executed man by a vigilant of Stendarr, a fanatic group of daedra hunters. They would even hunt down daedra summoners and worshippers to burn them at the stake, and Lorundil loathed them.

What do we know about them? Other that they once tried to conquer Tamriel during the Oblivion crisis, and that they are great warriors and capable spellcasters? Nothing! We know nothing them. Not even what they are made out of on the inside.

He took a satchel of white sand and started drawing a bug circle in the middle of the room. When done, he started adding runes around the edge that went gradually to the center until only a smaller circle, big enough to hold a hulking orc, was left.

He rubbed his hands and continued to pick up another bag filled with pitch black sand, but when he wanted to pick it up from the table he felt magic coming alive in the room just above. He cursed at the interruption and made his way up to the ground floor of his wizard tower. He closed the door behind him and locked it with a powerful spell, then he walked over to the source of the magic. As soon as he located it, it disappeared and instead left a what appeared to be a letter behind.

Lorundil picked up the letter and recognized the seal of Evermore. Magical post! Bah, why does it have to go through me? With a loud voice he called out to his no good assistant and waited for the overly stupid boy to arrive from where ever he might have been. After five minutes patiently waiting, Lorundil started pacing around. He had already regretted taking the boy in as an apprentice after his parents, both important nobles, asked him to teach him. Little did he know at that time that he was not one of the brightest and only fit to follow up orders instead of thinking for himself.

After Lorundil had waited long enough he shouted again and finally the boy came running through the door. “Master Lorundil, you called for me?” He asked.

“About twenty minutes ago yes.” Lorundil said as he could hardly keep the anger out of his voice. “Your study isn’t that far from my tower and most certainly not if you come running in like that. When will you open your books for once, young man?”

“I’m sorry master.” The boy tried to apologies. “It’s just that I’m not interested in all these books of magic and history. Most of the time I understand nothing of it. If it were up to me I’d take a sword in my hand and become a knight. Not a wizard like my parents want me to be.”

“I know. I know. Atleast you have your way with words.” Lorundil said. “Now, take this letter and bring it to the king and if you can’t find him than you must take it to the chamberlain and he’ll bring it to the king for you. And this time go faster it could be of great importance.”

The boy nodded, placed the letter in one of his pockets and stormed out the door. Lorundil sighed. Poor kid. He has no idea what his parents offered him. I’ll send him back by the end of the week. I’ll try to sparkle his interest during his next lessons but I’m afraid it won’t work. “Don’t be late for tonight’s lesson, Tom!” Lorundil reminded him.

While gesturing with his hand towards the door, closing it in the process, he walked down again to his runes. The interruption meant he had to start all over again and he hated wasting time. He placed the sack of pitch black sand away and with a swipe of his hand the white sand on the ground lifted up and flew back to where it belonged. He sighed again and started redrawing the shape. He had done it numerous times before and he knew exactly what variations and subtleties he had to create to achieve the result he needed. Drawing the runes was like an instinct to him. his mind drifted of and his body worked in never ending rhythm. When he was done with the white sand he took the sack with the black sand and added a few other runes in between the white ones. There were less but nevertheless they were more powerful than the white-colored sand.

With the precision of a master painter, he couldn’t afford making mistakes at this stage, he finished the summoning and binding circle. Carefully not to touch the sands he stepped out of the circle and positioned himself opposite to the door, which he had locked to keep people out of it. He cleared his throat and started chanting in the old daedric language. Words that would make the hardest vigilant of stendar cower in fear. Lorundil kept rephrasing the same sentence for a whole minute until a hardly noticeable rift in the very own fragment of nirn appeared in the middle of the smallest circle. From the rift a rasping, harsh sound came as a humanlike figure was spit out.

It was clad in the finest daedric armor one could get and over its shoulder hung a greatsword, heavier than Lorundil could lift. The dark reddish skin and large horns made it clear that he was dealing with a dremora, exactly what he wanted. The dremora spoke to him in a dialect of Daedric that Lorundil hadn’t heard yet, and drew his sword. Then it resolved to speaking in the common daedric language when it realized Lorundil didn’t understand him.

“You have no idea who you have summoned here, wizard. Unbound and freewilled I will kill you and then get my revenge for my death twenty-eight years ago. How long I have waited for this: a foolish mage, stupid enough to think he would be capable of summoning a dremora and controlling it.” it laughed and stepped forward, raising its sword to strike.

A sly grin came upon Lorundil’s face as he watched the dremora n awe for its perfect, muscular built. The treats it shouted at him went unheard. It was no treat to lorundil. Not trapped in there. As soon as the dremora stepped on the sand, Lorundil clapped his hands and send a surge of energy to the circle. The sand lit up and a storm of magic clouded around the dremora. It screamed and slashed with its sword trying to kill whatever was killing him, but to no avail. Magical storms are not something to be killed with steel, unless you could kill the mage creating the storm.

When the storm died out the dremora lay dead at Lorundil’s feet. A perfect test object to study the dremora body and what made it such great warriors. He had to use what little rests of magic he had left to lift the dremora up and lay it on the stone table. Lorundil felt tired and decided to start working on the dremora later during the evening of the day or tomorrow. He didn’t need to worry about the body since it would be preserved through the magic of the enchanted, stone table.

He had to get ready for court which king was going to hold in a good hour and He was expected. Lorundil went upstairs and grabbed a vial with a liquid that would rejuvenate his magical energies for the time being. It wasn’t much but it would be enough for the day. He then picked his expensive red robes and picked a large draping of blue cloth to loosely wrap around his upper body. In the fold of the blue cloth he stored many things he needed during the day and to get through the boring court.

* * *

As he had predicted, the court had been boring. Stupid problems between peasants that had to be finished. A few nobles and guildmasters complaining about everything they could complain about. Sometimes Lorundil couldn’t understand why Daric would hold these sessions. To Lorundil, the only explanation was that the king enjoyed torturing himself like that. Or maybe he enjoys torturing me like that.

He hated the waste of time court meant for him. it had gone on for hours and these hours could have been used for much greater things. But he had no choice. The king had requested his presence. For what reason, he couldn’t possibly tell since he would always remain silent the whole time and couldn’t even be bothered to fake interest.

When the court was over Lorundil stood up and readied himself to leave again. but the chamberlain came in and gave the king the letter that had been delivered through magical post earlier in the morning and when Lorundil heard it concerned a feast in Evermore he was completely shocked. He listened to the king who was thinking of going and then to the kings daughter, who even offered to go in his place. These people are crazy. He though.

Lorundil turned to his king and bowed as to mark his leave and then turned around started gracefully making his way back to his own precious, and completely normal tower, away from this crazy world.
User avatar
Tamika Jett
 
Posts: 3301
Joined: Wed Jun 06, 2007 3:44 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 2:21 pm

~
User avatar
Katie Louise Ingram
 
Posts: 3437
Joined: Sat Nov 18, 2006 2:10 am

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 2:47 pm

Varthlokkur, Castle Urvaius Lair

No one was requesting Varth’s assistance or attention, which was a relief, but something seemed wrong, out of place. Cobwebs on the nearby wall had been disturbed, broken apart as if someone had seen them as a nuisance and cleared them away. Something on a nearby shelf had been moved, ever so slightly to the left. The Dunmer spotted these petty changes immediately, as if someone had moved something large and noticeable around. His suspicions did not bother him, he has already assumed that the page boy did not truly leave his chambers, but was spying on him. Oh, Arniel.

Varth sulked over to his desk and sat down, facing the door. He procured a musty tome from the corner of his desk, and began to leaf through the yellowed pages. His mind was not on the words of the page, however. Despite the planned coup, Varth liked Duke Arniel well enough. He was an intelligent and competent ruler, and the Dunmer court wizard even enjoyed working under him. But like everyone else, Arniel was merely a pawn, a tool to the court wizard, someone to help him further his goals.

His goals. Long sealed wounds reopened with a metaphorical groan, releasing a flood on long dormant emotion. No, not dormant. The anger, the hate, the suffering- it was always with him, always awake and gnawing away at his insides. Varth’s sarcastic banter and humorous commentary was but a bandage, a slave for the underlying hate. It was what kept him sane.

Memories flooded back to the Dunmer, filling his skull with poisonous thoughts. Thoughts of vengeance began to take his attention away not only from his book, but from his immediate awareness as well, a young child’s voice bringing him back into the real world.

“Sir?” asked the young Imperial boy, Arniel’s personal page. Another spy?

“Yes?”

“I h-have this for you. It’s from the Duke.”

Varth nodded at took the piece of folded parchment from the child’s hands. The Imperial boy scampered off as the Dunmer unfolded the paper, eyes scanning its contents. Varth, We are traveling to Evermore for a grand feast, I request your company for the journey, there are things we must discuss. Arniel.

Evermore? Queen Syllawen? An idea sparked within the depths of Varth’s anger filled head, a very devious plan molding itself around the current events. The Dunmer rose, folding the paper back up and exiting his lair, each footstep replacing the sorrow in his heart with angry determination. Up from the basemant he came, and after inquiring about the Duke’s location from a few meager servants and guards, Varth found himself in the castle’s library.

“Milord” greeted Varth as strode towards Arniel, who was having a conversation with a younger Breton man, his handsome features complimented by his rich colored hair. “And master Valtieri” said Varth upon recognition. “So what is this grand feast you wish to discuss?”

OOC: Half assed post, but i am pressed for time.
User avatar
Laura Elizabeth
 
Posts: 3454
Joined: Wed Oct 11, 2006 7:34 pm

Post » Fri May 04, 2012 9:56 am

Meldorn Lariat, Beneath Northpoint, 2nd Heathfire 4E 28

The young Prince stood there, hanging, face pressed to the cold, rusted bars of his cell, arms dangling limp below, and watched. What did he watch? Before him was a wall, dank and glistened with dungeon sweat. Somewhere, far to his left, there was a dripping, but the cause of this steady report was invisible to him. Before him was gloom, once impenetrable, now like a summer's day to the incarcerated prince. He saw every mouldered surface, the glint in every rotting stone, the detail of every patch of the moss that covered much of the stonework down here. Somewhere behind him, at the roof of his cell, there was a tiny barred hole that let the faintest moonlight creep in and paint silver lines on the dirty slabs below, and in this dim reflection the prince's kingdom was illuminated. When he had first lent into this position on the bars of his cell, they had cut into his bones and pained him quite greatly, but that pain had passed, and a numbness replaced it. He had been watching like this for five hours now. He listened too, listening being the Prince's other occupation, and not the scurry of a mouse got past him. But mostly he watched. There was less to watch, and so his mastery over this realm was almost complete. The Prince heard the cacophonous shuffle and clanging of his jailer coming down the stairs, but preferred not to listen. He would pay it no mind, and then, when his jailer entered his field of vision, he would capture all the information in the tiniest split of a second. He'd leave it all as a surprise. Somedays he listened, but today he was watching.

The jailer was bored, and needed to piss bad. He scratched his genitals mindfully and marched down the dark, dank passageway to finish his rounds. He'd been drinking a little, and fancied another nap, but before he did anything he knew his job was to do a tour of the dungeons. Not that anyone would know if he didn't, but the jailer had a small degree of pride in his work. King Deric may by the ruler of all Northpoint, but in this dungeon, he was lord supreme. Except in one part. For the system of vassals continued even this low, and under King Jailer, there was one last master. Of that one, loathsome stretch of hallway, that patch before the cell of the captured Prince. It hadn't always been this way. In the years they'd spent as jailer and captive, he had always been the master. The one giving the beatings, the leering. The one who used to laugh when the young prince pleaded, tears in his eyes, to hear what had happened to his family, to his Kingdom. He'd spat in that face, he'd starved that boy for weeks, made a slave out of the proud Prince. But then something changed. The jailer couldn't remember when, but the Prince started watching. He'd sit, or lay, or hang there, and watch, with those damned red eyes of his. The jailer continued the beatings, but the Prince would just watch him now as he did it, and all the fun was out of it. The jailer wondered if he'd broken the boy's mind. A part of him felt sorry, some of the time, when the jailer returned home to his wife in the turret above, and their warm bed. But then he'd realise, that even then the Prince would still be there. Watching. The jailer hated walking past the Prince now, and hated the Prince, more than he had ever hated anyone, or anything in his life. He tried not to think about the Prince, but one thing the jailer would never do is let a prisoner disrupt his rounds. No, that's what they want, he'd tell himself. He'd walk past, just the same, he just wouldn't look back. There's the solution. He knew he'd be there, watching. So there's no need to look.

The noise grew louder and louder, but the Prince tried not to pay attention to it. If he gave it any mind, the Prince could have calculated the number of keys on the jailer's chain today, the boots he was wearing, if this was the last round of the day, if he'd been drinking, if he'd eaten, if today had been a good day or a bad day. Some of these details whispered to the Prince through his subconscious, but he tried his best to dismiss them. The excitement was palpable, anticipation rushing through his skeletal body. In just few seconds, he would be greeting by an ecstasy of vision, a feast to gorge his eyes on, details innumerable. The Prince's heart beat fast, his huge eyes, gloom-dwellers pupils' enormous discs, flashed to follow the jailer as he walked past. The guard reached the front of the Prince's cell, and stopped. The Prince's heart raced, he was giddy with excitement, over-fed on information, dizzy on the excess of it. He watched, the jailer turned to face him, he watched, the Jailer looked into his eyes, he watched, the jailer put his hand on his belt, he watched, the jailer drew a key, he watched the jailer placed the key in the lock and turned it. He watched this all, and knew, without thought, beyond guess or intuition, that the jailer had had enough, and was resolved to kill him. He watched as the jailer, hands shaking, left his field of vision and entered his cell. The next part he could only hear, but he knew it was coming. The unsheathing of that Nordic blade, the pommel of which had found his face so many times. The Prince could only see the gloomy wall now, but he knew what was going to happen. He closed his eyes. He thought back to Shornhelm, or tried to, and an image came to him. A castle in the summertime, his Mother, his brothers, his Uncle. A lily. It had been more than a year since the young Prince had remembered Shornhelm, and to see it now, brought tears of joy to his eyes. The Prince remembered something else, too. He remembered there was a road, somewhere, reason guaranteed it, that led from this accused Kingdom, back Home. Once that road had existed, and it must be there still. The Prince could only watch what he did next, as could the jailer. It happened in a split second.
User avatar
danni Marchant
 
Posts: 3420
Joined: Sat Oct 07, 2006 2:32 am

Next

Return to The Elder Scrolls Series Discussion