http://forums.feplanet.net/ Mon, 20 Apr 2026 15:53:56 +0000 MyBB http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1308.html Sun, 28 May 2023 15:43:45 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1308.html
It had been two weeks since Paige had left Port Laus after an all too brief reunion with friends. It was a nice respite before shifting to her mission. But now, it was back to work. This was her first assignment since joining the Divine Generals’ Council. She was to rendezvous with former Etrurian mage general Sir Stavros Nemean and recover as much of his pre-Scouring library as she could carry. Fortunately, Paige was provided a mule to help with the load.

That mule, tied outside by reins, was the only other sign of life on the premises.

The scholar found herself in what should have been the New Aqueleia School of Magic. Yet, this place was entirely devoid of any people. There wasn’t even so much as a school desk in the four large rooms on the ground floor. The only evidence anyone had been there was in the single spire of the fortress. There was a study with a large wooden desk and two bookshelves filled to the brim with heavy tomes. There was quite a bit to go through, but Paige zeroed in on the open journal upon the desk. She hoped for some clue as to the mage general’s whereabouts. The last line written was telling.

‘Dark master, grant me vengeance upon the Lycian Empire. My soul is yours.’

“Oh, Sir Stavros…,” Paige closed her eyes, disappointed in the outcome. “What have you done?”

"War..."

Paige turned her head at the sound of the whisper. No one was there. She suspected this place was not what she was told.

“Should have brought the boys along, Paige,” she said to herself, wondering what would Shad and Satsume do in this situation. Ultimately, she went with the Shad approach: grab a sword and charge recklessly into the unknown.  Though she had no fancy named blades, she had her Light Brand. It was something she was getting used to: it was a heavier blade than her usual rapier. Paige wasn’t much of a warrior, so she appreciated the sword more as a reusable torch. Holding the blade in one hand, she repeated a rune upon the blade. Light emanated from the weapon with the same effect as fire from a torch.

Paige pocketed the journal within her vest and descended down the spire stairway in search of the whisper’s source.

“Hello? Sir Stavros?” she said louder. Only echoes replied back.]]>
It had been two weeks since Paige had left Port Laus after an all too brief reunion with friends. It was a nice respite before shifting to her mission. But now, it was back to work. This was her first assignment since joining the Divine Generals’ Council. She was to rendezvous with former Etrurian mage general Sir Stavros Nemean and recover as much of his pre-Scouring library as she could carry. Fortunately, Paige was provided a mule to help with the load.

That mule, tied outside by reins, was the only other sign of life on the premises.

The scholar found herself in what should have been the New Aqueleia School of Magic. Yet, this place was entirely devoid of any people. There wasn’t even so much as a school desk in the four large rooms on the ground floor. The only evidence anyone had been there was in the single spire of the fortress. There was a study with a large wooden desk and two bookshelves filled to the brim with heavy tomes. There was quite a bit to go through, but Paige zeroed in on the open journal upon the desk. She hoped for some clue as to the mage general’s whereabouts. The last line written was telling.

‘Dark master, grant me vengeance upon the Lycian Empire. My soul is yours.’

“Oh, Sir Stavros…,” Paige closed her eyes, disappointed in the outcome. “What have you done?”

"War..."

Paige turned her head at the sound of the whisper. No one was there. She suspected this place was not what she was told.

“Should have brought the boys along, Paige,” she said to herself, wondering what would Shad and Satsume do in this situation. Ultimately, she went with the Shad approach: grab a sword and charge recklessly into the unknown.  Though she had no fancy named blades, she had her Light Brand. It was something she was getting used to: it was a heavier blade than her usual rapier. Paige wasn’t much of a warrior, so she appreciated the sword more as a reusable torch. Holding the blade in one hand, she repeated a rune upon the blade. Light emanated from the weapon with the same effect as fire from a torch.

Paige pocketed the journal within her vest and descended down the spire stairway in search of the whisper’s source.

“Hello? Sir Stavros?” she said louder. Only echoes replied back.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1222.html Thu, 01 Apr 2021 02:20:34 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1222.html
Clouds passed in front of the moon, doing little to hide the stars. The heretic knight squinted, focusing on the watchfires lighting the towers. Enormous blazes that kept the prisons denizens from moving without being seen. The inside of the bailey was constantly bathed in an orange glow throughout the nights. Those would be the biggest obstacle once they were inside.

From the events on the Dread Isle, Tiras had started studying Persephone, deciphering her mysteries and initiating into her mysteries. With him was Renata, his friend and confidant. She had been at his side, helping him foment his rebellion, raiding prison convoys with him. By ones and twos and fives, they'd built a considerable fellowship of dissatisfied citizens of Lycia. Some used magic, some were trained warriors, men-at-arms, or retired knights, men and women both, who'd spoken too much against the current leadership. 

But Tiras knew this was hardly a group of people large enough to win its victory in a rebellion. At most, there were sixty members of their fellowship. Their numbers were not enough. Their equipment was what they could salvage from their defeated and dead enemies. By far, Tiras was the most well-armored of the group.

Then, when reading Persephone again, it came to him: a fortress of lost souls, united in their resentment of the empire. A prison. Of course, there were likely to be criminals there, and the idea repelled the more honorable part of him, but he was more and more becoming used to making compromise.

He'd found this one, having raided several convoys headed to this location. The guards were sure to be on-edge, fearful of a shadowy force nearby, but never near enough to get rid of without emptying the fort. Tiras still hesitated, though.

"This will be a major step on the road to rebellion," Tiras stated, the wind blowing through his hair and billowing his cape. He looked to Renata, feeling the anxiety knotting in his gut. He was alone with her at this point, the rest of them in another glade. "If we strike this place, there will be no going back. Before this, we have just been a small-fry band of essentially brigands to the marquesses. But if we do this, and more importantly, if we succeed, we will have a small army. That is a lot harder to dismiss than a band of outlaws and highwaymen. Are you ready for that?"

And are you ready for that, dear Tiras? he heard Persephone speak to him. He quirked the side of his mouth Renata couldn't see into a smirk.]]>
Clouds passed in front of the moon, doing little to hide the stars. The heretic knight squinted, focusing on the watchfires lighting the towers. Enormous blazes that kept the prisons denizens from moving without being seen. The inside of the bailey was constantly bathed in an orange glow throughout the nights. Those would be the biggest obstacle once they were inside.

From the events on the Dread Isle, Tiras had started studying Persephone, deciphering her mysteries and initiating into her mysteries. With him was Renata, his friend and confidant. She had been at his side, helping him foment his rebellion, raiding prison convoys with him. By ones and twos and fives, they'd built a considerable fellowship of dissatisfied citizens of Lycia. Some used magic, some were trained warriors, men-at-arms, or retired knights, men and women both, who'd spoken too much against the current leadership. 

But Tiras knew this was hardly a group of people large enough to win its victory in a rebellion. At most, there were sixty members of their fellowship. Their numbers were not enough. Their equipment was what they could salvage from their defeated and dead enemies. By far, Tiras was the most well-armored of the group.

Then, when reading Persephone again, it came to him: a fortress of lost souls, united in their resentment of the empire. A prison. Of course, there were likely to be criminals there, and the idea repelled the more honorable part of him, but he was more and more becoming used to making compromise.

He'd found this one, having raided several convoys headed to this location. The guards were sure to be on-edge, fearful of a shadowy force nearby, but never near enough to get rid of without emptying the fort. Tiras still hesitated, though.

"This will be a major step on the road to rebellion," Tiras stated, the wind blowing through his hair and billowing his cape. He looked to Renata, feeling the anxiety knotting in his gut. He was alone with her at this point, the rest of them in another glade. "If we strike this place, there will be no going back. Before this, we have just been a small-fry band of essentially brigands to the marquesses. But if we do this, and more importantly, if we succeed, we will have a small army. That is a lot harder to dismiss than a band of outlaws and highwaymen. Are you ready for that?"

And are you ready for that, dear Tiras? he heard Persephone speak to him. He quirked the side of his mouth Renata couldn't see into a smirk.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1221.html Wed, 31 Mar 2021 23:40:45 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1221.html
"Hey, so, as you can probably tell, I've uh, I've never studied magic before. I don't know any of the theory. Could you help me with any of this?" He held out the opened pages of Persephone. "I know Elder Magic is probably vastly different compared to Light magic, but surely there must be some things they have in common?"

--

Although she'd considered going back to Badon, Renata had elected to tag along with Tiras when he'd told her he didn't plan to stick around the port city. Perhaps it would have been possible to eke out a living in the city, but rebellion was on her mind in a way it hadn't been before. Besides, they'd both gone through a nightmare and come out alive. That had to make them something approaching friends.

Tiras's question tore her from her thoughts. "Do you expect me to read that from a horse?" She stole several glances at the environs for a moment. Paranoia about magic was an old habit to break. She steadied her horse with one hand and placed the other on the open tome to keep the pages from blowing about.

"Trouble with dark magic's that there's no rules," she sighed. "Magical academies, churches— no such thing for sorcerers. No authority on style." She looked at the runes. They were mostly alien, and even the ones that looked familiar were somehow different, as if they had been written using entirely different implements. "Even with a proper scholar at our side, I'm not sure if— That one." She pointed to a sigil on the page, a curling rune scrawled atop a jagged one. "I remember seeing that symbol on the ruins..."

She nearly fell onto Tiras as her horse veered to avoid a pothole in the road. She shook her head in frustration as she righted herself upon the saddle again. "Sorry, Tiras. I think this is beyond me."

--

Tiras took back the book, frowning at the pages, before stowing it back in his saddlebag.

"Don't worry about it, Renata," Tiras assured her. "I knew it was a stretch before I even asked. I'll have to puzzle it out on my own, I guess." He shrugged. "Such is life. But speaking of life, I haven't heard much of yours. After everything, I'm curious how you learned to manage both sword and spell? My mentor told me that it was impossible, and though I made the attempt at several points, I was not successful and gave up on the matter."

--

"No one does, really," Renata replied. "Not to an expert level, at least. Better to just focus on one thing if you want to do that..." She trailed off as she realised she was automatically focusing on the technicality rather than just telling Tiras about herself. It can't be that hard.

"My father was a knight of Laus— Sir Markus Valenth. Wounds forced him to retire, so he made me his project." It had been a long time since she'd thought of her parents, maybe a solid week. "Not before my mother made him into a man of faith, though. Faith enough that he sent me to study in Thria. I didn't last long with the new church, though, and I— I fled. I... wasn't about to live in that miserable place any longer." Renata felt panic for a moment as it occurred to her that she had no desire to recall the gory details of her life in Thria. Besides, she had wandered off topic.

"What about you, Tiras? You were a proper squire, right? I'd always wondered if life in a castle beats life in the Church."

--

Tiras focused on the road ahead, looking wistful. For a moment, he had to blink back tears.

"I was a squire, yes. My father was... is... a man at arms for the Emperor. He's fanatically loyal, and only cares about one thing: the advancement of himself and his family name. For this, he's a favorite, but he's not eligible for knighthood. I was, though, due to being a page at the time. I was squired to Sir Adrian Verde. We partook in the war, but deserted when they burned the Tower of the Saint. Sir Adrian lived by the old motto of Ostia, living a very austere, self-sacrificing life, though his family have been landed knights from the days of King Roy. He was not yet forty, and unmarried. No children. He taught me as if I were his son, or his little brother.

"We fomented resistance against the church and the Emperor for three years, but the Ostian regulars caught up with us eventually. We were ambushed, and Sir Adrian was wounded severely. We were traitors, yet the lead knight accepted our surrender. He was Sir Adrian's younger brother, Sir Hugo, another upstanding knight who nevertheless remains loyal to the Emperor. I escaped my captivity during the night, and found Sir Adrian dying. He told me to dress in his gear, and take his sword. He tried to knight me, but died before he could. I escaped on his horse.

"That was three months ago. I've been chased like a dog, had to sell Sir Adrian's horse, and have hardly made a dent in the Empire. With luck, though, that may change."

--

Renata rode in silence for a moment before offering a reply.

"He was a good man." But that was obvious. "I didn't think much of rebellion after I fled Thria. I just wanted to escape— well, I thought I did. But now I know I'd rather try to fight the Empire itself than live in exile. I think the Dread Isle helped me realise that." Maybe her miserable life on the road had also played a small part.

"I don't know if you've a plan, but... Whatever kind of uprising you mean to make, I want a part in it. That's why I'm here." She knew it had never really been an option to stay in Badon. Better to die fighting with pride than to live the life of a beggar and thief.

--

Tiras looked astonished at the thought and stared at Renata in wonderment. Whatever uprising you mean to make... She believed in him. She was willing to fight alongside him.

"Then we raid church convoys," he said, feeling the resolve to rebel harden in his chest. "It was what Adrian and I did, and we were good at it. Prisoner convoys specifically. Can't foment a rebellion of one person and expect victory, after all."

--

"Right," Renata replied with some anticipation. He actually has a plan. "Any chance to strike back against the Church of the Preservation is a chance I'll take." For the first time in a long time, she would be doing more than just surviving.]]>
"Hey, so, as you can probably tell, I've uh, I've never studied magic before. I don't know any of the theory. Could you help me with any of this?" He held out the opened pages of Persephone. "I know Elder Magic is probably vastly different compared to Light magic, but surely there must be some things they have in common?"

--

Although she'd considered going back to Badon, Renata had elected to tag along with Tiras when he'd told her he didn't plan to stick around the port city. Perhaps it would have been possible to eke out a living in the city, but rebellion was on her mind in a way it hadn't been before. Besides, they'd both gone through a nightmare and come out alive. That had to make them something approaching friends.

Tiras's question tore her from her thoughts. "Do you expect me to read that from a horse?" She stole several glances at the environs for a moment. Paranoia about magic was an old habit to break. She steadied her horse with one hand and placed the other on the open tome to keep the pages from blowing about.

"Trouble with dark magic's that there's no rules," she sighed. "Magical academies, churches— no such thing for sorcerers. No authority on style." She looked at the runes. They were mostly alien, and even the ones that looked familiar were somehow different, as if they had been written using entirely different implements. "Even with a proper scholar at our side, I'm not sure if— That one." She pointed to a sigil on the page, a curling rune scrawled atop a jagged one. "I remember seeing that symbol on the ruins..."

She nearly fell onto Tiras as her horse veered to avoid a pothole in the road. She shook her head in frustration as she righted herself upon the saddle again. "Sorry, Tiras. I think this is beyond me."

--

Tiras took back the book, frowning at the pages, before stowing it back in his saddlebag.

"Don't worry about it, Renata," Tiras assured her. "I knew it was a stretch before I even asked. I'll have to puzzle it out on my own, I guess." He shrugged. "Such is life. But speaking of life, I haven't heard much of yours. After everything, I'm curious how you learned to manage both sword and spell? My mentor told me that it was impossible, and though I made the attempt at several points, I was not successful and gave up on the matter."

--

"No one does, really," Renata replied. "Not to an expert level, at least. Better to just focus on one thing if you want to do that..." She trailed off as she realised she was automatically focusing on the technicality rather than just telling Tiras about herself. It can't be that hard.

"My father was a knight of Laus— Sir Markus Valenth. Wounds forced him to retire, so he made me his project." It had been a long time since she'd thought of her parents, maybe a solid week. "Not before my mother made him into a man of faith, though. Faith enough that he sent me to study in Thria. I didn't last long with the new church, though, and I— I fled. I... wasn't about to live in that miserable place any longer." Renata felt panic for a moment as it occurred to her that she had no desire to recall the gory details of her life in Thria. Besides, she had wandered off topic.

"What about you, Tiras? You were a proper squire, right? I'd always wondered if life in a castle beats life in the Church."

--

Tiras focused on the road ahead, looking wistful. For a moment, he had to blink back tears.

"I was a squire, yes. My father was... is... a man at arms for the Emperor. He's fanatically loyal, and only cares about one thing: the advancement of himself and his family name. For this, he's a favorite, but he's not eligible for knighthood. I was, though, due to being a page at the time. I was squired to Sir Adrian Verde. We partook in the war, but deserted when they burned the Tower of the Saint. Sir Adrian lived by the old motto of Ostia, living a very austere, self-sacrificing life, though his family have been landed knights from the days of King Roy. He was not yet forty, and unmarried. No children. He taught me as if I were his son, or his little brother.

"We fomented resistance against the church and the Emperor for three years, but the Ostian regulars caught up with us eventually. We were ambushed, and Sir Adrian was wounded severely. We were traitors, yet the lead knight accepted our surrender. He was Sir Adrian's younger brother, Sir Hugo, another upstanding knight who nevertheless remains loyal to the Emperor. I escaped my captivity during the night, and found Sir Adrian dying. He told me to dress in his gear, and take his sword. He tried to knight me, but died before he could. I escaped on his horse.

"That was three months ago. I've been chased like a dog, had to sell Sir Adrian's horse, and have hardly made a dent in the Empire. With luck, though, that may change."

--

Renata rode in silence for a moment before offering a reply.

"He was a good man." But that was obvious. "I didn't think much of rebellion after I fled Thria. I just wanted to escape— well, I thought I did. But now I know I'd rather try to fight the Empire itself than live in exile. I think the Dread Isle helped me realise that." Maybe her miserable life on the road had also played a small part.

"I don't know if you've a plan, but... Whatever kind of uprising you mean to make, I want a part in it. That's why I'm here." She knew it had never really been an option to stay in Badon. Better to die fighting with pride than to live the life of a beggar and thief.

--

Tiras looked astonished at the thought and stared at Renata in wonderment. Whatever uprising you mean to make... She believed in him. She was willing to fight alongside him.

"Then we raid church convoys," he said, feeling the resolve to rebel harden in his chest. "It was what Adrian and I did, and we were good at it. Prisoner convoys specifically. Can't foment a rebellion of one person and expect victory, after all."

--

"Right," Renata replied with some anticipation. He actually has a plan. "Any chance to strike back against the Church of the Preservation is a chance I'll take." For the first time in a long time, she would be doing more than just surviving.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1220.html Tue, 16 Mar 2021 01:48:50 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1220.html
"Alright boys, mount up. Today's going to be a good day for adventure," Damian told them. They were dressed similarly to him. Electing not to wear armor, they just wore their grey aketons over blue tunics, their faded green hosen, ankle boots, and their swords. At the word of their master, the apprentice knights hurried to obey. Sir Damian was just about to focus on their path when Wart cried out.

"Master Damian, look!" Sir Damian followed the direction of his finger and saw what had alarmed the boy.

Plumes of smoke.

"Kay, ride south and see if there's a path that runs west toward those fires. Let the wind fail to catch you, boy!" He gave a sharp look to the arming squire. He was off like the arrow from a bow, his horse whinnying at the quick commands to first walk, then trot, then canter, then gallop. Soon, he was out of sight down the path south.

"Wart, unpack my armor. It seems we might need to fight today after all," Sir Damian dismounted, telling the horse to stand. His mood didn't seem the worse for wear as he armored up, sabaton to armet, noting that his uncle's cuirass now fit him excellently. Afterwards, he helped Wart into his own armor, and had Wart unpack Kay's for when he got back. He kept his visor raised as the armored trio rode to the site of the fires.

"It's a village," Kay had reported, having seen a fingerpost sign. "Kopyta."

"Do we know what struck them?"

"No, I just scouted the road towards them," Kay said, mildly confused.

Damian groaned. Another thing Kay was bad at, apparently. He was a poor scout. Perhaps he should have sent Wart instead? Best to do that from now on, probably. Until he'd taught Kay a thing or two.

Kopyta was a half-day's ride away, and was indeed smoking, the villagers having just doused the fire. Damn embers smoked quite a bit. Just what had happened here? He parked his horse in front of what was clearly the entrance to the damaged area. He heard wailing from within. He knew the sound. The cries from the war, especially after the Tower of the Saint fell, still rang in his ears some nights.

The green knight entered the domicile, noting three bodies and five mourners. Blood pooled in the dirt, creating a red muck, and it struck Damian that these men were killed quite recklessly.

"Oh, now a knight of the realm shows up!" one of the young men said, outraged. "Where were you last night? The horses were screaming bloody murder so God, Elimine, and the devil could hear them, and no one showed up, but now that danger's past you suddenly ride out of nowhere?! The gall!"

"Bite your tongue, lout, before you lose your teeth. I respect that you have suffered losses, but I am here to help. I will find who did this, and bring you their heads as justice. Now, our horses are tired, as we have been riding since midmorning. My squires are tending them, at the moment, but if your stable has room, we need space for three. Now, who is in charge here?"

The man scowled at Damian's taking charge of the situation, but pointed at the corpse of a middle-aged man. It was clear he'd had salt-and-pepper hair and a decent beard, but his head was split open. A woman, clearly his wife, of the same age, was wailing atop his chest.

"God dammit," Damian pinched the bridge of his nose in his gauntlet, rubbing just above his eyes. "Who's the manorial lord, then?"

"That'd be Master Dunstan Rolfe. He's a five mile ride west, and we've already sent word."

"Makes my job simpler, I suppose. Can you tell me what happened? Were there any witnesses?"]]>
"Alright boys, mount up. Today's going to be a good day for adventure," Damian told them. They were dressed similarly to him. Electing not to wear armor, they just wore their grey aketons over blue tunics, their faded green hosen, ankle boots, and their swords. At the word of their master, the apprentice knights hurried to obey. Sir Damian was just about to focus on their path when Wart cried out.

"Master Damian, look!" Sir Damian followed the direction of his finger and saw what had alarmed the boy.

Plumes of smoke.

"Kay, ride south and see if there's a path that runs west toward those fires. Let the wind fail to catch you, boy!" He gave a sharp look to the arming squire. He was off like the arrow from a bow, his horse whinnying at the quick commands to first walk, then trot, then canter, then gallop. Soon, he was out of sight down the path south.

"Wart, unpack my armor. It seems we might need to fight today after all," Sir Damian dismounted, telling the horse to stand. His mood didn't seem the worse for wear as he armored up, sabaton to armet, noting that his uncle's cuirass now fit him excellently. Afterwards, he helped Wart into his own armor, and had Wart unpack Kay's for when he got back. He kept his visor raised as the armored trio rode to the site of the fires.

"It's a village," Kay had reported, having seen a fingerpost sign. "Kopyta."

"Do we know what struck them?"

"No, I just scouted the road towards them," Kay said, mildly confused.

Damian groaned. Another thing Kay was bad at, apparently. He was a poor scout. Perhaps he should have sent Wart instead? Best to do that from now on, probably. Until he'd taught Kay a thing or two.

Kopyta was a half-day's ride away, and was indeed smoking, the villagers having just doused the fire. Damn embers smoked quite a bit. Just what had happened here? He parked his horse in front of what was clearly the entrance to the damaged area. He heard wailing from within. He knew the sound. The cries from the war, especially after the Tower of the Saint fell, still rang in his ears some nights.

The green knight entered the domicile, noting three bodies and five mourners. Blood pooled in the dirt, creating a red muck, and it struck Damian that these men were killed quite recklessly.

"Oh, now a knight of the realm shows up!" one of the young men said, outraged. "Where were you last night? The horses were screaming bloody murder so God, Elimine, and the devil could hear them, and no one showed up, but now that danger's past you suddenly ride out of nowhere?! The gall!"

"Bite your tongue, lout, before you lose your teeth. I respect that you have suffered losses, but I am here to help. I will find who did this, and bring you their heads as justice. Now, our horses are tired, as we have been riding since midmorning. My squires are tending them, at the moment, but if your stable has room, we need space for three. Now, who is in charge here?"

The man scowled at Damian's taking charge of the situation, but pointed at the corpse of a middle-aged man. It was clear he'd had salt-and-pepper hair and a decent beard, but his head was split open. A woman, clearly his wife, of the same age, was wailing atop his chest.

"God dammit," Damian pinched the bridge of his nose in his gauntlet, rubbing just above his eyes. "Who's the manorial lord, then?"

"That'd be Master Dunstan Rolfe. He's a five mile ride west, and we've already sent word."

"Makes my job simpler, I suppose. Can you tell me what happened? Were there any witnesses?"]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1165.html Mon, 30 Sep 2019 20:11:01 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1165.html
"Lady Cecilia, I beg of you to reconsider! At the very least, stay for the funeral," Lord Faren pleaded. "If your life is truly at risk, it would be safer for you to remain here."

"Your consideration is well noted, but I have already made my decision," Cecily said sternly.

Cecily could not disagree with Faren's assessment: hiding in Bern would be the easy choice. Definitely safer than returning to Lycia. But she has good reason to tear herself away from her tiresome admirer. She reasoned, with Faren and her companions, that traveling to Castle Pherae and obtaining information about the state of Laus from Lord Elbert IV would allow Cecily to figure out how to deal with the constant looming threat of assassins tailing her.

But she would not dare attempt this without Satsume or the other companions who volunteered to accompany her. After all, Cecily was nearly killed back when it was just Theodore and her. And Theodore is gone.

"Once again, I thank you for your hospitality," Cecily bowed. "It cannot be easy to accommodate my companions and myself on such a short notice."

"No-no-no-no, it was no problem at all! Please consider visiting again," Faren quickly replied with a wave of his hand.

Absolutely not, she would like to say. But instead Cecily merely offered her diplomatic answer: "When the time comes."

Right as she replied, her wyvern turned its head to look right at her. Cecily instinctively recoiled from its intimidating gaze. She's never going to get used to these creatures.]]>
"Lady Cecilia, I beg of you to reconsider! At the very least, stay for the funeral," Lord Faren pleaded. "If your life is truly at risk, it would be safer for you to remain here."

"Your consideration is well noted, but I have already made my decision," Cecily said sternly.

Cecily could not disagree with Faren's assessment: hiding in Bern would be the easy choice. Definitely safer than returning to Lycia. But she has good reason to tear herself away from her tiresome admirer. She reasoned, with Faren and her companions, that traveling to Castle Pherae and obtaining information about the state of Laus from Lord Elbert IV would allow Cecily to figure out how to deal with the constant looming threat of assassins tailing her.

But she would not dare attempt this without Satsume or the other companions who volunteered to accompany her. After all, Cecily was nearly killed back when it was just Theodore and her. And Theodore is gone.

"Once again, I thank you for your hospitality," Cecily bowed. "It cannot be easy to accommodate my companions and myself on such a short notice."

"No-no-no-no, it was no problem at all! Please consider visiting again," Faren quickly replied with a wave of his hand.

Absolutely not, she would like to say. But instead Cecily merely offered her diplomatic answer: "When the time comes."

Right as she replied, her wyvern turned its head to look right at her. Cecily instinctively recoiled from its intimidating gaze. She's never going to get used to these creatures.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1157.html Wed, 11 Sep 2019 01:34:47 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1157.html
At last, a town came into view. The castle overlooking the place was the residence of the local Lycian overlord. The town was of large size, but some of that had been destroyed in the war several years ago.

There was one person he was truly desirous of meeting: a bandit calling herself Tangle. Word was that she had a group of bandits that helped her harry Lycian supplies and troops trying to rule over their conquered territory. If he could get them to join up with his people and cause, they could do so much more than just harry. His dream would be closer to being a reality. The Vanguard would be more of a credible threat. The other two were of lesser import, but he was willing to accept any help. One was an unpleasant exile from Ostia, and the other was an Etrurian native.

He found a large inn. The sign had large sturgeon painted on it, with the words 'the Hearty Sturgeon' naming the place. The lights from the fireplace and chandelier were bright on this overcast day, and growing brighter as the day dimmed. At last, he thought, a place to get out of the cold. He hoped he could find the three he needed soon.

Ambrose entered the place, crowded with townsmen. Their clothes were looking less well-mended than their cut would have expected, but considering what the assassin had heard about the tyrant in this area, was it any surprise that few enough of the citizens could afford a to go to the tailor? Among the patrons were quite a variety of figures. But are the ones I need among them? he thought. He heard offers to other patrons of the 'Sturgeon Special,' while also hearing grumbling about a 'Damn Pascal.' Won't need to worry about that guy for too much longer.

The mercenary chose a bench table with an open seat. He warmed his hands by the fire as he waited. Surely Caleb would find him, point him in the right direction...]]>
At last, a town came into view. The castle overlooking the place was the residence of the local Lycian overlord. The town was of large size, but some of that had been destroyed in the war several years ago.

There was one person he was truly desirous of meeting: a bandit calling herself Tangle. Word was that she had a group of bandits that helped her harry Lycian supplies and troops trying to rule over their conquered territory. If he could get them to join up with his people and cause, they could do so much more than just harry. His dream would be closer to being a reality. The Vanguard would be more of a credible threat. The other two were of lesser import, but he was willing to accept any help. One was an unpleasant exile from Ostia, and the other was an Etrurian native.

He found a large inn. The sign had large sturgeon painted on it, with the words 'the Hearty Sturgeon' naming the place. The lights from the fireplace and chandelier were bright on this overcast day, and growing brighter as the day dimmed. At last, he thought, a place to get out of the cold. He hoped he could find the three he needed soon.

Ambrose entered the place, crowded with townsmen. Their clothes were looking less well-mended than their cut would have expected, but considering what the assassin had heard about the tyrant in this area, was it any surprise that few enough of the citizens could afford a to go to the tailor? Among the patrons were quite a variety of figures. But are the ones I need among them? he thought. He heard offers to other patrons of the 'Sturgeon Special,' while also hearing grumbling about a 'Damn Pascal.' Won't need to worry about that guy for too much longer.

The mercenary chose a bench table with an open seat. He warmed his hands by the fire as he waited. Surely Caleb would find him, point him in the right direction...]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1137.html Wed, 19 Dec 2018 09:01:29 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1137.html those guards... Trust had come to be a luxury in the city ever since it came under the rule of mercenaries (and, by proxy, money).

The only place in the city that felt no change, it seemed, was the Black Bear Inn. An establishment known to attract a certain type of person, the Black Bear was the beginning point for an uncountable amount of hare-brained adventures; even the Syndic of Tyrol knew to respect the dingy building where so many deal, pacts, and other such arrangements had been forged.

Such a place, Nichol reckoned, was now his best shot at finding a way home, and so he found himself once again in its front room, idly sipping on the local flavourless ale. In the past weeks, he'd seen things in the Lycian hinterlands that had temporarily convinced him he was insane. Bloody sorcerers performing unspeakable rituals, a human taking the shape of a dragon... Most damning of the things he'd experienced was the most mundane: his Lycian comrades had abandoned him at the first opportunity, likely as a result of some commander learning of Nichol's Etrurian nationality and deciding to purge him by sending him on a suicide mission. To think, I had the gall to believe I could become a Lycian. Resentment echoing in Nichol's head, he knew he could no longer pretend to be something he wasn't, and the only thing left for him to do was go home. However, that was easier said than done: he had initially intended on passing through the Ostian border to Etruria, but with how heavily it was fortified he'd decided to seek other means of entering, and so he'd stumbled upon this supposed hub for adventurers looking to travel beyond the borders of the Empire... and made no progress finding such an adventure even after a few days' stay. What a farce. Who'd want to travel out of Lycia these days, anyway? I shouldn't've listened to those fools on the road...

"I have roots, but do not grow..." The inn's barkeep started to chant an all-too-familiar riddle once again.
"Mountain, dammit!" Nichol grunted in interruption. "Don't you know any other riddles?"
"Don't you know that ain't the end?" was the bartender's cheeky reply. "Ye see, lad, the treasure ain't above nor below. A different type o' quarry, neither stone nor snow..."
"All I need is a way north," Nichol groaned, no longer caring that he was thinking aloud. He'd tried to get acquainted with the bartender in hopes of finding a lead, but all the old fop had ended up being good for was spouting riddles. Nichol buried his face in his mug once again, just in time to miss the barkeep raising an eyebrow at his words.]]> those guards... Trust had come to be a luxury in the city ever since it came under the rule of mercenaries (and, by proxy, money).

The only place in the city that felt no change, it seemed, was the Black Bear Inn. An establishment known to attract a certain type of person, the Black Bear was the beginning point for an uncountable amount of hare-brained adventures; even the Syndic of Tyrol knew to respect the dingy building where so many deal, pacts, and other such arrangements had been forged.

Such a place, Nichol reckoned, was now his best shot at finding a way home, and so he found himself once again in its front room, idly sipping on the local flavourless ale. In the past weeks, he'd seen things in the Lycian hinterlands that had temporarily convinced him he was insane. Bloody sorcerers performing unspeakable rituals, a human taking the shape of a dragon... Most damning of the things he'd experienced was the most mundane: his Lycian comrades had abandoned him at the first opportunity, likely as a result of some commander learning of Nichol's Etrurian nationality and deciding to purge him by sending him on a suicide mission. To think, I had the gall to believe I could become a Lycian. Resentment echoing in Nichol's head, he knew he could no longer pretend to be something he wasn't, and the only thing left for him to do was go home. However, that was easier said than done: he had initially intended on passing through the Ostian border to Etruria, but with how heavily it was fortified he'd decided to seek other means of entering, and so he'd stumbled upon this supposed hub for adventurers looking to travel beyond the borders of the Empire... and made no progress finding such an adventure even after a few days' stay. What a farce. Who'd want to travel out of Lycia these days, anyway? I shouldn't've listened to those fools on the road...

"I have roots, but do not grow..." The inn's barkeep started to chant an all-too-familiar riddle once again.
"Mountain, dammit!" Nichol grunted in interruption. "Don't you know any other riddles?"
"Don't you know that ain't the end?" was the bartender's cheeky reply. "Ye see, lad, the treasure ain't above nor below. A different type o' quarry, neither stone nor snow..."
"All I need is a way north," Nichol groaned, no longer caring that he was thinking aloud. He'd tried to get acquainted with the bartender in hopes of finding a lead, but all the old fop had ended up being good for was spouting riddles. Nichol buried his face in his mug once again, just in time to miss the barkeep raising an eyebrow at his words.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1131.html Sat, 07 Jul 2018 20:13:05 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1131.html  
The villagers gave their thanks by bringing food to the castle. The tavern gave drinks on the house. Bards began singing of these Lycian heroes, spreading tall tales of how their village was won. It was the most welcomed Paige had ever felt anywhere, though she didn’t feel she deserved it. Her sword skills failed her that day. Had it not been for Satsume’s quick thinking, she would have been among the dead. She would have to put aside her title of librarian for a while if she hoped to become a warrior.
 
Paige got dressed and entered the dining hall, which was lavishly decorated with pastries from town. Some of the wyvern knights were already picking at the display: one’s beard was peppered with powdered sugar. A maid offered Paige a seat and some breakfast, as well as a message.
 
“Please enjoy and stay here for a bit,” the maid said. “The captain of the wyvern squadron would like to speak to all of you.”
 
“Of course,” Paige replied, brushing her fingers through her hair to look a little nicer. Servants were running around the castle in search of her companions, urging them to the dining hall. If nothing else, at least breakfast was served.]]>  
The villagers gave their thanks by bringing food to the castle. The tavern gave drinks on the house. Bards began singing of these Lycian heroes, spreading tall tales of how their village was won. It was the most welcomed Paige had ever felt anywhere, though she didn’t feel she deserved it. Her sword skills failed her that day. Had it not been for Satsume’s quick thinking, she would have been among the dead. She would have to put aside her title of librarian for a while if she hoped to become a warrior.
 
Paige got dressed and entered the dining hall, which was lavishly decorated with pastries from town. Some of the wyvern knights were already picking at the display: one’s beard was peppered with powdered sugar. A maid offered Paige a seat and some breakfast, as well as a message.
 
“Please enjoy and stay here for a bit,” the maid said. “The captain of the wyvern squadron would like to speak to all of you.”
 
“Of course,” Paige replied, brushing her fingers through her hair to look a little nicer. Servants were running around the castle in search of her companions, urging them to the dining hall. If nothing else, at least breakfast was served.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1127.html Sun, 13 May 2018 00:50:27 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1127.html The Previous Night… Wrote:The port of Badon was unlike much of the Lycian Empire. As a place of business, no one really cared where one was from or one’s beliefs. Only two questions mattered: do you have the money? Are you worth the money? Anyone who couldn’t answer in the affirmative to either had no business in Badon. Because of its focus on trade and business (and the money it brings in), the Lycian Empire had been more lenient on the city than the rest of the country. Not even a church was present.
 
It made Father Terran squirm just to set foot into town. The sin was everywhere!
 
Moreso when he stepped foot into Davros Inn. It reeked of smoke, liquor, and the unholy activities between men and women. The holy man clenched his body tightly, as if afraid to touch anything. Yet the Church demanded his presence there. The task that needed to be done could not be done by a priest. They needed a devil.
 
Wratt waved the priest over to his booth. As Terran sat down upon the sticky seat, his face scrunched up in discomfort. Wratt laughed loudly at the priest’s predicament. They both knew Wratt could laugh because of his success in his last few jobs. Not many mercenaries would work for the empire. Fewer that wouldn’t demand a small fortune for a job. Even fewer that would do the job well. Wratt Cervant, for all his misdeeds, got the job done. And if he didn’t, well, he wasn’t someone the Church would miss much.
 
“What’s the matter? Afraid a little sin will rub on you? That you might like it?” Wratt smiled as he took a sip of his ale.
 
“Can we please just get on with this?”
 
“Alright, alright,” Wratt put his mug down. “What’s the job this time?”
 
“Are you familiar with the island of Valor?”
 
“Dread Isle? That’s that foggy island sailors get superstitious about.”
 
“Yes, well, we need you to go there and find something.”
 
“Of course you do,” Wratt replied, rubbing his beard. Not many would sail to Dread Isle. Only the stupid would step foot on it. Stories of disappearing fleets were still told to this day. Apparently, they didn’t just spook the locals.
 
“Legend speaks of a Dragon’s Gate. At the end of the Scouring, the last dragons used it to escape our world and enter another. There are…accounts…that they could return through the same way.”
 
“This isn’t some ‘get the thing’ mission. This is a ‘bring the explosives’ mission.”
 
“Precisely,” Terran nodded. “Make sure legend stays legend. Burn the ruins to the ground if you have to.”
 
“Sounds like a job for multiple people. Lots of explosives, supplies to get across the island, a ship to get us there.”
 
“The Empire will compensate you and your crew handsomely, as usual. We would need you to start immediately.”
 
“Well, hold your horses. First, I need a crew…”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Morning came to Port Badon. The town was bustling with activity as soon as dawn broke. Streetside stalls were set up with trinkets, weapons, and other items. Of course, merchants in the back alleys were always looking for customers who required something less than legal.
 
Davros Inn remained a popular stop for traveling mercenaries looking to make some gold. Jobs were usually posted by posters nailed to the walls or by word of mouth. The bartender was spreading around a particularly interesting proposal: the Church of Preservation was seeking mercenaries to send to the infamous Dread Isle to destroy some sort of pagan temple known as the Dragon’s Gate. Interested parties were to head to the docks and ask for Wratt.
 
At the docks, ships were preparing to head out to harvest the sea’s bounty of fish and crustaceans. All but one ship: the Mermaid’s Desire. Her crew was newly employed of the Lycian Empire, much to the displeasure of said crew. They were even more displeased once they found out where they were headed. Sailors were giving dirty looks at the scruffy-looking mercenary known as Wratt.
 
“What are you lookin’ at?!” Wratt snarled as he went over to the captain of the crew. The mercenary took one last swig of a bottle of rum before tossing it into the sea.
 
“Look Cappy,” Wratt said. “Are we going to have problems with this crew, or do I need to get the Inquisitors to sort them out?”
 
“No no no!” the captain insisted, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “We’re fine! Everything’s fine!” He hurried back onto the boat, carrying a big crate of supplies needed for the upcoming mission.
 
“Hey carful! Those are explosive!”
 
For Wratt, things were not fine. Initial requests for hired help were not promising. Half of the inquiries backed out once they realized they were going to that Dread Isle. The other half requested more money, more than their skills would ever be worth. He went to chug more rum, only to remember that he tossed the bottle.
 
“Damn it all…”]]> The Previous Night… Wrote:The port of Badon was unlike much of the Lycian Empire. As a place of business, no one really cared where one was from or one’s beliefs. Only two questions mattered: do you have the money? Are you worth the money? Anyone who couldn’t answer in the affirmative to either had no business in Badon. Because of its focus on trade and business (and the money it brings in), the Lycian Empire had been more lenient on the city than the rest of the country. Not even a church was present.
 
It made Father Terran squirm just to set foot into town. The sin was everywhere!
 
Moreso when he stepped foot into Davros Inn. It reeked of smoke, liquor, and the unholy activities between men and women. The holy man clenched his body tightly, as if afraid to touch anything. Yet the Church demanded his presence there. The task that needed to be done could not be done by a priest. They needed a devil.
 
Wratt waved the priest over to his booth. As Terran sat down upon the sticky seat, his face scrunched up in discomfort. Wratt laughed loudly at the priest’s predicament. They both knew Wratt could laugh because of his success in his last few jobs. Not many mercenaries would work for the empire. Fewer that wouldn’t demand a small fortune for a job. Even fewer that would do the job well. Wratt Cervant, for all his misdeeds, got the job done. And if he didn’t, well, he wasn’t someone the Church would miss much.
 
“What’s the matter? Afraid a little sin will rub on you? That you might like it?” Wratt smiled as he took a sip of his ale.
 
“Can we please just get on with this?”
 
“Alright, alright,” Wratt put his mug down. “What’s the job this time?”
 
“Are you familiar with the island of Valor?”
 
“Dread Isle? That’s that foggy island sailors get superstitious about.”
 
“Yes, well, we need you to go there and find something.”
 
“Of course you do,” Wratt replied, rubbing his beard. Not many would sail to Dread Isle. Only the stupid would step foot on it. Stories of disappearing fleets were still told to this day. Apparently, they didn’t just spook the locals.
 
“Legend speaks of a Dragon’s Gate. At the end of the Scouring, the last dragons used it to escape our world and enter another. There are…accounts…that they could return through the same way.”
 
“This isn’t some ‘get the thing’ mission. This is a ‘bring the explosives’ mission.”
 
“Precisely,” Terran nodded. “Make sure legend stays legend. Burn the ruins to the ground if you have to.”
 
“Sounds like a job for multiple people. Lots of explosives, supplies to get across the island, a ship to get us there.”
 
“The Empire will compensate you and your crew handsomely, as usual. We would need you to start immediately.”
 
“Well, hold your horses. First, I need a crew…”
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Morning came to Port Badon. The town was bustling with activity as soon as dawn broke. Streetside stalls were set up with trinkets, weapons, and other items. Of course, merchants in the back alleys were always looking for customers who required something less than legal.
 
Davros Inn remained a popular stop for traveling mercenaries looking to make some gold. Jobs were usually posted by posters nailed to the walls or by word of mouth. The bartender was spreading around a particularly interesting proposal: the Church of Preservation was seeking mercenaries to send to the infamous Dread Isle to destroy some sort of pagan temple known as the Dragon’s Gate. Interested parties were to head to the docks and ask for Wratt.
 
At the docks, ships were preparing to head out to harvest the sea’s bounty of fish and crustaceans. All but one ship: the Mermaid’s Desire. Her crew was newly employed of the Lycian Empire, much to the displeasure of said crew. They were even more displeased once they found out where they were headed. Sailors were giving dirty looks at the scruffy-looking mercenary known as Wratt.
 
“What are you lookin’ at?!” Wratt snarled as he went over to the captain of the crew. The mercenary took one last swig of a bottle of rum before tossing it into the sea.
 
“Look Cappy,” Wratt said. “Are we going to have problems with this crew, or do I need to get the Inquisitors to sort them out?”
 
“No no no!” the captain insisted, looking around to make sure no one was listening. “We’re fine! Everything’s fine!” He hurried back onto the boat, carrying a big crate of supplies needed for the upcoming mission.
 
“Hey carful! Those are explosive!”
 
For Wratt, things were not fine. Initial requests for hired help were not promising. Half of the inquiries backed out once they realized they were going to that Dread Isle. The other half requested more money, more than their skills would ever be worth. He went to chug more rum, only to remember that he tossed the bottle.
 
“Damn it all…”]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1110.html Sun, 12 Nov 2017 18:36:25 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1110.html Northern Tuscana, Lycia – about half a day’s ride from the Sacaen border…
 
Inquisitor Gerrard clutched at the wound on his arm as he led the remnants of his squad through the forest.  His spearpoint shone with a golden light, illuminating the path ahead.  As he ran, his mind flashed to the frowning face of St. Elimine, her immaculate complexion threatening to break under the weight of bitter tears as the church’s warrior-priests retreated from the blasphemers.
 
Discretion is the better part of valor, he thought.  But then his mind flashed to an image of the Emperor.  Gerrard ran faster.
 
Finally, exhausted, Gerrard and his men slowed to a stop.  Panting and wheezing, the three Keepers turned to look behind them.  There were no pursuers.  Apart from the occasional stray call of wildlife, there was nothing to be heard, save for the Keepers’ harried breathing.
 
“Are they gone?” asked one.
 
“Inquisitor, your arm… let me mend it.” The second Keeper scurried over to Gerrard and produced a healing staff.  Gerrard looked away – the sight of garish wounds being undone by magic was somehow more repulsive to him than the wounds themselves.  The Keeper mumbled a prayer, and the Inquisitor felt the pain in his arm begin to wane.
 
WaaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHHuuummmmm!
 
“Inquisito-urrggkkk!” The other keeper’s cry was suddenly mangled by a purplish-black tendril spouting from his neck before contorting back inwards into the man’s chest cavity.  The blade fell from his hand, and his eyes rolled back.
 
Gerrard was able to bring up his weapon crossways and project a golden shield just in time to intercept a second strand of dark magic.  It slammed into the ward, driving a shooting pain into Gerrard’s head as he struggled to maintain his concentration.
 
“Beloved Saint Elimine, shield me from the forces of darkness, and embrace my unworthy soul…” He struggled to utter his prayers.  Never before had heretical magic borne such strength!  The healer behind him could only watch helplessly, his mouth agape.  Finally, out of the darkness of night and through the glimmering ward, Gerrard watched a figure approach.  His face was hidden from view.  One hand held a magic tome, the other was outstretched – the source of the black tendrils.  Gerrard could not see his eyes, but was certain that this person was staring right through him.
 
Finally, with a primal bellow, the dark mage pushed forward with his outstretched hand.  Two more powerful ribbons of magic erupted from around the first, slamming into the Inquisitor’s ward and pulverizing it into a wash of muted light.
 
Gods… This was Gerrard’s final thought as his vision went black.
 

---

 
Two days later…
 
Yuri closed his prayer book and set it back in his belt pouch, heaving a large sigh as he peered outside.  The daylight was trying its best to pierce through the fog that had surrounded the village, but all it seemed to do was change the sky from “dreary gray” to “slightly less dreary gray.”
 
I should probably get a move on before the rain comes… he thought.  Yuri reached for his ecclesiastical hat on the bed, setting it on his head and grabbing his spear.  He paused briefly to stare at the Keepers’ emblem on the blade before making his way to the inn’s exit.
 
The air was heavy and damp.  It looked like it could rain at a moment’s notice.  Yuri frowned at the sky and began trekking through the fog, headed south along the road.  It didn’t look terribly busy on the streets, but that was probably because the dense fog made it hard to see much farther than a couple yards.
 
This doesn’t bode well, thought Yuri.  I’ll be lucky if I make it out of Tuscana before the rain-
 
“Gods alive!”
 
“Someone get help!”
 
Yuri’s attention snapped in the direction of the harried cries.  He could make out some commotion on the road ahead of him.  Without thinking, he started running into the fog.
 
A cluster of people were gathered around a severely injured holy man.  His face looked weary, but his body looked far, far worse.  Cuts and scrapes of all kinds shone beneath his tattered robes.  His face was pale.  In his hand, he gripped what looked like most of a healing staff.  The glass orb at the head was chipped.  Yuri dropped his spear and rushed to the side of the priest as he listed and fell to the ground.
 
“Somebody get a healer!” Yuri shouted, cradling the man in his arms.  He lowered his voice so that only he could hear.  “What happened?”
 
“D-demons…” the priest’s face was alight with shock, and his voice was hardly above a whisper.  “Th-they’re demons…”
 
“Who?” asked Yuri.
 
“Witches… they kidnap the children… take their stones… and… and..!” Terror washed over the Keeper’s face, and his breathing grew quick.  Yuri grabbed his hand and squeezed, trying to bring him back.
 
“Where?!” asked Yuri.
 
“North… the f-forest… Ah… forgive me, Brother…”  Yuri felt the man’s grip go limp, and his panicked breathing slowed to a stop, his eyes frozen open in shock.
 
Yuri felt his heart sink.  “Rest in peace, Brother…” He solemnly laid his hand down across the dead Keeper’s eyelids and began reciting a prayer.  Some of the onlookers bowed their heads.  Others began to talk amongst themselves.
 
Yuri looked back up the northern road.  If the dying man’s story was true, then it would be his duty as a Keeper to bring Elimine’s justice.  But in light of his recent encounters with well-meaning mages, how could he be sure that he'd be doing the right thing?]]> Northern Tuscana, Lycia – about half a day’s ride from the Sacaen border…
 
Inquisitor Gerrard clutched at the wound on his arm as he led the remnants of his squad through the forest.  His spearpoint shone with a golden light, illuminating the path ahead.  As he ran, his mind flashed to the frowning face of St. Elimine, her immaculate complexion threatening to break under the weight of bitter tears as the church’s warrior-priests retreated from the blasphemers.
 
Discretion is the better part of valor, he thought.  But then his mind flashed to an image of the Emperor.  Gerrard ran faster.
 
Finally, exhausted, Gerrard and his men slowed to a stop.  Panting and wheezing, the three Keepers turned to look behind them.  There were no pursuers.  Apart from the occasional stray call of wildlife, there was nothing to be heard, save for the Keepers’ harried breathing.
 
“Are they gone?” asked one.
 
“Inquisitor, your arm… let me mend it.” The second Keeper scurried over to Gerrard and produced a healing staff.  Gerrard looked away – the sight of garish wounds being undone by magic was somehow more repulsive to him than the wounds themselves.  The Keeper mumbled a prayer, and the Inquisitor felt the pain in his arm begin to wane.
 
WaaaaaAAAAAAAAAHHHHHuuummmmm!
 
“Inquisito-urrggkkk!” The other keeper’s cry was suddenly mangled by a purplish-black tendril spouting from his neck before contorting back inwards into the man’s chest cavity.  The blade fell from his hand, and his eyes rolled back.
 
Gerrard was able to bring up his weapon crossways and project a golden shield just in time to intercept a second strand of dark magic.  It slammed into the ward, driving a shooting pain into Gerrard’s head as he struggled to maintain his concentration.
 
“Beloved Saint Elimine, shield me from the forces of darkness, and embrace my unworthy soul…” He struggled to utter his prayers.  Never before had heretical magic borne such strength!  The healer behind him could only watch helplessly, his mouth agape.  Finally, out of the darkness of night and through the glimmering ward, Gerrard watched a figure approach.  His face was hidden from view.  One hand held a magic tome, the other was outstretched – the source of the black tendrils.  Gerrard could not see his eyes, but was certain that this person was staring right through him.
 
Finally, with a primal bellow, the dark mage pushed forward with his outstretched hand.  Two more powerful ribbons of magic erupted from around the first, slamming into the Inquisitor’s ward and pulverizing it into a wash of muted light.
 
Gods… This was Gerrard’s final thought as his vision went black.
 

---

 
Two days later…
 
Yuri closed his prayer book and set it back in his belt pouch, heaving a large sigh as he peered outside.  The daylight was trying its best to pierce through the fog that had surrounded the village, but all it seemed to do was change the sky from “dreary gray” to “slightly less dreary gray.”
 
I should probably get a move on before the rain comes… he thought.  Yuri reached for his ecclesiastical hat on the bed, setting it on his head and grabbing his spear.  He paused briefly to stare at the Keepers’ emblem on the blade before making his way to the inn’s exit.
 
The air was heavy and damp.  It looked like it could rain at a moment’s notice.  Yuri frowned at the sky and began trekking through the fog, headed south along the road.  It didn’t look terribly busy on the streets, but that was probably because the dense fog made it hard to see much farther than a couple yards.
 
This doesn’t bode well, thought Yuri.  I’ll be lucky if I make it out of Tuscana before the rain-
 
“Gods alive!”
 
“Someone get help!”
 
Yuri’s attention snapped in the direction of the harried cries.  He could make out some commotion on the road ahead of him.  Without thinking, he started running into the fog.
 
A cluster of people were gathered around a severely injured holy man.  His face looked weary, but his body looked far, far worse.  Cuts and scrapes of all kinds shone beneath his tattered robes.  His face was pale.  In his hand, he gripped what looked like most of a healing staff.  The glass orb at the head was chipped.  Yuri dropped his spear and rushed to the side of the priest as he listed and fell to the ground.
 
“Somebody get a healer!” Yuri shouted, cradling the man in his arms.  He lowered his voice so that only he could hear.  “What happened?”
 
“D-demons…” the priest’s face was alight with shock, and his voice was hardly above a whisper.  “Th-they’re demons…”
 
“Who?” asked Yuri.
 
“Witches… they kidnap the children… take their stones… and… and..!” Terror washed over the Keeper’s face, and his breathing grew quick.  Yuri grabbed his hand and squeezed, trying to bring him back.
 
“Where?!” asked Yuri.
 
“North… the f-forest… Ah… forgive me, Brother…”  Yuri felt the man’s grip go limp, and his panicked breathing slowed to a stop, his eyes frozen open in shock.
 
Yuri felt his heart sink.  “Rest in peace, Brother…” He solemnly laid his hand down across the dead Keeper’s eyelids and began reciting a prayer.  Some of the onlookers bowed their heads.  Others began to talk amongst themselves.
 
Yuri looked back up the northern road.  If the dying man’s story was true, then it would be his duty as a Keeper to bring Elimine’s justice.  But in light of his recent encounters with well-meaning mages, how could he be sure that he'd be doing the right thing?]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1058.html Mon, 21 Nov 2016 06:46:26 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1058.html Four Days Earlier - Burg Castle

Burg castle, built into the Lycian-Bernese mountainside, overlooked a quaint village further down the mountain. The castle was in disrepair, the victim of sieges forced upon the structure during several of Bern's conflicts over the centuries. Until a few months prior, it's only residents were wildlife who found their way inside and the occasional steward, tasked with maintaining the structure by their now dead employer. But that changed with the shift of Lycian government. The once dead employer was replaced with his son, and soon the wildlife was replaced with those with ties to his house. However, that wouldn't last too long.

In the master bedroom, sleeping comfortably wrapped up in a fur blanket was Maria Hyperion. The young girl thought she was the safest in the world. She had a bunch of really good and strong people to defend her. Her future husband, a boy a half year younger than herself, was there to protect her as well. And then she had the white haired woman shadowing her, always just out of her sight. No one could possibly harm her here. Not like in Etruria. Not like in Lycia. There she is vilified by the Church of Preservation of Sanctity and there she would have been persecuted or worse, had her brother not sent her here.

She began to stir a bit, hearing some loud noises from the floors below. She then felt someone shaking her awake. She opened her eyes to see the white haired girl. "Mistress, wake up. We need to get you out of here." Maria looked at her with sleep in her eyes, then turned over in her bed. It was still dark out, why was she waking her? That was when the door was kicked open. Her head snapped up towards the door on the opposite side of the room to see several burly men enter the room. They were covered in something, she couldn't make it out. A book was then tossed on her lap. She looked at in quickly, recognizing it as her spell book. "You have to fight mistress. We have to get you out of here."

Something within her withdrew a bit. She then knew what that was she saw on those men. She stumbled out of bed behind the white haired girl, still clad in her night gown. "I-it's o-okay. Shad will s-save us. He's on his way. Sir Marcus said he was."

"Ah little girly? Ah 'onduh 'ow much we be gettin' fer her? He he he" She recoiled at those words. She gazed towards the window, as if her wishes would be granted, and then turned back towards the brigands. She calmed herself a bit and opened her tome. She wasn't going to let them take her without a fight.

---

---

 
Present Day - Mountain Path

A group of riders on horse back were walking through the mountains. It was a rather eclectic group, consisting of dissidents and refugees. All escaping the powder keg that was the the surrounding area of Tania. It appeared as if the cogs of war between Lycia and Bern were turning. Bern was the safer retreat, due to their offensive, and perhaps had promises for them for the future. But for now, they needed a place to recoup. "I think I've narrowed it down everyone. I believe this is the correct path to my safe house. According the map, there's even a village nearby, so perhaps we can fish for information there," said Shad, who had become their navigator to their first destination.

"Do you even know what this place looks like? Will there even be enough room for us all to stay the night?" Shad's passenger Taika question. It was a fair one at that.

He kinda shook his head between nodding up and down, examining the map and the path before him. "Regrettably no. I know our family still owns the place, how to get there, and how much is being transferred out of my coffers to pay for upkeep monthly. Considering how much I'm paying for this thing, it must be of a decent size. We'll probably know when we see it." He replied, before turning his head back at his companions. "It probably shouldn't be too much longer. How are you all holding up?"]]> Four Days Earlier - Burg Castle

Burg castle, built into the Lycian-Bernese mountainside, overlooked a quaint village further down the mountain. The castle was in disrepair, the victim of sieges forced upon the structure during several of Bern's conflicts over the centuries. Until a few months prior, it's only residents were wildlife who found their way inside and the occasional steward, tasked with maintaining the structure by their now dead employer. But that changed with the shift of Lycian government. The once dead employer was replaced with his son, and soon the wildlife was replaced with those with ties to his house. However, that wouldn't last too long.

In the master bedroom, sleeping comfortably wrapped up in a fur blanket was Maria Hyperion. The young girl thought she was the safest in the world. She had a bunch of really good and strong people to defend her. Her future husband, a boy a half year younger than herself, was there to protect her as well. And then she had the white haired woman shadowing her, always just out of her sight. No one could possibly harm her here. Not like in Etruria. Not like in Lycia. There she is vilified by the Church of Preservation of Sanctity and there she would have been persecuted or worse, had her brother not sent her here.

She began to stir a bit, hearing some loud noises from the floors below. She then felt someone shaking her awake. She opened her eyes to see the white haired girl. "Mistress, wake up. We need to get you out of here." Maria looked at her with sleep in her eyes, then turned over in her bed. It was still dark out, why was she waking her? That was when the door was kicked open. Her head snapped up towards the door on the opposite side of the room to see several burly men enter the room. They were covered in something, she couldn't make it out. A book was then tossed on her lap. She looked at in quickly, recognizing it as her spell book. "You have to fight mistress. We have to get you out of here."

Something within her withdrew a bit. She then knew what that was she saw on those men. She stumbled out of bed behind the white haired girl, still clad in her night gown. "I-it's o-okay. Shad will s-save us. He's on his way. Sir Marcus said he was."

"Ah little girly? Ah 'onduh 'ow much we be gettin' fer her? He he he" She recoiled at those words. She gazed towards the window, as if her wishes would be granted, and then turned back towards the brigands. She calmed herself a bit and opened her tome. She wasn't going to let them take her without a fight.

---

---

 
Present Day - Mountain Path

A group of riders on horse back were walking through the mountains. It was a rather eclectic group, consisting of dissidents and refugees. All escaping the powder keg that was the the surrounding area of Tania. It appeared as if the cogs of war between Lycia and Bern were turning. Bern was the safer retreat, due to their offensive, and perhaps had promises for them for the future. But for now, they needed a place to recoup. "I think I've narrowed it down everyone. I believe this is the correct path to my safe house. According the map, there's even a village nearby, so perhaps we can fish for information there," said Shad, who had become their navigator to their first destination.

"Do you even know what this place looks like? Will there even be enough room for us all to stay the night?" Shad's passenger Taika question. It was a fair one at that.

He kinda shook his head between nodding up and down, examining the map and the path before him. "Regrettably no. I know our family still owns the place, how to get there, and how much is being transferred out of my coffers to pay for upkeep monthly. Considering how much I'm paying for this thing, it must be of a decent size. We'll probably know when we see it." He replied, before turning his head back at his companions. "It probably shouldn't be too much longer. How are you all holding up?"]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1040.html Thu, 25 Aug 2016 21:02:18 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-1040.html
She'd only been in the quaint village of Silverglen for one day, but already she had drawn a small crowd outside the tavern with her passionate dancing. For a town that was known for its forges and excellent weapon-smiths, Anka was surprised they were so into the arts, especially with it being only ten leagues south-west of Ostia. She was fortunate enough that a patron with a lute had strung up a tune for her to shimmy and sway to: that always bolstered her earnings once she'd finished her displays. Anka wasn't really one for showcasing her... 'lady assets' during her performances. Her dances were more graceful, with pirouettes and moves of dexterity and swiftness. Despite this, the crowd were cheerful enough. The night was beginning to settle in, and several of the viewers lit torches, creating a halo of brightness around the human circle that surrounded Anka. 

Everything was going well- at this rate she'd have enough money for some new dancing shoes soon, and more than enough to get a room in the tavern tonight so she could rest her weary feet... After her last move, the player ceased his music and Anka snapped her legs together.

"Thank you so very much, everyone! I'm glad you enjoyed the- uuuurgh..." Anka stumbled forwards, falling to her knees and catching the ground with her fists.

No... Not now... I can't hold it! ]]>
She'd only been in the quaint village of Silverglen for one day, but already she had drawn a small crowd outside the tavern with her passionate dancing. For a town that was known for its forges and excellent weapon-smiths, Anka was surprised they were so into the arts, especially with it being only ten leagues south-west of Ostia. She was fortunate enough that a patron with a lute had strung up a tune for her to shimmy and sway to: that always bolstered her earnings once she'd finished her displays. Anka wasn't really one for showcasing her... 'lady assets' during her performances. Her dances were more graceful, with pirouettes and moves of dexterity and swiftness. Despite this, the crowd were cheerful enough. The night was beginning to settle in, and several of the viewers lit torches, creating a halo of brightness around the human circle that surrounded Anka. 

Everything was going well- at this rate she'd have enough money for some new dancing shoes soon, and more than enough to get a room in the tavern tonight so she could rest her weary feet... After her last move, the player ceased his music and Anka snapped her legs together.

"Thank you so very much, everyone! I'm glad you enjoyed the- uuuurgh..." Anka stumbled forwards, falling to her knees and catching the ground with her fists.

No... Not now... I can't hold it! ]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-996.html Sat, 16 Apr 2016 00:03:08 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-996.html  
It was the morning after the harrowing prison break in Santaruz. If it wasn’t official before, it was now: Paige was a fugitive. Any chance of returning to her old life in the library was gone. She was part of a movement to expose, possibly overthrow, Emperor Coran and return Lycia to its former glory. After the death of Friar Thomas last night, Paige was feeling the enormity of the task ahead of her.
 
On top of all that, she no longer had a horse.
 
Paige’s lack of horse riding experience resulted in being bucked off during her attempt to follow Yuri. By the time she picked herself up, Paige had lost the trail. Her outfit was smeared with dirt from her graceless landing. The saddle she was riding on was now hopelessly attached to her boot, along with the rest of her things. It was a very sad sight: the librarian shambling across the plains of Lycia, dragging the saddle with every step. She wasn’t even sure she was going in the right direction.
 
"How did Mankind manage to tame such a reckless beast? They're unruly and care nothing for their riders. I swear if I run into that animal again, I'm turning him to meat."
 
The only bright spot of Paige’s predicament was that she had managed to avoid soldiers, though given her current pace, her luck would run out at some point.]]>  
It was the morning after the harrowing prison break in Santaruz. If it wasn’t official before, it was now: Paige was a fugitive. Any chance of returning to her old life in the library was gone. She was part of a movement to expose, possibly overthrow, Emperor Coran and return Lycia to its former glory. After the death of Friar Thomas last night, Paige was feeling the enormity of the task ahead of her.
 
On top of all that, she no longer had a horse.
 
Paige’s lack of horse riding experience resulted in being bucked off during her attempt to follow Yuri. By the time she picked herself up, Paige had lost the trail. Her outfit was smeared with dirt from her graceless landing. The saddle she was riding on was now hopelessly attached to her boot, along with the rest of her things. It was a very sad sight: the librarian shambling across the plains of Lycia, dragging the saddle with every step. She wasn’t even sure she was going in the right direction.
 
"How did Mankind manage to tame such a reckless beast? They're unruly and care nothing for their riders. I swear if I run into that animal again, I'm turning him to meat."
 
The only bright spot of Paige’s predicament was that she had managed to avoid soldiers, though given her current pace, her luck would run out at some point.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-994.html Fri, 15 Apr 2016 15:23:21 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-994.html  The Church of the Preservation of Sanctity – Thria
 
The sun had slowly begun to set behind the indomitable arches of the church.  This massive cathedral towered over most of Thria’s capital, inviting all wandering eyes to its steeples.  It was a fixture of light, constructed for a great and righteous cause.
 
So ran the thoughts of General Caernarvon, knight commander of Ostia, as he dismounted his horse and approached the church’s steps.  The people seek a haven in these dark times, he thought.  This is that haven.
 
Deliberately, Caernarvon ascended the stairs and entered the church.  He had pressing business, of course – why else would he be called from the Emperor’s side? – but the situation reports from Pherae and Santaruz had left him confident that the situation would wait for him.  His armor echoed throughout the hallways as he climbed the flanking stairwells, and approached the massive altar on the upper level.
 
A slender-looking holy man, garbed in the traditional white and gold of the Elimine church, stood before Caernarvon, facing toward a large stained-glass portrait of Saint Elimine.  Caernarvon could faintly make out the sounds of whispered prayers.  He cleared his throat to get the man’s attention, even though he armor had probably already announced his presence.
 
“Father Vorosh,” he said.  “I come from Ostia at the Emperor’s behest.”
 
The holy man slowly turned around, revealing a face whose lack of color was almost ghoulish.  Graying hair seemed an extension of his equally pale skin.  Caernarvon’s first instinct was to look away, but out of respect, he kept his head still.
 
“Welcome, my child…”  Vorosh’s words were honeyed and drawn, as though his speech had been forced through a sieve.  “To what do I owe a visit from our most noble guardsman?”
 
“There is talk that the King of Bern has-“
 
Vorosh held up his hand.  “…he brings his men to the border, does he not?”
 
Caernarvon’s eyes widened.  “How…?”
 
A smile crept across the wizened priest’s face.  “Saint Elimine speaks to me, my child…”  He spun around slowly and gestured to the stained glass behind him.  “I need only to open my soul, and listen…”
 
The knight commander shifted about a little.  “Yes… early reports of our detachment in Tania being routed during the night.  The Emperor requests that the Church send-“
 
Vorosh held his hand up again to interrupt.  “Peace, my child… you needn’t worry.  The church’s hand makes for Tania as we speak, to calm the minds of Lycia’s children…”
 
Caernarvon needed a second to digest the priest’s words.  He was always fond of speaking in tongues.  “Good,” he said finally.  “I shall arrange for a group of the Ostian Guard to assist you.”
 
“There is no need,” Vorosh said matter-of-factly.  “I do not wish to burden you with the church’s mission.  Besides…” He stepped down from the dais and walked down the aisle, pausing as he reached Caernarvon.
 
“Our first order is to ensure the safety of Lycia and its people.  Elimine gives the people hope in times of despair.”
 
“As is ours, Father.”  Caernarvon turned on his heel in a hurried attempt to avoid the high priest’s gaze.  “I will station them nearby, in Old Caelin.  If you have need of them, they will help you… spread the good word.”
 
Vorosh said nothing – he merely smiled.
 
“Lycia prevails, Father.”
 
“Good day, Commander.”

---

---

 
Somewhere in eastern Tania...
 
Inquisitor Orel stood propped against a tree, watching shadows on the ground as the wind toyed with the branches.  The moon shone bright above the Church camp, and there were a couple of small campfires nearby.  All was calm.  Orel sighed and slumped down, seated against the tree.  He reached at the ground in front of him and plucked a slightly bruised apple off the ground, admiring it in his hand for a moment before taking a bite.
 
For all of the news of the goings-on in neighboring provinces, Tania had, for the most part, been dreadfully quiet.  Boring, even.  It was a tad surprising for a place so close to the Bern border.   Orel’s detachment had had few encounters with magefolk and other such heretics, and even then, had often elected to allow them to escape into the mountains.
 
Yep.  Let the bandits deal with them,  Orel thought.  Serves them right.  He took another bite of his apple and went back to watching the shadows on the ground.
 
Just then, Orel noticed a large, blanketing shadow swoop across the ground.  He blinked.  “What the…?”  He craned his neck and peered through the branches at the night sky.  Nothing.  Orel frowned, then settled back up against the tree.
 
Another shadow started to creep up on the ground near his feet.  This time, Orel was quick to look up.  Whatever it was that he saw streaking across the moonlit sky was interrupted by a piercing cry from the camp.
 
“Wyyyyyveeerrrrrrrnnnns!”
 
Orel scrambled to his feet and sprinted towards the camp, which was now full of panicked men in holy vestments.
 
“Prepare the- hrrrggghh!”
 
Orel’s voice crumpled as a javelin found the back of his spine.  He could still hear the cries of his fellow Keepers as he slammed into the ground.  His fading vision could just barely make out the bursts of light from their spears as they sent clumsy counter-attacks into the sky.  As the spells illuminated the night, Orel could see several winged creatures dancing about, swooping and diving into the camp.
 
Bern had finally struck.]]>  The Church of the Preservation of Sanctity – Thria
 
The sun had slowly begun to set behind the indomitable arches of the church.  This massive cathedral towered over most of Thria’s capital, inviting all wandering eyes to its steeples.  It was a fixture of light, constructed for a great and righteous cause.
 
So ran the thoughts of General Caernarvon, knight commander of Ostia, as he dismounted his horse and approached the church’s steps.  The people seek a haven in these dark times, he thought.  This is that haven.
 
Deliberately, Caernarvon ascended the stairs and entered the church.  He had pressing business, of course – why else would he be called from the Emperor’s side? – but the situation reports from Pherae and Santaruz had left him confident that the situation would wait for him.  His armor echoed throughout the hallways as he climbed the flanking stairwells, and approached the massive altar on the upper level.
 
A slender-looking holy man, garbed in the traditional white and gold of the Elimine church, stood before Caernarvon, facing toward a large stained-glass portrait of Saint Elimine.  Caernarvon could faintly make out the sounds of whispered prayers.  He cleared his throat to get the man’s attention, even though he armor had probably already announced his presence.
 
“Father Vorosh,” he said.  “I come from Ostia at the Emperor’s behest.”
 
The holy man slowly turned around, revealing a face whose lack of color was almost ghoulish.  Graying hair seemed an extension of his equally pale skin.  Caernarvon’s first instinct was to look away, but out of respect, he kept his head still.
 
“Welcome, my child…”  Vorosh’s words were honeyed and drawn, as though his speech had been forced through a sieve.  “To what do I owe a visit from our most noble guardsman?”
 
“There is talk that the King of Bern has-“
 
Vorosh held up his hand.  “…he brings his men to the border, does he not?”
 
Caernarvon’s eyes widened.  “How…?”
 
A smile crept across the wizened priest’s face.  “Saint Elimine speaks to me, my child…”  He spun around slowly and gestured to the stained glass behind him.  “I need only to open my soul, and listen…”
 
The knight commander shifted about a little.  “Yes… early reports of our detachment in Tania being routed during the night.  The Emperor requests that the Church send-“
 
Vorosh held his hand up again to interrupt.  “Peace, my child… you needn’t worry.  The church’s hand makes for Tania as we speak, to calm the minds of Lycia’s children…”
 
Caernarvon needed a second to digest the priest’s words.  He was always fond of speaking in tongues.  “Good,” he said finally.  “I shall arrange for a group of the Ostian Guard to assist you.”
 
“There is no need,” Vorosh said matter-of-factly.  “I do not wish to burden you with the church’s mission.  Besides…” He stepped down from the dais and walked down the aisle, pausing as he reached Caernarvon.
 
“Our first order is to ensure the safety of Lycia and its people.  Elimine gives the people hope in times of despair.”
 
“As is ours, Father.”  Caernarvon turned on his heel in a hurried attempt to avoid the high priest’s gaze.  “I will station them nearby, in Old Caelin.  If you have need of them, they will help you… spread the good word.”
 
Vorosh said nothing – he merely smiled.
 
“Lycia prevails, Father.”
 
“Good day, Commander.”

---

---

 
Somewhere in eastern Tania...
 
Inquisitor Orel stood propped against a tree, watching shadows on the ground as the wind toyed with the branches.  The moon shone bright above the Church camp, and there were a couple of small campfires nearby.  All was calm.  Orel sighed and slumped down, seated against the tree.  He reached at the ground in front of him and plucked a slightly bruised apple off the ground, admiring it in his hand for a moment before taking a bite.
 
For all of the news of the goings-on in neighboring provinces, Tania had, for the most part, been dreadfully quiet.  Boring, even.  It was a tad surprising for a place so close to the Bern border.   Orel’s detachment had had few encounters with magefolk and other such heretics, and even then, had often elected to allow them to escape into the mountains.
 
Yep.  Let the bandits deal with them,  Orel thought.  Serves them right.  He took another bite of his apple and went back to watching the shadows on the ground.
 
Just then, Orel noticed a large, blanketing shadow swoop across the ground.  He blinked.  “What the…?”  He craned his neck and peered through the branches at the night sky.  Nothing.  Orel frowned, then settled back up against the tree.
 
Another shadow started to creep up on the ground near his feet.  This time, Orel was quick to look up.  Whatever it was that he saw streaking across the moonlit sky was interrupted by a piercing cry from the camp.
 
“Wyyyyyveeerrrrrrrnnnns!”
 
Orel scrambled to his feet and sprinted towards the camp, which was now full of panicked men in holy vestments.
 
“Prepare the- hrrrggghh!”
 
Orel’s voice crumpled as a javelin found the back of his spine.  He could still hear the cries of his fellow Keepers as he slammed into the ground.  His fading vision could just barely make out the bursts of light from their spears as they sent clumsy counter-attacks into the sky.  As the spells illuminated the night, Orel could see several winged creatures dancing about, swooping and diving into the camp.
 
Bern had finally struck.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-988.html Wed, 06 Apr 2016 19:21:01 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-988.html
It was a well-lit place, clean and homey, always cool in the afternoons and warm in the evenings. As the sun began to set, the warm orange light filled the room. The staff began to light the candles, and the fire was poked, prodded, and beginning to roar. Although people in the streets seemed on edge, the hospitality shown by those within the Three Wyverns was unparalleled. Unfortunately, so were the prices. Roland had guessed that the meals would be expensive, but he was willing to fork over the extra coin in order to feel at ease. He sighed loudly before digging into his meal, eyeing the room for anyone looking out of place. 

He himself stuck out like a sore thumb; his red armor was a shade not usually seen around these parts. The sword leaned against his chair was equally conspicuous. Roland could feel those around him tense up as they passed by, and it seemed like most were actively ignoring him. Still, he sat and ate and drank, wary of those who could turn at any moment.]]>
It was a well-lit place, clean and homey, always cool in the afternoons and warm in the evenings. As the sun began to set, the warm orange light filled the room. The staff began to light the candles, and the fire was poked, prodded, and beginning to roar. Although people in the streets seemed on edge, the hospitality shown by those within the Three Wyverns was unparalleled. Unfortunately, so were the prices. Roland had guessed that the meals would be expensive, but he was willing to fork over the extra coin in order to feel at ease. He sighed loudly before digging into his meal, eyeing the room for anyone looking out of place. 

He himself stuck out like a sore thumb; his red armor was a shade not usually seen around these parts. The sword leaned against his chair was equally conspicuous. Roland could feel those around him tense up as they passed by, and it seemed like most were actively ignoring him. Still, he sat and ate and drank, wary of those who could turn at any moment.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-924.html Wed, 18 Nov 2015 01:32:38 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-924.html
Two people sat next to the fire, a man and a woman. One was peculiar looking with a massive weapon, and the other had the look of a spy. "Hello?" he called, wary as to who they were.]]>
Two people sat next to the fire, a man and a woman. One was peculiar looking with a massive weapon, and the other had the look of a spy. "Hello?" he called, wary as to who they were.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-900.html Wed, 14 Oct 2015 20:42:34 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-900.html
When Cecily finished recuperating from the tumultuous events that landed her in Satsume's house, she was preparing to leave. The first thing she needed to do was to tie up loose ends: checking out from the inn, thanking the alchemist from the refugee camp, and find out what happened to her retainer Theodore. After all of that is completed, Cecily planned to meet with her contacts to obtain information for her next move.

Checking out from the inn was uneventful, at best. However, Cecily did not mind. She had few belongings: a change of clothes, her dress for formal occasions (although it needs a thorough washing), and a small purse to carry the money she could pull from her network organization, Eight Republics.

At the refugee camp, Cecily noticed that there was some patchwork done on the surrounding tents as she approached the alchemist's tent.

"Excuse me," she said as she gave the canvas a few taps for attention.

Cecily only offered Satsume a brief glance, one of unmasked worry, before the alchemist pulled back the opening to his tent.

"Thank Elimine, you made it," the alchemist gave a sigh of relief. He looked weary, but otherwise unhurt.

"I have little time, so allow me to be direct: what happened to my servant Theodore? I ordered him to stay behind to protect you," Cecily said curtly.

She lied: the two had no pertinent agenda to attend to, but the noblewoman was desperate to hear anything about Theodore.

"Well…" he hesitated.

Cecily bit her lip. "So he is dead?"

The alchemist did not answer her.

"Did he leave anything behind?" she asked him further.

"One moment," the alchemist returned to the confines of his tent.

Cecily could only stare at the canvas as she struggled to keep the tears out of her eyes. Theodore was her first retainer: she could remember the ceremony in which he pledged his allegiance to House Laus and to the well being of herself: Cecily Laus.

The alchemist returned with a sheathed dagger. Upon seeing it, she couldn't keep the tears out anymore. She took the dagger and ran her fingers along the weapon's pommel until she found the dent on the carved lion's mane. She dropped the dagger in Theodore's vassalage ceremony - a great embarrassment to herself - but Theodore paid it no mind. At least, he said nothing of it in front of her.

"Thank you," she thanked the alchemist. "That will be all."

With that, the two departed, leaving the camp to a place more secluded. Along the way, Cecily stopped, gesturing Satsume to do the same. Before the knight could speak, she did so herself. "Please kneel once more."

When he complied, Cecily gripped Theodore's dagger and sheath as though to draw it in a backhand grip, but kept its blade nestled in its place and close to her breast as she turned to face him.

"Do you swear, upon your honor, to uphold the tenets of the House of Laus? And to defend, uncompromisingly, your lady from any and all threats to her welfare and her interests?"

Satsume merely nodded, to which Cecily gave him a piercing gaze. "A gesture is not an agreement."

To this, Satsume exploded. "Okay, really? You want me to be MORE submissive? You came into Bern and you had nothing. NOTHING. You were DYING. I helped you because I thought it was right. I kept you safe in my own home and put my own family in danger - a family that has already lost one member to the idiocy of Lycian nobility. I didn't HAVE to save your life once - never mind twice. I didn't HAVE to put up with your blasted, up-nosed, indifferent, spoiled requests, and you KNOW it. And now you would just have me be a puppet for the lady of Laus? No. I will protect you, but I'll do it for YOU, not whatever you represent. And I'll do it on MY terms."

Cecily cracked a smile. She respected honesty, though Satsume is perhaps too honest. She would have to keep that naivety in mind whenever she takes him to formal occasions, where it is a battle of wit. She did not have much of a choice, anyways, without Theodore being there to protect her. If there was a time where she did not need or want Satsume as a subject anymore, she can deal with it then.

"I shall bestow upon you the mark of a subject of my house and my lordship. Keep it with you at all times," she offered the dagger to Satsume and the latter took it.

"With that formalized, let us be off: we need to meet with one of my contacts. Our next course of action will be based on that meeting," Cecily said.

Upon Satsume's acknowledgement, the two made their way into the city and stopped at the Smoking Dragon, a tavern in the area. There, they met Nicholai, who related to them an incident that occurred in Pherae: the Pherae Royal Library was put under watch by Church guardsmen for unexplained reasons. This was after a royal librarian was given expressed permission to access the archives and supervise a group of travelers.

"It is unusual for the holy guard to monitor the royal archives," Cecily told Satsume.

The two agreed that Pherae would be their next destination, and they set out to return to Lycia.

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

Castle Pherae
Several days later

Returning to Lycia was not a problem, but avoiding the guards' attention within the country was a barrier. Cecily had to requisition a coat that she could use to obscure her face in public. Thankfully, she was not particularly well known in Pherae as the province was too remote to be of diplomatic importance to Laus outside of general recognition of each other's existence.

As their intelligence suggested, there is a significant presence of holy guardsmen, situated at the royal library and the immediate area. The library itself did not appear damaged, which made the scene even more strange to Cecily. The two took a break in the populated town square as they reviewed the situation.

"Do you have any thoughts on what may have transpired, Satsume?" she asked.]]>
When Cecily finished recuperating from the tumultuous events that landed her in Satsume's house, she was preparing to leave. The first thing she needed to do was to tie up loose ends: checking out from the inn, thanking the alchemist from the refugee camp, and find out what happened to her retainer Theodore. After all of that is completed, Cecily planned to meet with her contacts to obtain information for her next move.

Checking out from the inn was uneventful, at best. However, Cecily did not mind. She had few belongings: a change of clothes, her dress for formal occasions (although it needs a thorough washing), and a small purse to carry the money she could pull from her network organization, Eight Republics.

At the refugee camp, Cecily noticed that there was some patchwork done on the surrounding tents as she approached the alchemist's tent.

"Excuse me," she said as she gave the canvas a few taps for attention.

Cecily only offered Satsume a brief glance, one of unmasked worry, before the alchemist pulled back the opening to his tent.

"Thank Elimine, you made it," the alchemist gave a sigh of relief. He looked weary, but otherwise unhurt.

"I have little time, so allow me to be direct: what happened to my servant Theodore? I ordered him to stay behind to protect you," Cecily said curtly.

She lied: the two had no pertinent agenda to attend to, but the noblewoman was desperate to hear anything about Theodore.

"Well…" he hesitated.

Cecily bit her lip. "So he is dead?"

The alchemist did not answer her.

"Did he leave anything behind?" she asked him further.

"One moment," the alchemist returned to the confines of his tent.

Cecily could only stare at the canvas as she struggled to keep the tears out of her eyes. Theodore was her first retainer: she could remember the ceremony in which he pledged his allegiance to House Laus and to the well being of herself: Cecily Laus.

The alchemist returned with a sheathed dagger. Upon seeing it, she couldn't keep the tears out anymore. She took the dagger and ran her fingers along the weapon's pommel until she found the dent on the carved lion's mane. She dropped the dagger in Theodore's vassalage ceremony - a great embarrassment to herself - but Theodore paid it no mind. At least, he said nothing of it in front of her.

"Thank you," she thanked the alchemist. "That will be all."

With that, the two departed, leaving the camp to a place more secluded. Along the way, Cecily stopped, gesturing Satsume to do the same. Before the knight could speak, she did so herself. "Please kneel once more."

When he complied, Cecily gripped Theodore's dagger and sheath as though to draw it in a backhand grip, but kept its blade nestled in its place and close to her breast as she turned to face him.

"Do you swear, upon your honor, to uphold the tenets of the House of Laus? And to defend, uncompromisingly, your lady from any and all threats to her welfare and her interests?"

Satsume merely nodded, to which Cecily gave him a piercing gaze. "A gesture is not an agreement."

To this, Satsume exploded. "Okay, really? You want me to be MORE submissive? You came into Bern and you had nothing. NOTHING. You were DYING. I helped you because I thought it was right. I kept you safe in my own home and put my own family in danger - a family that has already lost one member to the idiocy of Lycian nobility. I didn't HAVE to save your life once - never mind twice. I didn't HAVE to put up with your blasted, up-nosed, indifferent, spoiled requests, and you KNOW it. And now you would just have me be a puppet for the lady of Laus? No. I will protect you, but I'll do it for YOU, not whatever you represent. And I'll do it on MY terms."

Cecily cracked a smile. She respected honesty, though Satsume is perhaps too honest. She would have to keep that naivety in mind whenever she takes him to formal occasions, where it is a battle of wit. She did not have much of a choice, anyways, without Theodore being there to protect her. If there was a time where she did not need or want Satsume as a subject anymore, she can deal with it then.

"I shall bestow upon you the mark of a subject of my house and my lordship. Keep it with you at all times," she offered the dagger to Satsume and the latter took it.

"With that formalized, let us be off: we need to meet with one of my contacts. Our next course of action will be based on that meeting," Cecily said.

Upon Satsume's acknowledgement, the two made their way into the city and stopped at the Smoking Dragon, a tavern in the area. There, they met Nicholai, who related to them an incident that occurred in Pherae: the Pherae Royal Library was put under watch by Church guardsmen for unexplained reasons. This was after a royal librarian was given expressed permission to access the archives and supervise a group of travelers.

"It is unusual for the holy guard to monitor the royal archives," Cecily told Satsume.

The two agreed that Pherae would be their next destination, and they set out to return to Lycia.

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

Castle Pherae
Several days later

Returning to Lycia was not a problem, but avoiding the guards' attention within the country was a barrier. Cecily had to requisition a coat that she could use to obscure her face in public. Thankfully, she was not particularly well known in Pherae as the province was too remote to be of diplomatic importance to Laus outside of general recognition of each other's existence.

As their intelligence suggested, there is a significant presence of holy guardsmen, situated at the royal library and the immediate area. The library itself did not appear damaged, which made the scene even more strange to Cecily. The two took a break in the populated town square as they reviewed the situation.

"Do you have any thoughts on what may have transpired, Satsume?" she asked.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-881.html Tue, 22 Sep 2015 22:23:45 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-881.html
His companions, or more likely, wards, went by the names Paige and Shad. Paige was a bookworm, and her job in Castle Pherae had been the upkeep and organization of the library. It was thanks to her diligence that Ambrose now had a name for his ultimate target: the emperor of Lycia and conqueror of Etruria. Speaking of which, his other companion, Shad Hyperion, was a native aristocrat of the latter nation, and a fugitive, furthermore.

Both of them were about half his age, and while they all seemed to get along quite well, it was heavily apparent that he knew more about traveling than either of them, though Shad had some hard-won experience with the roads. They came to rely on the older man. It was a strange feeling for Ambrose, who'd never found someone to love and make a family with, to suddenly be counted upon for their survival at no cost to them. Then again, he was used to being a mercenary, rather than a public-minded assassin, so his perplexity made a modicum of sense.

As the village and its houses came into view, he had to suppress first a growl and then a sigh. It was crawling with Lycian soldiers, at least a regiment, and as they got closer, he saw that all of them bore the seal of the Church.

"Hoods up. Word of our escape hasn't yet reached here, but it doesn't hurt to be careful," Ambrose whispered tersely. He kept his cloak pulled closed, and his sword's hilt never left his hand's grasp.]]>
His companions, or more likely, wards, went by the names Paige and Shad. Paige was a bookworm, and her job in Castle Pherae had been the upkeep and organization of the library. It was thanks to her diligence that Ambrose now had a name for his ultimate target: the emperor of Lycia and conqueror of Etruria. Speaking of which, his other companion, Shad Hyperion, was a native aristocrat of the latter nation, and a fugitive, furthermore.

Both of them were about half his age, and while they all seemed to get along quite well, it was heavily apparent that he knew more about traveling than either of them, though Shad had some hard-won experience with the roads. They came to rely on the older man. It was a strange feeling for Ambrose, who'd never found someone to love and make a family with, to suddenly be counted upon for their survival at no cost to them. Then again, he was used to being a mercenary, rather than a public-minded assassin, so his perplexity made a modicum of sense.

As the village and its houses came into view, he had to suppress first a growl and then a sigh. It was crawling with Lycian soldiers, at least a regiment, and as they got closer, he saw that all of them bore the seal of the Church.

"Hoods up. Word of our escape hasn't yet reached here, but it doesn't hurt to be careful," Ambrose whispered tersely. He kept his cloak pulled closed, and his sword's hilt never left his hand's grasp.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-815.html Tue, 30 Jun 2015 03:14:54 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-815.html “How did they find out so quickly?!”

News had spread across Pherae. The Imperial Church of the Preservation and Sanctity had sent a guard to Castle Pherae. Officially, they arrived to supplement security while the Pheraen knights were stationed in Etruria. To the budding librarian/novice adventurer, it seemed just a bit too coincidental. They arrived right after she left for her journey, after discovering the burnt copy of Ostia’s lineage.

After she discovered the name of the Emperor.

Paige was currently in a village not far from the castle. It was a familiar place: she and several others had helped save it from a bandit attack. Many of the people knew her face and welcomed her presence in the local tavern. Despite the warm welcome, she kept a low profile. Wrapped in her cloak, her presence was quickly forgotten in the evening rush for drinks.

She was fortunate to have many allies from the past few days, but they had all since moved on. As far as she knew, Shad and Wolfram were continuing towards Bern. Kalin was off searching for her brother. The merchants were probably long gone. Not even her friends in the castle could help her now. Paige was alone at a time she needed the most help. That was why she was here. Following Kalin’s advice, she was looking for a mercenary to hire as a bodyguard of sorts. Someone that could get her out of Pherae in one piece and (somehow) to safer environs.

It had to be quick though. If the Church was truly looking for her, they would be in the village in no time.]]> “How did they find out so quickly?!”

News had spread across Pherae. The Imperial Church of the Preservation and Sanctity had sent a guard to Castle Pherae. Officially, they arrived to supplement security while the Pheraen knights were stationed in Etruria. To the budding librarian/novice adventurer, it seemed just a bit too coincidental. They arrived right after she left for her journey, after discovering the burnt copy of Ostia’s lineage.

After she discovered the name of the Emperor.

Paige was currently in a village not far from the castle. It was a familiar place: she and several others had helped save it from a bandit attack. Many of the people knew her face and welcomed her presence in the local tavern. Despite the warm welcome, she kept a low profile. Wrapped in her cloak, her presence was quickly forgotten in the evening rush for drinks.

She was fortunate to have many allies from the past few days, but they had all since moved on. As far as she knew, Shad and Wolfram were continuing towards Bern. Kalin was off searching for her brother. The merchants were probably long gone. Not even her friends in the castle could help her now. Paige was alone at a time she needed the most help. That was why she was here. Following Kalin’s advice, she was looking for a mercenary to hire as a bodyguard of sorts. Someone that could get her out of Pherae in one piece and (somehow) to safer environs.

It had to be quick though. If the Church was truly looking for her, they would be in the village in no time.]]> http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-686.html Mon, 23 Feb 2015 22:40:19 +0000 http://forums.feplanet.net/thread-686.html
But Sanovar's different ethnic groups did not always mix together, and often clumped together to form unintentionally segregated neighborhoods. Outside of the large Bernese neighborhood, there was also a prominent Eshren neighborhood on the east end of town, and a growing Etrurian neighborhood on the south side of town. Many of the Lycian refugees were making their home there as well.

Sanovar was known for not only it's population but also for being somewhat of a haven for pirates and smugglers. It was doubtful that the Bernese authority (in particular, the local governor) was fond of the town's reputation, but given these turbulent times, it was suitable.

A bit less of a melting pot, and a bit more like a pile of papers. They're not all melting together... they're all in the same pile, but distinct from each other. Selia Carnove mused to herself. As the sun began to set around Sanovar, she walked into a fairly prominent tavern in the Bernese neighborhood. She knew a few of the workers by name, and she felt comfortable getting food there.

She had spent her workday reading over a dark magic tome that some mindless (former?) magician had left around. Business had been so slow today that she had gone over the tome in a fair amount of detail.

"Ay, Selia, the constables are awful on-edge today." one of the barmaids said to Selia in Eshren. Selia knew this woman, Milda, the only Eshren on the staff. Milda was approaching half a century old, but the years had not been kind to Milda. Selia wondered how that could be.

"Milda, they're always on edge here. If we're not all conscripted in a few years it'll be a miracle." Selia replied.

"Some rumor that the infamous assassin, the Iron Hawk, might be in town." Milda said.
"I hear they might have caught him. Wonder how he got here of all places?"

"Sounds like they need an excuse to arrest people. They've been doing that a lot lately." Selia replied, a bit annoyed with her friends naivety. Even though her eyes said exactly where she was from, Selia had been working on her Bern accent, and it had been enough to get by. It had gotten her (at least, in her own head, it had), out of potential scrapes with guards, customers, and annoying kids on the street.

Upon thinking about what Milda had said, Selia did notice a certain tension among the guards.

"Maybe you're right, though, it does seem like they're scared... but of what?" Selia said to Milda.

Before the conversation could continue, Milda was called away by the other kitchen workers, leaving Selia by herself for the time being. She swiveled her head around, noticing that there wasn't much of a crowd in tonight.

After hearing a boom of thunder in the distance, and a slight patter of light rain outside, Selia thought she understood why. Silently cursing herself for not dressing a bit warmer, Selia was thankful that she at least brought her purple and red hooded cloak with her.]]>
But Sanovar's different ethnic groups did not always mix together, and often clumped together to form unintentionally segregated neighborhoods. Outside of the large Bernese neighborhood, there was also a prominent Eshren neighborhood on the east end of town, and a growing Etrurian neighborhood on the south side of town. Many of the Lycian refugees were making their home there as well.

Sanovar was known for not only it's population but also for being somewhat of a haven for pirates and smugglers. It was doubtful that the Bernese authority (in particular, the local governor) was fond of the town's reputation, but given these turbulent times, it was suitable.

A bit less of a melting pot, and a bit more like a pile of papers. They're not all melting together... they're all in the same pile, but distinct from each other. Selia Carnove mused to herself. As the sun began to set around Sanovar, she walked into a fairly prominent tavern in the Bernese neighborhood. She knew a few of the workers by name, and she felt comfortable getting food there.

She had spent her workday reading over a dark magic tome that some mindless (former?) magician had left around. Business had been so slow today that she had gone over the tome in a fair amount of detail.

"Ay, Selia, the constables are awful on-edge today." one of the barmaids said to Selia in Eshren. Selia knew this woman, Milda, the only Eshren on the staff. Milda was approaching half a century old, but the years had not been kind to Milda. Selia wondered how that could be.

"Milda, they're always on edge here. If we're not all conscripted in a few years it'll be a miracle." Selia replied.

"Some rumor that the infamous assassin, the Iron Hawk, might be in town." Milda said.
"I hear they might have caught him. Wonder how he got here of all places?"

"Sounds like they need an excuse to arrest people. They've been doing that a lot lately." Selia replied, a bit annoyed with her friends naivety. Even though her eyes said exactly where she was from, Selia had been working on her Bern accent, and it had been enough to get by. It had gotten her (at least, in her own head, it had), out of potential scrapes with guards, customers, and annoying kids on the street.

Upon thinking about what Milda had said, Selia did notice a certain tension among the guards.

"Maybe you're right, though, it does seem like they're scared... but of what?" Selia said to Milda.

Before the conversation could continue, Milda was called away by the other kitchen workers, leaving Selia by herself for the time being. She swiveled her head around, noticing that there wasn't much of a crowd in tonight.

After hearing a boom of thunder in the distance, and a slight patter of light rain outside, Selia thought she understood why. Silently cursing herself for not dressing a bit warmer, Selia was thankful that she at least brought her purple and red hooded cloak with her.]]>