Elle Joyner

Moop.
Original poster
FOLKLORE MEMBER
Posting Speed
  1. Multiple posts per day
Online Availability
8:00 AM - 4:00 PM
Writing Levels
  1. Prestige
Preferred Character Gender
  1. Male
  2. Primarily Prefer Female
Genres
Political intrigue, fantasy, futuristic, sci fi lite, superheroes, historical fiction, alternate universes. Smittings of romance, but only as side plot.
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The Night of Roselyn's Kidnapping || NPCS: Elsabet Warwick | King Cristof | Rickard Egan

Once upon a time... They say that's how all the greatest stories begin. But sometimes the best tales begin where you least expect. The pricking of a finger, the shattering of glass… or a cry in the still of a cold, dark.night. Fog rolled in thick and low, across the cool, damp grounds outside the palace wall, a looming phantom of mist. The air smelled clear and crisp, the first notes of winter lingering like tannins in wine. For all they could see through the swirling grey mass, the heavy footed tracks wound in circles, a nonsensical pattern, suggesting ultimately that the abductors had cleverly disguised their trail. Roslyn was gone without a trace.

“Anything?” Rickard Egan had been King Cristof’s personal guard for well over a decade, and through thick and thin, he served with passion and focus. There was little, however, that could make a man feel his lack of worth than the failure to protect those things which are most precious.

“Nothing, sir. Not a damn thing.” Kicking at the dirt, sweeping his foot across the flattened pathway, Mason Clemmons shook his head. He was young, but ambitious, a knight befitting the context of such a title. Slapping a hand to the boy’s shoulder, Rickard nodded in sympathy.

“Keep looking. We’ll find something.”

“Sire! Look here!” The eager voice belonged to Hammond Gelb, another new recruit. His armor still shone, glistening in the pale light of the moon, fresh as the day it was hammered out. He was an overachiever with an ego too big for his helmet, but he was green. Too green for this sort of mess. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but Rick knew from all too many years of experience, the kid was wearing his shoulder plates backwards. Normally, he would have been inclined to reprimand the recruit, but judging from his disheveled state, he had been woken by the warning bell... Rick was not so old that he could not remember the fear that sound instilled, the way it twisted the mind.

Moving swiftly, Rickard joined Hammond, who was clutching something in his hand. He held it out as the older man approached, his gauntlets rattling as his quivering arm extended. Catching the arm, steadying it, Rick took the proffered item. It was a scrap of cloth, no bigger than a saucer. His breath escaped in a plume of vapor and looking up, his expression folded into severity, “Tell no one you saw this. I must speak with the king, immediately…”

It was difficult to make out, unless one knew exactly what they were looking at. Fortunately, or perhaps less fortunately, Rickard had already born his suspicions. It was only the corner most portion, torn free, likely by the frantic, clawing hands of their dear princess, but the shield crossed by two swords was unmistakable. By all appearances, it looked like Mulgrave was responsible for the atrocity.

And if Rickard knew the king as he imagined he did, Mulgrave would soon pay.



Despite the hour, the palace was alive with motion, but for Elsabet Warwick the world stood still. Ella had been Rosie’s nurse since her birth, thirteen winters prior. From the moment Rosie cried herself into the world, she had been possessed of an uncommonly kind, gentle disposition. The thought that anyone would cause her harm had been as far from anyone’s mind as the east from the west. Both outwardly as well as in, she was her father in every way… the golden hair, and pale blue eyes and her indomitable spirit, her warmth and grace. It was her father’s spirit. Cristof was everything a king should be. Good and loyal, honest and fair. It was little wonder his country loved him so. But this would break him… and if Ella understood anything at all it was that this simply could not happen.

Standing in the girl’s room, Ella clutched a blanket to her chest. The edges were frayed, the small pink and blue flowers embroidered at each corner picked to pieces. It had been Rosie’s favorite from the moment she’d received it at her third nameday celebration. She had outgrown carrying it around with her, eventually, but it still lay on the end of her bed, a fond piece of nostalgia.

Three hours now, she had been missing… and no word on who had taken her or why. Ella knew that there was undoubtedly work to be done, that she was probably wanted somewhere, but she just couldn’t bring herself to move…

There was an emptiness, a bleeding hole somewhere in the very center of his being that ached, ached like nothing he’d ever felt. Cristof, King of Ethelmar, roamed Bright Hedge like a spectre of the night. Pale blue eyes were framed by dark circles riddled with guilt and confusion. A hand ran across his golden mop of hair, tangling the short curls. The crown that usually adorned his head had been left within his solar when he took to pacing about the palace after receiving the devastating news. That was hours ago. He was lost, in spirit and mind, without the light of his life, without his beautiful little Rose.

His feet traveled across stone labyrinth hallways, illuminated by braziers and sconces filled with somber torch light. He was a ghost in his own home, wandering around the palace like a blind child. It wasn’t until his arm outstretched on it’s own accord did he realize where he was and what door he was opening. He sucked in a deep, sharp breath, pain lancing through his heart. Pulling the chamber door open he stepped into his daughter’s room, alone with his thoughts -- not completely alone it seemed.

Ella stood near Rose’s bed, clutching his child’s favorite blanket to her chest as if she were instead holding Rose. His eyes pricked and he glanced away quickly, wishing the same thing. Cristof looked at the nurse who had cared for Rose since her first squawking breath, saw to her every whim and need for the past eleven springs… And wasn’t surprised to see her face a reflection of his own.

“Oh,” Cristof said after clearing his throat. “I-I wasn’t expecting… anyone to be here.”

The King glanced around his daughter’s room, letting the memories of the past fill the hole that throbbed like a fatal wound. Good and bad, bitter and sweet, they washed over him like a salve and he breathed deep, deciding to clutch onto the belief that his little Rose would be found. Found safe and whole and unmolested of danger.

“I’m sorry Ella, I realize this must be… hard for you as well.”

Ella turned at the sound of his voice, but the expression she wore was a dazed one, almost as though she hadn’t heard him. When he spoke again, however, her lip twitched down into a frown and shaking her head, she met Cristof’s gaze. He seemed hollow… like a scraped out shell, his eyes glistening in the soft glow of the candlelight.

“You… you shouldn’t apologize to me, Your Majesty. I… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here. I just wanted to see to it everything was in order, before I collected my things. Ms. Rimmel suggested it would be wise to do so before I am officially dismissed, as to avoid a scene.” Ms.Rimmel was the head maid, a severe woman with a crooked nose and a distinctively high pitched voice. She was miserable and unpleasant to most, but particularly to those she deemed unworthy of their position, or those she thought had climbed too quickly through the ranks. Ella, most especially, grated on her… given she had come from nothing.

“I know you will find her, My Lord.” Her eyes fell, as she looked down at the blanket in her grasp, “You are renowned, after all, for never giving up.”

Despite all the darkness choking his heart, a surge of pity flowed through Cristof as he pondered Ella's words, mouth slightly agape. His daughter was missing and in the three hours she'd been gone, his chief maid was dismissing Rose's lifelong wet nurse? If he was capable of feeling more than he already did, he'd be angry beyond belief. The audacity of that squeaky voiced woman!

Clearing his throat, Cristof said consolingly, "Ella, please… You will not be dismissed. As you just said, she will be found. And besides, what would Rose think when she returns and you are nowhere to be found?"

"...But..." Frowning softly, she laid the blanket at the end of Rosie's bed, smoothing it out with absence, "But it's my fault, Sire. I... I should have... If I had only woken. I should have heard her. I should have been here. It's the least I deserve for failing her... for failing you."

Looking back at him again, eyes damp with tears, she shook her head, "I don't understand how I missed it. I... I should have heard something."

Cristof took a few hesitant steps toward Ella and when he was within reaching distance, wiped a falling tear and took her chin within his hand, softly, and shook his head sadly.

"There was no way you could have known, neither of us, not the entirety of Bright Hedge." Gazing into her brown eyes, Cristof could see the uncertainty lingering within, and he shook his head once more and tried to smile. "As your King, I command that you do not blame yourself."

Whatever argument she had worked together in her mind against his reassurance fled as his thumb brushed across her cheekbone, a strong hand gently clasped beneath her chin.

Thirteen years was to carry a secret. Too long to fight.

"Cristof... I need to tell you--"

"My King! Thank God I've found you!" Rickard stood in the doorway, wearing an expression of urgency. Ella stepped back, away from the king, her eyes dropping to the floor.

"I'll leave you to speak, Your Majesty." Bowing her head, she slipped from the room, as Rickard stepped inside, giving her a curious glance before turning to the king.

"I know who is behind this terrible attack, My King..."

Curiosity tugged at him as Ella left the room. He wondered what she meant to tell him and he knew, without a doubt, that he'd seek her out later for the information. But when Rickard spoke again, his heart fell violently into his stomach and he wavered on the spot, clutching the bedpost for support.

"Tell me." Cristof said softly. "Tell me everything you know. Now."

Producing the small scrap of fabric, Rickard stepped forward and held it out to the king, a frown crowning his lips as he shook his head, "No mistaking it... That's Mulgrave's crest. An unprovoked act of aggression like this? It's war they're looking for..."

Wordlessly, Cristoff extended his hand and took the small piece of fabric from Rickard. His fingers rubbed circles against the linen, his eyes scanning across the length of the Mulgrave crest, unsure of how he was expected to feel. What did they expect? Anger? Happiness? All he felt was a bitter ache between his ribcage as he wondered if his Rosie had torn this off her captor...

"How do we know... that this isn't some kind of trick? Who's to say the real captors didn't leave this behind to keep us off their trail?" Cristoff shook his head in confusion and then gave an order to the Captain of his Kingsguard. "We need a spy, a loyal one. I give my leave for you to seek one out. Return to me once you've found him... or her. We'll speak more once you've found me my spy..."

With a solemn nod, Rickard took back the small scrap of fabric, “I will seek one out immediately, Sire.”

He moved to the door, but hesitating, he paused, laying a hand to the frame, “...Sire. If I may… I am sorry, about Roselyn. It is my uttermost prayer that we will find her, and if necessary, I will give my very life to see her returned safely.” He seemed to consider something for a moment, but cleared his instead and with a nod, stepped out into the hallway.

It wasn’t difficult, considering his own private notions, to decide who to seek out for the job. There was one man who Rickard could trust - a man who carried the same beliefs that the captain held. Swift feet carried him from Rosie’s chamber and back to his quarters, where he quickly composed a note. It was an old code, one never used between guardsmen anymore… but he would understand it. His next move was to the rookery, where he sent out the missive with their fastest falcon - the falcon would deliver it to a page, who would carry it by mount to the right place. With the letter handed off, he went down to the stables. It would take most of the evening, and likely into the morning to get to the falls, but with any luck the letter would arrive in a timely manner and Uther would arrive before the following afternoon.

A Collaboration with @rissa || Tags: @Toogee

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The Following Morning || NPCS: Remis Halifax

Fingertips curved around the edge of a hipbone, as Remis Hallifax opened his eyes. The woman beside him had rolled onto her side, her breathing softening again as she sank back into a slumber. She’d been prettier over the rim of his mug of mead. Kyra… or Kayla… or… something with a K. He couldn’t quite recall her name, and his head was pounding far too loud to concentrate. He needed to sleep, but something had jarred him awake. Lying there, he couldn’t quite figure out what until the knock resounded and with a groan, he pinched his forehead and rolled upright.

“Just a damn minute. Hang on…” Swinging his legs around, he reached for his pants and sliding them on, rose to his feet, moving to the door on heavy, wobbly legs. With one hand holding up his trousers, he pulled the door open, stepping back as the face of the inn proprietor appeared in the frame, frowning tightly.

“...Jim.” Remis muttered.

“...Remi. Look… I… I hate to do this to you. I know things have been rough, but… I gotta make a living, you know.”

“Hell. I’m surprised it took you this long, Mate.”

“I really am sorry.”

“Don’t be.” With a shrug, Remis looked down, knotting the string on his trousers, “You’ll uh… you’ll take care of Kara back there?”

“...Haley.”

“Oh. Damn.” Rubbing the back of his neck, he smirked, ruefully, “You servin’ Vast’s Widowmaker here, now? Cause I can’t remember anything about last night..."

“Probably better it stays that way.” chuckling dryly, Jim nodded, “Take your time, Rem. Just uh… leave your key on the bar.”

As Jim turned away, Remis closed the door and returned to the bed. Sinking down, he tugged on his boots and shirt, rubbing rough, calloused hands over his face. In the back of his mind, the nagging, sinking feeling roiled like a bad turn of the stomach. Harnick had been right when he had dismissed him from the private guard… He was a mess, and a brilliant waste of space.

Behind him came a soft purr-like murmur, and arms wrapped around his torso as his evening companion straightened upright, “Remis… You’ve dressed? What happened to us staying in bed all day?”

Gently, but firmly, he unwound her arms and rising to his feet, tugged his mantle over his head, “Jim has your money downstairs. I’ve got to get moving if I’m going to find a place to sleep tonight.” He’d worn out the entirety of Remoria, and the wharf was heading in the same direction, rapidly, “You take care, alright Kaley?”

“...Are… are you serious?” Looking back at her, he caught the deep, scowling frown and swore softly beneath his breath.

“Augh! Haley. Sorry.”

He’d already started across the threshold when she hurled the water pitcher at him, and he ducked swiftly as he closed the door, porcelain shattering against the hallway wall behind his head.

Grimacing, he made his way down the stairs to find Jim at work, cleaning tables, “Forgot her name, again, hmm? I’ll add the pitcher to your bill…” He remarked with a sly smirk, and shaking his head, Remis dropped the key to his room on the bar surface.

“Next time I see you, Jim… I’ll have what I owe you.”

“Do me a favor, Remi. You just get yourself together and that’s payment enough.”

With a dry smile, Remis shrugged his shoulders, “Then I guess I’ll pay you back… Somehow.”

He left the inn, however, with little intention of ever returning. He knew the type of man he was, and there wasn’t much of a point in trying to pretend otherwise. Moving swiftly through the street, Remis slung his arms into the front pouch of his mantle, shivering against the biting cold in the air. There was one other place he could think to go, one other refuge before he’d run out of options.

Turning down the main road, he began the climb uphill, away from the docks. It was early, yet and the streets were still dark, the thick fog that rolled in from the waters casting swirling patterns of smoke along the cobbled path. Eventually, he passed through the gates of Nemco and cobblestone turned to dirt, darkness to a wan pallor as light crept over the horizon, bleeding color into the ashen grey sky. As dawn awoke, so too did a brutal northern wind, and pulling his hood up over his head, Remis picked up his pace, heading along the small, narrow route that would take him to the Ruins of Gant. In his bag, wrapped in a scrap of linen, he had a small circulate amulet, inscribed around the rim with an old forgotten language. It belonged to his mother, or had at least. It was the only thing that had survived the fire, and it was the only thing he had kept after leaving Ethelemar for the Western shores.

As he walked, he fished it out and slipped it around his neck. To the naked eye, it was little more than a gemless piece of jewelry, but in the Ruins it had a greater purpose. It was a sign of magic, familiar only to those who understood its meaning, and it would, he hoped, guarantee him at least one night of safety and rest.

Tags: @BearEnthusiast (Briar), @AceSorcerer

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The Following Morning || NPCS: Lilianna Gentry | Declan Martel

The jail in Mulgrave was not exactly known for being terribly warm or comfortable. Kept below ground they were constantly damp and musty, filled with all manner of rodent life, and that in a lot of ways included the prisoners. Lilianna Gentry had only been a guest of his majesties facilities once before and the experience had left her nearly shattered.

As she was tossed unceremoniously into her cell for a second time in her twenty-four years of life, she felt a weight of dread, like crushing oblivion come over her.

It had worked… every single time. It had worked without flaw, and she had never thought, not once, that the only time it wouldn’t might be with a disgraced guard with a mule of a horse. It was supposed to be easy, and for a minute or two, it seemed like it would be, just like every time before. The set up… the timing. The tears. She'd hooked him, and judging by the look of horror he'd given when he thought he'd injured her, she had been so sure.

But chivalry, it seemed, did not trump simple paranoia. She'd reached… swore up and down that she only reached for the thin stiletto at her hip when he had lunged, overpowering her.

It was entirely unjustified, and despicable… and everything she'd come to expect from the famed Mulgrave guard.

And now she was stuck. Back in that terrible place, and once they figured out who she was, it would be the stocks for her. Or the noose. Panic ate at her, her chest tightening as she paced back and forth, mind reeling from anxiety. She needed a plan, she needed to get out…

The thought occurred then, a conversation returning to her mind, like a sudden burst of light. At the time she hadn't really known what she was hearing, but there in that miserable cell the words returned with profound impact. In a world where you had literally nothing to go into battle with, sometimes leverage was the best weaponry. She could see him… disappearing of into the distance, the guard who had arrested her, and moving to the bars, Lilianna called out after him, “Oi! You ignorant lump of tin! Unless you wanna be personally responsible for a dead princess, you best let me out of this rat infested hell hole!”

Tags: @rissa (Alfeus), @Nav

It was a simple enough task. Taking supplies from the stockade to the Upper District garrison. It was something he’d done more times than he could count - not exactly a task suited to the captain of the Echelon, yet somehow Declan still found himself stranded in the middle of a field with a splintered wagon axle and no back up to speak of. It was, for all intents and purposes, embarrassing and in no ways how he had seen his morning going.

It was early yet, dawn barely a crack on the horizon, the pale grey sky only just beginning to shade with color and the winter air was biting, cool against his ears and face. Breathing warmth into his hands, wishing intensely that he had thought to wear his gloves, he gave the wheel a stern scowl before shaking his head. It was a seven mile walk back to town, Uphill. Graciously, there were farms scattered here and there on the outskirts, and with some luck he hoped to find what he needed to make the repairs… Luck, however, had not exactly been his companion that day.

Rolling his eyes and tucking his hood up over his head, Declan began the trek, brittle, frost tipped grass crunching underfoot. The first farm he came across, roughly a mile away from the wagon appeared abandoned - not at all unusual for Mulgrave, though tragic for his current circumstances. The second had burned down. By the time he reached the third, a three mile hike from his quarry, Declan felt frozen to the bones and less than enthusiastic about his chances of finding a helping hand. Still, it couldn’t hurt to try.

Approaching the door of the farmhouse door, Declan furled a fist and knocked.

Tags: @Effervescent

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The Following Morning || NPCS: Merek Loren

Thomas Loren was a soul freed of the burdens of responsibility. At least, that’s what he would have liked to think. Unfortunately, life rarely ever occurs the way that we expect, and so when he found himself on his brother’s doorstep, a pool of blood collecting beneath him, his solitary thought was how things had gone so wrong. It was all so quick, and even now, in retrospect, he wasn’t entirely sure how he had come to be where he was.

What he did know was no one that he knew of had survived quite such an injury, and if he was going to die, he was going to make sure it was for something. At least, this was the vein of thinking he clung to, as his vision began to blur, his chest tightening with every painful pulse.

Luckily, though perhaps not so luckily for his brother, he didn’t have to wait long. Merek had worked late into the evening and spent the night curled beneath the roots of a poplar tree. His back ached and his fingertips and toes were half frozen and in dire need of a warm soak, but as he approached his cottage there was a brief moment when he spotted Thomas that his heart swelled with a certain unquestionable gladness.

It was a moment brief as a gust of wind, for as he neared, Merek saw the state of Thomas and his heart plummeted to his frigid feet as he raced forward, skidding to a stop and crumpling to his knees before him.

“Hey, Mer…” Thomas coughed out, flashing a weary, dry smile, “Been a while…”

“Tom! What..” Pulling free the vest he wore over his shirt, Merek pressed it against the wound in Thomas’s side, his brother flinching at the sudden pressure. It was deep, rimmed in raw, red patches, “What happened??”

“No, stop. It’s too late. Just… just listen, Merek. I… I need you to listen.” Catching Merek’s hands, Thomas frowned, meeting his brother’s gaze, “It’s not… it’s not too late to stop it. Just listen.”

Sinking deeper into his crouched position, Merek nodded, though he continued to keep pressure on the wound, “I’m listening.”

“I was… I was down in Ethelemar, looking for work and I overheard something… I wasn’t supposed to. There… there’s a plot, Merek… But it’s not too late…” Grimacing, Thomas dropped his head back against the door post, his eyes falling shut for a moment.

“What plot? Tom?? Tom, stay with me…”

Cracking his eyes open, Thomas reached up, patting a hand to the pocket of his coat, “I wrote it down… In case… in case I didn’t make it. You have to bring it to Bright Hedge. You have to warn… to warn the--” A hacking cough stole his voice and sucking in a breath, he caught Merek’s arms, his gaze wide and naked, “.... Mer… Mer, I’m scared.”

“I’m here, Tom. It’s alright, I’m right here.”

“You always were, Mer. Sorry I never… never appreciated it.”

“Shh...Tom. That doesn’t matter, now.”

“Promise me Mer… that you’ll take it to Bright Hedge.”

“I promise, Tom.”

“...It… it’s not too late.” A shiver rolled through him and his eyes rolled as he sucked in a breath. A moment passed and he was gone.

Several hours later, dawn found Merek with dirt on his hands and red rimmed eyes, a letter clutched in his grasp as he sat at the table by the fire, reading his brother's last written words.

@Red Thunder, @CloudyBlueDay

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The Following Morning || NPCS: Fiora Remel | Eirlys Vance

Something was stirring in Ethelemar. Overnight, the city had filled with guards, the likes of whom were surly and anxious, When inquiries were made as to their presence, their response was less than informative and a few troublemakers even claimed that threats had been made. Whether or not this was true, no one could say, but there was little denying the tension in the air that morning. Fiora moved through the streets of the city with a twinge of discomfort, her hands tucked carefully into the folds of her cloak. So rarely did she venture so far from her home, but she had run out of salve and there was only one apothecary she trusted…

The pace of travel slowed as Fiora reached the center of the city, a bottleneck of citizens blocking the path, their angry shouts rising above the general level of noise. From their aggravated complaints, she surmised that the road to Bright Hedge had been sealed off.

Pulling her hands free from her cloak, she glanced down at the red striations with a soft frown. She wasn’t getting the salve today, it seemed.

From up ahead, a trumpet broke through the noise, sharp and resonant and almost all at once, the angry chattering died down.

“Make way for Her Majesty, The Queen!” A voice, almost as loud as the trumpet had been called out over the crowd. Slowly, the people began to edge to the sides of the roads, leaving a space down the center. Where she stood, through a small break in the throng she could see her, riding high on a magnificent black steed, a circlet of silver crowning ebony hair, Beside her rode two men, her personal guard, the strength and regalia of the small party both breathtaking and terrifying.

“People of Ethelemar… Once, many years ago I asked you to stand with me, as I fought to banish from these lands the dark horror of Queen Aladria;s wicked reign. Your loyalty and willingness to sacrifice all for the sake of our proud kingdom has not been forgotten. But it is with heavy heart that I call upon you once more. Tragedy has struck…” She paused, and Fiora was certain there was not a solitary sound in the square as silence fell, “My dearest child… my darling Roselyn was stolen from us last night… Abducted by vile cowards, from Mulgrave. It is my hope… no. My prayer that you will stand with us in this, our greatest hour of need. These actions must not be allowed to go unpunished. I want my child returned to me… and I fear the only course of action is to rise against Mulgrave… My people… I ask now, I implore you…. Will you rise? Will you rise!?”

The shout that followed filled the square to such a degree that Fiora was almost certain the very ground upon which she stood quaked. Edging back away from the crowd, she frowned softly.

War.

There was no mistaking what the queen spoke of. War was coming to Ethelemar.

“Oi! Watch it, girl!” As she backed up, Fiora collided with a man more wall than person and turned, she blinked up at him, giving a small wave of pardon. The man, however, who it seemed had been stirred by the call of violence by their fair queen was none too quick to forgive and snapping out a hand, caught Fiora’s wrist in a bruising grip, “You gonna say you’re sorry, or what??”

Eyes widening, Fiora pulled back, shaking her head, but there was no easy way to convey her lack of speech and the man didn’t appear in a communicative mood either way. His fingers tightened around her wrist until she flinched, his gaze narrowing down on her, “...Someone ought to teach you some manners…”

@BearEnthusiast (Harrison), @Doctor Jax, @Glasses


Introduce your characters in the scenes they have been tagged in. If you require any sort of collaboration or you'd like to plot further, please let me know. Next GM post will be up 2/24, so please try to post before then.
 
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Anhlan Ai

The morning began with the rooster’s crow. That damnable rooster. Anhlan became accustomed to the bird’s sporadic squawks in the early hours each morning. Sometimes it did well enough to wait until the sun actually began to peek its colors into the indigo and splash away the starry expanse. Most of the time, though, it was like the rooster was the proverbial early bird and wanted everyone to know he was the first to wake. “Feed me!” the rooster demanded. “This is my turf! Let me bed you!” It used to bother Anhlan, but now she was used to it. Now she relied on the call to rouse her from her light sleep.

She was graciously given the loft above the barn by the Johans sharing the space with the family horse. Anhlan tended to the horse’s care and helped with other duties as a means to earn her stay and use the empty stall as her wood shop. Her craft had become an outside source of income to which was also used to earn her stay. And so it had been for quite some time, and so the Johans had grown comfortable with their foreign tenant.

The floorboards of the loft creaked under the hay as Anhlan sat up, the winter chill immediately hitting her back. She brought her blankets back around her form with a shiver. The Johans could not afford much in the way of winter comfort, and they had offered a place by the hearth in their home if it got too cold. She had become skilled in the art of dressing under covers and quickly layered herself properly before starting her daily routine.

First up was tending to the horse. She had given him the name of Norman, for she found amusement in the simplicity and normalcy of the name. Norman’s care was a good brush with hay and any dirt or stone removed from around his hooves to prepare for a journey to town with Baelyn. She wasn't yet sure if the cart would be needed, though if the whole family decided to journey it would likely be so.

The journey from the barn to the small farmhouse was not long, though it felt more of a distance in the biting cold. The length of her black hair was tied simply past the base of her neck below the collar of her jacket to further keep her small frame warm. Gloves were a luxury, and so she kept her hands deep within the pockets of the wool coat layered on top. But as she closed the distance, Her stride shortened as she caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar silhouette approaching the farmhouse, his frame carrying that of the unmistakable outline of a militant man. He knocked on the door, and the rooster crowed again as oranges in the sky grew brighter.

“Can I help you?” she asked before the Johans could answer the captain’s knock.
 
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Jack Corville

Jack had never been to so big a city. It was quite astonishing really. The buildings were so big, the people were so loud, the food was so horrible, and the streets were so packed. He'd never encountered a place like it, especially seeing as his hometown of Duelt was only as big as maybe one of the houses on the street! They even had guards here, something he'd never encountered, and he'd had to learn that you couldn't go up and touch their shiny metal armor without a swift and brutal bonk to the head. Even Goosie didn't interfere that time, which told Jack he probably deserved the knock to the noggin. He'd apologized to the man, who'd just looked at him in confusion.

Other than that, his stay had been alright. He'd chosen to sleep in the barn of one of the inn's on the outskirts because it was all he could afford, not to mention they wouldn't let him have Goose inside with him, which he found odd. After all, Goose was somewhat behaved, and he just waddled. What would they care? But alas, they did, and so Jack had spent several nights out of doors in the stable hay. A couple of times, he'd been awakened by women who asked him if he would like a "nice time", but he told them, "no, I'm actually kind of tired, but thanks anyways." It was only in the morning that he had to consider what a gift it must be, to take time and make it nice, and how he probably should've taken them up on that, seeing as right now time was not so nice.

He'd been playing his lute in the town square when someone shouted something, and everybody whisked to the sides of the square and away, taking him with. Having been too late to catch what the words were, all he saw was a giant, magnificent horse with a beautiful lady astride it, and he'd slung his lute over his shoulder to pick up Goose so he wouldn't be trampled by the crowds. She began to say something about her daughter being kidnapped, and for a moment, he felt pity for the lady, as that must have been quite sad, but then she was talking about Mulgrave -- where ever that was -- and how they had to rise up. He looked around, confused.

RIse up? Weren't they already standing?

There was a kerfuffle to his right, and Goose, not having much of that, immediately lashed out at the nearest person -- a wall of a man. Jack grimaced as he realized that he was about to be kicked out of yet another place, and he profusely said, "I-I-I'm really sorry, Mister, my Goose, he's just -- you know, kind of touchy, and... hey, ma'am, your hands are all red. Are you alright?"

@Elle Joyner @Bear Enthusiast @Glasses
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KATZE STIEFEL

The man was sitting in the corner of his prison cell. His head was leaning against the cool, damp stone and his hair, blonde and twisted against his forehead with sweat of a small fever, laced across the stone from the moisture. He was humming almost silently to himself as he dragged his finger across the tiny cracks in the stone. Surrounded by three stone walls and a fourth of wrought iron bars, there was nothing else to do but stare at them. To look at the crumbles of rock that had started to chip off as time passed, or gouged by other former prisoners—anything to pass time, slowly going mad, theorizing absurd meanings from the wall’s blank stare.

He hadn’t been in the cell long, but he had been there long enough to know that the fresher air moving through the dungeons from the prison gate up the aisle was a relief, alleviating the stench of festering sewage. It was no brighter in the dungeon than the gathering gloom of dusk, even at midday. The bed was a plank of wood on legs, there was no mattress, no cushioning and only one thin blanket that Katze realized he had touched only shortly before falling ill with a fever. He didn’t touch the blanket again.

It was either suffocating quiet or pierced with screams and wails of tortured inmates, though he would have almost preferred either of those options to the new woman complaining in the cell adjacent to his.

He had been spending most of his time ignoring her and what she was saying, hearing her voice only as a fuzzy background noise instead of actual words, but the sound of her voice had grown increasingly painful on his ears. At once, he brought his eyes up to peer through the grated iron. Pressing his hand into the floor, he scattered forward until he was crouching by his cell door, pressing his cheek into the bars to listen, cursing himself for not listening in sooner.

“Did you say dead princess?” he whispered with a hiss. He looked at her with his green eyes, the kind of green that could push its way through the piles of gritty snow to remind you that spring was coming… in that same way, they pushed through the murky darkness of the prison cells and very nearly illuminate in the darkness. “Now what does a little lass in a bit of trouble know about that, hm?” Of course he had heard the news. Everyone had heard the news, no matter what pit of hell they resided in.
 
[BCOLOR=transparent]THE AXE TWINS[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]collab between @Red Thunder & @CloudyBlueDay[/BCOLOR]
[BCOLOR=transparent]Clack. Clack.[/BCOLOR][BCOLOR=transparent] The flint wasn't cooperating. Wendy frowned more deeply than she had been; the cold was starting to irritate her. All the more because now she had another mouth to feed. Another body to care for. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Not to say that she regretted saving Jacob. Not in the least. Life had been so lonely since that day long years ago; apart from the trauma of coming upon the scene as she had, Wendy had been the youngest of … she couldn't remember how many siblings, and to be so suddenly and irrevocably alone had been almost more a shock than the carnage was. But the girl had adapted, as one must, and ‘alone’ had become second nature. It was convenient: with no one but herself to worry about, she could focus completely on her goal. Now…[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]She shot a quick glance at Jacob. The few minutes that he had on her in age didn't matter; she felt older and therefore responsible. Made the worse because she had nowhere to place him to keep him safe. Not that he'd have stayed. Wendy found herself surprised at the determination he displayed when traveling with her. Pleasantly surprised. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]A stiff breeze cut through her cloak, and she shivered. Winter weather aside, it was also getting late in the afternoon, and they needed shelter from this chill. After trying a few more times to start a fire unsuccessfully, she threw down the flint in disgust. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Hold off on dropping camp, Wolfie,” Wendy called over her shoulder. “Fire isn't starting, so we need some proper shelter.”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Despite the slight and unnatural discomfort between the two, Jacob was happier than he had been in a long time. He had not felt a moment of joy during the years in the witch’s captivity, and had nearly forgotten what it felt like. He was undoubtedly brighter, if still cautious and timid, and had even begun to regain strength, no longer with the physique of a scarecrow.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]With his sister he felt he had a purpose again, one that were not to do the dirty work of an evil woman. She made him feel whole, even if he had lost many pieces along the way. A sibling bond, a twin bond, was hard to break. And though so much had hanged between him, Jacob still saw the young girl in her he had left four years ago.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The only thing Jacob did not like about their travels was the damned cold. Being kept inside like an indoor cat had not helped him to grow thick skin, and he did not have the thick pelt of the animal nickname he held. He struggled futilely with collecting wood for Wendy’s fire, just because his fingers seemed so cold they were numb. At his decision to leave it be, Jacob let out an exasperated but relieved sigh as he dropped the few measly twigs he had collected. Despite being the elder, he had let Wendy take charge of the way they operated. This was not to say he preferred it; Jacob still considered himself very protective of his younger sister, and would have even fathered a more partnering relationship. But at this point in time, he wasn't even sure he was capable of such a thing. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“I think I saw some houses a ways back,” Jacob said, rubbing his hands against each other to try and generate some warmth. “We could go try and see if anyone's willing to take in a couple nice looking kids?” He grinned at her. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Her brow furrowed in response.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Don't get to excited,” she warned, pausing to stand and look around. “People are friendly but usually scared, afraid of the weird things that creep around the woods. And who's to say a couple of ragged looking people aren't monsters in disguise?” [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Wendy grinned evilly, her lip curling in almost a vague snarl. Bending down, she returned to packing their half-unpacked camp. It was such a meager supply that they had, of everything: food, most certainly, was hard to come by in the cold winter months, but even their clothing and water supply was worse for the wear. Snow or ice had to be melted before it was any good to them, and in the month since their reunion the twins had only managed to find one coat and shirt that some careless farmer had left out in a barn one night. Jacob might have complained, but Wendy was immovable: if the farmer needed it so badly, he wouldn't have left it outside. Stuffing the last few articles into her pack, she glanced up, eyes shining from underneath her hood. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Not to say their fears aren't warranted; there's some wicked things out there. Remember that bear? All the same, maybe we'll find some willing soul.[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“You about ready?”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Standing, she threw her pack over a shoulder and checked her axes, waiting on his answer. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]Wendy quickly pulled on that “I’m gonna be the older sibling” stature again, scolding him right after his remark. Jacob rolled his eyes. He wasn’t excited, even if he wanted to be the cold was certainly numbing him in more places than one. What was the whole monsters in disguise thing about, anyway? He finished repacking their meager supply and the slung the pack over his shoulder. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“I’m ready.” Jacob said with a small shrug of his shoulders, taking the lead and heading in the direction he had last seen a group of homes. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]She smiled. It was comforting in a way to see him take up that mantle again, to be the older brother. To lead the way. His time as the witch’s prisoner might not have given him the skills needed for surviving the woods, but he'd certainly lost none of the confidence he'd had in their childhood. Her smile widening to a cheerful grin, Wendy shouldered her own pack and stepped off after him. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The path was easy going, for what it was worth, the twins having already tread the way before. As they went, Wendy kept glancing about them. It seemed oddly familiar, apart from the short term memory of recent passage. It felt like she'd been here before. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The first house they came to, they stopped at. Built in a similar fashion to their own childhood home, it was low and cozy, the wooden panel walls faded with weather and age. One hand gripping the strap of the pack and the other resting easily on the axe in her belt, Wendy paused. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]“Well. You want to do it, big brother, or should I?”[/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]The reasons that this area was familiar to Wendy were different for Jacob; he felt nostalgic because this place felt so much like their old home. His stomach twisted into knots; hopefully it wouldn’t be too hard to knock on the door of what almost felt like his own past life. Glancing at Wendy with narrowed eyes, Jacob raised a fist to pound it on the door. [/BCOLOR]

[BCOLOR=transparent]@Elle Joyner[/BCOLOR]
 

HARRISON
Harrison had been writing a letter by under warm candle light when the warning bell first rung. Immediately he dropped his pen and unsheathed his nearby blade at the foreboding noise. His immediate thoughts went to the Queen and with a sudden sense of urgency hitting him in the gut, he ran out into the hall readily with his sword and scabbard.

That evening Harrison hastily made his way through the grand corridors and to her side as any faithful servant would. As he entered her chambers and he felt his heart shatter at the news, the Princess had been taken from them. Regardless of the sense of failure that soon riddled him, Harrison offered what comfort he could to his Queen. She was visibly devastated and impulsively he offered his shoulder. He was ashamed of the desire that rose up in him throughout that night -- the desire to comfort her in the ways a man could; and in the ways that the King hadn't in years.

That guilt remained with Harrison far into the following morning. Bright Hedge was preparing for a call to arms and he felt nothing but remorse at the feelings he held for a woman who's child had just been stolen away the night prior. He hadn't spoken to his Queen since he retreated from her chambers later into the evening and for as long as it was humanly possible, Harrison intended to keep it that way.


Like a shy child hiding from his crush in the town's square, the renown mage hunter and warrior sneakily went about the morning in a way that allowed him to do his required tasks while avoiding any instance where he'd be alone with the Eirlys. This was brought all to an end of course as midday approached and it was time to ride down to the Ethelemar. He donned ceremonial armor, slicked his hair back, and mounted a chestnut colored steed at the gates. He allowed himself to offer his Queen only a reassuring nod before they set off.

They arrived in the city in a fashion that was anything but quiet. The sea of townsfolk divided as they approached the square and their chatter soon became hushed whispers. Normally, Harrison would be inclined to offer the common people a smile as he rode by, but today's matter was one that demanded his utmost seriousness. He watched in silent admiration as Eirlys reached out to her people and grinned widely as they roared in unison following her call.

But as the crowd died down the retainer's eyes landed on an altercation not far off in the distance. His eyes narrowed in on a distressed young woman and for a moment he hesitated. He turned back to his Queen who had been to preoccupied with the crowd's vivacity to notice.

"If you would excuse me, milady. I'll be just a moment." Harrison requested with insistence. He then turned his horse and asked the townsfolk to excuse him as he rode on closer to the developing scene. With one curious brow raised over his blue eyes he approached the scene, ultimately surprised to see not only a woman at the center of the conflict -- but a goose as well.

@Elle Joyner @Glasses @Doctor Jax
 
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The thundering hooves met the deafening crash of water as Uther made his way to the area known as Fallmar Falls. The lakeside was a beautiful sight to take in, yet that was hardly what people were talking about these days. The former knight had been traveling all morning, but loose lips travel faster than falcons. Every village he passed was talking of setting aside crops for the coming war effort. It was said that the queen was rallying the people in avenging her daughter’s kidnapping. She singled out Mulgrave as the culprit, potentially ending decades of peace in Fable.

It was the stupidest move Uther had ever heard.

Uther still harbored allegiance to the former queen Aladria, however often it faltered with the stories told. He was concerned for the well-being of Aladria’s granddaughter after news of the kidnapping spread. He was no politician, but the elder would imagine that this was a time to collaborate with allies, not turn said allies into enemies. Preparing for war would divert efforts away from actually rescuing the princess. Someone had to ensure that cooler heads prevailed in such fragile times. This was why Uther donned his armor once more and set out to meet the captain of the king’s guard, his former squire Rickard Egan.

Their meetings were kept a secret; this one was no exception. A king’s guard could not be seen with a disgraced knight like Uther. They only met if they absolutely had to, knowing full well that each meeting could be their last. Normally, they would watch the falls and reminisce about old adventures. This was not one of those meetings.

Upon arrival, Uther dismounted from his black steed and walked to Rickard.

“Clouds of war darken the Hedge of late, and the new guard seeks the counsel of the old. That is why you’ve summoned me, yes?”
 

BRIAR ROSE
Briar walked quickly through the darkness of early day, her hair trailing behind her in waves of flames that stuck out in dawn. In her gloved hands was a letter Beo had left on the nightstand while she slept. It entailed instructions on where she was to meet him when she woke.


Nemco had been one of the many stops Briar and Beo had taken. The fiery haired beauty had traveled with the wizard for a little over two weeks and even though that wasn't exactly something new for the both of them, Briar's patience -- and perhaps even sanity -- was running towards its end. Her entire life's work had been robbed from her in one single afternoon. Furious was not enough to describe how she felt. Briar swore to herself if she ever saw Dudley's father again she would stick him with a blade herself.

Still, Briar could admit that the Wharf was the closest thing to the streets around the Rose that she had gotten to experience in their travels so far. The distinct smell of sea water and fish that hung in the air was enough to differentiate this outlaw hellhole but the general debauchery and crime felt familiar to her.

But soon enough Briar Rose passed through the gates of the Wharf and much to her displeasure, was greeted by an even thicker and more unrelenting fog than the one that blanketed the port. Beo's directions were simple and straightforward however and despite some initial difficulty she managed to find the path.

Briar walked for an hour or so before an outline of a man appeared in the distance.

"Beo?" She called out, her eyebrows furrowing into a glare when the man didn't respond. Gloved hands rubbed for warmth as the wind began to pick up. Briar repeated herself but this time with caution in her tone. "Beo is that you?"
 
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The Following Afternoon|| NPCS: Rickard Egan

Rickard needn’t wait long, but then, he hadn't expected to. There was something so reliable about the knights of the old way… something inspiring. Rickard had trained his own men with as much of the old methods in mind as possible, but progress was insisted upon… however little actual progression came of it.

He heard the hoof fall over the streaming waters behind him and dismounting his own steed, securing the bay to a trunk, he slipped from his cover to meet the older man.

As Uther spoke, Rickard’s expression dissolved into a frown, and meeting the former knight’s eye, he shook his head, solemnly, “Were it so simple, Old friend. I'm embarrassed to say I nearly fell for it myself, though it would seem to be an inarguable set up. But I fear a set up is exactly what we're seeing.”

With a sigh, Rickard wiped his hands over his face, “But I cannot believe that a girl of barely thirteen, having just been abducted, has the bearing of mind not only to find, but tear free the only scrap of fabric that could perfectly incriminate our supposed enemies. You have seen the uniform of a Mulgrave guard… how did she manage to pull free the insignia? Was she not bound, unconscious, even. And why would they wear their uniforms, unless it was to incriminate? You taught me, Uther, the art of seeing through my enemies eyes… I cannot see Mulgrave behind this.”

With another shake of the head, he turned to the lake, looking out across the gently rippling waters, “Cristof wants me to send a spy… anyone of my choosing, to investigate these matters. I seek your counsel, my friend. Most desperately.”

@Toogee

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The Following Afternoon || NPCS: Remis Halifax

It was longer than he remembered, the journey from Nemco to Gant, and while the temperature rose above the chill as the light climbed higher in the sky, the fog only grew thicker, higher, until it was nearly dense as canvas. Remis picked his way along the path, but didn’t make it far before he could no longer see the twisting route before him. With a frown, he paused, scratching the back of his neck in thought.

From a small distance, he heard a voice through the oblivion, soft and first and then louder the second time. He turned to find a woman coming up behind him, barely visible in the shroud of mist. Brows scrunched, he squinted until he could make her out, and as he took her in, a small smile curling at the corner of his lips.

She was a sight for sore eyes, even through the impossible curtain of grey, abundantly feminine, carrying herself with an air of confidence and grace, fluid… a natural sensuality that only came in someone all too aware of how to use it. And a red head. Those were always fun, all fire and temper… passionate - nothing, as far as he was concerned at all wrong with that.

It hadn’t started out on much of an enjoyable note, and he was still without much of a plan, but perhaps his journey was looking up.

“Miss…” He started, with a lopsided grin, “For you, I’ll be whoever the hell you want.”


Tags: @BearEnthusiast (Briar), @AceSorcerer

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The Following Afternoon || NPCS: Lilianna Gentry | Declan Martel

The guard rolled his eyes and chuckled and turning around nonchalantly, he walked back up to the stick of a woman and stood just beyond reach outside of her prison cell. He smiled down at her, a lazy grin plastered across his cheeks. He’d just spent the day with her and her antics, and yet for some reason he couldn’t get enough of them. Maybe because they were refreshing, or maybe because she’d almost gotten the better of him. Women, Alfie scoffed to himself, and their damn tears.

“Indeed,” Alfie began, jokingly, “What of this dead princess, woman?” He echoed the words of the other prisoner, his mind already concerned with what he was going to eat for the night.

The interruption had frightened her... and for a moment she had been sure that the prisoner across from her cell had seen straight through her clever plan. But at the end of the day, what did it matter? He would be left behind to rot and she would be free of the prison... free of Mulgrave before dawn cast light over the damnable hillside.

Straightening, Lilianna's gaze, which bounced between vivid green and molten browns, narrowed at both guard and prison guest and shaking her head, she stepped back from the bars, "I shouldn't tell you..." She spat, "Smug Grave Digger like you... Don't deserve one second of glory. There a guard out there I can take more seriously? This is pretty important information and I don't think I trust you to remember it all..."
Crossing his arms, Alfie smiled harshly, eyes narrowing as he took in the woman. Her eyes were daggers and burned like forest in summer. He leaned in closer at the insult, the smile growing deeper. Shaking his head, he let out a small bark of a laugh and replied.

“There’s no one out there willing to take the time of day. So, if you have something to say, might as well get on with it.”

Frowning, she clasped the bars, her expression defiant as she watched him. He'd laughed... and she wasn't all that surprised. He had the upper hand. Why should he care what she said about him? It infuriated her, because there was absolutely nothing she detested more than feeling out of control. She needed it... and the only thing she had, the only leverage she could possibly utilize was also something she wasn't entirely sure was of much use.

But if there was one thing Lilianna understood, it was how to spin things in her favor... and she wouldn't need tears, this time.

"The princess. The one that everyone's squawking about? I know where they're taking her. The people who kidnapped her. I know where they're headed. And unless you want everyone to know you could've helped her and didn't... you're gonna let me out of this cell."

Alfeus watched the young woman -thief- closely and saw in her eyes the moment she decided to lie to him. Yet there was a tug in his stomach when she opened her mouth and spoke. He had always done the right thing, at least he thought he did, and he had always paid the price for it. Be it or good or bad, rewarded or punished, Alfeus Swan did what was right…

But to trust a swindler of a girl like this one? Who could shed tears as quick as a throat or smile with a sun’s worth of radiance and yet have tongue filled with vile lies? Alfie shrugged, eyes still narrowed with suspicion. “Tell me more.” He said softly, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head slightly.

“...Thing about people like me… We tend to blend in. No one takes notice, and most of the time, that works in my favor. Sometimes, in ways that I don’t expect.” Turning, she leaned her back against the bars with a casual grace, inspecting her fingernails idly, “I overheard a conversation a fortnight back. Two men, dressed in guard uniforms… Upper Echelon. I’m sure of it. They were discussing a plan… moving something. That’s what caught my attention. I figured maybe they were hauling something worth taking. Then they mentioned a girl… Now, I’m a lot of things, but even I have my limits. I followed them when they left the tavern, for a few miles, while they talked about their plans. The break-in, the abduction… Right up to where they were going to take her.”

Turning again, Lilianna shrugged, “That wasn’t the end of it. A few days from now, they’re going to kill her and send her back to Bright Hedge in a box. They want a war, and they’ll get one… unless you let me out, so I can take you to where they’re holding her.”

The thing about women, Alfie quoted to himself, Is that they’re damn good liars. All of ‘em.

He opened his mouth to speak and promptly snapped it shut. What was there to say? She was either lying… or she wasn’t. Neither was a good option. He could ignore her, walk away with another laugh and a shake of his head… and in two months time be responsible for the death of the Princess of Ethelmar.

“So what is it you want?” Alfeus said finally, a sigh escaping him. “I get you out and then you flee in the middle of the night?” He leaned in closer, his face still out of reaching distance, but his fists curled around the iron bars. “Or do you want to actually do something with your life… and save another while doing so?”

Meeting his gaze, Lilianna’s lips curled down into a soft frown and something flickered through her eyes… briefly, ever so briefly, before her shoulders rose and fell once more, “Let’s just say however it works out, it benefits me… and that’s a hell of an incentive.”

Her eyes twitched away momentarily, “And I don’t like prison.”

“Then do something right, for once.” Alfie said softly, leaning for the first time within reaching distance. He caught a wisp of her scent, a light, airy, earthy tang that smelled of trees and sunshine. “Be ready at noon. The guards change shift. I’ll see about saving us a princess.”
~~​
He had spent the day searching… searching for anything that could validate the woman’s claim. And something else that he wasn’t quite sure of… something deep within himself that need to be found, refound. Taking a deep breath as he sheathed his sword, Alfeus then slung a canvas tote over his shoulder that held essential goods and strapped a deceptively thick cloak to his uniform. With a sigh he opened the door of his meager thing of a room and stepped out into the unknown. His heart didn’t even race as he treaded to his location, tired feet tracing and double tracing his path out of habit. It wasn’t long before he was turning the key into the prison and staring down at the woman from the Road.

Truth be told, Lilianna hadn't actually expected it to work, and there were several seconds thereafter his return where shock showed visibly in her expression. But it lasted only until the cell door opened, when Lilianna stepped out, crossing to the cells on the other side, almost afraid he might change his mind.

“It's a fair distance… We shouldn't linger.”

Collab with @rissa || Tags: @Nav

From the corner of his eye, Declan saw.movement and turning round, spotted the woman moving purposefully across the grounds of the farm. She appeared young, and there was an unmistakably uncommon look about her. It wasn't usual, seeing foreigners, most particularly in the outer rings of Mulgrave, where servants came at quite the cost.

Unless, of course, she hadn’t been purchased. It was rare in Mulgrave, but not entirely unheard of - the abduction of foreigners, for such purposes - those and far worse, in fact. Women, especially, were taken, most for despicable purposes… but some just for the benefit of a servant one didn’t need to pay. Either way, it was a disconcerting thought. It was possible, he supposed that she had come of her own accord, volunteered her labor, but why she would settle for a lowman’s farm and not one of the nobles…

Then again, nobles were notoriously indecent about foreigners, and it was all too possible she had been turned away. Prejudice ran deep, even in places like Mulgrave. Shame, for work was work, and Mulgrave had too much of it. But he was far too cold to think much more on her assumed and strange position. As she spoke, he breathed onto his hands again, to warm them, to very little avail… Even his breath felt cold, now..

“So sorry to disturb you, Miss. Are your masters at home? I’m a few miles up the road and my wagon’s split an axle. Was hoping they might have a spare I can buy? And… a few minutes to steal near a fire?”

Tags: @Effervescent

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The Following Afternoon || NPCS: Merek Loren

At the knock, Merek lifted his head from the table, rubbing a calloused palm down his face. He'd read Tom’s letter over and over, until he'd memorized the words scrawled across the page, but still he hadn't been able to look away. If what it said was true, and he had no doubt that it was… it wasn’t just obligation to his brother that he should make for Bright Hedge…

Still, it had been too long a night. Too tiring. He hadn’t meant to, but eventually, he'd fallen asleep, the damnable thing clutched in his grasp.

The knock had woken him, startling him out of what had been a fairly restless sleep and with a sigh, he rose to answer. Travis was early, but it didn’t surprise Merek. Still, he had hoped that his brother might arrive a little later, to give Merek time to think how he was going to break the news. Looking down at the letter, at his hands, still caked with dried mud, he frowned.

Reaching the door, he unlocked it and pulled it open. It was light out, but the sky was a murky grey, leaving little to see by through the thick canopy of trees overhead. Still, there was little confusion even in the lack of light that his visitor… visitors were neither of them his younger brother. A brow quirked as he looked beyond the gangly young man to the girl behind him.

There was a familiarity there, but it took a moment or two before Merek was able to pinpoint it. She was older, a year or two, and she appeared to have filled out a bit more, seemed healthier… The boy was new, too, but as long as she was happy...

“...Wendy?” He asked, pushing the door back to step outside, “Is… is everything alright?”

@Red Thunder, @CloudyBlueDay

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The Following Afternoon || NPCS: Fiora Remel | Eirlys Vance

It all happened very fast, in a flurry of motion, some of which would be very difficult to convey in the retelling. As the man’s grip tightened on her wrists, his voice becoming a threatening growl, there was a sudden streak of white and a terrible horn-like sound. All at once, she was released, as the man flung his arms upwards to guard his face. Later, in retrospect, she would probably feel pity for him, but at the time she could only be grateful when, in his flailing, he crashed into an even taller and more imposing wall of human. There was a howl of rage, and a slew of words Fiora would never repeat… she couldn't be entirely sure who had thrown the first punch, but in mere seconds, chaos descended within the crowd.

Hooves descended upon the tumult, first a single horse, than another and looking up, Fiora watched as the guard… and then the queen herself made their way through the crowd. The queen.

Without thinking, not entirely sure what compelled her, Fiora turned and reaching out, grabbed the hand of the boy who had addressed her. With a tug, she took off, pushing through the wild throng... ran, and didn’t stop until they had cleared the gates of the city. There, her lungs burning, she released him, bending over to catch her breath. When she straightened again, she glanced down at her hands, throbbing now, and winced.

There would be no going back, not when she had already caused so much trouble. And that meant no salve, which in turn meant her work would undoubtedly suffer. Thoughts of her brothers filled her mind, of returning to them empty handed, yet again and curling her hands, she pressed them to her eyes, shoulders quaking with silent sobs.
@Doctor Jax
Harrison. Good, loyal Harrison. The words she had spoken to the village still echoed back to her when a small bit of alarm rose in the form of a violent fray on the outskirts of the crowd. Harrison started towards it, and with a tight frown, Eirlys turned to watch him, before she spurred her own animal forward.

As they neared, she could just make out the fleeing pair and for a moment… only a moment, the queen paled, heart pumping solidly against her chest. The girl… But it was only a moment. It wasn’t possible. Not after so long. Still… coincidental as it might be, and however unlikely, she wasn’t about to get caught off guard. Not when things were headed down the right path...

Turning to the men in the crowd, whose actions had only ceased at the approach of the guard, Eirlys frowned gingerly, “If I am not mistaken… the call to arms was against Mulgrave…not young girls in the marketplace, or each other. If you are so eager for violence, I suggest you report to the garrison. Otherwise, you will control yourselves immediately. Am I understood?”

Nods followed, firm and anxious, and as the men began to disperse, some quickly, some with a bit more mortified apprehension, Eirlys turned away, satisfied, her eyes sifting through the crowd in thought.

“Harrison… That girl. Find her for me?” The frosty undercurrent of her tone shifted and she turned to her guard with a soft, sad smile, “I'd like to ensure she isn't hurt… the boy, too. Best bring them both.”

@BearEnthusiast (Harrison), @Glasses

If you miss this round, don't worry about it! There's still plenty of time to jump in. My next GM post will come 3/2 - If you have any questions or require/prefer a collab PM me!
 
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[fieldbox=Beo the Grey, grey, solid, 8, book antiqua]
As is coming out of the shadows, a sword would soon find itself pointed at the neck of the wayfarer. As the hooded figure came into the light, a gruff baritone emerged from his throat, filling the air with the weaving of a deft tongue.

"Away from my friend, fiend. I'll thank you to keep your distance for your sake."

Beo had left Briar to her devices while he procured their supplies from one of his fellows mages who ran a general store on the wharf that also served as a small safe-haven for mages as well as a hidden cache of supplies. Right now the High Magus- the leader of the organized mages of the land- had called for a Conclave, a special meeting of the mages. It was rather rare, especially in the modern setting where many countries had banned magic, and would more likely than not be a sign of eminent danger to the mage community. As Beo had been painstakingly careful in concealing his mage identity from Briar for her own safety, Beo had stated that they would be able to use of his connections at Gant to find a safe place for them to go.

Unfortunately, this "safe place" could very well be placing them in the mess of things.

But he then saw the glint of the medallion on his neck, his sword falling down and moving his medallion with the point of his blade.

"How did you come by that medallion?"

Among mages and mage-sympathizers, the fashion of medallion this strange, seemingly perverted man was wearing was a safe way to identify one another. Upon sighting one, the first of the pair would ask the same question Beo just did. A mage or mage-sympathizer would respond with the phrase "From the halls of my lost ancestry." Any other response, and more likely than not, meant that the individual was simply seeking passage to the ruins of Gant. For the time being, Beo kept on edge, his grip tightening on the handle of his blade as he was more than determined to ensure Briar's safety.
[/fieldbox]

@BearEnthusiast
@Elle Joyner
 
KATZE STIEFEL

Suddenly, Katze swooped in like a hen-hawk upon a mouse and grabbed a small piece of the woman’s dress, his fingers curling and tightening around her wrist—white-knuckled, strong, but not painfully so. She was a devilish woman, the one he had grabbed, as she had all but sweet-mouthed her way out of her holding. Of course, he had watched her do so the previous evening with half-hearted interest… listening, but without a facial expression that said as much. Now, she was free and like hell was she going alone. Oh, she was going to linger, alright, until she used that pretty little mouth of hers to get him out, too.

Katze was half shadow in his cell, every muscle in his shoulder flowing from the light into dark, with every movement giving away his strength. A strong boy was a sign of either a criminal or a farmer, who else had time for it? Judging by his imprisonment, he was the former, though no one in the cells around him had bothered to ask, nor had he bothered to tell them.

With a bit of a suggestive nudge, the blonde with hickory brown eyes as rich as the earth’s soil, Katze gave the woman a small tug as he rose off the slab floor and pressed his face near the cool bars. “If you don’t wish to linger,” he whispered, “I suggest you find a way to get me out of here as well and play along, unless you wish me to shred your little lie in to itty bitty pieces and land you back into your cell where he rightfully belong.” She was a good liar and the man who took pity on her was either a fool in love taken by a woman’s charms or just a fool. Truthfully, Katze wasn’t sure he cared which.

“A fortnight is an awfully long time, miss—fourteen days? That’s how long ago you said you heard those two guards talking, right? A fortnight? Plans have changed, I’m sure. Your information is nigh outdated and useless by now, I’m sure.” He hummed tentatively, his grip on her wrist not relaxing. He couldn’t just have his one and only escape route slip through his fingers, could he? “What exactly are you going to do? Hm? Oh, be clever and go about on fortnight-old information? Do you really think some overheard conversation from fourteen days prior will get you anywhere near a kidnapped princess? You must be absolutely absurd.”

A soft exhalation parted Katze’s lips. The dripping of moisture in his cell neither increased nor decreased its rate or volume, and it continued to hammer into his ear drums. Part of his brain continued to analyze the pattern, it was almost regular, but not quite. It was just chaotic enough not to come when he expected and then drip when he didn’t. His cerebral cortex hissed and caused him to physically wince when another drop fell.

“A starting point is most beneficial, but do you even have anywhere left you can go with this information? No offense, I’m awfully inspired by your shiny eyed, ‘save the princess’ mantra, but let’s be real… you will both be as useless at finding new information as a rabbit asking a bear where to hide from a wolf.”
 

BRIAR ROSE
It was not Beo who answered her call but a stranger. Briar could admit that the man who approached her shortly after was as handsome as the words he spoke were charming. Her reminded her a bit too much of the promiscuous sort she was all too comfortable interacting with. From her experience, men like that were more often than not quick with their tongue and quicker on their feet the following morning -- which wasn't a bad thing, really.

Matching his lopsided smile with one of her own, she raised one curious brow and crossed her arms. A part of her was tempted to shoot back something just as cheeky but she reconsidered seeing as the weather was doing a poor job of setting the mood for proper flirtation.

In the end it didn't matter what she did as her companion had finally found his way to her. As Beo had always been since they first traveled together so many years ago, he was immediate in going to her defense. Briar chuckled warmly at the thought as she glanced down at the blade she kept hidden underneath her cloak. She was far from the helpless young noblewoman he had escorted when they first met, still it was nice to have someone looking out for her.

A sort of sensuality in the way her hips moved, Briar went from behind Beo to beside him, her curious expression remained unchanged. Her eyes turned momentarily to Beo, offering him a subtle wink before turning back to the stranger and purposely eyeing how closely Beo held the blade to the other man's flesh.

"In that case handsome I would like you to be yourself while answering my companion's questions." She spoke with a tone that was both sultry and commanding. "You may start off with your name."

@AceSorcerer @Elle Joyner
 
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Uther stroked his face in contemplation. Rickard’s recounting of events was similar to what the elder had heard in the villages. Uther had his doubts about Mulgrave’s responsibility, and with Rickard’s recount of events, it seemed they were right to doubt.

“The king of Mulgrave is said to have access to people of … particular skill,” Uther started, referring to the rumored relationship between Mulgrave royalty and those of the Grave Road. “If he wanted this done, he would use a professional, not one of his own men. Certainly not one wearing incriminating garb.”

Uther took a moment to admire the falls, perhaps the last peace Ethelemar would see for quite some time. He continued to stare at the waterfall as he discussed the next matter.

“You said you wanted a spy? I assume to disprove Mulgrave’s culpability. That by itself could start a war, should the spy be found. You would need someone who knows how to navigate the Grave Road. Get in contact with the least savory people in all of Fable. I find the traders of Grave Road know all about trafficking in rare goods. Nothing would be rarer than a foreign princess.”
 
Dumb and Mute And Apparently Deaf and Blind Too
a @Doctor Jax and @Elle Joyner collab

Before poor Jack knew what was happening, a whole fracas had opened up around them. It almost reminded Jack of the time he accidentally dropped that match in the middle of a whole pile of pine needles. Come to think of it, he still had the scars from that misadventure. He did his best to keep Goose out of the fight, knowing that the bird was going to get his silly head hurt in the fray, though Jack did end up with an elbow in the back and the head a few times.

Then, suddenly, a hand grabbed his wrist, and he was pulled out of the fray. The girl he had talked to had managed to get a hold of him, apparently. They turned down alleys and alleys... and finally, they stopped. Jack heaved, putting Goose down now that it seemed they were safe, and he looked to the girl.

"Thanks a lot! I... hey... what's the matter? Why are you crying?"

As he spoke, she looked up and swiping at her eyes, she shook her head. It had been a long while since Fiora had been around people, and longer still since anyone had tried to communicate with her. The task was complicated on her best days, but as it was, her hands weren't entirely in the best shape for wild pantomime.

Lowering them, she unfurled her fists and held them out to the boy with a sniff.

Jack was at a loss. He had never been good with those who were emotional, often puzzling over the problem. To those who didn't know him, he could seem almost callous, as if looking over a broken wheel axle and trying to understand how to fix it, rather than a broken person with broken feelings. However, he caught the gist quite fast whenever the girl lifted her hands to show him her raw, red skin.

"Oh! Your hands hurt!" he said, snapping his fingers as he had his "eureka" moment.

Goose snapped at his knee gently, trying to tug him off towards another direction, but he waved at him irately. Instead, he looked over at the pretty girl and said, "Well, doesn't that mean you need a doctor? Oh! Is that why you were in that square? We can go back if you want!"

Of course, that way had just been full of brawling, angry men, but there was woman in need of help. Obviously, she took precedent.

As he picked up on her gesturing, Fiora started to nod, but at his recommendation, she shook her head instead, giving her hands a gentle wave. Going back now would be a mistake... with guards involved and so many people put out. Conflict was difficult enough to handle when one could talk it through...

But she was at a disadvantage there, most thoroughly.

Yet her hands weren't going to heal on their own, and the less she could work, the longer her brothers would suffer.

Biting her lip, then breathing out, Fiora gave him a little wave for him to follow, before moving down the cobbled path again. The apothecary was too deep into the fray they had just escaped from, but there was a stall on the outskirts of Bright Hedge, near the gardens, who sold herbs.

He was a notorious haggler, however, and that wasn't exactly a strong point for her, either.

The boy followed her the way a puppy followed a new friend. He at least picked up that she didn't want to go back to the square (for whatever reason). Goose flapped it's wings unhappily at the detour, but Jack paid no attention, at least for the moment.

"Where are we going? Can you not talk? What's your name?" he asked rapid fire as they came closer and closer to the market square. Upon seeing the actual thing, though, he stopped to be surprised, gawking at everything.

He was only spurred on by the intense peck given by Goose, and he quickly ran to catch up.

It took Fiora a moment or two to realize that he had fallen behind, but she showed no irritation as she slowed her pace to better match his. Her eyes did move with curiosity towards the goose, but only for a few seconds before they returned to the boy and with a gentle smile, she nodded.

The word was mouthed, carefully and slowly, a finger pointed inwards to her chest - Fi - a variant of her name that she'd found best understood by strangers.

"Fi?" Jack asked, exaggerating the sound to a long "feeee" in question, just to be sure he got it right. After all, he didn't want to call her by the wrong name. He was always calling people the wrong name, and apparently that made them quite upset. He didn't mean to, of course -- just, he forgot so easily, unless he said it often, in which case, they got annoyed as well. He couldn't win.

"Well.... my name's Jack! And that's Goose," Jack stated, gesturing behind him towards the grumpy water fowl trailing behind him.

As he repeated her name, Fiora's features broke from their solemness into a bright smile and she nodded enthusiastically. Normally, people were not so patient with her process, which ultimately became more difficult than it was worth.. She'd become something of a recluse, over time, coming into town only when absolutely necessary.

He introduced herself and her smile grew as she nodded both to him and to the goose - Which probably seemed strange, except that if anyone was accustomed to unusual (and feathered) company, Fiora was.

To meet someone who seemed genuinely interested in helping her - who didn't treat her impairment as a frustration... or treat her as though she were a complete idiot.

Before long they reached the stall, and Jack ogled the amount and variety of herbs for sale, along with the display of mortars and pestles, some made of marble, others made of bronze, a few even lined with what looked like gold. Of course, Jack had to stick his face up close the prettiest of the flowers and take a sniff, amazed at their purple-blue hue.

"What is it you want to buy?" Jack asked Fi, still looking at the herbs around him.

They passed by the stands, which Fiora normally would have treated with very little custom, but Jack seemed so curious, so excited about everything and she found it almost contagious, pausing as he did, watching in fascination at his wonderment.

When he turned to her and inquired about her needs, she studied the herbs for a moment before gesturing to one, long and thin, a thick green stalk.

Jack looked over, remembering far too late that she couldn't actually talk -- he didn't ask, because, obviously, she couldn't speak, so it must be hard to relay. Maybe she was like Jack! Born the way she was and content with it. Whatever the case was, she had in hand a single green stalk of... something.

"It just looks like grass. There's plenty more out there, you know," he professed, pointing to some far off place.

However, Goose squawked at him with displeasure, as if in response. It waddled towards Fiora and sniffed at the stalks before waggling its tail feathers with agreement. Jack, however, remained perplexed.

"What's 'is deal?" he wondered out loud, pointing to Goose as it continued to survey the goods on the table.

"Oi, keep an eye on 'im, else you'll be payin' for wha'ever 'e eats," the shopkeeper said, and Jack nodded enthusiastically.

"Shore, shore, he won't eat any of it, will you Goo-- GOOSE!" Jack cried as the aforementioned fowl grabbed onto a rather large stalk and waved it at Fiora, swatting away the one in her hand.

There was no sound of laughter, but it sparkled nevertheless in Fiora's eyes as she shook her head. He was charming, Jack... in the strangest way. Simple minded - but not in a way that was irritating or jarring. It was an endearing quality, and she might have said as much, were it not for Goose's abrupt interruption.

Looking down, she blinked and eyed the stalk before a smile brightened her cheeks again and nodding enthusiastically, she reached out to take it from the bird, waving for Jack with her other hand.

Jack, not knowing what for, came forward and said, "Yeah? Hey, Goose -- let go of it, will you? You're bein' rude."

Goose played keep away for a bit before Jack finally wrestled the stalk out of its mouth, and the shopkeeper gave the two a strange look. Jack, however, was largely oblivious.

"Uh.... now what?" he asked. He honestly wasn't sure what this was all about. Was he going to pay for it? He would, if he had the money -- he'd made a couple of coins playing the lute just a little bit ago -- but he wasn't sure if that was the right thing to do at this moment.

As Jack wrested the stalk from Goose, Fiora reached for the coin purse at her belt. She didn't have much... a few coins earned here or there - odd tasks she was able to do around the plains. Looking to the tender, she gave the purse a small shake, and soundlessly, inquired as to the price.

"...Stalk of aloe? That's gonna be a ten spur." The man murmured, idly adjusting a small basket of mint leaves, his eyes flickering casually to the goose and boy.

Looking into the purse, Fiora frowned and glanced back up again, held up five fingers.

"...Seven's cheapest I can go. You know how hard aloe is to find in this weather? Winter's hell on crops, love." Looking to Jack and Goose again, he quirked a brow, "Yer boyfriend doesn't have it?"

"Huh? No, I don't h-- what's a boyfriend?" Jack asked suddenly, drawing his eyebrows together. 'Boy' was never followed by anything good, but 'friend' most usually was... so he was a bit confused as to why he was being called a bad thing ("Boy, you'd best not touch that!") with a good thing ("For all your faults, you make a good friend, Jack."). Never the less, he finally caught up to the events and said, "Oi, wait, I have ten spur! One second..."

With that, he dug around in his own purse, completely unaware that he was being swindled blind, though Goose squawked unhappily. Jack shushed the bird as he went through his purse.

"Ah, he does this all a' the time, 'specially when I'm buyin' things. Um... I got this. Do it count?" Jack asked, holding up a silvery coin with a bear embossed on it. He'd never seen its like before, but it was very shiny and looked awfully nice. He had a few other coins, but he wasn't really much good with money from other places. Around Fool's Mountain, they just traded for what they needed.

Blushing, Fiora waved off the comments, but as Jack produced the unusual coinage, the tender seemed to forget everything anyway, and as he quickly pocketed the money. In alarm, Fiora opened her mouth, but before she could relay anything, the man started piling things into a cart behind him.

"That'll do, then. Anyhow... I'm closin' up shop for the day. You'd best move along."

Fiora reached and took Jack's arm, and as she led him from the stall, she glanced back over her shoulder with a disapproving frown. When they had cleared the marketplace and arrived again at the gates, she released him and biting her lip for a moment, looked down at the stalk Jack had paid for, before turning her gaze to him again.

Her mouth moved, silently - the words Thank you... Then pinching her fingers to her thumb, she tapped them to her mouth in question. She didn't have much, but feeding him was the least she could do for his generosity.

Jack, not the least perturbed by the sudden loss of coin, smiled as he was handed the thick stalk of herb, only to be pulled away by Fi. Before long they reached the gates, and Goose very suddenly became agitated, plucking at Jack's leg as if to try and pull him out and away from the city, towards the north.

Jack paid no attention to Goose, however, confused by the gesture Fi was making at him. He puzzled over it for several minutes, trying to understand -- yes, there was the thank you, but what did the fingers-to-mouth mean?

Finally, he figured it out, and he picked up Goose, smiling happily.

"Goose did do a good job! Guess he picked up a real juicy one. Go ahead, you can kiss him if you want!"

For several seconds, Fiora stared, completely bewildered by his comment, but as the realization hit her, her expression shifted and with another silent laugh, her hands covering her mouth, she shook her head.

Only when she could compose herself did she repeat the gesture, pointing to Jack.

Jack stared at her flatly, his brain refusing to comprehend, until, finally, it clicked. He laughed, a bit of a dumb guffaw, as he realized what she meant.

"You don't want to kiss Goose... you want to feed us! That's a really good idea! I'm really very hungry. I spent my last bear coin on a bowl of soup that gave me an upset in my stomach...." Jack recounted, allowing Fiora to lead the way.
 
Double Dipping
a collab between @CloudyBlueDay and @Red Thunder
Wendy's mouth fell agape when the door opened and her name was uttered. "M-Merek?" she stuttered. "I, uh, I forgot that this was your place."

Jacob's brows scrunched together, clearly unnerved by the fact that this man knew Wendy. "You forgot that this was his place." Jacob echoed, his voice monotone and unhappy. This man look disheveled and worn out, and for some reason Jacob found something about him very suspicious. His stance immediately shifted, becoming more tense and putting one foot in front of Wendy protectively.

"Uh, sorry.. Merek." Jacob said uncertainly. "We were just looking for some place to stay. I suppose we'll go look elsewhere.”

“Hold on a second,” Wendy interjected, placing a hand on her brother’s shoulder. It'd been maybe a year since she'd seen the woodsman, one of few kind souls she'd encountered through the woods as she hunted her target. For he had been kind: instead of having to sneak into an unattended barn and hope to heaven she didn't stir the residing animals to exuberant wakefulness, Merek had demanded that she come in a sleep within the warm house. She had been hesitant at the time; though capable, Wendy was nevertheless a very young woman, alone and ill-supplied, and her few years on her own had made her remarkably suspicious.

But then Merek had mentioned her father. Wendy had stated her name, by accident at the time, and

the man’s eyes had lit up. He said that he and Michael had been good friends back in the day, and asked after him. The news then of the Palin family's death had been almost as shocking to Merek as it had been to Wendy, and she'd stayed longer with him by way of comfort and vague familiarity than she had elsewhere. So then to have Jacob decide for them both that they'd find another place to stay was insane to her.

“Merek is a good man. We can trust him.”

A sigh escaped Jacob. Wendy was always like this, even before the tragic death of their family. She had to fight him on everything. His gaze travelled from the stranger to his sister, wondering how the two had come across one another before. Still, Jacob didn’t like it. A part of him would even rather bunk with a stranger than someone Wendy seemed to place all her trust in so quickly.

“How do you two know each other?” Jacob said cautiously, keeping his gaze trained on Merek now, clearly scoping the man out.

She shrugged nonchalantly.

“Kinda a similar situation to this, actually. I needed a warm bed; Merek was nice enough to offer one.” With a sideways smirk, Wendy glanced at the man in question. “And I'm hoping he'll do it again. Mind if we stay the night, Mer? Wind’s getting chilly, and I'll bet I could roast up a rabbit or two. Or more, if you have anyone else over. You have a brother, right? How's he?”

@Elle Joyner
 
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Anhlan Ai
a collab with @Elle Joyner

She had expected the Johans to emerge from their home by this point. Anhlan gave attention to her peripheral daring not to look directly at the second story window where the couple presided. She carried an obvious hesitancy about her as she stared down the captain, considering his words with care as she noted his uniform and armor. What was an official like him doing all the way out here at such an early hour?

Her head dipped as she bowed her head respectfully. There was no mistaking his status after a closer observation. “If I may see your cart,” she said, “then I may be able to determine if we have a spare that will fit.”

Rubbing the back of his neck, Declan chuckled lightly, and in the pale light of the early afternoon, he appeared almost flushed, "Ah. It's um... It's quite a few miles up the road. I would hate to take you from your work... and it is terribly cold."


She stared at the man before her as a silence grew between them. The mornings were always quiet in the winter months, and so it was like a crisp nothingness while Anhlan debated further before speaking once again. "If you have the dimensions of your cart then," she said. "They only have one of their own and so if you need a different size it may take some time."

Frowning, he considered for a moment, blowing onto his hands again. Damnable gloves. He would never forget them, after this. He would never take them off, "I'd need a moment... and some paper and ink, if your masters can spare it? This... this isn't my usual job. It'll take a bit of work to figure it out."

The last place she wanted to take him was on the Johan household. They were a modest family of dedicated farmers, and while she was treated as a guest to their home, it was not her place to invite strangers in. Even then, she was not sure of where such supplies would be found within their home, and so she began her trek back to the barn.

"I have what you need in the shop," she said to him. "Come."

The barn was nothing special to behold. The horse curiously stuck his head out of his stall to gander at the newcomer as Anhlan moved into the small enclosure that comprised her wood shop. She emerged with a roll of parchment, an ink well, and a bamboo brush, and placed it upon a small desk she crafted for correspondences.

"I'll get the fire started."

It took him a moment to realize she intended him to follow, but as the notion occurred to him, Declan took the steps two at a time to catch up to the foreign woman, "I appreciate this, Miss. I'll be sure to leave word with your master." Inside the barn, Declan paused at the stalls, while she disappeared to collect what he needed and when she returned, he nodded, plucking up the brush with a curious expression, "Your master... He's a carpenter, then?"

"I am the carpenter," she corrected calmly as she placed firewood into the cast iron furnace. It was small, but it would do well enough to heat the small barn if all the doors were closed. With a fire beginning to crackle to life, she closed the furnace grate.

"You..." Blinking, Declan looked up, a small brow quirked, "I... forgive me. I should not have assumed. " It was rare, but not entirely unprecedented that women should find such work in Mulgrave - even foreigners, he supposed, if their quality was decent. Looking down at the parchment, he frowned, "Damn. I... have no idea what I'm doing."

Her hesitancy in the captain waned and relaxed as a sort of innocence shone through. While it could all be an act, she felt it was likely more genuine, and huffed a small laugh at his minor misfortune. Rising from the base of the little furnace, she walked over to the captain with her hands clasped before her. "Hold out your hand, please," she said to him.

His brow lifted again as she approached and looking down at her, Declan smiled, albeit warily. He felt foolish, but if he was one thing, at least these days, it was honest - He had little knowledge about dimensions and the craftsmanship of a cart...

It wasn't the first time he'd had to rely on someone beneath his station, but unlike most of his fellow guardsman, he could be humble about it.

And with that humilty in mind, Declan stretched out his hand.

Her dark eyes roved over the outstretched hand, and respectfully Anhlan did not touch. After a moment of study, she nodded and straightened herself. "Do you think you can base the dimensions on the length of your hand?" she asked. "How many of your hands do you think it would take to span its width?"

His smile grew a little as he looked down at his hand and nodded, he glanced up in appreciation, "Clever... Hm..." He studied his hand then, for several seconds, bringing to mind the cart and the axle itself. It wasn't large - not like a carriage, but it was certainly wider than a wagon.

"I'd say maybe... ten... no, twelve wide... twenty long."

For a short while she pondered the length, her body slowly turning at her heels to the direction of the shop before she walked into the confines. "I think they may have something that will fit," she said to him. "Though since we are estimating it could either be a bit short or a bit long. Do you mind giving me a hand with this?"

Nodding, Declan dropped his hands to his sides and followed after her again, "It's only got to make it up the hill, into the city. Though getting it back to the cart might be a bit tricky." Chuckling dryly, he pinched his forehead, "I'm afraid I didn't think this through. Not at my sharpest in this weather..."

She wrapped her hands around the pole and slid it out from its resting place upon the corner. It wasn't terribly heavy, and luckily not too long for two to carry just fine. "You could not have predicted your misfortune," Anhlan said, and looked back towards the pile of hay that hid her sword. There was a moment's hesitation before looking back to Declan. "If you could get the other end, I would be most appreciative."

Nodding, Declan looked to the pole, but his eyes strayed for a moment towards the small fire she'd built within the furnace. He'd have liked to spend another few minutes before it, but he had takne up enough of her time as it was. Rubbing his hands together, he bent down and plucked up the other end.

"You're sure you don't mind the trip? I could probably carry it on my own."

Their height difference put the pole at an odd angle at first before the readjusted. She didn't have to go with him, nor did he have to carry the other end of the pole. In terms of hierarchy this entire encounter has broken far too many rules and she was still too unfamiliar with them all to pose debate.

"Apologies if I am overstepping my boundaries, sir," she said with a bow of her head. "I do not mind the trip. I can help refit the axel into place."

Smiling faintly, Declan shrugged, "I'll get hell for it, later, I'm sure... but I've not much patience for boundaries. Least of all when it means carting a heavy pole two... maybe three miles down hill by myself. I appreciate it, Miss..." Frowning softly, he shunted the pole higher up to his shoulder. It meant carting the brunt of it, but there was little strain, regardless.

"I'm Declan, by the way. You are....?"

She placed the pole onto her own shoulder, though it still carried at an odd angle. Luckily, it wasn't too heavy of a thing, otherwise she might have protested against his decision. Right now she was too focused on the internal debate as to whether or not to share her name with a Mulgrave official such as he. Not that she would be known by name, but that her name would be record.

"Anhlan," she responded hesitantly. Lying felt worse than possibly exposing herself to deportation. Conscience be damned. She would miss the Johans but she could still make a fresh start elsewhere.

Heading towards the exit, Declan nodded, "Not from Mulgrave, are you? And I'm guessing considering your work that you're not a servant, afterall... Which means you're here of your own accord." Chuckling dryly, he tipped down so he could pulled open the doors, allowing her to go through first before following, "No offense meant, of course, but why... of all the places in Fable you could settle... would you pick this hole?"

The cold hit her once again as she stepped out of the barn. Anhlan had no idea where she was to lead, and so she began down the path that led to the road. "Am I under interrogation, Sir Declan?" she asked calmly. "I came here and I liked it."

Laughing again, an easy sound, Declan shook his head, "Not at all. Just curious. Don't get a lot of your type of visitor around here. Not willingly, anyway. But fair enough... Everyone's entitled to their privacy. It's left up at the fork ahead."

Declan seemed far too merry of a man in these parts. Anhlan had never really run into anyone in Mulgrave as jovial as this captain even on a good day, and this man had just suffered a broken wagon and a morning trek through the winter's cold for a few miles. She turned left at the fork and continued on quietly. He was positioned behind her, but she could feel every movement he made due to the odd angle of the axle. She was a strange happenstance for Mulgrave, or for any part of these lands really. Kyxia wasn't exactly a land of people who enjoyed vacationing outside of their homeland. In the silence of their travel she wished she had her sword.

He was a jovial man... but that, perhaps, what made the sudden shift in his demeanor so noticeable. Pausing rather suddenly, Declan shifted, hefted the axle further up his shoulder until he was bearing the entirety of the weight, then with his free hand, he reached out and clasped Anhlan's wrist, "Shh..." He hissed, and narrowing his eyes, nodded to the pair coming down the path. They were an enormous set of brutes - twins, from the looks of it - dark hair and pale, almost yelled complexions, with eerily green eyes.

Gently, but firmly, Declan pulled Anhlan back down the path towards a small outcropping of bushes, and gesturing her behind them, he set the axel to the ground and crouched beside it, motioning for her to do the same.

"The Brothers Black. That's what these idiots call themselves..." He whispered, watching them through a small breech in the bush leaves, "They're complete idiots, but they also won't think twice about accosting anyone who gets in their way."

Digging a small silver knife from his boot, Declan held it over to Anhlan, "...Hold onto this, but stay out of sight. If I don't come back, run for the barn and bar the doors..."

The sudden loss of weight upon her shoulders caused her to follow the rising pole to look behind her at Declan with a questioning gaze. He quickly guided her into the brush and she knelt down low as she watched the twins imposing silhouettes meander down the road. She looked to the offered knife, taking it in hand carefully before looking back at Declan. It had been so long since she had held a blade, and the steel felt icy against the pads of her fingers. "Let them pass," she whispered back at them. Her passivity still clung to her, and she was not even sure she had it in her to engage should Declan need assistance. "There's no need to engage them."

Looking to her, a brow quirked and with a small, dry smirk, Declan shook his head, "...It might have escaped your attention, but... it's sort of my job to engage men like that. They're wanted criminals."

"I mean this respectfully, sir," she whispered back, " but they are two large criminals and you are but one man. Duty or not, perhaps now is not the time for rash impulses."

"I am duty bound to protect Mulgrave... and it's citizens." Grinning, probably a bit more arrogantly than he meant to, Declan's shoulders rose in a shrug, "And I do know a thing or two about holding a sword..."

Her head gave a curt nod as Anhlan determined there was no swaying this stubborn mind. She clasped the dagger to her and said nothing more, though she hoped Declan's dealings would not lead to a blood bath. This was not what she had wanted in her days in Mulgrave. Things were content and closed off in her small little barn.

Looking over at Anhlan again, however, Declan frowned. It was his job, certainly, but duty bound or not, he didn't like the idea of leaving her on her own... If something happened, if he were injured and the men discovered her location.

Something they were not trained in, when they signed on for the Mulgrave guard was trusting instinct. If they passed by, if he let them go, it wasn't likely they would cause much trouble ahead, so close to the city...

Crouching lower, Declan sighed and nodded, "Just keep still and quiet... We'll let them pass."
 

HARRISON
Eirlys told him what she wanted and he obeyed. Urging his horse onward, he left long before the crowd had managed to fully disperse. With how chaotic the scene had been Harrison unfortunately wasn't able to to truly take in the appearances of the two he was tasked to retrieve. All he had to go on really was that one was a woman and the other a boy. Oh and the goose -- how could he forget about the goose? It was probably the feistiest goose he had ever seen. He never knew a goose could be that violent.


Putting his thoughts regarding the ferocity of the particular fowl aside, Harrison went on with his search. Ethelemar was a large city with plenty of places for a duo to hide and the retainer wanted to bring them back as soon as he possibly could. Even though Harrison had been avoiding his Queen, he felt uncomfortable at the thought of being so far that he could not protect her. Bright Hedge was a n impressive castle but not entirely impregnable...the Princess's kidnapping was proof of that enough.

Still, the last thing the citizens needed to see in a time like this was worry in the eyes of Queen's loyal retainer. While he rode through town asking for the whereabouts of the duo he made sure to smile handsomely at those he passed by. At this point in his life he had done enough for the country that most common people could recognize him.

His search eventually brought him to the market where he unmounted and continued looking around the stalls on foot. Turning down offers to buy turnips as graciously as he could, Harrison maneuvered through the crowds in full plate armor. He garnered strange looks as he inquired about a duo travelling with around with a goose but had a breakthrough at a herbal stand. The shopkeeper pointed him in the direction the duo walked off and determinedly Harrison set off once more.

A while later he finally found them in a small inn, eating. When he saw them he couldn't help but frown. He didn't want to interrupt their meal but he had little choice. Placing his hand firmly on hilt of his blade he cut through the crowd and approached them calmly. He cleared his throat to get their attention before speaking.

"Ah. Excuse me. I absolutely hate to interrupt, but you are the two involved in that outburst following Queen Eirlys' address earlier today correct?" Harrison asked, even though the presence of the goose was all the confirmation he needed. Offering them one of his handosme smiles, he continued. "Her majesty requested I bring you to her. She would like to personally make sure that you are both well..."
@Elle Joyner@Doctor Jax
 

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The Following Afternoon|| NPCS: Elzabet Warwick | Cristof Vance | Eirlys Vance | Rickard Egan

Morning dawned, and passed in a daze. For most, the shock of the evening prior had worn off and they were left with a dull ache of uncertainty and fear, but for Ella, there was only sadness. She worked. She worked as hard as she could and with as much focus as was humanly possible, pouring herself into her usual tasks with a drive she had not possessed since her first week on the job.

Except in the back of her mind she knew, as everyone did, that her tasks were done for no one. The Head Maid had been right to suggest she ought to be dismissed, and were it not for Cristof's demands, she might have been. There was no child to care for, because Rosie hadn't come back... Ella was a nurse with no charge, and she felt the weight of her uselessness in every task she set herself to. But she did them, nonetheless... if only for the distraction, and the fragile sense of hope that maybe Rosie would return...

They were tasks made quicker, as well, with no small hands wanting to aid, no bubbling voice to interrupt... It was the first time Ella had worked without the constant stream of laughter to keep her company, and somewhere between folding Rosie's bed linens and dusting out the curtains, she broke down into tears again, that would not stop, even well past the noon bell for lunch. A call which she ignored in favor of coaxing life into Rosie's fireplace.

His queen’s actions had left a bad taste in his mouth… He stalked through the castle with an unease having made its home within his stomach. War… Was that truly all Ethelemar had in store for it’s future? The king turned down another passageway, well aware where his feet were carrying him. There was hope, at least a smidgen, that he’d find what he longed for… at least one that was capable of being found.

Every thought of his daughter Rose sent a dagger through his chest and not for the first time did he find himself wondering how he was still alive after the torment his body was receiving. The physical ache was immense, something indescribable, intangible and palpable all the same.

Pushing the thoughts away as best he could, he twisted the knob of his daughter’s chambers and sighed softly. Ella was there, as he hoped. She was bent over the fireplace, coaxing flames into the depressed hearth. Even it missed the raucous laughter his daughter had conjured during her thirteen years of life. The young woman glanced his way as he shut the door and another dagger rammed his chest when he saw her red-rimmed eyes.

“Oh Ella,” Cristof murmured softly, his throat tightening. “I miss her too.”

There was a spark of nerves in Ella's gaze, and as Cristof spoke, heat rose to her cheeks. Straightening upright, bowing her head, she leveled her eyes to the floor. Of course he was there. No one meant more to the king than his daughter. Breathing in, she wiped her cheeks dry, "Sire, I... I'm sorry. I shouldn't intrude. I only thought if... if she were to return, her room should be in order. I shall leave, immediately."

"You may stay," Cristof said softly. "If that is what you desire." He glanced away, down at an ornately carved chest, which he knew to be stuffed with dolls and toys belonging to his sweet Rose. He could name at least six of them, all her favorites.

"I'd rather like to hear what you were to say, if we hadn't been interrupted before… It seemed important my lady."

As she leaned down to return the fireplace poker to its cradle, Ella froze, and the tool clattered noisily against the others.

Pale, Ella bit her lip, staring into the hearth, "It was nothing, Your Majesty... You ought not to concern yourself with a silly nursemaid. I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have said anything."

"You shouldn't lie, Ella. Not to me, not to your king." Cristof walked up to the hearth slowly, his footsteps barely registering against the soft, plush rushes of his daughter's chamber. Kneeling down, he straightened the poker in it's cradle, and reached out to seize Ella's wrist.

As always, whenever he touched her, a fire coursed through his veins. He made to let go and then changed his mind. Turning slightly, so that he was right in front of her, Cristof spoke softly, though a demand was still a demand.

"Tell me, Ella. Tell me everything."

Looking down to where his fingers looped around her wrist, Ella frowned softly. It was an image, just a memory... His hand in her own, the other at her waist. She hadn't known how to dance, yet it had come so naturally. She'd wondered if it was all part of the magic, or if the handsome Lord had somehow managed a spell all his own.

Looking up, tears glittering in the light of the fire, she shook her head, "I can't. You... you don't understand. If she were to find out I'd said anything..."

"Cristof. There you are." It was not a kind voice, or warm, that the queen addressed her husband with, but it was so rarely that it came as little surprise.

Swiftly, Ella pulled her arm free and stepped back, eyes wide with fright but where Eirlys simply didn't notice or didn't care to, she kept her own eyes trained on the king, her expression carefully composed, "There was an incident in the village square I thought you should be aware of. A young girl was accosted by a rather unseemly man. I've sent Harrison after her, to see that she wasn't injured. Do you care to be informed of the outcome?"

"Of course," Cristoff said sharply, his eyes tearing away from Ella and onto his queen, an unkind feeling washing through him. "What do you know?"

"Nothing yet." Eirlys reported, with a faint roll of her eyes, "Probably a good thing. You seem a bit distracted, Dear Husband." Her eyes flickered to Ella, narrowed just slightly, before returning to Cristof, "When Harrison has recovered them, and I have more information, I'll bring it to you."

Turning on her heels, Eirlys stepped from the room, but even after she had gone, Ella continued to stare at the spot where she had stood, absently pressing a hand to her heart, "...I... I should get back to work." She finally said, in a voice impossibly small.

Cristof sighed as we watched his queen stalk out of their daughter's room, her eyes as cold as her heart. He rubbed his chest, the tightness increasing and looked over at Ella. Her face was a mask of terror... and his suspicion rose.

"She?" Cristof asked, his voice hollow. "As in the queen finding out? And just what, Ella, will she be upset over?"

"Please..." Looking to Cristof, Ella shook her head, brushing away a tear that snaked down her cheek. "Please don't ask me to explain. It was stupid to say anything. I... I don't want to hurt you. I could never..."

Looking down, she knotted her hands into her apron, rubbing intently at a spot of soot on her finger, "Please, Cristof. I'm begging you. Forget it."

"I will not." He said stubbornly, but with a relenting sigh, he continued. "I'll make a deal my lady... I will forget until Rose is back in our arms and then you will tell me. For now, keep my daughter's room warm and full of life..."

Cristoff walked out of the chamber without a glance behind him and stalked after his queen, wondering what stood between her and Ella...

Sinking down onto the hearth, Ella stared after the king, shaking her head sadly. She had come so close... So close. But she had seen the look in the queen's eyes and she knew now more than ever she could not tell him. Not ever.

Collab with @Rissa

“That’s the thing, exactly. Why would he bother sending guards if he’s got the connections he’s rumored to? And even if it wasn’t him… No one could possibly be so stupid.” Rubbing his brow, Rickard turned to the water as well. Afternoon sunlight caught the surface of the lake, splitting into thousands of glittering orbs. Once, many years ago, it had been a popular rumor that the falls possessed a magical quality - the suggestions ranging from elongating life, to healing, to granting incredible wisdom.

Rickard would’ve drained the lake, if it would give him any sort of sense on what to do. A sigh escaped and glancing back to Uther, his shoulders bounced in a shrug, “But that’s what I’m afraid of. That it’s not Mulgrave at all. That this is just a ploy… A way to breed suspicion. If it comes down to war, Uther… you know what that’ll mean for Fable. So many years of peace… We’ll never have that again.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he sank down onto a stone by the edge of the waters, another sigh slipping past his lips, “Least savory, you say?” Smiling dryly, Rickard shrugged, “Good thing I’m offering you the job, I guess. See, the thing is, Cristof said to send a spy. He didn’t say where to send them… Just that he wants to get to the bottom of this. I’m not ready to bring to him my suspicions about her, Uther… But if we could find something solid… something she couldn’t manipulate her way around. I could bring you in as a stable-hand. You know the palace, the ins and outs, and you’ve been away long enough, no one should recognize you… I’ve had all day to think about it and the fact is, there’s no one else I trust with this. So… what do you say?”

@Toogee

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The Following Afternoon || NPCS: Remis Halifax

When you lived the sort of life that Remis Halifax did, you became surprisingly accustomed to threats. Even those that came unexpectedly had lost their shock value to him to such a degree that when he felt the twinge of cold steel against his neck he gave little more than a lifted brow and a slightly disapproving frown.

“Fiend, though, I’m not so fond of...“ His eyes remained trained on the girl, his hands raised at his sides as inoffensively as he could manage, “Some friend, lettin’ a pretty lass like that wander around on her lonesome in this soup… and outside Nemco, too? You either don’t like her very much, or you got no clue where you folks are.”

Rather swiftly, Remis’s hand shot up to push the edge of the blade from his neck, while at the same time he angled down and away from the stranger, clearing distance between himself and a certain uncomfortable end, “Now then… let’s not be rude. She called to me, after all. And I was only being polite. As for the necklace, it was a gift, in case I ever needed refuge up at the ruins… I don’t know you near well enough to be inclined to say who from, so don’t bother asking.”

The woman, it seemed was not so offended by his well-intended greeting, and with a grin, more genuine, though not without a bit of cheekiness, he swept into a deep, formal bow before he reached to take her fingertips in his grip, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand, “Remis Halifax, M’lady. Remi to my friends.” Straightening, his eyes flickered over to her friend, the smile faltering, “Remis’ll do for you.”

Tags: @BearEnthusiast (Briar), @AceSorcerer

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The Following Afternoon || NPCS: Lilianna Gentry | Declan Martel

It happened rather abruptly and by the time Lilianna felt the fingers close around her wrist, she’d already been yanked back, the bruising grip enough to draw an involuntary cry from her. She heard the voice in her ear, felt a wave of anger wash over her like heat. He was going to spoil everything… And she had been so close.

Of course, she couldn’t blame him. Not really. She would’ve done anything to get out of her cell, to get out of Mulgrave, presently. And desperation hardly made one discerning. Flinching, her eyes shifted to the guard who had released her.

“It wasn’t a lie!” She hissed, “Why would they change their plans? Not like they knew I was listening. But if you're so damn smart, why don't you help us? Help us, instead of....” Yanking on her arm, Lil grimaced again, “Instead of holding me hostage here! Damn it! We're wasting time, and he's gonna break my arm! Open his cell, already!”

“Damn fools,” Alfie muttered under his breath. “You fuckin’ fools.”

Crossing his arms and watching the woman squirm in pain, Alfeus Swan thought out his options with a small tick in his jaw. He could leave… leave her there to succumb to her fate and walk out of the prison, his hands relatively clean. Wait until the news of Ethelemar’s princess is found… dead or alive, and leave himself to his own fate.

Or…

Alfie struck out fast, his hand impacting both flesh and iron bars. He sucked in a sharp breath of pain and snatched the woman away from the bars, hoping he didn’t break any of his fingers, or any of the man’s within the cell. He then reached into the folds of his cloak and removed another set of keys, with a small length of rope. Before unlocking the cell, he pointed at the man, his eyes burning with frustration.

“One word and I’ll break your arm. You’ll be coming with us… I don’t need any guards following us because of loose lips…”

Collab with @rissa || Tags: @Nav

As the Brothers Black passed by the bushes, Declan watched them go with an indignant frown. They were scoundrels, the pair, horrible snakes who deserved a very small, very dark cell in the bottommost part of Mulgrave’s prisons - and were it not for his current companion, Declan might have seen to it. But Anhlan’s concern would not go unheeded and he wouldn’t place her in danger unwittingly or otherwise.

Still, as they continued along the path, his hand clutched the hilt of his blade tighter, eyes narrowing, “...They’ve never come this far, before.” He mused, quietly, “They’d need a damn good reason for leaving the Grave Road…”

Something was happening… not just in Mulgrave, but in Fable. A stirring. He could feel it, sense it in all the strangeness. First there had been talk of their own king holding ties to the thieves guild, then they had received word of the missing princess up in Bright Hedge, and now known villains walked free on Mulgrave soil...

Rising to his feet, he brushed dirt from his knees, holding out a hand to help Anhlan up, before he reached for the axle, hefting it over his shoulder, “Come on… We should keep moving, in case they circle back.”


Tags: @Effervescent

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The Following Afternoon || NPCS: Merek Loren

It had been years since he had seen her. Ironic, really, that their last meeting had been one fraught with tragedy. Fate seemed to have a knack for bringing the Loren and Palin families together at the worst of all times. In other circumstances, he would have been glad to see her - especially looking so well, and in favorable company, it seemed...

But the weight of what had happened the night prior wore heavily in his eyes stretched across his weary features and in the solemn slump of his broad shoulders. It could not be avoided, no matter how desperately he had hoped to wake and find it all a terrible dream, and as she inquired about his brother, he felt a pang of pain in his gut, his eyes closing for a moment.

“Tom’s dead.” Merek heard the words from his mouth, knew that he had said them, yet still they felt so strange - so foreign. It was no way to greet strangers or old friends, and it certainly wasn’t how he’d imagined breaking the news, but with the dirt still fresh under his nails, with the memory still fresh in his mind, Merek found little worth in hesitating.

“Last night. I came home to find him...” He continued grimly, stepping back from the door to allow the pair inside, “You… you’re welcome to stay here, but I won’t be. I’m leaving in a few hours for Ethelemar. Tom’s death was no accident and I need to get to the bottom of it. I’ll need to find Travis...” His remaining brother would need to be told. For all Travis and Tom had not gotten along, they were blood…

“I… Rabbit you said?” A brow quirked as he considered for a moment. He hadn’t eaten since the afternoon prior and the stitch in his stomach had grown increasingly uncomfortable, “I should eat something…”
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The Following Afternoon || NPCS: Fiora Remel

After Jack had agreed to her offer, Fiora had led him from the gate to a small tavern but a few yards away. She made a concentrated effort not to spend much time in Ethelemar when she visited the city, largely in the hopes of avoiding trouble, but there were a few establishments where her impairment was accepted with more patience than others.

She could hardly be considered a regular patron, and she wasn’t even entirely sure the tavernkeep recognized her, but he was a kind man and offered them a table away from door and instructions with his serving girl to take her time.

Sinking down across the table from Jack, Fiora smiled politely. He was unusual, that had been clear from the moment he’d first addressed her… Ordinary people did not wander around with geese, after all. But it was more than his strange company. It was the way he seemed to see the world differently… With almost a childlike wonder. It was the way she had seen things for so long… the way she hoped she might be able to see them again, some day.

Turning her eyes down to goose, Fiora watched the odd bird for a moment, before looking back to Jack, gesturing in curiosity between the two.

But before Jack could respond, before he had the chance to, a dark figure approached their table and looking up, Fiora’s eyes widened. It was the guard… the same who had approached the fray in the square. Heart slamming against her chest, she straightened and without meaning to, she reached to grab Jack’s hand, holding it perhaps a bit too tightly.

The queen...

She wanted to see them. To see that they were well…

Looking to Jack, Fiora swallowed anxiously.

@Doctor Jax, @BearEnthusiast (Harrison),

 
KATZE STIEFEL

“Truthfully, I’d like to see you try,” Katze mused lazily, clearly not feeling any ounce of threat from the man or his words as he slid the key in and popped the lock. There was a little rise in the corner of his mouth he was oblivious to, combined with the cool detachment in his eyes spoke to the idea that Katze was probably not going to be very good at following the guard’s orders. The man had already lost any shred of respect Katze could have had for him over his pathetic bleeding heart, but what Katze could benefit from, he would exploit and he had done just fine for himself in that regard.

“I’ll come with you for now,” he clarified idly when the guard told him he’d be coming with them. The idea felt repulsing, as he really had no interest in hanging around Jack and Jill and whatever tragic infatuation the guard possessed for the grungy little liar squealing like a pig out of mud. His eyebrows raised at them both once, inspecting their facial features a bit more closely for a moment before his shoulders rose and fell with a shrug. He had nowhere better he ought to be, but he didn’t feel it pertinent to share with them that a former employer, who had hired his services just prior to him getting arrested, would be out looking for him.

Damn fools, Katze turned away with a chuckle, Damn fools, indeed.

Dusting his hands off and articulating his joints a ways to stretch them all out, he only glanced back at his new unwitting comrades. “So, you wish to save a princess based on the information of a woman who wanted to get out of a jail cell, do you? Information that, even if correct, is many weeks old? Mm, we best get moving. We have an awful lot of work to do.” Ultimately, Katze just wanted to feel the sun on his skin and breathe in the breeze. The musty, dank, and damp sensation of the cell chambers was weighing heavily on his lungs, as if they were wrapped up in a damp towel.

He couldn’t really care less about some princess, unless she was pretty. Maybe she was pretty.
 
  • Bucket of Rainbows
Reactions: Elle Joyner
Uther Farrow, Falmar Plains

Uther pondered what Rickard was saying. The job itself wasn’t much different than what he had done in his younger days. The Knights of the Final Seal would often operate under cover in order to obtain information about magical artifacts. The task wasn’t what concerned him, however, but Rickard’s conclusions. The elder suspected that Mulgrave royalty was mostly innocent, but his former squire was talking of a much deeper plot.

“From the way you speak, you don’t just doubt Mulgrave’s involvement. Tell me, do you think the queen is somehow involved in the princess’s kidnapping?”

Uther looked around to make sure they were still alone. The words they were speaking would be considered treason. There was nothing but the grass blowing in the gentle breeze. He returned his gaze to Rickard.

“What has happened at Bright Hedge that has led you to these suspicions? I need to know what I’m walking into. I need to know how sure you are, because if you’re wrong and the princess is in the hands of some other party, we will waste precious time getting her back.”